Witch Is Where Magic Lives Now

by Adele Abbott

  “Thank you. Both of you. And thanks for not saying anything to my boss. I really need this job because my fiancé, Sam, and I are getting married next year.”

  “Just make sure you double-check the cages in future.”

  “Don’t worry. I will.”

  After Delilah and the poodle had left, Mrs V looked crestfallen.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs V, but you couldn’t keep Polly—err—Miranda. Think how devastated her owner would have been if they’d come to pick her up, only to find that she was missing.”

  “You’re right, dear. I know you are. But I think this is a sign that we should have a dog. A little poodle just like Polly.”

  While Mrs V was poodle dreaming, I slipped into my office.

  “Good morning, Winky. Good morning, Ricardo. Good morning, Lulu. Anything to report?”

  “Plenty, but we aren’t at liberty to share it with you, I’m afraid.” Officer Lulu jumped down from the windowsill and onto my desk.

  “We’re all rather hungry, Jill,” Winky said.

  “Oh? It’s a bit early, isn’t it?”

  “It’s never too early for salmon.”

  “I do have to go out in a few minutes, so I suppose I might as well feed you now.”

  Once I’d given them the salmon, I went over to my desk to check the post. All bills, as usual. I was just about to leave when I remembered what Donna had told me about the accountant who lived in the village, so I took the receipts and invoices from the bottom drawer of my desk and shoved them in a carrier bag. I figured I could show him what I had, to see if he could work with that.

  “Right, Winky. I’m off now. Goodbye, Agents Lulu and Ricardo.”

  ***

  I suspected I knew who was behind the recent spate of bank robberies, but to test my theory, and to help me track him down, I needed to speak to the man who’d held us hostage in Coffee Animal. The only way I’d managed to get an interview with him had been to use the ‘doppelganger’ spell in order to pose as his solicitor.

  The bank robber, whose name was Darren Black, was seated in the interview room, with one foot up on the table.

  “What’s up, man?” he said, through a mouthful of gum. “Any chance of getting me out of here?”

  “No chance whatsoever, Darren.”

  “What am I paying you for, then?”

  “You aren’t paying me. The government is. And there’s no way an armed bank robber is going to be allowed out on bail, so you can forget about that.”

  “What are you doing here, then?”

  “I may have a way for you to get your sentence reduced.”

  “Hold on.” He sat up. “I’ve not been found guilty yet.”

  “Come on, Darren, let’s get real. They’ve got you on CCTV in the bank with a gun in your hand. And then there are all the witnesses in the coffee shop. Your only chance is to plead guilty and do whatever it takes to get a reduced sentence.”

  “Like what?”

  “Give up the identity of your accomplice.”

  “You want me to be a snitch?” He scoffed. “No way Darren Black is going to grass on anyone.”

  “That’s all very admirable, Darren. Honour among thieves and all that. But the man you’re protecting left you to carry the can.”

  “That’s just the way things played out. It wasn’t his fault.”

  “Are you really that naive?”

  “The getaway car was supposed to be on the street at the side of the bank, but it wasn’t there. That’s why I made a break for the coffee shop.”

  “And where was your accomplice when all this was happening?”

  “He was behind me when we left the bank, but then I just kind of lost him. I don’t know where he went.”

  “There never was a getaway car, Darren. Your accomplice’s plan was always to leave you to face the music while he got away with the money.”

  “Says you.”

  “This isn’t the first time he’s done this. He has a track record of doing exactly the same thing, time after time. He uses mugs like you to—”

  “Hang on. Who are you calling a mug?”

  “Think about it for a minute. You’re in prison while he’s walking around with a bag full of money. In my book, that makes you the mug. As I was saying, he’s done this several times before. He finds himself a partner, they carry out the job together, and he gets away, scot-free, leaving his partner-in-crime to carry the can.”

  “If that’s true, I’ll kill him.”

  “It is true, but you aren’t going to get the chance to kill him. By the time you get out, you’ll be too old and frail to hurt anyone. Unless you wise up and tell me who he is, and where I can find him.”

  “I don’t know his real name; he just called himself Romeo. And how am I supposed to know where he is if the police can’t find him?”

  “Is this the guy?” I handed him the photo that Daze had given me.

  Even before he answered, I saw the recognition in his face. “Where did you get this photo from?”

  “Never mind that. Is it the guy?”

  “Yeah, that’s Romeo.”

  “What can you tell me about him?”

  “Nothing much. He first approached me in the Gardeners’ Arms. He obviously knew about my record because he asked if I’d be interested in us doing a bank job together. I was a bit suspicious of him at first; I thought he might be the Old Bill. I told him no, but he kept coming back. In the end, he convinced me that it would be worth my while.”

  “Did you ever go to his place?”

  “No, I have no idea where he lives. We always met in pubs while we were planning the job.”

  “What else can you tell me about him?”

  “Not much really, except that—err—it’s probably not important.”

  “What were you going to say?”

  “It’s just that, every time I met him, he was with a different woman. The guy’s not bad looking, as you can see from his photograph, but he’s nothing special.”

  “Do you know the women’s names?”

