Witch Haunted in Westerham

by Dionne Lister

  “Can you use the same reasoning with the home office?”

  “If his partner didn’t want to let us in, we couldn’t get a warrant. We don’t have enough evidence to say it was murder.”

  Damn. We really did have nothing. Having nothing sucked big time. Frustration boiled in my gut. I made a bubble of silence. “Maybe we’ll figure out something when Olivia’s done her research. I can’t help thinking this haunting thing has something to do with all those properties he’s sold lately. They’ve been selling really quickly, and one of the ones I went to, the woman admitted she was getting out because it was haunted. And then there’s Mrs Soames from across the road. Her house is horribly haunted, and then she gets a letter from this agency asking if she’s looking to sell.”

  “I don’t know. That’s a massive conclusion to draw from two bits of information. When Olivia’s done, maybe we can interview the vendors and ask them. We’ll soon see whether there’s a pattern.” At least he was willing to entertain my idea.

  “Cool. Well, I guess we’re done here.”

  “Yep, buddy.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Anything you’d like to do for the last thirty minutes of being a man?”

  I grinned. “Take over the world?”

  He laughed. “I have a feeling you could do that, no matter what gender you were.”

  “Does that mean I can count you in as a minion?”

  He smiled. “Definitely. You can always count on me. You know that, right?”

  “Yep, B. I know, and thanks. Same here. You do know this is a weird place to be having a deep and meaningful conversation?” Standing in a room where there had recently been a dead body wasn’t a great place for doing anything, really.

  We walked back out to the reception area. The receptionist sniffed and tried to smile through her tears. She blew her nose into a tissue. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be crying at work; it’s just that….”

  I made my tone as empathetic as possible, which was hard since I didn’t recognise my own voice. “It’s okay. We understand. He was obviously someone everyone liked.”

  “You can say that again.” She gave a nod to all the flower arrangements on a table sitting against one wall. Wow, there were twelve. “And that’s not even all of them. We’ve moved some to his house and some to a local nursing home. We’ve had over eighty bunches of flowers and cards from clients and colleagues.”

  “Well, we’re sorry he’s gone.” I didn’t know what else to say. It was hard enough with people you knew. There was nothing good to say when someone died. It was just a shitty thing. I guess being kind was a good place to start, but whatever you did or said always felt inadequate because the only thing that really mattered—bringing the person back—was impossible. I sighed as sorrow muffled my happiness.

  We said goodbye and left. When we got in the car, I turned to Beren. “We need to figure this out. So many people loved him. It’s only fair that we punish whoever did this. The murderer has affected so many people, not just Oliver. Why can’t solving crimes be easier?”

  Beren started the car. “I don’t know, Lily. But we’ll do whatever we can to make sure we get to the bottom of this. Okay?”

  As we drove back to the PIB, I hoped that would be enough.

  Chapter 9

  Later that afternoon, after we’d tried to visit two priests—they’d both been out—Beren left to investigate a different crime, and I returned to the PIB to help Olivia. While we compiled a list of vendors to interview, Ma’am walked into Millicent’s office, which was probably Olivia’s office now that Millicent would be off work for a few months. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

  “Hi,” we answered in unison. My “hi” had been cheerful, but that sentiment soon disappeared. Ma’am had her poker face on, which meant she was here to tell us something boring or unpleasant.

  “Thank you for the photos, Lily. We have a more concrete direction now that we know for sure magic is involved. It was disappointing you didn’t photograph the killer, but it can’t be helped.”

  I bit my tongue. Responding with “It wasn’t my fault” wouldn’t help. And if her rigid posture was any indication, there was more to come.

  She lifted her hand and gave me an envelope. “This came for you yesterday. I collected it with my mail and only discovered this morning it wasn’t for me.” Which was fair since nothing ever came for me. My phone bills came via email, and with messaging apps, none of my Aussie friends wrote letters. I took the envelope, curious. Oh, she’d already opened it.

