The Witch Who Mysteries Box Set 2

by Katie Penryn

  Weber replied, “For a cruising holiday.”

  When Dubois remarked that he was a long way from home, Weber answered, “There’s no law against that. My visa is in order. Speaking of which, I’m not saying another word until I’ve seen my ambassador.”

  And with that he refused to answer any more of Dubois’s questions. When Dubois told him his colleagues had admitted their stay in France was for more than a holiday, he merely grinned.

  Dubois tried every which way to disconcert the man but without success. Eventually, he had to end the interview. Two down, one to go. Would Dubois be able to engineer a confession from the third man, the one who’d gone down below decks to open up the sea cocks on the Princesse? At only five six, he didn’t have the stature to carry off Montigo Braun’s arrogant swagger. He took the place indicated and answered Dubois’s standard opening questions about his name—Miguel Gonzales—and his citizenship.

  Dubois asked a few questions circling round the main subject of the interview. Gonzales hooked a finger in the neck of his prison suit and ran it round and round as if he was finding it difficult to swallow, but he didn’t answer. Dubois pressed on, his voice rising as he tried to damp down his frustration. His haranguing caused beads of sweat to appear on Gonzales’s forehead. At Dubois’s next question, Gonzales bit his lip as if to stop himself from speaking.

  “It will go better for you, if you help me out here,” Dubois said. “You don’t want to go down with your two colleagues, do you? Spend years in a French prison for murders you probably didn’t commit?”

  Gonzales shot a quick glance at the door to the room. Someone was knocking.

  “Yes, yes, come in,” Dubois called out, frowning in irritation at the interruption just when it looked as if Gonzales was going to break.

  An officer entered and told Dubois he was needed urgently. Dubois rose from his chair, saying to Gonzales, “We’re not finished. I’ll be back. Keep him here,” he added to the two officers in the room.

  As Dubois stepped out into the corridor, my phone rang. It was Rear Admiral Colin.

  “Penzi, I wanted you to be one of the first to know. We’ve found the gold. Tons and tons of it.”

  “That’s fantastic,” I said.

  “What? What?” asked Felix, trying to snatch my phone off me.

  “It’s Colin. The navy’s found the gold.”

  Felix grabbed my arms and danced me in a mad jig around the room, shouting, “The gold. The gold.”

  The door burst open and Dubois hurried in, a wide smile beaming across his face. “Oh you’ve heard?” he said when he saw our antics. “This changes everything. Just you watch and see.”

  He hurried out.

  When I got my breath back, I sat down again. “Felix, thank goodness. Can you imagine how difficult it would have been to live our story down if there’d been no gold?”

  “Shush,” he said. “Watch Dubois.”

  The door to the interview room had opened. An exuberant Dubois entered and walked up to the desk where he stood and gloated down at Gonzales.

  “We’ve found the gold, Monsieur Gonzales. Your precious Nazi gold. All the crimes you’ve committed were for nothing.”

  Gonzales’s face crumpled up and with a loud wail he dropped his head forwards onto his chest. Before anyone knew what was happening, he jumped to his feet and backed away into a corner, holding up his handcuffed hands in front of him.

  “I knew this would happen,” he cried out as the officers tried to get him back into his seat. “I told that idiot Montigo Braun that we should find the gold and remove it as soon as we could, but he said no. He said we had to let things cool down after we discovered that meddling sailor exploring the wreck. He said it was dangerous to carry on while the police were investigating the murders. Now we’ve lost everything.”

  “What murders?” asked Dubois.

  “The two Frenchmen, of course. Off the Princesse.”

  Gonzales allowed the officers to push him back down into his chair. “All our work and planning for nothing. We’ve lost the funds we need for our glorious movement.”

  Dubois turned to the mirror and sent a smile our way. He’d got his confession. It didn’t take long for Gonzales to realize that helping the police with the case could work in mitigation of any sentence he might receive.

  In all the excitement I had cut off the Rear Admiral’s call. Felix and I almost skipped down the steps of the gendarmerie. I drove home as fast as I could with the good news for the rest of the family. I called the Rear Admiral back and apologized for ending his call.

