‘Oh,’ she said when I’d finished. ‘He actually turned down Catriona Eager? That does surprise me.’
‘It surprised me too. When I first saw them sneaking out together I was going to go straight to Nollaig and tell her. But now … now there’s nothing to tell her, is there? I mean, I have to be honest, I’m kind of reluctant to tell her that Ron didn’t take advantage of a drunk young woman. I don’t want to make the guy sound like an angel, because he’s not. I know he’s not. He’s hurt Nollaig in the past and I seriously believe he’ll do it again – no matter what I saw last night.’
My mother sighed. ‘Yeah, well, I have to agree with you. What you saw last night makes him look good. And I just don’t believe he is. He–’ Her attention was distracted by the bell ringing on the bar. ‘Sounds like the first of the breakfast crowd are arriving,’ she said. ‘I’d better go serve them, seeing as your dad’s off picking up the fish delivery.’
‘I’ll help,’ I offered.
She looked me up and down, laughing. ‘In your pyjamas? When I know full well you’re due at work in half an hour?’ She gave me a brief hug. ‘I’ll see you later, my love. Have a good day.’
12. She Could Spook a Ghost
I was back at the Vander Inn and just out of the bath, when Dylan knocked at my bedroom door. He had a lunchbox and a coffee in his hands, and a hopeful expression on his face.
‘Good morning, Miss Smith,’ he said, holding up the lunchbox. I could smell that it held a bacon sandwich. ‘I just thought I’d prove to you that there can be unhealthy breakfasts at the lighthouse. I had a bacon sandwich myself this morning, as a matter of fact.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Well … I had half a sandwich. You see, I’d had a big smoothie first, and I couldn’t quite finish my sandwich after that. But I promise I’ll have plenty in my house at the end of the week. Doughnuts. Chocolate. All your faves.’ He wiggled his brows. ‘I even bought a fresh jar of instant coffee.’
‘You did not!’
‘I did so.’
I shook my head. ‘Dylan, you’re being an idiot, you know that right? I miss the lighthouse and I miss you. You don’t need to tempt me back with unhealthy food. Even I don’t eat bacon sandwiches and doughnuts on a daily basis. I’m here because I promised Nollaig I’d stay until the wedding.’ I cocked a grin. ‘And also … I already had a bacon sandwich that my mammy made for me, so you couldn’t tempt me even if you tried.’
He pulled me close. ‘I just wanted you to know that I miss you, and that I can’t wait to spend the night with you again.’ As he leaned in to kiss me, his phone buzzed. ‘Hang on a sec,’ he said, moving away. ‘It looks like a Riddler’s Cove number. Hopefully Konstantin or Viviana.’
While he took the call, I enjoyed the coffee he’d brought. I really was too full for a second sandwich, but Fuzz was eyeing it with a great degree of interest.
Dylan ended the call just as Fuzz had begun to brush himself up against his legs. ‘That was the de Balfe’s butler,’ he announced. ‘Apparently, his masters – as he called them – were off on a little holiday, but they should be back this morning, and we’re welcome to call in at eleven. Looks like we finally get to question them. I just wish it didn’t feel like they were the ones setting the terms.’
‘It does feel that way,’ I admitted. ‘But I’m certainly looking forward to hearing what they have to say – especially Viviana, AKA Rita – I mean, if they have the kind of money everyone says, then she had to be spying when she was the paper’s receptionist.’
Dylan looked like he might be about to reply, when Fuzz stopped rubbing himself against his legs and switched to head-bumping Dylan’s shins instead.
‘I think you’d better leave that sandwich with us, after all,’ I said. ‘My little fuzzball would be very much obliged.’
≈
There was another new receptionist on the desk when I walked in that morning. He was broad and squat, with a bushy red beard and muscles that looked like they could burst out of his suit at any moment. Everything about him screamed werewolf.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked coldly.
‘Em … no. I work here.’
He growled at me, and in an American accent he said, ‘I’ll have to see some ID.’
Greg raced to the desk. ‘It’s all right, Kiefer. This is Aisling Smith, our chief reporter. See – her picture is right next to this very interesting article about the new bottle bank.’ He pointed to my photo in an open newspaper, and then turned to me. ‘Ash, this is Kiefer. He worked security for a werewolf pack in New York for years. He’s been through a turf war or two.’
