Witch Is When Everything Went Crazy Page 5
“Have you branched out?”
“How do you mean?”
“In addition to your main business, do you now sell scarves?”
“Scarves? No. That’s just something Mrs V does.”
“So, a hobby then?”
“I guess so.”
“In that case, you can’t claim for the linen basket.” He ripped the receipt in half. “And this?” He passed me another receipt. “Eye patches. Is this for some kind of disguise when you’re following someone?”
“They aren’t for me.”
“For your receptionist?”
“For the cat.”
Winky stirred, and looked up. He was sporting an eye patch in a pleasing shade of green today.
“He’s wearing an eye patch!” Robert Roberts exclaimed.
“That’s right. That’s what I was trying to tell you.”
He ripped that receipt in half too.
“So?” I tried to sound upbeat. “What’s the verdict over all?”
Robert Roberts studied the figures on his laptop. “Not good.”
“But not bad?” Ever the optimist.
“More like terrible.”
“Oh.”
“The business seems to be lacking one vital ingredient.”
“What’s that?”
“Paying customers.”
“I have four cases on right now.”
“How many of those are for paying customers?”
“More than none.”
“How many?”
“Precisely or approximately?”
“Precisely.”
“One.”
I had an appointment to see Hector Vicars, and I was just about to leave the office when Winky stepped in front of me.
“Out of my way,” I said. “I’m running late.”
“I need a favour.”
“What kind of favour?”
“Check the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet,” he said.
The parcel in the drawer was addressed to a Mrs Lake in London SE1. “What’s this?”
“Would you post it for me?”
Who was Mrs Lake, and why was Winky sending her a parcel? And what was in it? There was no time to ask; I was already running late. “Okay.” I grabbed the parcel and hurried out of the door.
It took me less than a minute to work out that Hector Vicars, Mrs Vicars’ son, was a complete tool. He showed me into a room that he insisted on referring to as his ‘trophy room’. In fact, it was a small living room with a threadbare sofa, a matching armchair, and a huge TV mounted on the wall. In one corner of the room was a glass fronted cabinet which looked like it had been made from flat-pack. Inside the cabinet were half a dozen trophies interspersed with photographs of Hector, standing next to an assortment of rally cars.
“Do you race, Hector?”
“No one calls me that. Call me Heck.”
“Do you race, Heck?”
“I used to.”
“Were you any good?”
“What do you think?”
He didn’t want to know. “Why did you stop?”
“Retired at the top, didn’t I?” His comb-over wasn’t working, but his bad breath certainly was.
“When did you last see your mother?”
“Don’t remember. A few months ago, maybe.”
“Did she ever talk about her Will?”
“Is that what this is all about? Did that stuck-up prat, Briggs, put you up to this?”
“I am working for Colonel Briggs.”
“He’s an idiot. He should be shot along with those stupid dogs of his. He tried to con Mum out of her money.”
“I understand your mother was fond of dogs. Wasn’t she a judge at the dog shows?”
“Just a stupid hobby.”
“What kind of car do you drive?”
“I don’t have a car at the moment. No job, so no money for a car.”
“Where were you on the day your mother died?”
“How should I know? Shooting probably.”
“Shooting?”
“Rabbits, birds, squirrels—”
“So, basically any defenceless creature?”
“Yeah. Do you shoot?”
“No.” But I was sorely tempted to start—no prizes for guessing who’d be the target. “Are you sure you didn’t drive by your mother’s house that day?”
“I told you. I ain’t got a car.”
“Your mother’s next door neighbour told me that your mother said your name just before she died.”
“Old Ma Draycott? She’s not the full shilling.”
“So you weren’t there?”
“Told you that already, didn’t I?”
“Did your mother ever mention changing her Will in favour of the dog charity?”
“Never. She said she was going to leave it to me and Hills, and that’s what she did.”
Another wave of bad breath wafted my way—my cue to leave.
If Mrs Vicars had cut her son out of her Will, no one would have blamed her.
The so-called ‘Action Committee’ was everything I’d expected it to be—and less. Peter had stayed at home with the kids, who were still reeling from the news that their long anticipated holiday had been cancelled. According to Kathy, Mikey had taken it particularly badly.
“Who’s in charge?” I asked Kathy.
“Dominic Whitelaw. That’s him over there.” She pointed to the front of the room.
“The guy in the luminous pink shirt?”
“No.” She laughed. “That’s Gerald. Dominic is standing behind him.”
“The short guy?”
“Don’t let him hear you say that. He’s a bit sensitive about his height.”
“Who put him in charge?”
“He appointed himself.”
“Nice to see the democratic process is alive and well in Washbridge.”
“To be fair, no one else wanted to do it. Dominic used to be a bigwig at the power station. Some kind of senior manager, I think. He’s been overseeing its closure. He’s used to organising and public speaking.”
