by Adele Abbott
“I really do have stomach ache.” I rubbed my tummy.
“No you don’t. Now get ready.”
“It hurts so bad.”
“Nobody cares. Now are you going to get ready or do I have to dress you myself?”
“It’ll be a disaster. Maxwell hates me.”
“So? The feeling is obviously mutual—you should get on like a house on fire.”
“How long do I have to stay?”
“It’s a dinner date. You have to stay at least until after the main course. Unless he offers you afters.” Kathy grinned.
“Eww. Don’t!”
“You can’t deny he’s hot. You said so yourself.”
“That was before I knew him. He’s got such an attitude.”
“The two of you were obviously made for one another then.”
“I do not have an attitude.”
There she was again with that look.
“I don’t.”
Restaurant Ramon was located in the four-star Hotel Palermo, which was at least two levels above my pay grade. It was the kind of restaurant that made me nervous. I felt as though everyone knew I was an impostor, and they were just waiting for me to make a fool of myself. Well, they didn’t have long to wait. I was half way up the steps when my heel broke clean off. If that wasn’t a sign from above, I didn’t know what was. I couldn’t possibly face Maxwell like that—I’d leave a message at the door—something had come up—an urgent case.
“Are you all right?” Maxwell said. “You’re walking kind of funny.”
No kidding Sherlock. “My heel snapped off.”
“Have you hurt your ankle?”
“No, it’s okay.” Just my pride.
“Our table’s over there. Here, take my arm.”
“Thanks.” He helped me to the table, and pulled out my seat.
“I wasn’t sure you’d show.” Maxwell took the seat opposite me. He had scrubbed up pretty well.
“We don’t need to do this,” I said. “We can call it quits now. No one need know.”
“We’re here now. We might as well at least enjoy the meal.”
“Okay, but there’s one thing I need to clear up first.”
“Go on.”
“The article in the Bugle. It wasn’t what I’d agreed to.”
He smiled, which unnerved me a little.
“It’s true. I had the reporter’s word that it wouldn’t be a hatchet job, and that I’d have final approval.”
“You trusted the word of a journalist?”
“Pretty stupid, eh?”
“Yeah. Pretty stupid.” He laughed.
“I’m sorry if it embarrassed you.”
He shrugged. “How about we agree to set aside our differences. Just for tonight at least?”
“Okay.” After he’d let me off the hook for the Bugle article, it was the least I could do. “We can give it a go.”
And we did. Much to my surprise the evening wasn’t a complete disaster. The food was excellent, I didn’t spill anything on my dress, and the two of us didn’t come to blows. Under the circumstances, I considered that to be a result.
By the time it came to coffee, I was feeling much more relaxed. Maybe Kathy had been right—an unlikely scenario, I know—perhaps this would signal the start of a better working relationship between the two of us.
“So?” I teased “Is this the only way you can get a date?”
“Hey.” He smiled. “Being the prize in the raffle wasn’t my idea—I was pressured into it. Anyway, you can’t talk. You must have been pretty desperate for a date, to buy a ticket.”
“I didn’t buy it. My sister, Kathy, did.”
“I know, she told me. You do realise she rigged the outcome, don’t you?”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m a detective, remember?”
“I’ll kill her. Slowly and painfully. Rabid gerbils may be involved. So, why did you move to Washbridge anyway?”
“Circumstances.”
Which was code for ‘I don’t want to discuss it’, so I was happy to let it go.
“Did you hear about the Camberley kidnap?” he continued.
“The heiress? Yes.”
It would have been practically impossible not to have heard about it, given the nationwide coverage that the case had received. Lorraine Camberley, daughter of the shipping magnate had been kidnapped, and was eventually found dead.
“I was lead detective on the case.”
“The papers said the ransom was paid, but the kidnappers killed her anyway.”
“The press didn’t have the full story.” Maxwell had reverted back to detective mode. I was beginning to regret having raised the subject. “Anyway,” he continued after a few seconds. “After it was all over, I decided I needed a new start.”
I sensed there was more to the Camberley story than he’d told me. Policemen saw death and tragedy all of the time—it went with the territory. Why had this case affected him so deeply? This probably wasn’t the time to press him on the subject, so I tried to lighten the mood again. “So you decided to move to Washbridge? Centre of the universe.”
He forced a smile. “What about you? Have you always lived here?”
“Pretty much.”
“Any other family apart from your scheming sister?”
“My soon to be dead, scheming sister.” I smiled. “I’m adopted. My adoptive parents are dead. Until recently it was just me, Kathy, and her family.”
“Until recently?”
“Yeah. A few weeks ago, I made contact with my birth family for the first time. Now I have an aunt, cousins and a grandma.”
“Do they live in Washbridge, too?”
“No, they live in—you won’t have heard of it.”
“Try me. I’m pretty hot on geography.”
“Candlefield.”
“You’re right, I haven’t heard of it. Where is it?”
Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why hadn’t I given him the name of some other city?
“It’s a long way from here. Up north somewhere. I’m not very good with directions.”
Thankfully, he let it go at that.
“Can I give you a lift home?” Maxwell asked, as we left the table.
“It’s okay, thanks. I have my car.”
I carried my shoes, as we walked together through the lobby of the hotel. In my bare feet, he towered above me.
“I’ve enjoyed tonight,” he said, as we reached the outer doors.
“You sound surprised.” I laughed.
“Aren’t you?”
I nodded.
“There is one thing I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“Who says you’re a great kisser?”
I blushed so hard that I felt like my face might melt. During the ‘Animal’ case, I’d used the ‘mind read’ spell to try to get information out of Maxwell. To my surprise I’d found out that he was wondering what it would be like to kiss me. In a moment of insanity, I’d told him I was a great kisser.
“Err—I—err.”
“Jill?
The voice came from behind me. I turned, and recognised the smile instantly.
“Drake?”
The two men stared at one another. My face was still burning hot.
“Jack, this is Drake Tyson. Drake, this is Jack Maxwell.”
More mystery, magic and custard creams to be found in:
Witch Is When Everything Went Crazy
(The Witch P.I. Series #3)
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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
