by Adele Abbott
“I suppose I’d better be going then.” Tess gave Bonny’s lead a slight tug. “Catch you later.”
I had to hold on tight to Barry’s lead to stop him charging after his new girlfriend.
“Let me go,” he pined. “I like her. Let me go.”
“Bonny has to go home now.” I turned and started walking back up the hill.
“I want to see her again.” Barry planted his feet, so I had to drag him along.
“You will.” I glanced back over my shoulder, expecting to see Tess and Bonny making their way to the exit, but they were nowhere to be seen. How was that possible? Where had they gone? There were no trees or bushes to obscure the view, and they hadn’t had time to reach the exit. Perhaps she’d used a spell to speed her and Bonny along? Oh well, not to worry. It looked as though Barry might have found himself a girlfriend, and I’d found another witch who lived and worked in Washbridge. It might be nice to meet up with someone with whom I could talk openly—a little witch chit chat.
The walk back to the gates of the park was hard work. Barry was complaining and digging his heels in most of the way.
“Come on, Barry.”
“When will I see Bonny again?”
“Soon.”
“Do you promise?”
“Only if you walk properly now.”
“Okay then, but you promised.”
What was it with my pets and their love lives? Wasn’t it bad enough that Winky was trying to get me to move offices so he could be closer to his beloved Bella? Now I had to put up with Barry fawning all over his new love. It was probably just as well that I didn’t have a love life to speak of. When would I have had time for it?
We’d no sooner walked out of the park than I spotted a familiar figure in the distance.
“Lester!” I shouted.
He glanced around, and I felt sure that he’d seen me, but he hurried away in the opposite direction—ducking out of sight down a side street. The twins had mentioned that Aunt Lucy had been out of sorts, and even Grandma had noticed, but when I’d tried to talk to Aunt Lucy about it, she’d just changed the subject. If Lester had decided to end the relationship, the very least he could do was to come clean and tell her.
“Come on, Barry.” I set off in pursuit.
“What about my food?”
“Later. Come on, we have to hurry.”
Thankfully, Barry decided to play ball, and we ran down the street, but when we turned onto the side road, there was no sign of Lester.
“Find him boy,” I said.
“Find who?” Barry gave me a blank stare.
“Lester.”
“Where is he?”
“I want you to find him.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“I don’t know. You’re a dog. Isn’t that what dogs do?”
He shrugged.
“Never mind. Let’s go home.”
“For food?”
“Yes, for food.”
There was no doubt in my mind that Lester had seen me, and had deliberately legged it. But why? He’d seemed so keen on Aunt Lucy at first, and had struck me as a nice, genuine guy. What had changed? As far as I was aware, there hadn’t been a bust-up of any kind. I had the impression that Aunt Lucy was as bewildered as everyone else by his behaviour. What was I supposed to do now? Should I tell Aunt Lucy that I’d seen him, and that he’d run away? That wasn’t going to make her feel any better, and would probably only make matters worse. I decided to keep it to myself until I could corner Lester and get some straight answers from him.
After I’d fed Barry, I bumped into the twins who had obviously been waiting for me.
“Jill, you have to help us,” Amber said.
This was becoming a familiar theme. How had they coped before I came on the scene, I wondered?
“What’s wrong now?”
“It’s Miles,” Pearl said.
I laughed.
“It’s not funny!”
“Yeah, it’s not funny, Jill,” Amber said.
“Oh, come on. It’s a little bit funny. The two of you both had a secret crush on sexy, handsome Miles, only to find out that he’d turned into a bald blob. That’s a little bit funny isn’t it?”
They both glared at me.
“I guess not. What exactly is it you want me to do?”
“Get rid of him. He comes around here every day, and he won’t take a hint.”
“Why don’t you tell him straight that you’re not interested?”
“We’ve tried. He won’t listen. He says he knows we were both sweet on him back at school.”
“You were, weren’t you?”
“Apparently.” Amber glared at her sister.
“Don’t blame me. I didn’t know he was interested in you too.”
“How am I supposed to get rid of him?” I said. “What makes you think he’ll listen to me if he won’t listen to you?”
“Well—” Amber hesitated.
“We thought—” Pearl began.
“Come on. Spit it out.”
“Well,” Amber said. “You know how to do the ‘transform’ spell.”
I didn’t like the direction this was going in—not one bit.
“No! Don’t even think about it.”
I’d cast the level five, ‘transform’ spell once at the Spell-Range, but Grandma had said I’d made a mess of it by turning a donkey into a toad instead of a frog.
“You have to,” Pearl said. “It’s the only way to get rid of him.”
“I don’t believe you two. Do you really think I’m going to turn some poor guy into a frog just because he’s bald and fat?”
The twins looked at one another, and then back at me.
“Yes.”
“Definitely.”
Unbelievable.
“I’ll have a word with him, but I’m not going to turn him into a frog—”
“What about a rat?” Amber said.
“I’m not going to turn him into anything! Got it?”
They both pouted.
