Witch Is Why The Wolf Howled (A Witch P.I. Mystery Book 18)

by Adele Abbott

  “So, I take it you’ve signed up with Love Bites?”

  “That’s right. I’m still waiting for my first match. It’s really exciting.” She glanced up the street. “Oh, no!”

  I followed her gaze, and saw Mr Hosey’s train heading down the road.

  “See you, Jill.” Megan jumped into her van, and reversed off the drive at breakneck speed.

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t quick enough. Bessie was now parked across my driveway.

  “Morning, Jill.” Mr Hosey tooted his whistle.

  “Morning. I’m just on my way to work.” I gestured to the train. “If you could maybe move it out of the way?”

  “Morning, Jill.” Mr Ivers stuck his head out of one of the carriages.

  “Morning, Mr Ivers. Taking advantage of your free rides, I see.”

  “Of course. I can’t get enough of Bessie.”

  “Like I said to Mr Hosey, I have to get to work.”

  “You missed a golden opportunity with the sponsorship of this little beauty.”

  “Really? Have you landed some new subscribers?”

  “Not yet, but it’s looking promising. A number of people have come out of their houses to ask what it’s all about.”

  “Right. Were you by any chance parked in front of their driveways at the time?”

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “Just a wild guess. And did they shout something like, ‘what’s this all about’?”

  “That’s right. I’m going to get some flyers printed so I can hand them out in future.”

  “Great plan.”

  ***

  Imelda Barrowtop’s Will was to be read in the offices of Day, Day, Day, Day & Week, solicitors. The receptionist, a blur of brunette curls, had earphones in. I couldn’t be sure if she was transcribing notes, or listening to Spotify. I had to wave my hand in front of her nose to get her attention.

  “Jill Gooder. I’m here for the reading of Imelda Barrowtop’s Will.”

  “Take a seat over there, please.”

  “Where are the others?”

  “You’re the only one so far.”

  “Who will be dealing with this matter, today?”

  “Mr Twoday.”

  “Today, yes. Who is dealing with it?”

  “Mr Twoday.”

  Why was nothing ever easy?

  “I want to know his name.”

  “I just told you. Mr Twoday. That’s T-W-O-D-A-Y.”

  “Oh, I see. So, you have a Twoday, four Days and a Week, then?”

  “Actually, there are now five Days. Justin Day has just joined the firm. We’re waiting for the sign to be changed.”

  “Why don’t you just shorten the name on the sign to ‘Fortnight’?”

  “Sorry?”

  “You have a Twoday, five Days and a Week. That’s a fortnight.” I laughed.

  “Oh yes. Very good,” she said, stony-faced. “If you could just take a seat over there?”

  “Morning, Jill.” Imelda Barrowtop’s daughter, Petunia, took a seat next to me.

  “Morning. I’m the only one here so far.”

  “It’s only going to be you and me.”

  “Oh? I thought—”

  Just then, the door to our left opened, and a wizard with a shiny forehead appeared.

  “Morning, ladies. I’m Sunny Twoday. Would you care to follow me?”

  He led the way to a small office with his name on the door.

  Did you notice how I didn’t mock his name? It took a lot of self-restraint, I’ll have you know.

  “This shouldn’t take very long,” Mr Twoday said, once we were all seated. “This is the last Will and Testament of Mrs Imelda Barrowtop: I, Imelda Barrowtop, being of sound mind, do leave all of my other-worldly possessions to my daughter Petunia, with the exception of the journal which I have placed in safekeeping at the offices of Day & Week.” Mr Twoday hesitated. “This Will was written quite some time ago when there was only the one Mr Day.” With that explanation to one side, he continued, “I bequeath this journal to Magna Mondale, or in the event that Magna should predecease me, then it should pass to whoever is in possession of Magna Mondale’s book.” He turned to me. “I understand from Petunia that you have that book?”

  “Actually, no.”

  “I thought you did?” Petunia said.

  “I retrieved it from the sealed room, but it’s no longer in my possession.”

  “That’s very unfortunate,” Mr Twoday said. “I can’t give you the journal unless I have sight of Magna Mondale’s book.”

  “Do you know what’s in your mother’s journal?” I asked Petunia, once we were back outside.

  “No idea. I didn’t even know it existed. I’m sorry I wasted your time, today, Jill.”

  “Don’t give it a second thought. Would you like to get a coffee or something?”

  “Thanks, but I’d prefer to get back home.”

  “Okay. Bye, Petunia.”

  ***

  I’d arranged to meet with Dale Thomas’s secretary, Lucy Hannah, at her apartment, which was only a stone’s throw from Central Mall. She answered the door, dressed in jeans and a baggy jumper.

  “Ms Hannah?”

  “Please call me Lucy. Come in.”

  She led the way into a lounge which looked out over the main entrance to the mall.

  “You must have noticed an increase in traffic since that opened?”

  “I have. I may have to look for somewhere new. It took me an additional fifteen minutes to get home yesterday.”

  “It can’t be fun staring out at that shark all day long.”

  “What shark?”

  “The giant one above the sign.”

  She glanced out of the window. “Oh, yeah. I hadn’t noticed that.”

