by Sam Short
“But I phoned the police,” said Willow. “And they brought an ambulance with them. The crime will be recorded on the system!”
Gladys thought for a moment. It was about time she earned the reputation of being known as the most powerful witch in the Weaver family. She had begun to think that the rest of her family only allowed her to use the title through misguided sympathy and pity. Well, Gladys hadn’t got where she was in life by being a bargain basement witch. She deserved respect. “I’ve learned a trick or two over the years,” she said. “And one of them is how to use an EMP.”
“An extremely magical pulse,” said Willow. “That would work. Wickford is only a small town, you could easily wipe the memories of everyone involved, and remove the evidence from their computers and phones!”
“You can’t be thinking this is a good idea, Willow,” said Penny. “What about Barney? I don’t want Granny interfering with his thoughts.”
“I won’t cast any spells on Barney,” said Gladys. Although she was more than wiling to if he proved to be a problem. “We’ll need his help, and when it’s over, and we’ve banged Mavis to rights, he can take credit for he whole thing. He’s got his eye on becoming a detective, hasn’t he, Penny? Imagine if Barney solved a crime single handedly. He’d be a hero and get a promotion in no time at all. If he cooperates with me, he’ll be out of that uniform in no time. Out of those trousers, darling.”
Gladys saw the brief flash of realisation in Penny’s eyes as she looked Barney up and down. Everyone knew Barney was too tall to pull off the uniform he wore, especially his girlfriend. Penny frowned. “I don’t know…”
Gladys knew she had it in the bag. “Imagine that! No more trousers which are too short for him. He’ll be able to wear his own suits to work when he’s a detective, he won’t need to rely on the police uniform store-man to make him look like a law enforcement clown.”
“I suppose the damage is already done,” said Penny, her eyes on the bright white of Barney’s exposed socks. “You’ve already used magic. We may as well see it through. Let me speak to Barney first though. He’ll listen to me.”
“Fair enough,” said Gladys. “Now stand back while I release him. Ginger folk tend to have very short fuses. Does he have a taser?”
“No!” said Penny. “He’s a brave unarmed policeman, and he does not have a bad temper — as you know. Just release him from your spell please. He’s dribbled all over his shirt.”
Barney and Penny stood together in the corner, speaking in loud whispers. Gladys knew the policeman was going to come around to her way of thinking soon enough, despite his wild hand gestures and the beads of sweat dripping from his brow. Penny had the man twisted around her finger, just as it should be in any healthy relationship, and Gladys could see he was quickly weakening.
Willow had conjured a sheet into existence, much to Gladys’s delight — maybe the girl had been practising her magic as she claimed. With Ethel’s body hidden by the sheet, Gladys and Willow sat side by side on a pew and waited for Penny to wear her boyfriend down.
After another full minute of frantic discussions in the corner, Penny turned to face them. “Barney wants to know if you’ve lost control of your senses.”
“Tell him to ask me himself,” said Gladys. “There’s no need for that sort of childish behaviour. He’s a grown man.”
“You put a spell on policemen!” snapped Barney. “You’ve magically assaulted police officers! I’m not being childish!”
“Anybody who has to say their not being childish, normally is being childish. Now pull up your big boy shorts, Barney Dobkins. We’ve got a murder to solve,” said Gladys. “And the longer we take doing it, the harder it will be for you to explain it away. I’ve cast a stasis spell on Ethel’s body, so it will be perfectly preserved. When we solve the murder we’ll say we just discovered her, and you can take all the glory for solving it within hours. I know Ethel lives alone, but it won’t take forever for somebody to miss her. Time is of the essence!”
Barney gulped. “I’ll be lying though. I don’t like lying.”
Gladys gasped. “There’s a dead woman propped up at an organ, Barney, and all you can worry about is your moral integrity? I thought better of you, young man. Now, are with us or against us?”
“With you,” muttered Barney, looking at his feet.
“Louder,” said Gladys. “And with more enthusiasm please.”
He sighed. “With you. I’m with you okay!” Barney looked around the room. “But what about all these people?”