“Okay, everyone!” Dominic called the meeting to order. “Before we start, I thought we’d agreed that we’d restrict all of our meetings to those involved in the loss.” He stared pointedly at me. Before I could speak, Kathy was on her feet. “This is my sister, Jill. She’s a private investigator. Some of you probably already know of her through the work she did on the ‘Animal’ serial killer case.”
There were several nods around the room.
“I’m sure your sister is an excellent private investigator,” Dominic said. “But our best hope of recovering the money lies with the police. I saw the article in the Bugle. It doesn’t appear your sister has the best of working relationships with the constabulary.”
“Can I say something?” I got to my feet.
“I’m afraid not,” Dominic interrupted. “As I’ve already said, these meetings are restricted to those directly affected. We’d rather allow the police to do their job. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Hold on a minute!” Kathy said.
“It’s okay.” I took her hand. “I’ll go to your place. You can fill me in when you get back.”
Dominic shot me a smirk masquerading as a smile.
“You’re back early.” Peter greeted me at the door. “Where’s Kathy?”
“The meeting is still going on. The head of the committee didn’t want any outsiders there, and he certainly didn’t want me there.”
“Dominic Whitelaw? The man’s a pretentious ass.”
The kids were still up. Both of them were much more subdued than usual.
“We can’t go on holiday,” Lizzie said, clutching bion to her chest.
“A bad man stole the money,” Mikey said.
“I know. It’s really horrible. I’m sorry.”
“It isn’t your fault,” Lizzie said. Bless. I almost cried.
“I know.” I forced a smile. “Do you still like m
agic, Mikey?”
“Yeah! Mum says I can have a magic set for Christmas.”
“What about you, Lizzie?”
“I like clowns better.”
Really? That was just plain wrong.
“I tell you what, kids. I know a magic trick. Why don’t we go into Mikey’s bedroom, and I’ll show you.”
“Don’t I get to watch?” Peter pouted.
“Sorry. This is for kids only. No grown-ups allowed.”
Mikey led the way. Lizzie and me followed
“What kind of magic can you do?” Lizzie asked.
“Are you a magician?” Mikey shuffled closer to me.
“No. I’m a witch.”
Lizzie shuddered. “I don’t like witches. They scare me.”
“You’re a baby.” Mikey teased his sister.
“I’m not a wicked witch. I’m a good witch. Good witches aren’t scary. You aren’t scared of me are you Lizzie?”
She shook her head, but still looked a little unsure. She hadn’t completely forgiven me for the Lego hotel incident.
“Which is your favourite car?” I asked Mikey.
He looked at the rows of model cars which were on the shelf above his bed.
“The Ferrari.”
“Go and get it for me, then.”
Mikey scrambled onto the bed, grabbed the Ferrari and passed it to me.
I placed the model car on the floor in front of me, and said, “Are you ready?”
“What are you going to do, Auntie Jill?” Lizzie asked.
“I’m going to make it disappear.”
“You won’t lose it will you?” Mikey sounded worried.
“Of course not. It’s only a magic trick. Are you both ready?”
They nodded.
“I can’t hear you.”
“Yes!” they both shouted.
I cast the ‘hide’ spell, and the car disappeared from view.
“Wow!” Mikey shouted.
“Where’s it gone?” Lizzie asked.
I glanced to my right at the full length mirror on the front of the wardrobe. In the reflection I could see the car was still there on the carpet in front of me. “Shall I make it come back?”
They both nodded.
I reversed the spell, and the car reappeared.
“Can you show me how to do that?” Mikey asked.
Whoops! I should have anticipated that.
“It’s a witch’s secret. Witches aren’t allowed to tell.”
“Aah.” Mikey’s face fell.
“You’ll be able to do lots of tricks like that one when you get your magic set at Christmas.”
“Will you help me?”
“Of course.”
“Show us another trick,” Mikey said.
“What are you lot up to?” Kathy walked into the bedroom.
“Auntie Jill’s a witch,” Lizzie shouted.
“She can do magic,” Mikey said.
Kathy looked at me. I shrugged.
“Auntie Jill and I need to talk now. Go and play with your dad for a while.”
When they’d left, Kathy said, “What was that all about?”
“I was trying to take their minds off the holiday.”
“Since when did you do magic tricks?”
“Just some sleight of hand. Something an ex-boyfriend once showed me. I was trying to cheer them up. Anyway, what happened after I left? It can’t have gone on for long.”
“It didn’t. Total waste of time. Dominic just said it was in the hands of the police now, so all we can do is wait.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Chapter 7
“Morning, Mrs V. You’re looking rather splendid this morning.”
“Why thank you, dear. Thought I should make the effort for the grand opening of your grandmother’s shop.”
I should have realised that Grandma would have invited Mrs V too. Winky would just have to man the office while we were both out.
“You don’t think the tiara is too much?” She pointed to her head, just in case I wasn’t sure where it was.
“Not at all.” For the red carpet at a movie première. “It matches your silver choker nicely.”
Two-faced? Who? Me?
“Are you going home to get changed before the opening?” She glanced at my ensemble.
