by Adele Abbott
Witch Is How
To Lose Big
Published by Implode Publishing Ltd
© Implode Publishing Ltd 2020
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 1
I was all alone in my back garden.
Except, that is, for the spaceship that had landed there just a few seconds earlier.
If I’d had any sense, I’d have turned around and bolted. Instead, though, I stood there, transfixed by the grey and silver vessel that had just squashed my favourite lupins. Suddenly, there was a hissing sound, and a small round hatch on top of the spaceship began to open slowly.
Moments later, one of the strangest creatures I’d ever seen emerged. And, trust me, I’ve seen a few strange creatures in my time. Mr Hosey for starters.
I wasn’t sure if the creature was wearing an armoured suit or if the metal was in fact its body. It had two arms, two legs and a head, but no face as far as I could make out. What it lacked in height (it was no more than three feet tall), it made up for in physique. This guy was buff; it must have had a membership at Gym Alien.
Wherever it had come from, it hadn’t travelled here alone because within a matter of seconds, a dozen identical creatures joined it on the wings of the ship.
“Hi, guys.” I gave them a friendly wave and treated them to my ‘Welcome to planet Earth’ smile.
No response. How rude.
Maybe they didn’t speak the language, but would it have killed them to return my wave?
Oh wait! Perhaps I’d been a little too quick to judge because the head alien began to raise its arm. It soon became apparent that it wasn’t about to wave. Instead it pointed its arm at me as though it was lining me up in its sights.
Cripes! I only just managed to dodge whatever kind of weird alien bullet it had fired. And now the others were taking aim at me too. This was it. I was doomed.
“Jill, wake up.” Someone nudged me.
I sat up with a start and was filled with a great sense of relief as I realised it had only been a dream.
“I was having a nightmare.”
“I could tell.” Jack grinned. “You were shouting don’t shoot.”
“A spaceship had landed in our back garden, and these horrible metal creatures got out. They were trying to kill me.”
“It must be the aftereffects of the wind turbines incident. The Udders, or whatever they were called.”
“Oodahs. Yeah, I reckon you’re right.” I jumped out of bed and hurried onto the landing.
“What are you doing now?” Jack called after me.
“Just checking the back garden.”
“It was only a nightmare, Jill.”
“Better safe than sorry.”
Twenty minutes later, we were in the kitchen, eating breakfast.
“I wish I could see that waxwork of you,” Jack said.
“Unless you can figure out a way to go to Candlefield, that’s never going to happen.”
“You could take a photograph, couldn’t you?”
“That depends how bad it is.”
“When is it going to be ready, anyway?”
“They said it would probably take a couple of weeks. I assume somebody will give me a call when it’s finished.”
Just then, there was a knock at the door; it was our next-door neighbour, Britt.
“Morning, you two. I’m sorry to call around so early.”
“That’s okay,” Jack said. “We were just discussing Jill’s waxwork.”
It was usually me who spoke before I’d engaged my brain, but this time Jack had surpassed himself.
“Waxwork?” Unsurprisingly, Britt looked more than a little taken aback by this revelation.
Panic-stricken, Jack turned to me for help in getting himself out of the hole he’d just dug.
“No.” I laughed. “Not waxwork. We were discussing my—err—tax work. I hate tax returns, don’t you?”
“Err, yeah.” By now, Britt was thoroughly confused, but thankfully, she let it drop and moved onto the subject she’d come around to discuss. “Kit and I are running the Washbridge marathon this Saturday.”
That was my cue to get in quickly before Jack had the chance to volunteer us for something that I’d regret. “I’m sorry Britt, but we won’t be able to take part. We’re already committed to doing something on Saturday. It’s a pity, but what can you do?”
She smiled. “That’s not why I’m here. And anyway, it’s too late to sign up for the marathon now. The applications closed several weeks ago.”
Phew!
“The reason I called around was to ask if you’d like to sponsor Kit and me.”
“We’d love to,” Jack said, and then winced, as I kicked him on the ankle.
“That’s very kind.” She handed him the clipboard.
“How does it work?” Jack was way too keen to give away our cash.
“They’re doing things a little differently this year. Solo runners still get sponsorship in the usual way, but couples get paid for their combined results. So, for example, if you sponsor Kit and me, you pay for the combined mileage that we cover.”
“Isn’t that exactly the same thing?” I said.
“Kind of, but there’s also the duo bonus.” She pointed to the form. “That little check box there.”
“What’s that for?” Jack asked.
“If both of us were to break the three-hour mark, the amount you pay is increased slightly.”
“Okay.” Jack picked up the pen. “How much shall I put, Jill?”