  Sheesh.

  “What happened at the funeral must have been very difficult for you?” I said.

  “You were there?”

  “I was close by.”

  “I didn’t want to cause a scene; that’s why I didn’t attend the church service. But I thought I might at least get to say goodbye to Dale when they lowered—” She grabbed a tissue and patted her eyes. “Sorry.”

  “Were you and Dale—err—close?”

  “By ‘close’, I assume you mean were we having an affair? No, we weren’t. Dale and I were friends—good friends—but never more than that.”

  “It looked as though Lesley thought there was more to it.”

  “She knew he and I were close, and assumed the worst. Dale was there for me during a particularly difficult time in my life. I’m not sure I would have got through it without him. He deserved much better than her. She was the one having an affair. Did you know that?”

  “I didn’t. Do you know who with?”

  “No. Dale was sure she was seeing someone, but he didn’t know who it was. In fact, only recently, he told me he was thinking of getting a P.I. to follow her.”

  “Did he actually hire someone?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Do you think it’s possible that he might have been depressed because of this business with his wife?”

  “He wasn’t happy about it, but he wasn’t suicidal, if that’s what you mean. I’ve heard reports that it might have been suicide. That’s impossible. One hundred per cent impossible. Dale loved life, even if he was unhappy with his marriage.”

  “The medical examiner said he had no pre-existing medical conditions. Had he seemed okay to you in the days before it happened?”

  “Yes, he was as fit as a fiddle. That’s why I find the idea of him blacking out hard to believe. Why are you investigating his death, anyway? Do you think there might have been foul play?”

  “I have an open mind, but so far, I have found nothing to suggest that it was anything but an accident.”

  “You should take a closer look at Lesley. She was in the aeroplane too, wasn’t she? She must have done something to him.”

  My meeting with Lucy Hannah had been worthwhile becaus
e I’d learned that Dale Thomas had suspected his wife of having an affair. Had he been right? Sometimes jealousy can cause people to see things that aren’t there. If she was cheating, who was she seeing? Maybe Dale’s business partner would be able to shed some light on that. He was next on my list of people to talk to. I’d already tried to contact him a couple of times, but without any luck. It was time to be a little more persistent.

  Chapter 14

  I grabbed lunch at Chicken Bits. Not the greatest name for a shop, but their crispy chicken nuggets were to die for.

  “You’ve got sauce around your mouth.” Mrs V admonished me when I arrived at the office.

  “I’ve just had nuggets.” I took a tissue from my bag and wiped my mouth.

  “You’ve missed a bit.” She touched her upper lip. “That’s it. I really don’t know why you buy that stuff, Jill. It isn’t good for you.”

  “Chicken is healthy.”

  “The stuff they cook it in isn’t. You should eat a few salads.”

  Yeah. Right. Like that was ever going to happen.

  “Anything to report, Mrs V? Have I had dozens of calls from prospective clients?”

  “Not exactly dozens.”

  “Some though?”

  “There was one call.”

  “What was that?”

  “Someone wanting to know whether we stocked Ethernet cable.”

  I sighed.

  “I do have some news, though,” she said. “You know I mentioned that I was going to look for voluntary work? Well, I’ve found something. It’s only one day per week, but it’s a start.”

  “That’s great. What is it?”

  “Wheels on meals.”

  I laughed. “You mean meals on wheels.”

  “I know what I mean, Jill. Wheels on meals is nothing like meals on wheels. They’re based at Washbridge Social Centre. It provides meals for the senior citizens who are mobile enough to make it into the city. The meals are heavily subsidised, so it’s very popular as you might imagine. So popular, in fact, that the queuing times had become ridiculously long. All that standing around can be very difficult for some of the old people—their legs aren’t what they used to be. That’s when they came up with the ingenious idea of wheels on meals. Under this new system, there’s no need to queue. The diners simply take a seat at a table, and when the meals are ready, they’re placed onto a plate on a tray, which has wheels on it. The trays are then pushed across the floor to the diner.”

  “This is a wind-up, isn’t it? You almost had me going there with your ‘wheels on meals’.”

  “It isn’t a joke, Jill. It’s a brilliant scheme.”

  “Aren’t there lots of spillages as the meals shoot across the floor?”

  “Very few, actually, but that’s because the wheelies undergo weeks of training.”

  “Hold on. The wheelies?”

  “That’s what they call the staff who have been trained to propel the meals across the floor.”

  “So, are you a wheelie?”

  “Of course not. I’ve only just started there. I just put the meals on the trays at the moment, but I am hoping to eventually become a wheelie.”

  “Well, I have to say Mrs V. That all sounds wheelie great. I’m wheelie impressed.”

  She sighed, clearly not amused.

  ***

  Leo Riley burst into my office with Mrs V once again in hot pursuit. This was becoming a habit, and not one I was very happy about.

  “We need to talk!” he yelled.

  “Just a second. Let me check my diary. How does next Friday sound?”

  “We need to talk right now!”

  “Thanks Mrs V. I’ll take it from here.”

  She gave Riley one of the looks that she usually reserved for Winky.

  “Care for a seat, Leo?”

  “It’s Detective Riley, and no, I prefer to stand.”