“I thought I’d go like this.”
“Really? In that top?”
Nothing wrong with a green blouse.
“And those trousers?”
Grey slacks never go out of fashion.
“I think I look okay.”
“Yes, well.” She sighed.
Never before had two words conveyed so much disapproval.
“I posted your parcel,” she said, adjusting her tiara.
“Parcel?”
“The one you left on my desk.”
“Right. Thanks.”
Winky was on my desk, staring at the computer screen. He didn’t bother to look up when I walked in.
“What’s going on with these parcels?” I demanded.
“Shush, I’m busy.”
I had to hand it to him; the way he manoeuvred the mouse with his paw was impressive. But then: cat - mouse. Made sense I guessed.
“Don’t shush me. That’s my computer.”
“I won’t be a minute. Pour me some milk while you’re waiting.”
Enough already. Who was the boss around here? Don’t answer that.
I walked up behind him, and looked at the screen. “Oh, no!”
“What?”
“Tell me you aren’t selling Mrs V’s scarves.”
“I’m not selling Mrs V’s scarves.”
“Are you?”
“Yes. Surprisingly, they fetch a pretty penny.”
“You can’t do that!”
“I can. It’s actually surprisingly easy. The only difficult part is getting the parcel to the post.”
“That’s not what I meant. They aren’t yours to sell. And besides, you’re a cat.”
“Your point is?”
“What do you do with the money—” The penny dropped. “You ordered those treats, didn’t you?”
“What else am I going to spend it on?”
I snatched the mouse away from him, and shut down the computer. “No more. You can’t go around stealing other people’s property and selling it.”
“Why not?”
“It’s called theft.”
“She has thousands of scarves. I’m doing her a favour.”
“No!”
“What if I split the profits with her fifty fifty?”
“No!”
“Sixty forty?”
I’d no sooner turned onto the high street than I saw them.
The man-sized ball of wool handed me a flyer with the headline ‘Grand opening today!’
All along the street, on both sides, were people dressed as balls of wool - each one a different colour. It must have cost Grandma a small fortune, but that presupposed that she’d actually paid them. Maybe they were all under a mind control spell. Nah, she wouldn’t do something like that. Who was I kidding? Of course she would.
The glossy, full colour flyer had a photo of the new shop. At least Grandma had had the sense not to include a photo of herself—that would have scared everyone off.
The shop was full—the flyers had apparently done their job. That, plus the champagne which was flowing freely. I declined the offer of a drink, and made my way through the crowd in search of Grandma.
I found her deep in conversation with Mrs V and two other women who were also sporting tiaras. All of them looked me up and down disapprovingly.
“This is Jill, my granddaughter. As you can see, she’s made a real effort today.”
Mrs V mouthed, “Told you so.”
“Nice promotion,” I said by way of a diversion. “All you need now is a brass band.”
The words were no sooner out of my mouth than I heard the trombones and trumpets begin to play. Where was that champagne?
I needed a drink. My pockets were full of discount vouchers which the man-sized balls of wool had been distributing liberally. The crowds kept on coming. After an hour, I was all yarned out. Grandma was at the rear of the shop with the blue rinse brigade, so I took my chance. Freedom!
“Sneaking away already?” Grandma said.
“No. I—it’s—I have an appointment.”
“Don’t forget you have a lesson later. I expect you to be there on time.”
“No problem. I’ll be there. Congratulations again on the opening.”
I really did have an appointment, although I doubted Grandma believed me. Hilary Vicars was not at all what I’d expected her to be. After my meeting with her obnoxious sibling, I’d feared the worst. In fact, Hilary was polite, unassuming, and more importantly—she didn’t have bad breath. Her boyfriend, Battery, though was another matter entirely.
“Could we speak in private?” I asked.
“Hills wants me here,” Battery said.
I know what you’re thinking—Battery? Her boyfriend obviously hadn’t earned the nickname because he was full of energy—Battery was a huge lump of lard. Maybe his nickname was short for ‘assault and battery’. He had thug written all over him—no really—he actually did have ‘thug’ tattooed on the fingers of each hand. Classy.
“I’m sure Hilary can speak for herself,” I said.
Hilary turned to her boyfriend who shook his head. At least I think he did—he had such a thick neck it was difficult for him to move his head at all.
“I’d like Battery to stay,” Hilary said without making eye contact with me.
“Okay. I want to ask you a few questions about your mother, if that’s all right?”
She nodded, but still didn’t make eye contact.
“Did she ever mention changing her Will?”
“Yes.”
“She did? What did she say exactly?”
“She said she was going to leave some money to Washbridge Dog Rescue.”
“How did you feel about that?”
Hilary shrugged.
“You must have had some feelings about it. It was money you’d probably expected to inherit.”
“I don’t really like dogs. One bit me when I was little.”
“So you didn’t like the idea of your mother leaving her money to them?”
Hilary shook her head. I couldn’t fault her honesty.
“When did you last see your mother?”