  “Good thing you called me back, Penzi. I’m making arrangements for the gold to be brought up from the depths of the Atlantic Ocean. I promised you could be here to watch. Who else do you think should be involved? I don’t know enough about the people who have contributed to the success of this mission.”

  “I’ll send you a list by email, Amiral.”

  “Bien. I’ll get my adjutant to phone everyone. I’ll be sending a couple of helicopters to the Esplanade to pick you all up in two hours. You’re all invited to lunch on board the Louis XIV.”

  *

  We were an excited group waiting for the pickup: Felix and I; Izzy and Garth; Gwinny, Jimbo and Sam; Désirée and Marcel; Bella and her two sons, and Gwen and Peter Merchant. Monsieur Bonhomie, the mayor, was to travel out to the Louis XIV in a police helicopter with Dubois and Madame Fer-de-Lance. Izzy who had left hospital that morning was pale but smiling.

  Chapter 38

  Our helicopter flew out over the Atlantic heading for the Louis XIV. Some distance from the coast the carrier hove into sight—a dark blob on the rolling gray waves. As we drew nearer its elegant lines became more defined until we had the sleek military monster close enough to see the crew. Bright shafts of light blinded us as the sun reflected off the stacks of gold bars on deck.

  “Don’t worry,” the pilot said when we gasped at the sight of so much of the precious metal. “We may have started without you, but there’s plenty more to come. Look over there.”

  He pointed across the sea to a naval supply ship anchored about fifty yards from the carrier.

  “We’re using that ship as a diving station. Every time she loads five tonnes she sails across to the Louis and unloads her haul. The experts reckon there’s about a hundred tonnes on board the U-9999.”

  This was more Felix’s realm of expertise than mine, so I gave him a nudge. “Ask him to explain how that’s possible.”

  Felix gave me a superior look. “I can do that, boss. A tonne is a metric measure, exactly one thousand kilos.”

  “I know that,” I said through my teeth. “I mean the amount. How could a submarine carry that much gold?”

  “If I remember correctly from my research, the IXC could carry over two hundred tonnes of fuel and over twenty torpedoes. U-9999 would have had to set off without torpedoes and with only half the normal fuel supply.”

  “That’s right,” said the pilot. “The experts reckon the crew planned to refuel mid-Atlantic. Without torpedoes and half their fuel, they had well over a hundred tonnes of spare loading capacity for the gold.”

  I stared down at the gold bars. The pallets on which they’d been stacked with precision were visible now. “After all, that was their goal, wasn’t it? To deliver the gold to Argentina to finance the Fourth Reich?”

  Felix nodded. “Spare a moment to wonder what would have happened if the gold had reached its destination.”

  It didn’t bear thinking about. Four billion dollars would have gone a long way in financing such a project.

  The pilot nursed his craft down onto the gently swaying deck and we disembarked. Everyone rushed to the mountains of gold bars to touch them, count the rows and run their fingers over the Deutsche Reichsbank moldings. Felix and I made for the rail to gaze at the supply ship and wait for it to make its next trip back to the carrier.

  *

  It made one trip back to the mother ship before lunch. The Louis’s d
erricks swung into action lifting the precious cargo onto her deck. The bars had been stacked on pallets on board the supply vessel, so it was a simple transfer but awe inspiring, nonetheless. Beautiful as the gold was as it shone in the bright morning sunlight, at the back of my mind was the thought that it represented a large chunk of the wealth of Europe, resources post-war Europe could have used to repair the ravages of a war they had not initiated.

  As the supply vessel sailed back to take up station above U-9999 again, Rear Admiral Colin joined us on the deck and led us down to the officers’ mess for lunch. Our party’s excitement at the events brightened up my mood. At the end of the lunch, Colin gave a speech paying tribute to everyone who’d been involved in the finding and the recovery of the gold. He acknowledged the price Bella and Désirée and their children had paid with the loss of their husbands and fathers. When the applause had died down, he announced that Father Pedro and the German ambassador would be arriving after lunch for a memorial service.

