A New Witch In Town

by Jenny Bankhead

  “Oh dearie me,” Jackie replied, picking up the plate again. “Wrong sponge. Honestly, sometimes I think that Ralph is losing his mind.”

  Jackie went back to the kitchen and reemerged with a different kind of sponge.

  “There you are, then,” she said. “Treacle sponge.”

  The sponge cake looked delicious. Ooey, gooey, and sticky, and one bite into it, Lorna was not disappointed. The cake was warm, too, and Lorna delighted in the flavor of it.

  “Are you really worried about Ralph?” Lorna asked, with her mouth full. “The man is certainly a good cook.”

  “All this murder business is going to his head,” Jackie said, dropping her voice. “I don’t know what to make of it. He’s been acting mighty strange for days.”

  “In fairness to him, the whole town is acting differently. It’s hard knowing that you have a murderer in your midst.

  “Yes, it is trying,” Jackie replied. “He’ll be down in the mouth all morning, and then I’ll be behind the bar, and from the kitchen I hear this maniacal laughter.”

  “Oh, that’s not a good sign,” Lorna said.

  “Believe you me. Listen,” Jackie said, pointing a thumb in the direction of the kitchen. Sure enough, maniacal laughter could be heard.

  “That’s bloody terrifying,” Lorna said, rattled.

  “Don’t I know it. If it means that my husband is some twisted killer who relives the memory of killing John Larkin every time that he picks up a butcher knife, then it’s just as well.”

  “You’d be okay with that?” Lorna asked.

  “Sure. Cart the fellow off to prison, and I’ll have the bed to myself at nights. I can run this place on my own, anyhow.”

  Jackie and Ralph’s marital problems aside, a huge red flag had been raised. Lorna made a note of it.

  Ralph’s maniacal laugh

  Rembrandt

  Those were the only notes that she would jot down that day, and she had to admit that it had been a long one. The cottage pie and sponge pudding had warmed her spirits. After a bit of rest, she decided, she would get back on the case again, concluding that the next action she needed to take was to share all she had learned with Betty. Maybe her friend would be able to shed some light on the situation.

  She’d call Betty that very minute and tell her to come over to her place in an hour. That way, Lorna would have time for a mini food coma / nap.

  “Jackie, can I use your phone?” Lorna asked.

  “Sure, come around the bar.”

  Lorna walked around the bar, picked up the phone, and dialed Betty.

  “Wardenshire Residence?”

  “Betty, can you talk later?” Lorna asked.

  “But we’re talking now,” Betty said.

  “No, I mean, talk in person. At my place. I some findings about Elizabeth Larkin that I want to share with you.”

  “Funny you should mention that,” Betty said. “We received an invitation from Elizabeth to take tea at her home this evening.”

  “Truly?” Lorna asked.

  “I cannot tell a lie,” Betty replied.

  “That’s odd, indeed.”

  “We should go, nonetheless. Elizabeth makes a fabulous sponge pudding.”

  “But I’ve already had sponge today.”

  “Lorna, my dear, you can never have enough sponge.”

  With that, Lorna hung up the phone and looked towards the men, absorbed in their football game. They clutched their beers like ski poles. There was hope, desire, and passion in their eyes. They were leaning in, their faces green from the TV screen.

  Someone scored a goal, and the men jumped to their feet and wailed in defeat. That’s when the crying started.

  Lorna got out of there like a bat out of hell.

  Chapter 12

  “I still don’t understand why you didn’t tell me over the phone,” Betty said, seated at the table, Lord Nottingham on her lap. He was being so social!

  “Betty, you live a few steps away. I wanted to see you in person.”

  “Still, how awkward. With each step towards your cottage from my cottage, I thought to myself, ‘I’m walking all this way to hear news that could have been expressed over the phone.’”

  Betty Wardenshire, it seemed, was a modern woman at heart.

  “Elizabeth Larkin didn’t do it!” Lorna finally said, having out with it.

  “You see how simple that was,” Betty said flatly. “Five words. You could have said them over the phone.”