“How about a penny a mile?”
“Jill is such a joker.” He shot me a look. “How about fifty pence a mile?”
“Fifty-pence?” I almost choked. “I assume you both expect to finish?”
“Oh yes,” she said, confidently. “We’ve been training for months.”
“So, that’s twenty-six miles times two, isn’t it? I make that fifty-two miles.”
“Fifty-pence sounds just about right, then.” Jack had filled in the form before I had chance to stop him.
“That’s very generous.” Britt snatched back the clipboard, presumably before I could grab it and reduce the amount. “Thank you so much. Both of you.”
After Britt had left, Jack said, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Fifty-pence per mile? What were you thinking? What was wrong with ten-pence?”
“Don’t be so tight. They’re our neighbours. And, anyway, it’s for a good cause.”
Before I could point out the error of his ways, my phone rang; it was Kathy.
“If you want me to sponsor you for something, the answer is no,” I snapped.
“What are you talking about, Jill?”
“Nothing, it doesn’t matter. Jack’s just doing his best to bankrupt us.”
“I only rang to ask when I can meet Martin.”
“How would I know?”
“Come on, Jill, I want to meet the guy. What’s he like, anyway?”
“Okay, I guess.”
“Okay? Is that it?”
“He and Jack get on like a house on fire. They’ve already been bowling together, and they’re both into model trains. Jack has seen way more of him than I have.”
“So, when can I see this new brother of yours?”
“I’ll speak to him and ask when he’s available.”
“I know you, Jill. As soon as you put the phone down, you’ll forget about it.”
“I won’t. I promise. I’ll contact him today. Tomorrow at the latest.”
“And you’ll let me know?”
“Yes, yes, I’ll let you know, but I have to get going now.”
“Okay. Catch you later.”
“That was Kathy, I assume?” Jack said.
“Yeah. She wants to meet Golden Boy.”
“I assume you mean Martin.”
“Who else?”
“I don’t know why you’ve got it in for him. He’s a great bloke.”
“Maybe, but there’s something about him that I don’t trust.”
“Your problem, Jill, is that you don’t trust anyone.”
“Given some of the characters I come across in my work, that’s hardly surprising.”
“What are you working on at the moment?”
“Nothing much. I’m between cases. What about you? Anything interesting happening in West Chipping?”
“I’m working on a case involving a man who disappeared from a hotel.”
“Disappeared as in—?”
“As in vanished into thin air.”
***
When I left the house, there was a zebra and a pelican on next-door’s front garden.
My neighbours, Tony and Clare, were obsessed with cosplay, and these were no doubt their latest costumes.
“Hey, you two. I like those.”
“Thanks, Jill,” said the pelican, AKA Clare. “It’s certainly an improvement on the boomerang.”
“Can you guess what con we’re going to this week, Jill?” said the zebra, AKA Tony.
“Is it ZooCon?”
“Not even close.” Claire laughed.
“I don’t have a clue. You’re going to have to tell me.”
“It’s RoadSafetyCon,” Tony said.
“Road Safety? Sorry, you’ve lost me.”
“I’m a zebra crossing, and Clare is a pelican crossing. Get it?” They both laughed. Clearly, they were easily amused.
The best I could muster was a smile. “Good luck at the con.”
When I arrived at the toll bridge, Mr Ivers looked very sad.
Yes, I know he’s the epitome of sad, but today he looked particularly downcast. And, significantly, there wasn’t a hand puppet to be seen.
“Morning, Mr Ivers. Why no hand puppets today?”
“I’m not really in the mood for them, Jill, to be honest.”
“What’s the matter? Aren’t you feeling well?”
“My heart has been broken. Ivy has found herself another beau.”
I assumed that was his way of saying he’d been dumped.
“Oh dear. I’m very sorry to hear that.”
“She’s gone off with another puppeteer and his marionettes.”
“Marion who?”
“Not Marion. Marionettes. You know—string puppets. I feel so betrayed.”
“These things happen, I’m afraid. Still, there are plenty more fish in the sea.”
“I’m beginning to think I might have run out of bait, Jill. It’s a pity that you are already spoken for. I’ve always thought that we’d make a great couple.”
Not from where I was standing.
“Anyway, I must get going.” I handed him the cash. “Places to meet. People to go. And all that. Try to keep your chin up. There’s someone out there for you somewhere, I’m sure.”
Even though the guy drove me insane, I couldn’t help but feel rather sorry for Mr Ivers. He and Ivy had seemed like the perfect couple.
***
When I arrived at the office, Mrs V looked exhausted: Her eyes were heavy, she was yawning, and she looked as though she might fall asleep at any moment.