  We all fell silent and waited for Colin to explain.

  “The supply vessel will collect all interested parties at three o’clock and take you across to the wreck of U-9999. Father Pedro will say mass in French for Joseph and Ben Marin, and for all the German sailors who perished when the submarine sank all those years ago.”

  Désirée and Bella clasped hands. Both of them had tears in their eyes. “That’s wonderful,” Désirée said. “Thank you for arranging this.”

  *

  At half past three we were all on board the supply vessel with Father Pedro, the German ambassador and Rear Admiral Colin. Colin surprised me with his forethought. He had provided wreaths for Désirée, Bella and their sons to throw into the sea over the presumed place of Ben’s death. The German ambassador tossed in a wreath for his compatriots. They may have been Nazis, part of his country’s unfortunate history, but they had been human beings. As the ambassador said in his speech, no man deserves to die in a submarine.

  Rear Admiral Colin closed the ceremony by reading out a presidential decree proclaiming the wreck of U-boat 9999 an official war grave, stating that as such the French government would protect it.

  *

  It was a tired and emotionally drained group of friends who returned to Beaucoup-sur-Mer that evening as the sun sank in the west behind the Louis XIV and her multi-billion cargo of stolen bullion.

  Izzy and Gwen Merchant had made friends during the day and the last thing I heard from Izzy was a promise to Gwen to send her a signed photograph.

  When the front door of Les Dragons closed behind us, Felix called me into the study saying he had something important to say to me.

  “Well?” I asked.

  “Here,” he said and smiled. He handed me a velvet jewelry box. “A little memento of our golden adventure.”

  My heart did a little flip as I raised the lid, but the gift wasn’t quite what I expected. Lovely for all that, but it wasn’t a ring. Nestling in the blue velvet lay my pearl. Felix eased it out of its bed and held it up for me to see he’d had it covered in a filigree of fine gold and attached to a gold chain.

  “It’s beautiful,” I whispered, overcome by his thoughtfulness.

  I pushed my split second of disappointment away. In the absence of anything deeper, I could settle for kindness. It’s not every girl has a friend like Felix in her life.

  “Let me,” he said undoing the clasp and fastening the necklace around my neck.

  I let my hair fall back.

  “Thank you, Felix,” I said and stepped forwards to give him a kiss.

  “That’s all right, boss,” he said, not quite meeting my eyes.

  That’s when I wondered if he called me boss to keep a safe distance between us. He took my father’s instructions so seriously.

  “Okay,” I said and laughed to break the tension. “This adventure’s not over yet. There’s still a job to do.”

  He raised his eyebrows at me. “Do tell.”

  “Finding homes for fifteen kittens. We promised Neptune.”

  Felix relaxed with a smile. “Is that all? I can do that. How about two for us? I can’t police the house and garden here as Felix the cat when I spend so much time as Felix the man?”

  “Won’t Magnus and Feo be hurt and annoyed when they find out?”

  “We’ll remind them how important they are to the library.”

  “All right. Two kittens it is. That still leaves thirteen.”

  “Child’s play.”

  *

  If you are wondering what happened to the murdering pirates, the Spaniard received five years in prison and the three surviving Argentineans received the maximum custodial sentence for murder. They may have lost their chance to finance the Fourth Reich, but I’m sure they were glad the death penalty had been abolished in France in 1981 so they didn’t face the guillotine.

  As to the gold? The Merchants’ boat was repaired, and they received a modest payment in recognition of their contribution to the successful operation. Bella and Désirée Marin also received undisclosed amounts. The finder’s fee went to Izzy, Garth, Felix and me in equal shares. How much? Well, that’s a secret, of course. And it wasn’t until weeks later that Felix and I realized the significance of the U-boat’s number: U-boat 9999 for the gold of a purity of 999.9 per thousand.