  “Oh, Betty. Stop harping on the phone! The big news is that I snuck into Elizabeth’s office, the finer details of which I don’t care to share. The important thing is that I hid in her closet and I overheard her talking to God.”

  “Oh really. And what did she have to say?” Betty asked, sounding intrigued.

  “She said she didn’t want John to die. She seemed to truly believe that he was a dreadful human being, but that he didn’t deserve to go the way he went. There was a lot of talk about a hired lover and a lover that she got for free. Then she talked to John and told him that she wished his murderer would come to justice.”

  “My goodness, I never knew Elizabeth to be a talker,” Betty said in dismay, Lord Nottingham kneading at her thigh.

  “I know! But she just kept talking, and talking, and talking. I wonder if she does that all the time.”

  “Seems feasible.”

  “Anyways, we can scratch her off the list,” Lorna said with excitement.

  “What a waste that we’re going to her home tonight, knowing full well that she’s not the murderer. There’ll be no intrigue, no furthering of the plot, no suspense. We’ll just be…eating,” Betty mused.

  “Betty, is it just me, or are you in a bad mood?” Lorna asked.

  “How terrible that you should ask me that and expect a reply. What wasted breath to even conjure the words to reply to your funny question,” Betty replied.

  Lorna looked at Betty quizzically.

  “Oh, all right,” Betty finally said, relenting. “I didn’t want to mention it because I’m just so upset.”

  “What is it, Betty?”

  “Sir Eats-A-Lot ate my turban.”

  “Oh no!” Lorna cried. “Not the one with the ruby on it?”

  “The very one,” Betty said gloomily.

  “Oh, Betty. I’m so sorry.”

  “Not only did it have magical properties that enhanced my ability to read cards,” she sighed, “but it made me look slim.”

  “You’re right, it did make you look slim, but Betty…” Lorna said, seating herself beside her friend. “Your powers did not come from the turban. Norma Desmond’s acting talents didn’t come from her turban, either. The turban was merely a prop. A sensational prop that I was jealous of, but a prop nonetheless.”

  “I do appreciate you saying that,” Betty replied, feeling a tad better. “But where on earth will I find another of that caliber?”

  “Order it from the catalogue.”

  “Lorna, I can’t read catalogues.”

  “Oh, yes. Well, I will find one for you. I will search far and wide to find the most extraordinary turban that you’ve ever seen!”

  “Lorna…”

  “Right. Right.”

  But it was true. Lorna would be on a mission. She not only took it upon her shoulders to find out who killed John Larkin, she simultaneously undertook the mission to find the world’s best turban. If she could not find it, she would make it with her own two hands. And if she could not make one with her own two hands, she would hire someone to do so. And if she could not hire someone to do so…

  Lorna was getting a little too enthusiastic about the whole turban thing.

  “Given the circumstances, I’m afraid that I must decline the invitation for supper tonight,” Betty said.

  “I understand.”

  Lorna sighed heavily. She had never seen her friend so down. Sure, they had only known each other for a few days, but still.

  Betty got up slowly from her chair, dump
ing Lord Nottingham off her lap without any kind of consideration. She walked slowly from the lounge, then, as if in slow motion, walked face first into the front door.

  “Betty!” Lorna screamed.

  “Oh, don’t bother. I’m all thumbs and left feet when my spirits are low.”

  Once Lorna returned from walking Betty home (despite the older woman’s protestations), she went to sit beside the cat, who had immediately found his way into the warm spot in Betty’s recently vacated chair.

  “Oh, Lord Nottingham, she really took that hard. The turban business,” Lorna said.

  Dread flooded in. Without Betty as her buffer, Lorna would be entirely alone, having dinner with Elizabeth Larkin. Elizabeth Larkin! She was the last person on earth that Lorna wanted to see, because she had spent the whole afternoon with her.

  And Betty had a point. What was there to gain? She already crossed Elizabeth off her list, so she would simply be there to…eat.

  What was it with all the eating in Tweed-upon-Slumber, anyway? It seemed like all anyone ever did was eat. Chili, cottage pie, spotted dick, toad in the hole. Lorna was going to need to buy new pants.