  “As you wish. Is something troubling you?”

  “Someone has been impersonating me.”

  “Well, you know what they say: Imitation is the sincerest—”

  “This isn’t a laughing matter.”

  “Apparently not. Why come to see me about it?”

  “Someone went to see the accident investigator and the medical examiner who are working on the Thomas case.”

  “Isn’t that the skydiving death?”

  “You know very well it is. I know that you’ve been hired to investigate this by a friend of the deceased.”

  “How do you know that?” Was someone leaking information from my office? Winky perhaps? A couple of tins of salmon would be enough to bribe him.

  “Never mind how I know. The accident investigator and the medical examiner are off limits.”

  “Attractive, isn’t she?”

  “Who?”

  “The medical examiner. I’ve seen her photograph in The Bugle. Now, what was her name? Top, Tops, something like that.”

  “Sheila Treetop.”

  “That’s it. Look, Leo—sorry—Detective Riley—I’m confused. How am I supposed to have passed myself off as you? In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a woman.”

  “You must have got an accomplice to do it for you.”

  “You got me.” I held up my hands. “I persuaded my cat to impersonate you.”

  Riley was red in the face and breathing so heavily that I thought he might have a coronary.

  “I know you’re behind this Gooder, and as soon as I can prove it, you’ll be behind bars.” With that, he stomped out of the room.

  After Riley had left, Winky jumped onto my desk.

  “I thought that guy’s head was going to explode,” he said.

  “Excitable chap, isn’t he?”

  “You shouldn’t have to put up with that kind of thing. Would you like a neck massage? It might relieve the tension.”

  “No, I’m good, thanks.”

  “Okay, but if there’s anything you need, just give me a shout.”

  That cat was definitely up to something.

  ***

  Before I started my investigation into the issues being encountered by Elf Washing Machines, I needed to get a feel for the scale of the problem. Kathy and Jen had both been sold lemons, but were they just unlucky, or was the problem endemic?

  I’d contacted Kathy who’d told me she bought her machine from Whyte Goods. I’d expected it to be one of those sprawling superstores, but instead Whyte Goods turned out to be a small shop a few doors down from The Howling pub.

  “Good afternoon, madam.” A man in a smart suit greeted me.

  “Hi.”

  “I’m Westly Whyte, the owner. Was there anything in particular that you’re looking for today?”

  “Actually, I’m just after some information.”

  “If I can help, I will.”

  “My sister and one of my neighbours recently had a problem with their Elf washing machines.”

  “A leak from the door?”

  “You’ve had other customers with the same problem?”

  “Too many, I’m afraid. The strange thing is we’ve carried Elf washing machines for years, and never had a single problem before, but over these last few months there have been at least eight, to my knowledge. I’m loathe to do it, but if it continues, I’ll have to give serious consideration to dropping that brand.”

  “Have you heard of any other shops encountering similar problems with them?”

  “I know of at least two, but if you’re in the market for a washing machine, there are a couple of other brands I can highly recommend.”

  “No, that’s okay, thanks. You’ve been most helpful.”

  None of this boded well for Archie Bald. Whatever the problem was, it was obviously widespread. If retailers in the human world lost faith in the brand, it might spell the end for Elf Washing Machines.

  It was time I took a look inside the factory.

  ***

  Jack was doing some training at work, and expected to be late in. That was excuse enough for me to order in
takeout. There was no point in cooking a meal for one.

  Who are you calling lazy?

  As always, I called ‘One Minute Takeaway’, and as always, they were at my door within sixty seconds. That’s what I call service.

  The pizza was delicious and hit the mark nicely. Now, what should I have for dessert? There was just one piece of gateau left in the fridge. Jack and I had eaten the rest at the weekend. I’d had two pieces to his one, which by my reckoning meant this last piece must be mine.

  Snigger.

  Before I could get it out of the fridge, there was a knock at the door.

  “Jill!” The young woman beamed. She obviously knew me, but I didn’t have a clue who she was.

  “Hi?”

  “Long time no see.”

  “Err—yeah?”

  “Come to think of it, we didn’t actually meet each other back then. We just had the photographs, didn’t we?”

  “Did we?” Who was this woman?

  “It was all handwritten letters. Not much email or texting when we were kids, was there?”

  “Look, I’m terribly sorry, but I can’t quite place you.”

  “It’s Rosy Glass. Your penfriend!”

  Oh bum!

  “Rosy? What a surprise.”

  “Isn’t it? You could have knocked me down with a feather when your sister got in touch.”

  “Kathy contacted you?”

  “Yeah. She phoned me a couple of days ago, and said that you and she had been reminiscing about the good old days, and that you’d been talking about me. Kathy said you wished we’d kept in touch. That’s why she sought me out, and sent me an email. Wasn’t that a nice thing to do?”

  “Really nice.” Kathy was sooo dead. “Fancy you living nearby.”

  “Oh, I don’t. I live on the Isle of Skye.”

  “Isn’t that a long way away?”

  “Two trains, a bus and two taxis. I thought I’d never get here.”

  It was only then that I spotted the suitcase at her feet.

  “Where are you staying, Rosy?”