by Adele Abbott
Witch Is How
The Tables Turned
Published by Implode Publishing Ltd
© Implode Publishing Ltd 2018
The right of Adele Abbott to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved, worldwide. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, dead or alive, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 1
“Isn’t it your birth parents’ anniversary party this week?” Jack said.
It was Monday morning, and I was still trying to figure out where the weekend had gone. I had a theory that Saturdays and Sundays were shorter than weekdays. It was the only thing that could explain it.
“Jill?”
“Sorry, I was thinking about one of my cases. What did you say?”
“I asked if it was your parents’ anniversary party this week?”
“You mean their fake anniversary party? No, that’s next Monday.”
“Have you bought them a card and a present, yet?”
“No, I haven’t, and I don’t intend to.”
“Why not?”
“Because, the last time I checked, the card shops didn’t sell cards which say: Happy Fake Anniversary.”
“It won’t look very good if their only daughter doesn’t buy them anything.”
“I don’t care. The only reason they came up with this ridiculous idea was so they could throw a party, and get loads of presents from gullible people.”
“You’re still planning on going, though, aren’t you?”
“I’d rather not, but if I don’t at least put in an appearance, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“I’m a little envious. I’d love to go.”
“Trust me, if there was any way I could take you with me, so you could share in the suffering, I’d do it.”
“Where is it being held?”
“The GT Social Club, or as my mother would have it: The Grand Tramagne Social Club.”
“The what?”
“Grand Tramagne.”
“What’s that when it’s at home?”
“It’s the real name of the world which ghosts inhabit, but a long time ago it got shortened to GT. Then someone decided that GT stood for Ghost Town, and that name stuck.”
“Not with your mother, apparently.”
“It turns out that she’s a bit of a traditionalist, and she’s determined to bring back the original name. Hence, why she insists that the party is being held at The Grand Tramagne Social Club.”
“I see. Well, sort of. Anyway, what was the case you were thinking about?”
“Sorry?”
“You said just now that you were thinking about a case?”
“Oh yeah. I—err—it’s about a—err—” I looked around for inspiration. “A toaster.”
“You have a case about a toaster?”
“It’s not any old toaster. It’s an antique. Is that the time? I’d better get my skates on.”
“You get the weirdest cases.”
“That’s true. See you tonight.” I gave him a quick kiss. “Bye.”
I was beginning to think that Winky was right. And yes, I do realise those are not words you ever expected to hear me say. He’d said I was a compulsive liar, and that I lied even when I didn’t need to. This had been a perfect example of that. Instead of simply telling Jack I’d been daydreaming about my theory that weekdays were longer than Saturday or Sunday, I’d concocted some ridiculous story about a case involving an antique toaster. This had to stop. From now on, I was always going to tell the truth.
What? Would I lie to you?
***
I’d no sooner stepped out of the house than—
“Jill!” Mr Ivers came bounding over.
“Morning, Monty, you certainly have a spring in your step this morning.”
“And with good reason.”
“I take it the new business venture is going well?”
His smile disappeared. “Actually, the shop has been a little quiet over the weekend, but I’m hopeful things will pick up.”
“I’m sure they will.” Provided you can transport the shop back twenty years in time. “So what are you so happy about?”
“I have a big surprise.” His smile was back.
“Oh?”
“But I’m afraid I can’t tell you what it is.”
“Oh well, never mind. I’d better get going.”
“You’ll find out later today, though. And I’m confident that you’ll be amazed, and more than a little jealous too, I suspect.”
“Right.” I racked my brain to think of any reason that I’d be jealous of Mr Ivers (other than the lottery win, obviously), but I drew a blank. “I’ll look forward to that, but I’d better be making tracks. Busy, busy, busy.”
In fact, I was far from busy. I was the opposite of busy. Unbusy? Was that a word? Quiet? Inactive?
If proof was needed that I wasn’t busy, the fact that I’d just spent the last two minutes trying to decide what the opposite of busy was, should be proof enough.
***
Just like Mr Ivers, Mrs V looked full of the joys of spring. There really should be a law against looking so happy on a Monday morning.
“Morning, Jill, and isn’t it a lovely day?”
“Morning.” I grumped.
“Did you get out of bed on the wrong side this morning?”
“No, I’ve just got that Monday morning feeling.”
“I love Mondays.”
I was surrounded by freaks.
“Is there anything I should know about, Mrs V? Any calls or messages?”
“Yes, I have a couple of things to tell you about. I’ll start with the most important.”