  END OF BOOK FOUR

  BOOK FIVE

  THE WITCH WHO SAVED CHRISTMAS

  Chapter 1

  A sudden strong whiff of fish wafted past my nose, cutting through the incense of the Midnight Mass. All around me the congregation of the Roman Catholic church of Beaucoup-sur-Mer knelt in devotion as Father Pedro conducted the Mass on Christmas Eve. I raised my head and glanced around me to trace the source of what was becoming more pungent by the second. Far over on the other side of the aisle a group of fishermen from the port at Darennes offered the only explanation, but surely they were too far away?

  *

  My family and I had moved to the Atlantic seaside town of Beaucoup-sur-Mer five months earlier after the news of my father’s death. I’m Mpenzi Munro; my friends call me Penzi. My father, Sir Archibald Munro, had been a world famous anthropologist. He’d disappeared while researching the cannibal Wazini tribe in the Middle Congo. Rumor had it that he’d got too close to the subject of his research and they’d eaten him. His will had stipulated that we should sell up our house in Notting Hill Gate, London, and move to France, to his holiday home which sat on the tip of the left-hand side of a perfect crescent bay, much loved by both French and British tourists.

  Our mother had gone walkabout with a band of druids seven years earlier, leaving me to bring up my then eleven-year-old brother, Sam, and my two-year-old brother, Jimbo. So, when my father’s will left no alternative I packed up the family and moved us with our two German shepherds, Zig and Zag, to Les Dragons in Beaucoup-sur-Mer. I had to give up my newly established practice as a barrister, but with years of schooling still to go for Jimbo, we needed a roof over our heads and the revenue from the trust fund my father had set up.

  When we eventually arrived in the town aboard a tow truck, we found our long lost mother, Gwinny, staying in our hotel. She told us our father had left instructions and funds for her to renovate Les Dragons and turn it into a suitable dwelling for his three children. Jimbo was thrilled to bits to rediscover his mother while Sam and I treated her sudden reappearance in our lives with polite skepticism. Gwinny was repentant and lonely. What else could I do but invite her to share our home with us, at least until our lives settled down?

  *

  For the past few months we’d made friends with the local townspeople and done our best to follow the adage of When in Rome. That’s why Sam, Jimbo, Felix and I were attending mass at the local church although our family is not Roman Catholic. Gwinny had opted to stay home and prepare for Christmas Day. Oh, I haven’t explained who Felix is. Felix was one of the two big surprises my father threw at me when he died. Felix arrived out of the blue as a beautiful Savannah cat. My father ha
d sent him by special animal delivery from the Middle Congo. A few days after his arrival I walked into the kitchen at Les Dragons to find a handsome but unknown young man with tawny shoulder length hair and peridot colored eyes sitting at the kitchen table. It was Felix in human form. When he’d had a chance to reassure me, he explained that he was a shape shifter. I’d never met one before and wasn’t even sure I believed in them. He tried my belief even further when he shifted into leopard form. Sir Archibald had sent me a shape shifting man-cat-leopard to be my bodyguard against all things evil in the natural world.

  On to the second surprise left me by my father — the natural as opposed to the supernatural world. Apparently, I was a witch, a white witch, the genes coming down to me from my mother in her mitochondrial DNA. Over time we learned that Gwinny had been a feckless witch, but even so she gave me important advice from time to time. She had put me in touch with the High Council of the Guild of White Witches who were now supervising my training in witchiness. The Council had kindly made an exception for me. I’m dyslexic and so learning my craft from my mother’s old Book of Spells was impossible. They had granted Felix permission to act as my helper. We made a good team, Felix and I. He taught me the spells as and when we needed them to fight evil and restore good, and I cast them. To date that had involved solving several murders and bringing the perpetrators to justice.

  Along the way we’d established a sometimes rocky relationship with the mayor, Monsieur Bonhomie. Tonight, he’d invited us to share his family’s Christmas dinner after the Mass. Sam and the mayor’s daughter, Emmanuelle, were good friends, so Sam was looking forward to spending the Christmas celebration with the Bonhomie family.

  I wrinkled my nose as the fishy pong grew in pungency. What could it be?