Kiefer growled again. ‘I sure have been through many a turf war, which is why I know how to defend my turf. And as of now, this newspaper is my turf. And if you want to walk on my turf then you’d better prove who you are.’ With a sneer, he pushed away the newspaper Greg had given him. ‘Just because you look like Aisling Smith doesn’t mean you are Aisling Smith. You could be a murderer using a glamour or a doppelganger spell. It’s my job to be cautious. So show me your ID. Now.’
I really didn’t like the cut of his jib. It seemed to me that now might be a good time to become my most annoying self. ‘Just out of interest,’ I said, ‘how would ID prove who I was? I could have nicked Aisling Smith’s ID at the same time as I doppelgangered myself to look like her, couldn’t I?’
Kiefer looked delightfully perplexed. He stared at Greg, as though expecting some help from that direction. When Greg gave him nothing but a cheeky grin, Kiefer opened and closed his mouth a few times, eventually saying, ‘Well … I … I mean I guess I could head to her house and sniff some of her clothes, and then come back and sniff you to compare.’
‘But how would you know they were Aisling’s clothes?’ I persisted. ‘I could have replaced them with mine while I was stealing her ID and taking over her life.’
While Kiefer grew more and more befuddled, Greg decided to help. Unfortunately for Kiefer, he had decided to help me, and not the angry werewolf. ‘Well Detective Quinn will be here in a minute,’ he said. ‘So you’d better figure it out soon, because we wouldn’t want you to let a fake Dylan into the office, now would we?’
As Kiefer growled for a third time, I was beginning to wonder if we’d gone a little too far. ‘You guys ain’t funny!’ he shouted, his face growing as red as his beard. I was just thinking through all of the defensive spells I knew, when the werewolf narrowed his eyes, threw his headpiece to the desk and said, ‘You’re a couple of wise guys, you know that? Werewolf packs are a lot easier to deal with. I’m outta here.’
Greg and I watched, bemused, as the werewolf gathered up his belongings (a knife, an axe and a packet of raw steak, if you’re curious) and stormed out of the building. ‘That went well,’ said Greg.
‘Like a dream,’ I drawled. ‘I guess Grace is running out of options if she had to hire him.’
In my pocket, my phone began to ring. It was Dylan. I was about to answer, when I heard a hooting sound. I spun around, staring out through the glass double doors of the Daily Riddler. ‘There!’ I pointed my finger. The tawny owl was banging his talons at the glass.
‘What’s there?’ asked Greg as I grabbed him and marched him to the door.
‘The owl. The yellow-eyed owl is there!’ I jabbed my finger in the air. ‘Right there! Can’t you see it?’
As I yanked the door open, I found myself eye to eye with the owl. ‘Hey there, you em … you seem to want me.’
The owl hooted and, just as it seemed like it might be about to open its beak and speak, it zipped back up into the air and flew away.
‘Criminy!’ I complained. ‘Something spooked it.’ I looked around the street. Jared and Catriona Eager were walking out of Hilda’s shop. Catriona had a bunch of flowers in her hand and she was sending a simpering smile in Jared’s direction. He was buying her flowers now? He really must be smitten.
As he waved at me, I lifted my hand limply in return. If Jared had found som
eone he liked, that was wonderful. But if the woman in question fancied his dad more than him, then I couldn’t see things going very well. I ought to tell him. And I would tell him too, as soon as I was done with tracking down murderers and mysterious owls. For now, I searched the sky for the bird, but I couldn’t see any sign.
Hilda stood in her open door, scowling at me. ‘I bet she scared it away,’ I grumbled. ‘She could spook a ghost, could Hilda.’
‘That’s probably true,’ said Greg. ‘But … I’m pretty spooked too, Ash. Because you know, I didn’t see an owl. Anyway, don’t you think you’d better answer your phone?’
I swiped the screen and, before Dylan could get a word in, I said, ‘I just saw that owl again. The one I saw at the old school. But Hilda spooked it and it’s flown off.’
‘Sounds about right,’ said Dylan. ‘She could spook a ghost, could Hilda.’