  As I slid the letter out, Ma’am stared down at me. Was she awaiting my reaction? I unfolded the thick cream-coloured page—expensive stationery. Was the Queen inviting me to tea? I snorted. Ma’am scowled. Whatever was in here obviously was no snorting matter. “Do I really want to read this?”

  “No, but you’re going to have to.” She mumbled and moved her hand to indicate she was casting a bubble of silence.

  I wrinkled my forehead. Was this about my parents? Surely she’d warn me first if it were super-bad news? I swallowed and read aloud, so Olivia wouldn’t feel left out.

  * * *

  Dearest Lily, I hope this note finds you recovered after your recent near-death experience. Please be careful and take care of yourself. You’re more valuable than you know. And be more patient with poor Mrs Soames; she’s just a non-witch after all. Until we finally meet.

  Yours in anticipation,

  Mr X.

  * * *

  A shiver skittered along my arms and down my spine. A creepy undertone ran beneath every line, not to mention this person knew way too much about what was going on in my life. But Mr X? How cheesy. Was he trying to be funny? “Do you know who it is?” I asked Ma’am.

  “No. Do you?”

  “No. Is there a magic signature or fingerprints?”

  “No magic signature, no prints, no DNA.”

  “Should I be worried?” I was pretty sure no matter her answer, my daily level of worry would certainly increase from an eight to a nine, maybe a ten.

  Rather than immediately reassure me, Ma’am sized me up. “No more worried than you normally are. We already have Imani tailing you, and you have your magic back. There’s not much else we can do, and by the sounds of it, this person doesn’t want to hurt you.”

  “But they want something from me, and I’d bet it’s something they know I won’t want to give. And they want me to be scared, or why the cryptic note. They could have signed their real name. Could it be from the snake group?”

  “Yes, but we don’t want to assume too much. There could be someone else out there watching you as well. We can’t be too careful.”

  Great, just great. Olivia shared a worried glance with me. “So someone’s been spying on me?”

  “It looks that way. I’ve checked the protective wards around the house, and nothing’s been breached. Maybe whoever’s spying on you has approached Mrs Soames when she’s been at the shops, had a seemingly innocent conversation with her?” Ma’am sat in one of Millicent’s guest chairs. “The fact that you had a near-death experience could have been leaked by anyone at the PIB.”

  “Two agents in particular.” I folded my arms and slumped back in my chair.

  “Yes, dear, but don’t discount innocent conversations. Word gets around. It’s called gossip.” She smirked. “Not many people are above that in the workplace, I’m sorry to say. While I’m here, I may as well ask how your investigation is going.”

  Olivia smiled—this was really her domain, so she could answer. “I’ve uncovered details for twenty-five sales going back ten–twelve weeks ago. I’ll need more time to get the rest, and anything within the last month or so probably hasn’t gone through the government records yet. All but one of the properties were bought by companies—not the same company, though. Which means our next step is to look up company records.”

  I leaned forward. “Do we have the vendor names? Beren and I need to interview them and find out why they sold. I have a feeling they’ll all ha
ve a similar story to tell.”

  “Righto, ladies. Sounds like you have this all in hand.” Ma’am stood. “If you find anything else, please inform James. I’ll see you later.” She walked out the normal way.

  I was sitting next to Olivia at her table that was at a T to Millicent’s. She typed something into the computer. “Can we get a printout of vendors and purchasers’ details? I can start investigating with B.”

  “For sure. I’ll have to order searches for each company, though. Why don’t you start with this one first?” She pressed Print, and the machine in the corner buzzed away, then spat out a sheet. I stood and grabbed it. It was the sale to the only non-company purchaser. The buyer was Orwell Sampson. Cool name. “Can we find out the purchaser’s new address or their phone number?”

  “Possibly, but if they only have a mobile number, it won’t help. Let me see if I can find something.” As she typed, I went to one of the two windows and gazed out. The PIB buildings were surrounded by parkland and two-metre high fencing topped with barbed wire. It was a sprawling site filled with large trees and more than one pond. Ducks waddled below, and squirrels—I whispered a little “squee”—zipped around, fossicking for whatever food they could find. A woman, who’d been sitting on the park bench near the lake, stood and shook out what looked to be a container, sending small bits of her lunch to the grass. When she turned and walked towards the building, three of the squirrels hurried over and picked up her scraps. At least someone was thinking about the squirrels. I should go down later and give them something.