“We discussed that while you were… otherwise occupied,” said Granny. “I’m going to cast an extremely magical pulse which will wipe all the evidence of this despicable situation from people’s minds, and any electronic devices it may be recorded on. It will be as if it never happened. Only us four and the murderer — my money’s on Mavis — will be aware anything happened here today.”
“Won’t it wipe the memory of the murderer?” said Barney. “Whoever did it was here too. They know what happened. You might make them forget they did it.”
Did he really think she was that stupid? Did he really think the woman who had once used magic to give Wickford an Indian summer while the rest of Britain was freezing, would make such an elementary error? “Who’s the powerful witch, Barney?” said Gladys. “Me or you?”
“Urm… you?”
“Correctamundo. So trust me,” said Gladys. “Now. Everybody stand still. When I cast the spell, these people are going to wake up, look a little confused, and go about their day. Don’t speak to them or touch them, just let them leave the chapel, okay?”
With everyone in agreement, Gladys rallied her strength, drawing magic from the deepest part of her soul and gathering it in her chest. Her blood pumped quickly, and her ears rang as she lifted her hands. She spoke slowly, and prepared to release the ball of energy which throbbed against her ribs. “Three. Two. One.”
Static bubbled in the air, and a shock wave spread from Gladys, moving at speed. Hair on heads was ruffled in the breeze, and birds squawked outside, panicked by the sudden change in air pressure.
Within a few short seconds the spell was cast, and people began moaning as they woke up, gazing around the chapel in confusion. Inspector Jameson looked at his watch, and one of the paramedics took her partners pulse before shaking her head and picking up her bag. “Come on,” she said to her partner. “Let’s pick up a sandwich on the way back to the hospital. I’m starving.”
Inspector Jameson gave the room a cursory glance, and Gladys was pleased to see him tear out the page of notes he’d gathered in his book, and toss the crumpled ball of paper at his feet.
One by one, people filed from the chapel, not speaking to one another, and rubbing their heads. Gladys followed them from the chapel, making sure they were all heading up the track towards the road where their vehicles would be parked. When she was sure her spell had been imbued with the adequate potency she went back inside.
Barney had removed the sheet from Ethel and was examining her body, and Penny had picked up the Inspector’s notebook page. Gladys was happy to see they were using their initiatives, she’d not been looking forward to having to crack the whip. People worked better when not under duress, and she needed a strong team if she was to be married in a few days time.
“I’m no pathologist,” said Barney. “But it looks like she was stabbed in the back of the neck… with some sort of knife. I assume her death was instant because her fingers are still in position on the keys.”
“Rocket Man,” said Gladys.
“Thanks,” said Barney.
“No,” said Gladys. “She was playing Rocket Man by Elton John when she died. At least the last sound she heard was a beautiful one.”
“Listen,” said Penny, reading from the sheet of notebook paper.
“The victim is Ethel Boyd. Could her murder be linked to the incident in 1987? Most probably. Or could it be something to do with the crazy old woman — Gladys Weaver? She has the
eyes of a criminal.”
Gladys felt the hurt deep in her heart, but it was quickly replaced by anger. Eyes of a criminal? How dare he! She had the eyes of a Hollywood starlet. Stupid flat footed copper. “Never mind all that,” said Gladys. “We should go straight to Mavis’s house. She’s our man — I mean woman. You mark my words.” She looked at Barney. “I assume you have a police car parked on the road?”
He nodded. “Yes, but I can’t go galavanting about town questioning people. I’ll be needed back at the station, people will wonder where I’ve gone. I don’t want to arouse suspicions I’ve put myself in enough potential trouble as it is.”
“Maybe that’s for the best,” said Gladys. “You should stay out of the way for now. Let us vigilantes get to work. You can take us to my cottage. My Range Rover is still there. Charleston won’t let me take it to The Haven. He says I’d ruin the peace. I’ll drive us to Mavis’s house and Penny will phone you when Mavis has admitted she committed murder, Barney. This whole thing should be wrapped up by tea-time, and you’ll be a detective by next week!”