“Do you want me to have a word with him or not?”
They nodded.
“Then stop acting like children.”
“Sorry.”
“Sorry.”
I wondered if I should mention having seen Lester to the twins, but I didn’t trust them to keep it to themselves. If they let it slip to Aunt Lucy it would only upset her more, and if they let it slip to Grandma—well that didn’t even bear thinking about.
As if my to-do list wasn’t long enough already, now I had to talk down love-struck Miles too.
Chapter 22
I’d gone to Candlefield to relax, and in the hope that my subconscious might come up with some brilliant revelation on the Tregar case. Epic fail! Not only was I no nearer to solving that case, but I now had to worry about what was happening with Lester, and how to get Miles off the twins’ backs. Still, it was nice to know that some things never changed. Mrs V was still knitting. A blue sock today, if I wasn’t mistaken. And Winky was still waving his little flags around.
Magic was great, but sometimes what was needed was good old fashioned research. I fired up the computer and turned to my trusty friend in times of need: Google. I spent the best part of two hours using every combination of search terms I could come up with until I finally caught a break, and that was more by luck than judgement. I’d been searching for anything I could find on ‘Alan Dennis’, and combining that with terms such as: ‘bankrupt’ and ‘financial scam’. After ploughing through page after page of results which turned out to be dead ends, I spotted a result for a Dennis Allan rather than Alan Dennis. I wasn’t optimistic, but clicked on the link anyway. It took me to an archived edition of a local newspaper. The story was about a Ponzi scheme which had led to the financial ruin of numerous ‘investors’. Apparently the ‘mastermind’ behind the scam had fled the country before the police could apprehend him. There were a few quotes from some of those who’d been affected. One of those came fr
om a Mr Dennis Allan who was quoted as saying that he’d lost everything.
It was a long shot, but it was all I had to go on. I did a search on ‘Dennis Allan’. This time I was only interested in the images which the search threw up. Who knew there were so many men with that name? Once again I ploughed through page after page of photos. I almost missed the black and white group photograph, but a face in the third row caught my eye. I clicked on the image to see the original web page. The photograph had been taken almost thirty five years ago. Three rows of young men, all dressed in black graduation robes, were smiling at the camera. Their names were listed underneath the image. Sure enough, there on the third row, fifth from the left was the face of Alan Dennis—the victim in the lift. Or as he had been known back then, Dennis Allan.
Slowly it all began to slip into place. Dennis Allan had been an educated man who by all accounts had been in a well-paid job. Despite this, he’d fallen victim to a Ponzi scheme. He’d lost everything and, presumably because of the stress or shame, had walked out on his partner, unaware that she was pregnant with his child. He’d changed his name from Dennis Allan to Alan Dennis, and had started afresh. He’d worked his way back up the ladder and had become quite wealthy by working as an accountant for a number of rich clients. Somewhere along the way, he must have found out about his son, and had taken it upon himself to make amends by helping him financially. For reasons known only to himself, Alan Dennis never let Jason Allan know that he was his father.
At long last, it felt like I might be getting somewhere. I spent the next hour researching Ponzi schemes. It didn’t make pretty reading. Essentially the pattern was always the same: promises too good to be true, gullible people—not necessarily uneducated—it seemed that even the most intelligent person could be gullible if enough money was at stake. This was inevitably followed by financial ruin. The perpetrators of the fraud were rarely caught. Usually they had fled the country with their ill-gotten gains before the house of cards came tumbling down. There were just a few cases where those responsible had been brought to justice. One story in particular, from twenty years ago, caught my eye. A man and wife had been arrested for fraud—the article included a photograph of the pair being led into court. I recognised their faces. Now everything was beginning to make sense.
***
The door to my office opened, and in walked Kathy.
“Hope you don’t mind me gatecrashing,” she said.
“As if I could stop you. What brings you into town?”
“Have you forgotten already? I started my new job this morning.”
I’d tried to blank out the idea of Kathy working in Grandma’s wool shop. “How bad was it?”
“It was fun. You can’t imagine how nice it is to do something other than housework.”
“What about Grandma though?”
“She’s a darling.”
I laughed. “No, seriously. Just how horrible was she?”
“She’s been really sweet to me. She said she knew I’d been out of the job market for a long time, and that I should take my time to settle in.”
“Are you sure we’re talking about the same woman? Warty nose? Crooked fingers?”
“That’s just cruel. I think you’re being unfair to your grandmother. To hear you talk, anyone would think she was some kind of witch.”
“So what is it you want?”
“Charming.” Kathy did her best to look affronted. “What makes you think I want something? Can’t I just be paying a social call during my lunch break?”
“Very unlikely.”
“Well, actually there is something.”
“I knew it. It had better not be a circus.”
“It isn’t.”
“Or theatre.”
“As if.”
“Or a garden party.”
“That reminds me, I meant to ask you. How on earth did you manage to win those toys for the kids?”
“Never mind that. What kind of nightmare have you signed me up for this time?”