‘That’s what I said! Anyway, Greg was with me and he didn’t see it so … I don’t really know what’s going on. What are you calling for? Have the de Balfe’s summoned us to their house earlier than expected?’
For a moment, he said nothing, until eventually he sighed and said, ‘I’m not sure we’ll get around to them for a few hours, actually. The thing is … Ash, Norma is dead. She’s been murdered, in fact.’
13. Death by Knitting Needle
Months can go by, where all you talk about is cats, tuna, knitting, and the weather, and yet somehow, you find that you’ve made a friend. This was what I felt about Norma Baxter, and the realisation surprised me. I liked her – liked her a lot – and now she was gone.
I wasn’t sure how to feel about that just yet – sure, there were some slightly vengeful feelings bubbling to the surface, but there was also a big fat tear rolling down my cheek. I’d just have to suck it up for now, and worry about my feelings after we’d caught the murderer.
As Greg and I rushed into the church hall, I saw Norma’s body slumped on the ground near the kitchenette with … I peered closer … were those knitting needles in her neck?
Dylan was chatting with the garda team, but as soon as he saw Greg and me, he rushed over to us. He had a plastic baggy in his hand, and I took it from him, quickly reading the letter within:
To Whoever Finds Me,
I’m awful sorry for you to have to find a body. I know it’s not a nice thing to come across, but when I explain why I’ve done what I’ve done, hopefully you’ll understand.
It was me who killed poor Ben Goodfellow. I killed him in a fit of pique, and all because he said I was the worst knitter in Riddler’s Edge, and that he’d used the scarf I gave him last Christmas to clean his toilet. After he said that, I just couldn’t help myself, you see. Anyone who knows me knows I pride myself on my knitting.
But I know it was a terrible thing to do, and because of it, I feel like there’s only one way for me to go. Death by knitting needle.
Farewell to all,
Norma.
I looked over at her body again, recoiling. She’d done that to herself? Norma? And what about her cats? I glanced into her knitting basket and all around the church hall, but there wasn’t a single moggy to be seen. They’d been all over Ben’s body and they didn’t even like him. So where were they now?
Greg blew out some air, his face paling. ‘I can’t believe this. I can’t believe any of it. If you told me Hilda murdered Ben over some silly comment, I might accept it. But Norma? No way.’
‘She didn’t seem like the murderous type, you’re right,’ Dylan agreed. ‘But then again, she did admit to it – and she was pretty high up the suspect list even before that. I mean, this mysterious sister of hers has still never shown up, and Norma never did give me a real alibi for when Ben was murdered.’
Greg let out a long, pained sigh. ‘Yeah, but … she knitted awesome jumpers. She got my Wizardly Wagon just right.’ He unzipped his jacket, revealing the sweater Norma had knitted him beneath.
I squeezed his hand, and then moved closer to Norma, wishing her dead body could somehow tell me the truth. ‘Wait a minute …’ I narrowed my eyes, looking closer. ‘Greg!’ I hissed. ‘Greg, take some photos of the scene. And get your scanner out.’
While he followed my orders, he said, ‘But why? I don’t get it. You think there was something else involved here?’
I pointed to the air around Norma’s body. I could see the faintest trace of golden, shimmering magic swirling around Norma herself, floating up into the air, and fading away. ‘There’s magic,’ I said. ‘It’s leaving Norma’s body as we speak. And … it looks like it’s her magic. Except wouldn’t we have known by now if she was a witch?’
Greg began to snap pictures of the body and the room. ‘I’d like to say we’d know,’ he said. ‘But think about Biddy. No one knew she was half-Púca, did they? If someone wants to hide something, they’ll always find a way – even a way of hiding it from sióga eyes, Ash.’
I looked curiously at him, considering his words. From the moment we stepped into that old school, I’d felt that way – as if there was some magic, being hidden from my eyes. Just because my father and I couldn’t see the supernatural shenanigans surrounding Ben Goodfellow’s murder, that didn’t mean there were none involved.
‘I’m definitely reading something,’ said Greg, pointing to his scanner. ‘A magical signature – a witch’s one. But it’s faint.’
