Witch Is Why The Search Began (A Witch P.I. Mystery Book 22)
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Witch Is Why
The Search Began
Published by Implode Publishing Ltd
© Implode Publishing Ltd 2017
The right of Adele Abbott to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved, worldwide. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, dead or alive, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 1
“Morning, Jill,” Mrs V and Jules chorused.
“Morning. Isn’t it your day off, Jules?”
“Yeah. I’m meeting Gilbert in town in a few minutes, but I wanted to be here so that Annabel and I could tell you our news.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“We’ve reached an agreement on the colour for the office,” Mrs V said.
“That’s great. Really great.”
I had hoped that the stalemate over what colour to redecorate the office might last a while longer. I was in no hurry to fork out money that I didn’t have, just to spruce the place up. Still, I’d made them a promise, and there was no going back on it now.
“We’ve decided on sky blue,” Mrs V said. “It will brighten this place up a treat. What colour will you have your office painted, Jill?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it. Black probably. Or purple.”
They both had the same horrified expression.
“Only joking. I guess I’ll stick with something boring. Magnolia most likely.”
“How quickly will you be able to get someone in?” Mrs V was obviously keen.
“I’m not sure. I’ll try to get on it later today. How was your weekend?”
“Armi and I went to the Ever ballroom yesterday,” Mrs V said. “We had a wonderful time. You haven’t seen Armi’s paso doble, have you, Jill?”
“Not lately.”
“It’s something to behold.”
“What about you, Jules? You were going to ToppersCon, weren’t you?”
Her smile dissolved. “I’m trying to forget about that.”
“Bad?”
“Worse. Much worse. I was the only ‘normal’ person there. I mean, what kind of people spend their time collecting bottle tops? And when they get talking to one another, it’s the best cure for insomnia known to man.”
“That bad, eh?”
“Oh, yes. And trust us to get stuck with the most boring man there. This funny little guy who writes the Toppers Newsletter latched onto us, and we couldn’t get rid of him.”
“You mean Mr Ivers.”
“Yeah, that’s him. How did you know?”
“He used to be one of my neighbours. He was into movies back then. He works at the toll bridge in Smallwash.”
“He’s insufferable. He even tried to get us to subscribe to his stupid newsletter, but I said we couldn’t afford it. I mean, who in their right mind would pay to receive a newsletter from that nut job?”
Who indeed?
“And just look at this.” Jules reached into her bag, and brought out a silk scarf with a ‘bottle top’ print. “Gilbert bought this for me while I was getting a coffee.”
“It’s—err—quite a nice colour. I suppose.”
“It’s hideous. I wouldn’t be seen dead in it. Would you like it, Jill? It’s more your kind of thing.”
“No, thanks. I’m not very big on scarves. Do you and Gilbert have anything exciting planned for today?”
“He doesn’t know it yet, but we’re going to call in at Yarnstormers.”
“I didn’t realise they were open for business.”
“They’re opening today, and they’re giving away a free pair of knitting needles to every customer. I’m going to get Gilbert to grab some too—that way I end up with two pairs.”
“I bet he’ll be thrilled at being dragged into a wool shop on his day off.”
“I don’t care. After what I had to put up with this weekend, it’s the least he can do.”
“What about you, Mrs V? Are you planning on checking out Ever’s new competitor?”
“Of course, dear. I shall have a walk over there during my lunch break. You’re welcome to come with me, if you like?”
“No, thanks. I’ll give it a miss. If Grandma sees me go in there, she’ll have my guts for garters.”
***
Winky was standing next to the window.
“Do, Re, Mi, Fa, Sol, La, Ti, Do. Do, Re, Mi, Fa, Sol, La, Ti, Do.”
“What are you doing, Winky?”
“What does it sound like?”
“The cat’s chorus.”
“That’s because you don’t have an ear for a fine voice. Do, Re, Mi, Fa, Sol, La, Ti, Do.”
“What’s all this in aid of?”
“I’m practising for the competition later this week.”
“What competition?”
“The Feline Choir Competition.”
“It really is the cat’s chorus, then.” I laughed.
“I don’t know what you find so amusing. I’ll have you know that we’ve won best feline choir for the last two years.”
“You’ve never mentioned any of this before.”
“You know me. I like to keep my light well and truly hidden under a bushel.”
“Where is the competition being held?”
“Washbridge Arena.”
“They hire the place out to cats?”
“Of course they don’t, and besides, who’d pay to rent that fleapit? It’s closed for refurbishment, so we’re going to take advantage before the workmen move in. When we win this time, we get to keep the trophy for good.”
