Witch Is Where Magic Lives Now Page 11

  “I have no objections, but I’ll need to check with her first, to see if she’s okay with it.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll be speaking to her in the next couple of days, so I’ll let you know what she says.”

  “That’s great. Thanks.”

  “I’m curious about one thing, Jill. Don’t you worry that Florence might say something to your husband? Tell him that she’s a witch, I mean?”

  “Every day, but Florence and I have regular chats about it, and I always make sure she knows it has to be our little secret.”

  Chapter 13

  It was Monday morning and I was feeling rested after the weekend. On Saturday, after I’d got back from speaking to Freda Pearldiver, Jack, Florence and I had spent the rest of the day at home.

  On Sunday, we’d taken a drive into the countryside for a picnic. The weather had been gorgeous, and Florence had been on her best behaviour. The only dog in the ointment had been the lazy Chihuahua. Apparently, Buddy was not fond of long walks. Or any kind of walk. We’d only been going for about ten minutes when he refused to budge. Jack had to carry him for most of the day, which was ironic after the way he’d complained to me about being manhandled. It’s not like he’s an old dog; he’s barely more than a puppy. He’s just bone idle.

  I’d just set off for the office when a man, dressed in trainers, jeans and a red cardigan, stepped into the road and flagged me down. I’d seen him a few times around the village, but I’d never actually spoken to him.

  I lowered the window. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m sorry to catch you on your way out like this. I’m Rupert Schubert, the vicar of Tweaking parish. You’re new to the village, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, we moved into the old watermill a couple of months ago.”

  “I thought so. You have a little girl, don’t you?”

  “Florence, yes. I’m Jill and my husband’s name is Jack.”

  “Jack and Jill, eh?” He grinned. “You must have a fairy tale marriage.”

  There were times when I seriously considered changing my name by deed poll. There were only so many times you could hear people make the same few jokes. What name would I choose instead? Rosemary? Maybe Lucinda? Suggestions on a postcard to: No one cares, c/o the old watermill, Middle Tweaking.

  Anyway, I digress. The man handed me a flyer.

  “Freaking Tweaking? What’s that?”

  “It’s the festival that’s held on Tweaking Meadows every year. It’s great fun. There are lots of rides and games for the kids, and plenty for the adults, too. I do hope that you and your family will be able to attend.”

  “We’ll do our best.” Not if I had anything to do with it. “Thanks very much.”

  “I’d better let you get going.” He stepped back from the car. “It was nice to meet you, Jill.”

  “You too.”

  Once I was out of the village, I screwed up the leaflet and threw it onto the back seat.

  ***

  As I walked towards my office building, I could hear an almighty racket coming from inside. It took me a few seconds to realise what it was.

  Barking. Lots of barking.

  The stairs were full of dogs and their owners. Dogs of every shape, size and breed, from a tiny Yorkshire terrier through to an enormous Irish wolfhound. They must be here for the free shampoo offer to promote the grand opening of Bubbles. It looked like Farah Close was going to have her work cut out.

  Somehow, I had to try to negotiate my way up the stairs.

  “Excuse me. Excuse me, please. Can I get past? Excuse me.”

  As I fought my way up the stairs, the dogs began to bark even more; a couple of them even snapped at me. How I managed to squeeze past the St Bernard and its portly owner, I’ll never know.

  Phew! I’d made it to the office.

  “Good morning, Mrs V.”

  “Morning, Jill. You managed to get past the dogs, then?”

  “Barely.”

  “I had an awful time of it. A little Pekingese took a real dislike to me. I thought he was going to have my ankle. I do hope it isn’t going to be like this every day. At least the clowns didn’t bite.”

  “They’re all here for the offer of a free shampoo at Bubbles. I’m sure it will ease up after today.”

  “I do hope so. Did you have a nice weekend?”

  “Yes, thanks. We all went for a picnic in the countryside yesterday.”

  “How lovely. It was a beautiful day, wasn’t it? Armi and I spent the afternoon sitting in the back garden, enjoying the fresh air.”

  “What about the squirrels? Didn’t they cause you any problems?”

  “I think we may have solved that particular issue.”

  “How did you manage that? Did you persuade the pest control people to take them away?”

  “No. Armi came up with an ingenious idea. He bought two giant parasols, and we sat underneath those. Apart from the sound of the acorns pounding on the parasol, it was quite delightful.”

  There was no sign of Winky in my office, but Agents Ricardo and Lulu had moved the sofa next to the window and were keeping watch on the building opposite.

  “Anything happening over there?” I said.

  “Not yet.”

  “Where’s Winky?”

  “He had to nip out. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of some food, is there? This surveillance is hungry work.”

  “Of course. Is salmon okay again?”

  “That would be lovely.” Lulu licked her lips.

  I’d just finished putting out the salmon when Bertie the pigeon appeared on the ledge outside the open window. Fortunately, the two undercover police cats were too busy eating to notice him.

  “Good morning, Jill.” The pigeon waved a wing at me.

  “Morning, Bertie. How are you?”

  “Excellent. It’s a beautiful day. Why do you spend all your time in this stuffy office?”