  Lorna made her journey to Elizabeth Larkin’s cottage on foot. It was all the way on the other side of the village, so Lorna had to follow the river, cross the bridge, walk up High Street, and past the supermarket.

  It was dark out, and a warm, inviting breeze whistled through the trees as Lorna passed by the homes of her fellow Tweeders. Families could be seen seated at their tables, enjoying hearty, nutritious meals with friends and family. Grandparents smiled as they played with their grandchildren, and husbands and wives conversed and shared the day’s events. Dogs and cats waited by the table for scraps to fall, and small children kicked each other from under the table. All told, it reminded Lorna of some kind of British play on a Norman Rockwell painting.

  At the very end of the road, Elizabeth’s house was pitch black, and the door was locked. An old trash can lay on its side, blocking Lorna’s path.

  “What the…”

  In the wooded area behind Elizabeth’s home, Lorna saw the beady eyes of a wolf. An actual wolf. An owl went hoo hoo overhead, just as a bat flew by.

  “Are these leftover Halloween decorations?” Lorna asked. Truly, it just seemed surreal. Still, she persevered; she couldn’t just turn away and go home. And for all her complaining about how much the people of Tweed-upon-Slumber liked to eat, Lorna was actually getting hungry.

  She rang the doorbell, listening to the creaking boards of the porch below her feet. A rat scurried by and Lorna screamed. Or was that the doorbell?

  The door slowly creaked open and Lorna feared that Elizabeth would appear dressed as the Bride of Frankenstein.

  Darkness greeted Lorna on the other side of the door. It was just the shadow of a figure.

  “Oh, there it is,” a voice said. A light switch could be heard, and all of a sudden Elizabeth’s home came into startling illumination. She was wearing a bright orange cardigan, and her hair was, as you know, perfect.

  “Oh, heavens,” Lorna said, seeing the inside of the home. “Your home is gorgeous,” she said. Truly, it was like the interior of one of her magazines.

  “Oh, this old thing,” Elizabeth said, leading Lorna in. “The house is so old, sometimes I can’t get the lights to work.”

  It would come as a surreal shock that, on that occasion, the intimidating, headmistress-like, God-talking ugly crier was actually the nicest person on earth. She was utterly transformed, and her home, super creepy from the outside, was actually really pretty. Lorna had never seen so many tea cozies.

  “I’m sorry to hear Betty won’t be joining us,” Elizabeth said. “Would you care for a pear drop?”

  “Oh, sure,” Lorna replied. In almost every room of Elizabeth’s home, there was a jar of colorful candy. One room had lollipops, the next had hard candies in every color of the rainbow, and the next had jellybeans.

  Jellybeans! Lorna thought victoriously. As Elizabeth was showing off her quilt collection, she surreptitiously gathered as many of the black ones as she could. Now, she’d just have to solve the pesky problem of the butterfly wing.

  “Yes, unfortunately Betty had a death in the family,” Lorna said, popping a black jellybean in her mouth. Yuck, she thought. There was a reason why no one ate them.

  “Is that so?” Elizabeth asked, her cheery nature dampening.

  Damn, damn, damn, Lorna thought to herself. That was probably the last explanation she should have chosen.

  “Just a small bereavement. Not like the one you’re facing,” Lorna went on. Her foot was getting deeper and deeper into her mouth.

  “It has been trying,” Elizabeth said, turning to her display of cross-stitch on the wall. Not only was it a surprise that Elizabeth was a cross-stitcher, but of all things, it was ironic cross-stitching—one which read: “Damn, it feels good to be a gangster.” How curious.

  “What’s that room over there?” Lorna asked, hoping it wasn’t too obvious that she was changing the subject.

  “Oh, that’s Montebello’s room.”

  “Montebello?”

  “Yes, come and meet him,” Elizabeth said.

  Apparently, the Larkin’s Great Dane was so treasured that he had his own room. The lights were dim, and there was a memorial to John Larkin in the corner, a candle flickering in front. Montebello wore a black handkerchief around his neck. He was in mourning.

  “Poor Montebello,” Elizabeth said, frowning. “He hasn’t eaten for days.”