“What about my boat?” said Penny.
“We’ll come back for it later, darling” said Gladys. “Don’t fret. There’s more important things to concern ourselves with. Good grief.”
“What if somebody else discovers Ethel’s body while we’re not here,” said Willow.
“Thank you, Willow” said Gladys, Peering at penny over her spectacles. “A sensible question at last. That’s a very good point, Willow, but a problem which is easily solved. I’ll put a spell over the whole of this area, including Penny’s boat. It will make people turn away before they get close. They won’t know why, but they’ll simply turn around and go the other way. Ethel won’t be discovered until we want her to be.” Gladys peered around the chapel. “Any more questions? Or can we go and visit a certain Mavis Buttersworth? By tonight I want her to be more concerned about becoming somebody’s blue-rinse bitch in the big house, than murdering defenceless women as they attempt to impress me with beautiful chord progressions.”
Chapter Seven
Mavis Buttersworth’s house irked Gladys, and in her opinion, was just the sort of place a person with murderous tendencies would choose to live. The long lane, potholed and narrow, was easy for her top of the range, highly sought after and envied Range Rover to navigate, but she imagined nobody would take the road unless there was a very good reason for their journey. It was the perfect place for Mavis to remain hidden from the rest of law-abiding society as she planned her next heinous crime.
“Honeysuckle cottage,” said Willow, reading the name on the open gate. “It’s a beautiful spot.”
Gladys gunned the engine, spewing gravel from beneath the chunky tyres. “Beautiful, or sinister?”
“Beautiful,” said Penny.
Why the girls deemed it necessary to agree with one another all the time was infuriating. Gladys bit her bottom lip as she brought the vehicle to a halt outside the cottage. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. You girls don’t see what I see,” she said. “You see the flowers and the pretentious ornamental pond. I see a lair for a jealous woman, driven to murder by her inability to match her better on the organ keyboard.”
“She’s got a dove loft!” said Willow. “How lovely!”
Gladys felt a twinge of pity for the girls. It must be hard to go through life with such a simple and foolish outlook. She regretted bringing the girls with her. It seemed they weren’t suited to police work in the slightest. Never-mind. Gladys was confident in her own abilities — she’d bring Mavis down alone. “Forget the dove loft,” she said, killing the engine and opening her door. “Because those doves won’t be around for much longer anyway. When Mavis is doing porridge they’ll soon bugger off when they realise nobody’s coming to feed them. Doves are like cats. They’re selfish and they’re nomads. They’ll be in another loft before you can say—”
“What a glorious beast!”
This was awkward. Nobody had ever complimented Gladys on her vehicle before. She assumed it was because of jealousy and a needy longing to possess what they would never own. Mavis, on the other hand, seemed genuinely thrilled to have such a feat of magnificent engineering parked outside her home. Gladys knew she had to accuse the woman of murder, but doing it before she’d finished having her ego massaged, was not something Gladys was prepared to do. “Thank you!” she said. “It’s a wonderful vehicle. Fast, practical, and a real head-turner. It’s not bad on fuel either, which was a finacially pleasant surprise.”
“I bet it gets all the boys!’ said Mavis, with a wink, hurrying down her garden path, her straw-hat askew, and a pair of gardening secateurs in one hand. “I heard it all the way from the back garden! I bet the men love it!”
“I wouldn’t know!” giggled Gladys, returning the wink with a twisting of her head. She hoped the simple head movement placed adequate emphasis on the subsequent wink, because Gladys certainly knew what Mavis was talking about. She’d lost count of the number of times men had pulled alongside her at red lights, laughing and pointing at her, engaging in the silly flirtatious teasing that men seemed to enjoy so much. “I’m getting married on Saturday, silly! Men are of no interest to me!” A thought leapt into Gladys’s mind. Fate. It had to be. “Oh, that reminds me,” she gushed. “I’m going to need an organist, are you free on—”
“Granny!” said Willow, under her breath. “Are you forgetting something? Take a deep breath and remember why we’re here.”