Dylan frowned. ‘This is getting odder and odder. But either way, I’m still going to have to go and tell Norman that his mother is dead. You know what this town is like. The news’ll be all over the place by now, and I’d rather he heard it from me than Hilda.’
≈
Greg and I sat in his apartment while he ran the photos from the scene through his aura-matching software. We could have done it back at the office, but that would have meant constant interruption, as we’d be fielding calls from Roarke’s rabid fans while we worked.
Also, there were a lot of snacks at Greg’s place, and he ate even more than usual when he was nervous. While he ran the photo of Norma’s body he ate two packets of peanuts, three energy bars, and an orange.
He was just reaching for another orange when the results came up on the screen: One Hundred Percent Witch.
Greg began to peel his second orange, looking flummoxed. ‘I guess it’s true, then. Somehow, Norma managed to hide her power from us all this time. I can run her magical signature against the Wayfarer records, I guess. See if Norma was registered as a witch without us knowing about it.’
I slumped further down into my chair, staring at her photo. ‘We know one thing, though. She didn’t use much magic in the church hall. She had the power to protect herself, and yet she didn’t. Maybe she really did kill herself.’
Greg shook his head. ‘I just don’t see it. Could she maybe not have known she was a witch all this time? Maybe … maybe her power was supressed, like yours was for years. That would have explained why you didn’t see it until today.’
I took a segment of orange from Greg, chewing slowly while I turned the details of the case over in my mind. It was possible that Norma had been suppressed all these years, I supposed. Possible, but I wasn’t sure if it was likely. I was staring at the computer, hoping it might give us some more answers, when my phone rang. Dylan’s number was flashing on the screen.
‘We were right,’ I told him as I answered. ‘Norma was a witch.’
‘Well … maybe not,’ Dylan replied.
‘Whoa. This isn’t the time to be cryptic, Detective Quinn,’ I said. ‘What do you mean by that?’
There was a beat of silence before he spoke again. ‘You em … you might want to take a stroll over to the shop. Something very interesting has just occurred.’
14. In All Ways But One
Greg had stayed behind to see if the Wayfarers had a match for Norma’s magical signature, so I went to the shop alone.
As Norman led me through to the little sitting room behind the shop, my eyes widened in shock. There was Norma, sitting in
her armchair, knitting away, with tears streaming from her eyes. There was a large book – a photo album, I thought – open on her lap. Every so often she’d pause to flip another page in the book.
Dylan was sitting across from her, with Bert beside him. The young garda looked pale, and I couldn’t say I blamed him. Dylan didn’t look pale (he’d really been enjoying developing some colour in his cheeks since his vampirism was cured) but he did look extremely confused.
I was just as confused myself, and I said so.
‘I am incredibly confused,’ I said, flopping down into a spare seat (after removing a couple of cushions and picking up a cat). I placed the cat on my lap. It was Princess Preciousbottom, Fuzz’s girlfriend.
I always thought that Norma didn’t know that her cat was a magical animal, capable of talking if she chose to. Normally, a cat like her would find a witch to hang about with, but Princess Preciousbottom had chosen Norma. Princess had told Fuzz on many an occasion that she much preferred living with Norma to living with a witch.
Now, I had no idea what Norma knew. Maybe Norma had been a witch all along, and the cat had lied to Fuzz to keep her secret. But as I observed her now, she looked like the same old Norma. Very much a human, and very much alive.
I suddenly thought of the latest receptionist, and his talk about glamours and doppelgangers. But who would want to pretend to be Norma?
‘The body we found,’ said Dylan softly, ‘it wasn’t Norma. It was her sister, Marnie. Her twin sister, as a matter of fact.’
‘Oh.’ I sat back. No doppelganger then, just an incredibly original secret twin-sister storyline. ‘Well, I’m so sorry, Norma. But … you’ll understand me saying that this makes even less sense now.’
Norma nodded. ‘Because of the suicide note, you mean. I agree. My running theory is that the murderer mistook Marnie for me. They staged the suicide and the note, hoping to cover their tracks for Ben’s murder. Little did they know …’ She paused to sniff and wipe her eyes. ‘Little did they know, they’d killed the wrong person.’
Old-School Witch Page 9