“I haven’t signed you up for anything. It’s our anniversary soon. Peter and me thought it would be nice if we could go away for the weekend.”
“That’ll be nice. The kids will enjoy a break.”
“That’s just it. We were hoping it could be just the two of us. We thought you could look after the kids.”
“Me? All weekend?”
“It would only be one night. We’d leave on a Saturday morning and be back Sunday evening.”
“What am I meant to do with them?”
“You’ll think of something.”
“The kids won’t want to stay with me.”
“They do. We’ve already checked with them. We told them Auntie Jill will find lots of exciting things for them to do. So, what do you say?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Of course not.”
“That’s what I figured.”
Kathy ate her lunch while telling me all about her morning at Ever A Wool Moment.
“Have you seen the Everlasting Wool?” She asked through a mouthful of bread and cheese.
“Yeah. I won a subscription for Mrs V.”
“How does it work?”
I shrugged.
“I can’t figure it out,” Kathy said. “It’s like some kind of magic.”
If only I could prove it.
Kathy practically skipped out of the office. The cynic in me wondered how long that would last. Grandma would show her true colours sooner or later. Then we’d see if Kathy still thought she was ‘sweet’.
***
It was the Levels Competition on Saturday, but first I still had a case to crack. I put in a call to the concierge at Tregar. If I wasn’t mistaken, he seemed to have taken quite a shine to me. I needed him to be my eyes and ears, and to report back to me.
Bingo! He readily agreed to my request and promised to give me a call at the appropriate time.
I’d no sooner ended my call to him, than the phone rang.
“Is that Jill?” a female voice said.
“Speaking.”
“It’s Tess. We met in the park. With the dogs.”
“Oh, yeah. I remember. Hi.”
“I know you’re probably busy, but I wondered if you’d like to grab lunch or a coffee on Friday?”
“Coffee would probably be better. What time?”
“After work would be best for me. How about six?”
“That works for me.”
We arranged to meet at a small coffee shop that I’d walked past numerous times before, but never been in. According to Tess, they made the best lattes in Washbridge.
Until I got a call from the concierge, there wasn’t much more I could do on the Tregar case. I’d hardly had time to think about the Levels Competition, and time was running out. I didn’t want to be on the wrong end of Grandma’s anger by messing up. From what I’d been told, witches could be asked to demonstrate any spell from the level corresponding to the round of the competition. So, in round one, the spell would be a level one spell. In round two it would be a level two spell, and so on. I wasn’t too worried about the level one spells. Looking back now, they all seemed incredibly simple. The level two spells were more difficult, but I was confident with at least seventy five per cent of them. According to Aunt Lucy, it was taken as read that any witch put forward into the competition would have the ability to cast the spells. What was more important was the ‘quality’ of the spell. As Grandma was always emphasising, and as I’d now come to realise, the same spell could be cast by three different witches, but with very different results. It was all about the focus.
***
Time to practise. I fed Winky, and told Mrs V that I’d be out for the rest of the day. There were several spells which weren’t really suited to practise at home or anywhere in Washbridge for that matter. It was time to get serious—time to pay another visit to the Spell-Range.
I’d only been there once before, and that had been with Grandma and the twins. I consid
ered asking the twins to join me, but thought better of it. As much as I liked the girls, they didn’t really take their witchcraft seriously. They were more interested in Cuppy C, and their fiancés. As far as I could tell, neither of them had any burning ambition to progress beyond level two.
The Spell-Range was much quieter than on my previous visit. There were only three other witches and two wizards in the whole place. That suited me. I was still a little self-conscious when practising spells—particularly those which were new to me or which I’d only used occasionally. I found a quiet corner and took out the book of spells which I’d brought with me. I’d put a yellow Post-it note on the pages of the five spells I felt least confident in.
Three hours, and a lot of mental anguish later, I felt as though I’d mastered all of them except one. I couldn’t seem to get to grips with the ‘magnet’ spell. The basic idea was that it should turn my hand into a magnet which would attract a metal object. Simple huh? Well, you might think so, but you’d be wrong. The devil was in the detail. The whole idea of the spell was that I should be able to attract a specific metal object not all metal objects. There was no shortage of resources at the Spell-Range, so it was easy to assemble a collection of metal objects: a horse shoe, a kettle, a knife, an empty can, and a dozen other bits and pieces. I was supposed to be able to attract just one of those objects without moving the others, but every time I cast the spell, all of the objects came hurtling towards me. I had to reverse the spell quickly to avoid being stabbed by the knife. I was on my fifth attempt, and still hadn’t mastered it.
“Aren’t you Jill Gooder?” a squeaky voice behind me said.
I turned around, expecting to see a woman, but the voice belonged to a skinny, young wizard.
“That’s right.”
“I thought I recognised you.”
“And you are?”
“None of your business.”
Another graduate of charm school. “Did you want something?”
“Are you competing in the Levels?” He wiped a finger across his snotty nose.
“Yes, why?”
“It shouldn’t be allowed. You haven’t been a witch for five minutes.”