  Olivia giggled. “Admiring the squirrels again, are we?”

  I grinned. “But of course. Ain’t nothing cuter than a squirrel squirreling.”

  “I don’t know. Otters are pretty adorable when they’re floating around holding hands, or paws, or whatever it is they have.”

  “True, but they’re not consistently as cute.”

  “Says you. I beg to differ.”

  “Squirrel hater.”

  She sucked in a loud breath. “I am not! Bite your tongue, missy!”

  I laughed. It was almost as if everything was all right in our world. But reality, as always, had to intrude. The printer buzzed again. “Do you want to grab that?” Olivia asked.

  “Sure.” It was for me, after all. I grabbed the page and read. “Oh, cool, their forwarding address is a shop in Westerham. “Clive’s Tarts.” I sniggered. “I hope that’s a pastry shop.”

  Liv giggled. “Yes, it is. They make the best strawberry tarts you’ve ever had.”

  “I’ll grab one for us when I go and interview Clive.” I folded the paper up, but I didn’t have my handbag. But not to worry! I was a witch who had her powers back. I grinned and summoned my small, black shoulder bag. It appeared on Millicent’s desk. I slid the paper inside the bag, then grabbed my phone from my back pocket to call Beren. He answered on the second ring. “Hey, will you be free this arvo to interview one of the vendors? It’s Clive from Clive’s Tarts in Westerham, just off High Street.”

  “Um, I’m a bit busy at the moment. I have tomorrow morning free if you want to organise some interviews for then. If it’s only one, you should ask Imani. I know Ma’am has her working on things she can potentially drop to tail you when you’re by yourself.”

  “Ah, okay. I can deal. I’ll text you our schedule for tomorrow when I’ve made some of the other appointments. Can you pick me up from your aunt’s? We can’t just pop in and out now that we have that guest.”

  “Yeah, sure. Make local appointments, then. If any of the vendors have moved away, to London or further, we’ll travel there, and we can leave from the PIB. Text me later, and we can chat about it tomorrow. Bye.”

  “Bye.” I sat back in my chair and jiggled my leg up and down. As much as I wanted to just run over to Clive’s and interview him, I would behave and stay put if Imani couldn’t come. I dialled and crossed my fingers. “Hey, lady. Any chance you can come with me to Westerham soon. There’s someone I want to interview for the Oliver Smith case. It should only take ten minutes, plus there’ll be strawberry tarts.”

  Imani laughed. “I totally have time for that, love. When do you want to go? I can be there in fifteen.”

  “Maybe meet me at Ma’am’s. I’m thinking we can arrive and then do a no-notice spell, sneak out the front, and pretend to come in the front door. What do you think?”

  “Sounds good to me. See you there in fifteen.”

  I hung around in Liv’s office, and before I left, she managed to track down three more vendors to go with the company purchasers. She printed off the details, and I bagged them. “Do you think you could arrange the interviews for tomorrow. Maybe make them forty minutes apart? They all seem to be within twenty minutes’ drive from each other. And I don’t think we need long to ask a few questions.”

  “Yep, sure. I’ll email you the details when I’m done.” She smiled.

  “You’re totally the best. Thank you.” I grinned. “Okay, I’m off. I’ll let you know how I go at Clive’s, and you can pass it on to James if there’s anything interesting.”

  “Will do. And don’t forget the pie!”

  “As if I’d forget something to do with food.” I rolled my eyes. “Don’t you know me at all?”

  She laughed. “Have fun.”

  “You too.” I made a doorway and walked through.