  “It’s not through choice, trust me, but I have to earn a living somehow.”

  Harold and Ida had lived on the ledge until two years ago when they’d decided to retire to the coast. The last I heard they were living in Southend. About six months ago, Bertie and his brother, Bobby, had moved onto the ledge. They were both big birds, and I really do mean big.

  “It’s slim pickings out there today,” Bertie said. “Bobby and I have been scratching around on the ground near the benches for the best part of two hours, and we barely picked up a couple of crumbs between us.”

  “Oh dear. I’m sorry to hear that. Where is Bobby?”

  “Having a nap. All that pecking has worn him out. He doesn’t have my levels of stamina. Did I ever tell you that I used to be a racer, Jill?”

  “A racing pigeon?”

  “No, a racing zebra.” He laughed. “Of course, a racing pigeon.”

  “Did you take part in any competitions?”

  “Yes, both Bobby and I did. I was much faster than him, as you’d expect. As a matter of fact, I was crowned Washbridge’s Fastest Pigeon of The Year two years running.”

  “That’s very impressive.”

  “There was a lot less of me back then.”

  There must have been.

  Mrs V came into my office. “What are they doing in here?” She gestured towards the cats.

  “It’s okay, they’re just undercover—” Oh bum! When would I ever learn to engage my brain before speaking?

  “Undercover?”

  “They—err—sneaked in here under cover of darkness.”

  “Why didn’t you just throw them out?”

  “I—err—I’m going to, but they looked so hungry that I thought the least I could do was to give them some food first.”

  “You’re too soft. That’s your trouble.”

  “You’re right. Did you come in to tell me something?”

  “Just that I forgot to tell you Mr Edwards rang before you arrived. He wondered if there’d been any progress on his case. I said you’d call him back.”
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  “Right. Leave it with me.”

  I’d been dreading this moment. What exactly was I supposed to tell Rusty? That he really had lost his marbles? I couldn’t do that. Not yet, anyway. I owed it to him to have at least one more crack at his case.

  ***

  I couldn’t just turn up on the doorstep of the house where the alleged shooting had taken place and tell them I was a private investigator. Once they knew I was working for the guy across the park, who insisted he’d seen someone being shot in their house, they’d turn me away for sure. If I was going to get inside, I’d need to use magic, or come up with a cunning plan.

  Fortunately, as you’re no doubt already aware, plans of the cunning variety are my speciality.

  It’s not everyone who can carry off a uniform, but I look really good in them—even if I do say so myself.

  The middle-aged man who answered the door was holding a golf putter.

  “There’s a sticker on the dashboard,” he said. “Didn’t you see it?”

  “Sorry?” I hadn’t the faintest idea what he meant.

  “My resident’s sticker is plainly on display. I’m Mr Smart.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He looked me up and down. “You are the parking warden, aren’t you?”

  “No.”

  “You look like one. Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive. I’m from the fire service.”

  He poked his head out of the door and looked left and right. “Is there a fire somewhere?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that. I’m from the prevention division of the fire service. I’m calling on all the houses in the street to do a spot check, just to make sure everything is in order.”

  “Did you let us know you were coming?”

  “No. The whole point of these checks is to drop in unannounced.”

  “I see. I suppose you’d better come in, then. What’s your name?”

  “Rhona—err—Burns.”

  “Burns!” He laughed. “That’s rather an unfortunate name, given your occupation, isn’t it? Don’t trip over the putting mat.” He pointed to a strip of green matting which looked just like a crazy golf hole. “Do you play golf, Rhona?”

  “Me? Err, no. Is it alright to take a look around the house?”

  “Help yourself.”

  A woman appeared in the doorway at the other end of the hallway.

  “What’s going on, Jeffrey? Have you told her that we have a resident’s parking permit?”

  “She isn’t the parking warden, Deirdre. She’s from the fire prevention service.”

  “She looks like a parking warden.”

  “I’m not,” I reassured her. “My name is Rhona Burns, and, as your husband said, I work for the fire prevention service.”

  “Did you hear that, Deirdre?” The man laughed. “Her name is Burns?”

  “Of course I heard her. I’m not deaf.”

  “But it’s Burns, and she works for the fire prevention service. Do you get it?”

  The woman continued to stare at me, stony-faced. “What do you want?”

  “I’m checking on all the properties in the street. It shouldn’t take more than thirty minutes or so. Is it alright if I make a start?”

  “I suppose so, but please be quick.”

  The question now was what exactly did a fire prevention officer do? I’d brought a clipboard and notepad with me, so I began to make meaningless notes as I walked around. I started in the kitchen and took a close look at the various appliances, tapping each one, and then scribbling on the notepad.

  I was just about to leave the kitchen when the woman said, “What about the smoke alarm? Shouldn’t you have checked that?”

  Oh bum. I had no idea how to test one of those.

  “Err, actually, no. This particular inspection doesn’t include the smoke alarms. We have a separate unit that deals with those.”