“Come on, Willow,” whispered Gladys, watching Mavis run an appreciative hand over the smooth black lines of the car. “Does she look like a murderer to you? She looks like a woman with fine taste to me. I’ve even warmed to her hair-do. I might ask her where she had it done.” Gladys lowered her voice even further. “Or would that be too rude?”
“Did you come here to ask me to be your organist, Gladys?” said Mavis, kicking a tyre. “Because I’d love to be! Did Ethel let you down? Is that why you’ve come? I heard that terrible racket she was making as I walked away from the chapel. It sounded like she was scalding a cat, not practising for the most important day of your life.”
“That’s just what I thought!” said Gladys. “Scalding a cat! I like you, Mavis. We’ve a lot in common.”
Penny sighed. “Granny,” she said. “I’d like to speak to Mavis.”
Gladys hated it when people put emphasis on a word, and she was sure that she wasn’t guilty of the same abuse of the English language. “Oh you would, would you?” Two could play at that game.
Penny said something under her breath, and a sizzle in the air next to her told her Gladys that her granddaughter was about to cast a spell. “Oh! Speak,” she said. “I see. Good idea, darling.”
Mavis was too busy admiring the storage space the boot of the Range Rover had to offer, to see the dancing lights at Penny’s fingertips, but as the spell hit her she made a strangled groan and stood up straight, her eyes devoid of any emotion and her fingers losing their grip on the gardening implement.
“What spell was that?” said Willow, waving her hand in front of Mavis’s unblinking eyes.
“A truth spell with a little amnesia thrown in,” said Penny. “When she wakes up she won’t remember anything, but she’ll answer any question truthfully.”
“Well done!” said Gladys. It was wonderful to see her granddaughters following in her magical footsteps, and Gladys was happy to give the floor to Penny. “Ask away, sweetheart,” she said. “It’s your spell. Just make sure you ask the right questions.”
Penny stared into Mavis’s eyes. “Do you know Ethel Boyd is dead, Mavis?”
“No,” Mavis said.
Penny licked her lips. “Did you kill Ethel Boyd?”
Gladys watched carefully. It was impossible to lie whilst under the influence of a truth spell. The answer to Penny’s first question didn’t necessarily mean that Mavis was innocent. She may have stabbed Ethel and left the chapel before checking to see if her victim had succumbed
to her injuries.
Mavis answered quickly and with conviction. “No. I didn’t kill Ethel Boyd.”
Gladys allowed herself a smile. Then frowned. Yes, she was now free to use Mavis as her organist, but now it had been proved Mavis was innocent, the murder had become harder to solve. If Gladys knew one thing about herself, though, it was that she always achieved what she put her mind to, and she was adamant that she was getting married on Saturday. She’d find the real killer in time.
Penny continued with her questions. “Do you know who might have killed Ethel, or why they might have killed her?”
“No. Ethel keeps herself to herself. I don’t know who would do such a thing.”
“Did you see anybody near the chapel, Mavis? When you walked back to your car?” asked Penny. “Or hear anything suspicious?”
“I heard a rustle in the bushes, but when I looked, it was a dog. A little white terrier. I didn’t stay to stroke it though, it’s owner was probably nearby, and that horrendous musical note that Ethel was playing was hurting my ears. That organ was really loud — and very well made, almost like it had been made by the hands of a master tradesman. I’m surprised I heard the dog over the noise, but I’ve always had good ears. And feet.”
“You’re losing her, Penny,’ said Gladys. “She’s going off on tangents. Let me ask her a question before she snaps out of it.”
“Go ahead,” said Penny, casting a flurry of green sparks over Mavis’s straw-hat. “That should hold her for a little while more, but she’s strong willed, she won’t stay under for long.”
Gladys imagined what her favourite TV detective would ask Mavis. Columbo always got his man, and he had a glass eye. With her glasses giving her perfect vision, Gladys was certain she could be just as effective as the detective. If not twice as good. “Mavis,” she said, wondering if one of the thrift shops in town sold weathered brown raincoats. “Has Ethel said anything strange recently, or has she been doing anything out of character? Has she been sad, happy, angry… or even scared?”