  “No. As soon as I turned up, he sent them packing so that we could talk business. One day, I asked him how he kept pulling all these birds. Turns out, he used some kind of dating agency.”

  “An app, you mean?”

  “No, I don’t think so. It was some place in Washbridge, I reckon.”

  Chapter 16

  My visit to see Darren Black had certainly given me food for thought. Speaking of food, I was feeling rather peckish, and I knew exactly what would hit the mark. No, not a blueberry muffin. What I really fancied was a cupcake, so I magicked myself over to Cuppy C where Pearl was behind the counter.

  “Thanks for checking on Mum, Jill. I can’t believe what those vandals did to her garden. What kind of person would do something like that?”

  “I don’t know, but if I find out who it was, they’ll be sorry.” I glanced down at the display of cakes. “I’m not sure whether to have a strawberry or a lemon cupcake.”

  “Come on, Jill, it really shouldn’t be that difficult to decide.”

  “Stop pressuring me. These things can’t be rushed. Okay, I’ll take the lemon. No, the strawberry.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  I’d just paid for my cupcake and coffee when I heard someone crying. Sitting at a table, at the far side of the room, were five elves, two of whom were in tears. The other three looked upset too, but it was none of my business.

  I was just about to take a seat by the window when one of the elves spotted me.

  “Excuse me!” he shouted. “Aren’t you Jill Maxwell?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “She might be able to help us,” he said to the others around the table. “I’ve heard she’s brilliant.”

  Which of course was absolutely true.

  “Help you how?”

  “Would you come and join us? Please.”

  “Sure.” I took a seat at the table next to theirs. “What’s wrong?”r />
  “Some of our friends have gone missing,” said the elf who had called me over.

  “Some? More than one?”

  “Yes. We’ve all lost at least one friend.”

  “I’ve lost two,” one of the two female elves said. “Jodie and Birdie. They’ve both gone missing.”

  “When exactly did this happen?”

  “They all disappeared within the last couple of weeks. And it isn’t just our friends. Lots of elves have disappeared and no one has any idea where they’ve gone.”

  “That’s terrible,” I said. “It may be totally unrelated, but when I was in here the other day, I was talking to Daze and Blaze, the rogue retrievers. Do you know them?”

  “Of course. Everyone knows Daze.”

  “While I was talking to her, she got a call, telling her to go straight into the office. She mentioned something about missing persons.”

  “This has been all over The Candle newspaper for the last week or so,” another of the elves chimed in. “I’m surprised you haven’t seen it.”

  “I rarely get the chance to read the papers. Where did your friends go missing from?”

  “Birdie and Jodie had been playing badminton at the sports centre, but they never made it home.”

  Another one of the elves piped up, “My friend had been swimming there. That was the last anyone saw of her.”

  “Did they all go missing from the sports centre?”

  “My friend didn’t,” the other female elf said. “She’d been to the library.”

  “But isn’t that next door to the sports centre?”

  “Yes. Do you think you can help us, Jill?”

  “I can try. I should probably speak to Daze first, to see where she’s up to on this.”

  As soon as I left Cuppy C, I gave Daze a call, but it went straight to her voicemail, so I left a message, asking her to get back to me.

  ***

  I really wasn’t looking forward to this, but there was no point in putting it off any longer. Despite my best efforts, I’d been unable to find any evidence that the shooting incident, which Rusty claimed to have witnessed, had actually taken place.

  The neighbours on either side of the house in question had seen and heard nothing. And when I’d looked around the master bedroom of the property in question, there had been no sign of a shooting, let alone a murder. The only thing of any note in the Smart household had been the obvious animosity between Mr and Mrs Smart. The blazing row they’d had while I’d been upstairs had been quite shocking. But having an argument was one thing, murder quite another. The fact that Mr Smart was alive and well, and able to argue with his wife, made a mockery of Rusty’s claim that he’d been murdered.

  I didn’t want to hurt Rusty’s feelings any more than I had to, so I’d suggested we meet at the park. I was hoping that a walk in the fresh air might soften the blow somewhat. He was waiting for me by the park gates. As soon as he spotted me, he gave me an enthusiastic wave, which made the task ahead even more daunting.

  “This was a good idea of yours, Jill. I spend a lot of time looking out at the park, but not nearly enough time in it.”

  “It’s a lovely day for it.” We started down the path that cut through the park, towards the houses where the alleged incident had taken place.

  “I’m very excited to hear what you have to tell me,” Rusty said.

  “I’m afraid it isn’t good news. I’ve spent some considerable time investigating this matter, but I’ve drawn a complete blank. I’ve spoken to the neighbours on either side of the property in question, but they saw and heard nothing.”

  “Maybe she used a silencer, Jill. Have you thought of that?”

  “I suppose it’s possible, but there’s more. I’ve been inside the property itself.”

  “How did you manage that?”

  “We private investigators have our methods. I managed to get a good look around the house, and I spent a lot of time in the master bedroom, which is the room where you thought you saw the shooting. I have to tell you, Rusty, I’ve been at many crime scenes and there’s always some trace of evidence left behind, but there was nothing to see in there. No signs of gunshots, no blood, nothing at all to suggest a shooting had taken place. And the fact is, Mr Smart is alive and well, and shows no sign of being injured.”