  Chapter 10

  While I waited for Imani in Angelica’s reception room, I called Clive and asked if he minded having a quick chat. Thankfully, he was okay with it. When Imani arrived, we snuck out without Mrs Soames hearing anything. The stupid cockatoo squawked and flapped, but as Mrs Soames had no idea why the bird was being weird, she just told it to be quiet. She likely couldn’t hear us with our spell in place, plus the cockatoo, and television. For once, having the cockatoo be a noisy pain in the butt actually helped.

  We walked up to High Street and turned left. Across the road a short way along was Clive’s Tarts—a cute little shop in an old row of terraces with The Courtyard Café on one side and a fruit and vegetable shop on the other.

  Just before we entered the tart shop, I turned to Imani. “Have you been to The Courtyard Café before?”

  “Can’t say I have. Want to try it next week?”

  “Thanks for not making me twist your arm. It looks good.” My stomach grumbled. If I wasn’t planning on buying some tarts—yes, plural because if Clive had savoury ones, I was going to have some for a late lunch, and then, of course, strawberry tart for dessert—I would have grabbed something from the café. I hadn’t had time to eat with all the work stuff going on, and if I was being honest, I’d admit to feeling a bit sorry for myself and my lack of opportunity to eat.

  I opened the door to Clive’s, and Imani followed me in. A display counter filled with delicious-looking pastries ran down the left side of the rectangular interior with four-seater tables and chairs lined up down the right side, leaving a narrow walkway in the middle. The incredible scent of freshly baked pastry infused the air, making saliva drench my mouth. Okay, that sounded gross, but could you blame my body for reacting?

  A teenage girl served an old lady at the counter, and an older couple sat eating at one of the tables. A slim, middle-aged, balding man, also behind the counter, saw us and walked over to where we stood. “Can I help you, ladies?”

  I smiled, wanting to appear as amiable as possible. He could very well tell me nothing if he so chose. “Hi. I’m Lily Bianchi. I spoke to you on the phone a little earlier.”

  He didn’t return my smile but wore a guarded expression. “Aye, that I did. I’m not sure whether I can help you, lass, but tell me what you wanted to know.”

  Hmm, not off to the best start, but at least he hadn’t kicked us out. I couldn’t really let on that it was a murder investigation because the Kent police hadn’t changed their verdict on that, and now that we were involved, there wasn’t going to be much information going out to the general public. The top officials in the police that knew about us w
ould be notified of our findings, but as far as the other non-witches were concerned, Oliver had died of a drug overdose. “I’m doing a study on why people sell their homes. It’s for my university degree in property.” I slunk into my best sad face. “Oliver Smith was my mentor before he died, and he mentioned you’d be a good person to ask.”

  His nonplussed expression fell into a frown. “Ah, yes, poor Olly.” He shook his head. “Sad business, that. Well, if he said I’d be a good person to ask, then I’ll definitely help you. I decided to sell because my wife died, and both my kids had moved out—they’re at university too, but up in London. Smart kids they are, took after their mum. Anyway, the house was too big for me. What am I going to do with five bedrooms?”

  “And was that the only reason?”

  He nodded. “Aye. That’s reason enough, lass. Was there anything else you wanted to ask?”

  I hid my disappointment at the fact that ghosts hadn’t been mentioned even once. “Ah, no. thank you so much for helping me out. You’d actually be surprised that that’s one of the most common answers—children moving out and the house being too big for the people, or person, who’s left. Is it okay if we look at your tarts? I’m thinking I’d like to buy one.”

  He finally found his smile. “Aye, of course. We have savoury ones and sweet ones. Take your time.”

  I smiled. “Thanks.” I didn’t say anything to Imani while we perused the offerings, and I bought a small meat-pie for lunch, a large strawberry tart, and a chicken and leek pie for dinner, and Imani bought an apple tart. Once we were outside and headed home, I created a bubble of silence. “That wasn’t the answer I was looking for.”

  Imani shrugged. “It’s only the first person. Don’t fret—maybe the others will give you a better clue tomorrow. Besides, we bought tarts. You gotta be happy about that.” She grinned, her straight white teeth bright against her gorgeous dark skin. Her dimples were infectious—whenever they came out, I had to smile too, kind of like when someone yawned and created the yawning domino effect.