“Are you okay Mrs V? Are you coming down with something?”
“No dear.” She yawned. “It’s not that.” She glanced around the room, as though she thought someone might be eavesdropping, then she said in a whisper, “It’s Armi, dear. He’s—err— I’m not sure I should tell you this.”
“Go on. You know you can tell me anything.”
“The thing is, Jill, just lately he’s been rather more frisky than usual.”
“Oh?” That was the last thing I’d expected her to say.
“I don’t know where he’s getting all that energy from. Take last night for instance, he—”
I was all for sharing, but this was way too much information.
“Was that my phone?”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
“Yes, I’m sure it was. I’ll catch up with you later, Mrs V.”
“All right, dear.”
As soon as I walked into my office, the first thing I noticed was the gold trophy standing on my desk.
Winky, who was seated on the sofa, shuddered. “I feel unclean.”
“What are you talking about?”
“What do you think I’m talking about? The old bag lady of course. All that talk about her and her old geezer getting frisky. It’s enough to turn your stomach. It shouldn’t be allowed at her age.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s perfectly healthy.”
“How come you did a runner when she tried to give you all the gory details, then?”
“I didn’t. I thought I heard my phone.”
“Of course you did. Anyway, enough of that. Haven’t you noticed anything?” He gestured towards my desk.
“Yes, the desk is looking so much better since you removed the decoupage.”
“Not that. I’m talking about what’s standing on it.”
I looked again. “Oh, you mean the trophy. I hadn’t noticed that. Is it yours?”
“It most certainly is. You are looking at the Best Dressed Cat in Washbridge.”
“Don’t tell me you won.”
“Of course I won. It was never in any doubt. I’m now through to the national competition. When I win that, I’ll pick up a cool five grand.”
“When? Aren’t you rather counting your chickens?”
“Not at all. It’s a foregone conclusion. And it’s not just the prize money. There’s all the endorsement opportunities that will follow.”
Thankfully, by the time Mrs V brought through my mid-morning cup of tea, she seemed to have forgotten about Armi’s newfound friskiness.
“Incidentally, Mrs V, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
“Yes, dear?”
“Well, the thing is—err—this is going to sound kind of weird.”
“I’m used to that from you, dear. What is it?”
“It turns out that I have a brother.”
“Oh? I see.” She pondered on it for a few moments. “Actually, no, I don’t see at all. What do you mean you have a brother?”
“It’s very complicated. You know I was adopted?”
“Of course, dear.”
“Well it appears my birth mother had a child before me; a little boy.”
“Why have you never mentioned him before?”
“Because I didn’t know he existed. Like I said, it’s complicated.”
“You must be excited.”
“Err, yes. Very.”
“Well that is a surprise. I�
��m very pleased for you.”
“Thanks.”
“I was going to ask if you and Jack would like to come over for dinner some time? We’d love to see you both, and it’ll give you the chance to have a proper look around the house.”
“Err, sure, but I’ll need to check with Jack to see what days he can do. Is it okay if I get back to you?”
“Of course, dear.”
“I should steer well clear of that if I were you,” Winky said, after Mrs V had left the room.
“What are you talking about?”
“You heard what the bag lady said about her and Frisky Armi. Goodness knows what she has planned when you and Jack go around there.”
“Don’t be so disgusting.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. And what’s all this codswallop about a long-lost brother?”
“You heard what I told Mrs V.”
“Yes, I did, but unlike the old bag lady, I’m not a gullible idiot.”
“What have I told you about being rude about Mrs V?”
“Come on. What’s the real story?”
“Okay, if you must know, he’s been living in another version of Candlefield.”
“Isn’t that the weird paranormal place you disappear to all the time?”
“That’s right.”
“And this brother of yours lives in a parallel version of Candlefield.”
“That’s it exactly.”
“Oh boy. I wouldn’t want to be inside your brain. What’s he like, then? This brother of yours?”
“I barely know him yet. He looks like me.”
“Poor guy.”
“And he seems smart like me.”
“He can either be smart. Or he can be like you. He can’t be both, so which is it?”
Before I could lay into Winky, Harold, the pigeon, appeared on the window ledge.
“Morning, Jill.” He waved a wing. “Morning, Winky.”
“Hey, Harold.” Winky jumped onto my desk. “What do you think of my trophy?”
“It’s fabulous. What did you win it for?”
“Guess.”
“Entrepreneur of the year?”
“Close. You’re looking at Washbridge’s best dressed cat.”
“Well done.” He turned to me. “Jill, I hate to ask, but I need a favour.”