  “I just don’t understand it, Jill.” Rusty was clearly disappointed by my news. “I know what I saw.”

  We had almost reached the other side of the park when I happened to look up. Coming through the gates, only a hundred yards ahead of us, were Mr and Mrs Smart.

  Oh bum!

  “Rusty, I think it might be best if we headed back now.”

  “But why, Jill? I’m disappointed by your news, but I’m enjoying our little walk. And your company of course.”

  “Mr and Mrs Smart, the couple from the property where you thought you saw the shooting, have just walked through that gate, and I don’t really want them to see me.”

  He glanced over at the couple. “That’s him! That’s the man I saw being shot.”

  “He looks perfectly healthy, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yes. I don’t understand it.”

  “Come on, Rusty, let’s go.”

  “That’s not her.”

  “Sorry?”

  “The woman with him. That isn’t the woman I saw doing the shooting.”

  I managed to persuade Rusty that we should go back to his house. When I left him, he was still adamant that the woman he’d seen in the park with Mr Smart was not the same woman he’d seen shooting a man. By now, though, I was having serious doubts about Rusty’s reliability as a witness. Even though I could have made a pretty penny by continuing with the case, I didn’t want to take advantage of a man who was clearly delusional, so I’d told him I was sorry, but there was nothing more I could do. Although he was clearly disappointed, he had been very gracious, and thanked me for the work I’d done.

  ***

  I’d tried without success to find a phone number for Mr Bacus, the accountant who lived in Middle Tweaking. Weirdly, he didn’t seem to be listed anywhere online, or even in the local phone book. Never one to give up easily, I decided to kill two birds with one stone by calling in at the local store. I was sure that the Stock sisters would know where Mr Bacus lived. While I was there, I would pick up a couple of packets of custard creams if the new stock had arrived.

  The woman behind the counter wasn’t Cynthia Stock, but there was an obvious family resemblance, so I assumed she must be her sister, Marjorie. I knew, from my previous visit, that the custard creams were kept near to the carrots and tea bags. Unfortunately, when I got to that aisle, I discovered all of the stock had been moved around. Instead of carrots and tea bags there were now rubber gloves and Pot Noodles. Needless to say, there was no sign of the custard creams.

  Thoroughly defeated, I went over to the counter.

  “Hello.” The woman looked up from what she was doing. “Are you new to the village?”

  “No, we live in the old watermill.”

  “Ah, yes. My sister mentioned you. Welcome to Middle Tweaking.”

  “Thanks. I just popped in on the off chance that you might have restocked with custard creams.”

  “You’re in luck. We had a delivery just this morning.”

  “Great. Where are they?”

  “Now, where did we put them?” From under the counter, she brought out the large ledger that I’d seen her sister using. “Custard creams?” She flicked slowly through the pages. A couple of minutes later, she tapped one of the pages with her finger. “Here we are. If you turn around, you’ll find them in the aisle on the far left. Halfway down on your right, next to the cat food.”

  “The cat food?”

  “That’s right. You can’t miss them. They’re in between the cat food and the Marmite.”

  “Right.” I followed her directions, and sure enough, there were the custard creams. I figured I might never find them again, so I grabbed five packets inste
ad of two.

  “My, you certainly like your custard creams.”

  “I do, but then they are the king of biscuits.”

  “I’m rather partial to a Jammie Dodger myself.”

  “While I’m here, might I ask you for some information?”

  “Of course. I’ll help if I can.”

  “I’ve been told there’s an accountant who lives in the village. A Mr Bacus?”

  “Arthur? Yes, we use him ourselves. He’s very good.”

  “Could you possibly tell me where he lives? I’ve looked for his phone number, but I couldn’t find it anywhere.”

  “He lives in one of the cottages behind the church. Number thirty-two. He’s almost always in.”

  “Thanks very much.”

  Mr Bacus’ cottage was a quaint little place, spoiled only by the overgrown garden. I rang the doorbell and a few moments later, the door creaked open and a face peered out of the gap.

  “Can I help you, young lady?”

  Mr Bacus looked seventy if he was a day. He was wearing trousers which were an inch too short, and a green cardigan. Clearly the man had been a hipster long before the term had been coined.

  “Mr Bacus?”

  “That’s me.”

  “I was given your name by Marjorie Stock at the village store. I’m looking for a new accountant?”

  “In that case, you’ve come to the right place.” He opened the door wider. “I’ve been an accountant for over fifty years now. Would you care to come inside?”

  “Thank you.”

  The house was spotless, but I felt as though I’d stepped through a time warp. Everything about it shouted the fifties.

  “Come through to my office, would you?” His office was in the front room and overlooked the overgrown garden. His desk, an antique very similar to my own, was positioned next to the window. “Do have a seat.” He pointed to an old, brown leather sofa.

  “Thanks.”

  Mr Bacus sat on a chair next to the desk, which was on castors, and then propelled himself across the room towards me.

  “So, young lady, you’re looking for an accountant?”

  “That’s right. My previous accountant went to live in France.”