  I hurried out of the kitchen before she could ask any more awkward questions. After spending a few minutes in the lounge, I headed upstairs. The room in which Rusty had supposedly seen the shooting incident turned out to be the master bedroom. I looked high and low, but I could see nothing to suggest someone had been shot in that room. There were no bullet holes or blood. Or bodies. I looked across the park at Rusty’s house; had he really witnessed a shooting in this room? It was looking less and less likely.

  I came out of the master bedroom and was about to make a quick ‘check’ on the other rooms when I heard the man and woman going at it like cat and dog downstairs.

  “What was I supposed to do?” the man said. “Turn her away?”

  “You should have told her to make an appointment.”

  “But she said it’s supposed to be a random check.”

  “That’s your trouble, Jeffrey. You’re weak. You let everyone walk all over you.”

  “Just a minute, Deirdre, that’s not—”

  “Go back to your stupid golf. That’s all you care about, isn’t it?”

  The argument continued in that vein for the next few minutes, with the woman throwing more and more vicious insults at her husband. The poor man tried to defend himself, but he was no match for her acerbic tongue.

  When they eventually relented, I made my way back downstairs. There was no sign of the woman, but the man had gone back to his putting.

  “Thanks very much,” I said. “Everything seems to be in order. You have a clean bill of health.”

  “Excellent.”

  “I can see myself out.”

  Chapter 14

  I was about to interview Mrs Jones, the cook at Tweaking Manor. I didn’t need to take the car because she lived in Middle Tweaking. Her house was two doors down from where Walter Staniforth had once lived. Just prior to his retirement, Staniforth had been the lead detective on a case involving the murder, by poisoning, of a young woman. In his determination to solve the case and retire on a high, Staniforth had framed an innocent young man called Arnold Kramer. Fortunately, I’d been able to find the real murderer, which had resulted in Arnold Kramer’s release. When the truth had come out, Staniforth had been arrested and subsequently jailed. His house was now occupied by a couple with a young boy about the same age as Florence.

  Mrs Jones answered the door wearing a pair of green rubber gloves.

  “Is it that time already?” She checked her watch. “I’m really sorry. I’ve been cleaning the oven and I totally lost track of time. I’ve been meaning to do it for weeks now. I hate that job, don’t you?”

  “Yes, it’s horrible.” Not that I’d ever done it. “I do appreciate you sparing me the time, Mrs Jones.”

  “No problem, and please call me Lydia. Do come in. My husband has just gone into Washbridge, so we’ll have the house to ourselves.” Just me and Mrs Jones, then. “I’ll just take these gloves off and then I’m all yours. Why don’t you go through to the lounge and I’ll be with you in two ticks?”

  The room was fussy, much like Mrs Jones. Every surface was covered with ornaments, all in the shape of weird fish-lizard like creatures. I took a seat on the sofa next to the window and a few minutes later, Mrs Jones joined me.

  “I was just admiring your ornaments, Lydia.”

  “As you’ve probably guessed, I’m a big fan of the axolotl.”

  “Axo—?”

  “Lotl. They’re so cute, don’t you think?”

  “They’re lovely.” If you like fish with legs.

  “I believe you want to talk to me about the missing goblet.”

  “That’s right. How long have you worked for Caroline?”

  “On and off, it must be nearly fifteen years now.”

  “On and off?”

  “I did leave for a short time a few years ago.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “It was that husband of hers. He was a difficult man to work for, very rude with a terrible short temper. On that particular day, the crust on the pie wasn’t to his liking, and he snapped at me
for the umpteenth time. I’m sorry to say that I lost my temper and turned on him. He sacked me on the spot.”

  “How long was it before you went back there?”

  “Just over a couple of months. Caroline came to the house and practically begged me to go back. I wasn’t sure if I should or not, but Caroline said that she’d warned her husband that if he ever spoke to me like that again, she’d kick him out. Caroline is quiet most of the time, but when she gets riled, you know about it.”

  “The house and family seem to have fallen on hard times.”

  “That’s an understatement. The manor used to be such a happy, lively place. It’s hard to imagine now, but it was once a warm, welcoming house. Now, it’s just a pale shadow of its former self. It’s Caroline that I feel sorry for. She’s doing her best to turn things around, but she’s been landed with a huge tax bill. I’m not sure even she will be able to pull anything out of the bag this time. To be honest, I fully expect to be out of a job soon.”

  “How well do you know the other members of the family, Lydia?”

  “Some of them better than others. Elizabeth is a lovely woman. She’s always polite and she treats everyone with respect. Her brother is a different kettle of fish altogether.”

  “Ransom?”

  “Yes. That man is a horror. He always was, and he probably always will be. I heard the two of them arguing on that night.”

  “On the night the goblet went missing?”

  “Yes. I’d just finished for the day and I was on my way out of the kitchen when I heard them going at it in the hallway. I hung back a while because I didn’t want to walk into the middle of it.”

  “Could you hear what they were saying?”

  “No, and to be honest, I wasn’t interested. I just wanted to get home. As soon as they’d finished, I left the house.”

  “Do you have any idea who might have taken the goblet?”

  “None. I’m sure the others must have already told you this, but it’s an ugly thing. Caroline only kept it on display because of its important place in the family’s history, and I know she was devastated when she discovered it had gone missing.”