“Okay.”
“Do you remember that Armi is a member of the Cuckoo Clock Appreciation Society?”
“I do.” How could I forget? I’d had to put up with one of those stupid clocks in my office until it had mysteriously disappeared. Snigger.
“He’s been given a great honour. They’ve asked him to judge this year’s Cuckoo Clock Of The Year Award.”
“Right.” She was obviously expecting more enthusiasm from me, but all I could manage was, “That’s nice.”
“It’s a tremendous honour. He’ll be the youngest ever judge.”
“Good for Armi. Tell him congratulations from me.” If that was the most important piece of information she had for me, I could barely bring myself to ask what the other snippet was, but I supposed I ought to. “You said you had two things to tell me?”
“A Mr Chambers is coming in this morning. He said he needs the help of a private investigator.”
“A potentia
l new client?”
“Yes, dear.”
“Right. Okay, I’d better go and get ready for him.”
It was reassuring to know my PA had her priorities sorted.
“Have I got big news for you!” Winky was sitting on my desk.
“Get off there.”
“Don’t you want to know what my big news is?”
“Does it involve cuckoo clocks?”
“No, why?”
“No reason. Get off my desk, and then you can tell me your news.”
He jumped down, sashayed over to the sofa, and got on it. “It involves Socks.”
“In that case, I definitely don’t want to hear it. You know how I feel about that brother of yours.”
“You really know how to hold onto a grudge, don’t you?”
“Your brother is a cheating, lying, good for nothing excuse for a cat.”
“Yes, but underneath all that, beats a heart of pure gold. Do you want to hear my news or not?”
“Not.”
“Socks has moved to Washbridge.”
“Since when?”
“Since a couple of months ago, but I only found out yesterday.”
“It sounds like you two are very close.”
“We are. It’s just that he’s been super busy. You’ll never guess where he’s living now?”
“It had better not be in this building.”
“Relax. It’s not near here.”
“Good. I don’t want to see him in this office again. Ever!”
“You’ve made that abundantly clear on more than one occasion, but you needn’t worry because I’ll be visiting him in his new gaff.”
“Which is where?”
“Shouldn’t that be witch is where?”
“That’s what I said.”
“He’s living in a coffee shop.”
“Not Coffee Games, I hope?”
“No. It seems that the two-legged that Socks has taken up with is so enamoured with my bro that he’s renamed his shop to include—”
“Hold on a minute. Are you talking about Coffee and Socks?”
“That’s it. How did you know?”
“I was in there just the other day. I asked the guy behind the counter about the name, but he had no idea why it was called that. Is the owner a sup, then?”
“Yeah. According to Socks, he’s a wizard. He’s the first two-legged, apart from you, that Socks has been able to talk to.”
“I guess the coffee shop owner and I have a lot in common then.”
“You mean you’re both privileged to have the company of a charming, intelligent feline?”
“Actually, I meant we both have to put up with scheming, loud-mouthed cats.”
“If I didn’t know you were joking, I’d be quite offended.”
***
“Oswald Chambers.” My prospective client introduced himself. “You must be Jill, or is Max short for Maxine?”
“I’m Jill. There is no Max.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you. What happened to Max?”
“There never was one. It’s just me and the cat. There was a mix-up with the sign; it should read Jill Maxwell.”
“I see. That must have caused some confusion.”
“Like you wouldn’t believe. How exactly can I be of assistance, Mr Chambers?”
“Have you heard of Chambers Precision Plastics?”
“I can’t say I have.”
“We’re based on the Washbridge Industrial Estate. My father started the company some seventy years ago now; I’ve been at the helm for almost twenty years. I fear that we may be the victim of industrial sabotage. In fact, I’m absolutely sure of it.”
“What happened?”
“The problem is on-going. For some time now, there’s been disruption after disruption causing a catastrophic reduction in production.”
If only Rhymes had been here to appreciate that little gem:
It seems there’s been a disruption,
Which caused a catastrophic reduction,
To the Chambers Precision Plastic’s production,
Something bad is afoot, that’s my deduction.
“Jill? Are you okay?”
“Sorry. I was mulling over what you said. A disruption causing a catastrophic reduction to production? Have I got that right?”
“Yes, that’s it exactly.”
“What form does this disruption take?”
“That’s just it. It’s not one single incident—rather a series of machine breakdowns, one after another.”
“Doesn’t that come with the territory in your line of business?”