“When you win? Isn’t that rather presumptuous?”
“Not at all. The other choirs can’t hold a candle to us.” He took a deep breath. “Do, Re, Mi, Fa, Sol, La, Ti, Do.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t listen to that row all day long. I have a lot on my mind, like trying to figure out where to find the money to get these offic
es redecorated.”
“Not before time. This room could do with a lick of paint.” He glanced around. “Tangerine might be nice.”
“I’m not working in an office painted tangerine.”
“Magenta then?”
“Definitely not. I thought magnolia.”
“I might have known.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“That you’d choose a colour as boring as you are.”
“I am not boring.”
He yawned.
“I’m not, and besides, I might not be able to afford to get it done at all.”
“It needn’t cost you a fortune. You should stick it on Find-A-Painter.”
“On what?”
“You must have seen it. It’s a website where you get a number of tradesmen to give you a quote for the work you need doing. There’s a whole series of them: Find-A-Plumber, Find-An-Electrician, Find-A-Cheese Sculptor.”
“Who would ever need a cheese sculptor?”
“How would I know?” He shrugged. “But if you ever do, I’m guessing that Find-A- Cheese Sculptor would be the place to start.”
I brought up the Find-A-Painter website on my computer. It was all very straightforward. It only took me a few minutes to snap a couple of photos of both offices, upload them, and enter details of the work I needed doing.
“There. All done. Thanks for the tip, Winky.”
“No problem. Do, Re, Mi, Fa, Sol, La, Ti, Do. Do, Re, Mi, Fa, Sol, La, Ti, Do.”
***
Half an hour later, Mrs V came through to my office. Thankfully, by then, Winky had decided to give the voice exercises a rest.
“Jill, I have a Mr Anthony Coultard to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment, but he says that you know him.”
“Coultard?” The name didn’t ring a bell.
“He said to mention that he owns the antique jeweller’s shop.”
“Of course. Send him through.” I’d consulted Anthony Coultard when trying to find out more information about my locket.
“Thank you for seeing me without an appointment, Jill. I remembered your name, and found your address in the phone book.”
“No problem. Please have a seat.”
“Thank you. I must say that receptionist of yours is something rather special?”
“Mrs V?”
“Is she married?”
“No, but she is seeing someone.”
“Pity. Is it serious?”
“I think so.”
“Just my luck.” Just then Winky jumped onto the sofa. “Is that your cat?”
“Yeah. That’s Winky.”
“Winky, eh? I used to have a cat with no ears.”
“What did you call it?”
“Anything I liked. It couldn’t hear a word I said.” He erupted into laughter. “Just my little joke. Your boy really is a handsome beast. I bet all the lady cats are after him.”
“What exactly was it you needed my help with, Mr Coultard?”
“You must call me Ant. The thing is, Jill, I didn’t really know who to go to with this. I had an approach last Friday from what I could only describe as a shady character.”
“Shady how?”
“You know the sort. Pick your pocket while talking to you, given half a chance. Anyway, this spiv comes into my shop and asks if I’m interested in buying fairy wings. Starlight fairy wings, to be precise. I assume you’re familiar with the starlight fairies?”
“I am. When I first heard that people collected their wings, I was horrified until I realised that they were wings that had been shed by the fairies.”
“That’s just the problem, Jill. The legitimate dealers only trade in ‘shed’ wings, but regrettably there is also a black market for ‘unshed’ wings.”
“Unshed?” I felt an involuntary shiver run through my body. “Surely you can’t mean—?”
“I’m afraid I do. Fairies are being killed for their wings.”
“That’s terrible. Is that what this ‘spiv’ was selling?”
“He didn’t come right out and say so, but reading between the lines, I’m pretty sure that’s the case.”
“What did you do?”
“I told him I wasn’t interested, but he was very pushy. According to him, several of his clients are making a small fortune from selling them. I told him to get lost or I’d knock his block off. After he’d left, I couldn’t get it out of my mind. Those poor, innocent fairies. Obviously, I couldn’t take this to the police, but then I thought of you.”
“I’m as horrified about this as you are, but I’m not sure what I can do. How would I even find this guy?”
“When he was trying to convince me to change my mind, he mentioned a particular shop in Washbridge that is doing a roaring trade in the wings. It’s called Shiny Shiny. I thought maybe you could pay them a visit, and see if you could track him down from there.”
“Okay. I’ll check them out. If I can help to shut down this awful trade then of course I will.”