  “Betty would be jealous.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “Oh, Montebello!” Elizabeth cried, collapsing to the floor and wrapping herself around him. “Montebello, Montebello, Montebello,” she repeated, taking the enormous dog in her arms. He was the size of a person.

  “How cute,” Lorna said awkwardly.

  “Oh, Montebello!” Elizabeth cried again, now rolling around with the dog on the floor.

  “I can see that you really love him…”

  “Mon-te-bell…oh, oh, ohhhh.” Elizabeth’s face crumpled and she began to weep. She had by this point blanketed her body on top of the dog and would not budge. The dog looked towards Lorna, desperation in his eye.

  Please help me, lady, Montebello’s eyes pleaded. Please.

  There was nothing that Lorna could do.

  “My little Monty,” Elizabeth went on, curling herself into a ball in front of the dog so that he was spooning her. “I have to admit something.”

  “What’s that?” Lorna asked, Elizabeth still in her spooned position.

  “I don’t think that Maurice killed my husband.”

  “Do you know, I have to agree with you,” Lorna replied, feeling awkward standing there while Elizabeth and Montebello were entwined on the floor.

  “It seems like everyone else believes that Maurice did it, and I feel bad for him, getting arrested and such.”

  “I feel bad for him, too. Hopefully they’ll get to the bottom of it soon.”

  “I do hope so. Can I admit something to you?” Elizabeth asked. She propped herself up on her elbow, and took Montebello’s paw and placed it on her hip. Again, Montebello’s eyes pled for assistance.

  “Of course you can,” Lorna replied, tentatively getting down to seat herself cross-legged on the floor.

  “I thought about killing John from time to time…” Elizabeth began.

  “Really?” Lorna asked.

  “No, that was a joke,” Elizabeth said, laughing to herself. “I wanted revenge, but I never thought of killing him.”

  Lorna heaved a sigh of relief.

  “I had this whole plan in place on the day that John was murdered,” Elizabeth said, becoming emboldened and sitting upright. Montebello turned over and placed his paws in front of his face.

  “What kind of plan?”

  “Well, I was going to change the locks, put all of John’s belongings on the front lawn, lock the door, and
be done with him,” Elizabeth explained.

  It suddenly struck Lorna how odd it was that Elizabeth and John were separated, and yet still living with one another. She would later learn that it was because they couldn’t decide who would get Montebello. Remarkable that two people who hated one another would live under the same roof for the sake of a dog.

  “Well, the locksmith came, changed the locks, I threw all of John’s belongings outside, and then he never came home.”

  “How dreadful,” Lorna said.

  “So, later that day, I called the locksmith again, and told him that he could go ahead and change the locks back again because John was dead.”

  Lorna cocked her head in confusion.

  “But finally, this afternoon I realized that perhaps I should just keep the locks as they are—fresh start, you know?—and so I called the locksmith from my office and told him that I would not be needing his services any longer.”

  Wait! Lorna remembered that bit. The man that Elizabeth was yelling at on the phone. Beachman’s Soup.

  “Your hired lover?” Lorna asked.

  “How did you know?” Elizabeth said in shock, bringing her hand to her chest.

  “Call it intuition.”

  What happened next was tragic. Elizabeth broke down in tears and explained how she had hired the locksmith to be her lover before she hired him to be her locksmith. Lorna’s head was spinning.

  “Elizabeth, can I ask where you found your hired lover?” Lorna asked. She was dying of curiosity.

  “An ad in the paper,” Elizabeth admitted, using Montebello’s paws to dry her tears. “I was at a low point in my life, and the ad read ‘I’ve Got the Key to Your Heart.’”

  “Oh, Elizabeth, you shouldn’t have to pay for that,” Lorna said.

  “I know, but you have to understand; this was just after I received an anonymous letter informing me that John was having an affair.”

  Finally, everything was falling into place.

  “What exactly did it say, the letter?”

  “I’ll show you,” Elizabeth said, pulling the letter from her pocket.

  “You carry it with you?” Lorna asked.

  “I have since the day that it arrived. Look,” she said, unfolding the letter. She really must have been carrying it around because it had coffee stains and lipstick smeared on it. One corner was slightly burnt.