“Of course, but we pride ourselves in our maintenance. The number of breakdowns we encounter is normally a fraction of this. And the weirdest thing is that it only occurs during the nightshift. The production level for the dayshift is quite normal.”
“Are the same machines used during both shifts?”
“They are. The only thing that changes is the personnel.”
“I assume you’ve taken a close look at the personnel situation?”
“I have, and I trust every member of my staff. Most of them have been with me for years.”
“What did you have in mind for me to do?”
“I thought you could work undercover on the nightshift.”
“Doing what?”
“You can pose as a productivity consultant.”
“Okay, when do you want to do this?”
“I’m on holiday for a couple of days. It might be better to wait until I’m back. How does Thursday sound?”
“That’s fine. What time would I need to get there?”
“The nightshift runs from 11pm to 7am. I can email you with all the details later today.”
“Sounds good.”
After Chambers had left, Winky stirred. “When are you going to get that sign of yours sorted out?”
“Sid Song should be back from his holidays, so hopefully, it’ll be any day now.”
“Did I hear right? Are you going to be working the nightshift at that factory?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you taking bets on whether or not you manage to stay awake?”
“Of course I will. I’m a professional.”
“Since when?”
***
The week had got off to a promising start. It was only Monday morning, and I’d already landed my first paying case. To celebrate, I decided to zip over to Aunt Lucy’s. I hadn’t seen her for a few days, and when I’d spoken to her on the phone at the weekend, she’d mentioned she’d been baking cupcakes.
What? Of course I wasn’t going there just for the cupcakes. You have such a low opinion of me.
When I arrived, I found the twins in the lounge, eating my cupcakes.
“How come you two are here? I thought it was Aunt Lucy’s day off.”
“It is, but we heard she’d been baking cupcakes,” Amber said, through a mouthful of cake. “I suppose that’s why you’re here too?”
“No. I didn’t even know she’d been baking. I only popped in to say hello.”
“Morning, Jill.” Aunt Lucy walked into the room. “Would you like one of the cupcakes I told you about yesterday?”
“Yes, please.”
“So, you didn’t know anything about them?” Pearl laughed. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a compulsive liar?”
“Only my cat. I see you’re spending yet another family day without the family.”
“We have a lot on our minds at the moment.”
“Like eating my cupcakes?”
“They aren’t yours, and no, we have real problems to contend with at the moment.”
“What’s wrong?”
“We’ve had to close Cuppy C for a few days.” Pearl shoved the last of the raspberry cupcake into her mouth.
“Why? What’s happened?”
“If we tell you, do you promise not to say: I told you so?”
“Of course. I would never do that.”
&nb
sp; “There’s a slight problem with the work that the builders did on the creche.”
“Cutt Corners? What did I tell you about them?”
“You literally just promised not to say that.”
“Sorry, but you were asking for trouble by employing those cowboys. What’s wrong?”
“They sort of removed a load-bearing wall.”
“How do you sort of remove a load-bearing wall? You’ve either removed it or you haven’t.”
Aunt Lucy came back into the lounge with a plateful of cupcakes. “Hey!” She slapped away Amber’s hand. “Wait until Jill has had one. I take it the girls have told you about the builders?”
“They have.” I grabbed a lemon cupcake. “So, what are you going to do about Cuppy C?”
Before the twins could respond, Aunt Lucy said, “Fortunately, an old friend of mine is in the building trade. As a favour to me, he’s stepped in to sort out the problem.”
“We should be open again in two or three days.” Amber nervously reached for a strawberry cupcake.
“What about the creche? When will that open?”
“Even when the building work is finished, we’ll still have some work to do on the creche. It’ll probably be a couple of weeks.”
“Have you recruited anyone to help look after the kids yet?”
“No, but we’ll be interviewing this week.”
“This is delicious.” I took another bite of the cupcake.
“It’s just as well you came over today, Jill. I doubt there would have been any left by tomorrow.” She gave the twins a look.
“Those are lovely flowers, Mum.” Pearl pointed to the vase in the window.
Although the flowers were indeed beautiful, it was blatantly obvious Pearl was trying to change the subject.
Chapter 2
After I’d magicked myself back to Washbridge, I stopped off at the newsagents because I’d promised to pick up a copy of The Bugle for Jack.
I’m such a good wife.
I felt dirty even holding a copy of that rag, but Jack insisted it had the best coverage of the local ten-pin bowling scene. On first glance, it seemed the quality of the journalism hadn’t improved since I’d last seen it; today’s headline read: The Weird Cult of The Salmon.