***
Long after Ant Coultard had left, I was still thinking about the poor starlight fairies. What kind of person would kill a fairy just to get their wings?
My phone rang, but I didn’t recognise the number.
“Jill? It’s Megan.”
“Hi there.”
“Look, I thought you’d want to know that there’s something strange going on in your house.”
“What do you mean, strange?”
“I can hear music, loud voices and laughter coming from in there. Neither of your cars were on the drive, so I knew it couldn’t be you or Jack. I just thought I ought to let you know.”
“Right. Thanks.”
“Do you want me to go around there to check what’s going on?”
“No. Better not. I’m on my way.”
It would have taken too long to drive home. If it was burglars, they’d be long gone before I got back. I didn’t want to magic myself directly into the house without first finding out what I was getting into, so instead, I aimed for the back garden.
“Jill?”
Oh bum! Megan was in her garden.
“Hi. Thanks for calling me.”
“How did you get back so quickly? I’ve only just finished on the call.”
“As luck would have it, I was already on my way home. I was only a couple of streets away when you called.”
“I didn’t hear your car.”
“My car? I—err—I thought it best to park in the next street, so as not to alert whoever is inside.”
“Good thinking. Don’t you think you should call the police?”
“No need. I’ll be fine. Thanks again.” I quickly made my way around the side of the house before she could ask any more awkward questions.
I could hear music and voices coming from inside, so I quietly opened the front door, and followed the sounds into the lounge.
“What’s going on in here, Mrs Crustie?”
Agatha Crustie, my so-called cleaner, was sitting in the armchair. She had a glass of wine in one hand and a cake in the other. There were three other women in the room, all armed with drinks and cakes.
“Hello, Jill!” Agatha stood up. “Why don’t you grab a glass? It’s Cynthia’s birthday, so we’re having a bit of a knees-up.”
“In my house? Drinking my wine and eating my cakes?”
“We didn’t think you’d mind.”
“Think again. I warned you about this.”
“But it’s Cynthia’s birthday.”
“I don’t care. You’re fired.”
“You can’t fire me.”
“I just did. Take your friends, and get out of my house.”
“You’ll never get another cleaner once I let it be known how you’ve treated me.”
“I’ll take my chances. Now get out. All of you! And you can leave what’s left of that bottle of wine behind.”
Still chuntering about the injustice of it all, Agatha led her friends out of the house.
Go
od riddance!
Chapter 2
Back in Washbridge, I decided to grab a coffee, but I daren’t go into Coffee Triangle in case they tried to foist that giant triangle on me again. Just the thought of it brought me out in a cold sweat. Instead, I grabbed a latte to-go from a small coffee shop, called Coff Drops. While I was in there, I bumped into Tonya from WashBets.
“Hi, Tonya, I believe you’re dating Norman now?”
“Sorry. Do I know you?” She stared blankly at me.
“Not really. I’ve been in your shop a few times to see Ryan.”
“If it was about a complaint, you should really have seen Bryan.”
“Never mind.”
The coffee was horrible. Sooner or later, I would have to find the courage to go back to Coffee Triangle. Giant triangle or no giant triangle.
“Jill!” Betty Longbottom called to me as I walked up the high street.
I’d hoped that I might avoid her for a while because she’d no doubt have it in for me after the Crustacean Monthly incident.
“Sorry, Betty. I can’t stop. I have to get back to the office.”
“I just wanted a quick word about what happened the other day when Crustacean Monthly were here.”
Oh bum!
“I’m sorry about that, Betty. I didn’t mean to—”
“No apology necessary. In fact, I want to thank you.”
“You do?”
“Yes. I hadn’t wanted Sid to feature in my profile, but it seems I was wrong to be worried.”
“You were?”
“Yes. It turns out that a lot of their readers like the ‘bad-boy’ look. Ever since the photos of Sid and I appeared, those readers have been travelling up here in droves, just to get a look at Sid. And, of course, while they’re here, they spend lots of money in She Sells.”
“That’s great. I’m surprised the magazine is on the shelves so soon.”
“It isn’t. So far, the photos and a brief profile have only appeared online. Can you imagine how many more people are going to turn up when it’s published?”
“What does Sid make of it all?”
“He doesn’t say much, but he seems to like the attention.” She gestured through the window; inside, Sid was leaning nonchalantly against a wall, surrounded by his admirers.
I carried on up the high street, and came upon a queue outside Yarnstormers. The opening offer of free knitting needles certainly seemed to be working. I was quite surprised that Grandma hadn’t made an appearance. I’d expected her to have something to say about her new rival, but so far, nothing.