Witch is When The Bubble Burst (A Witch P.I. Mystery Book 5)

by Adele Abbott

  ***

  The next morning’s Bugle had picked up the kidnapping story again. According to the article, the police were stepping up the search for Amanda. The depressing headline read: ‘Time Running Out For Amanda’.

  I gave Bob Dale a call.

  “No one has heard anything.” He sounded tired and resigned. “I’m trying to stay positive, but it’s difficult not to fear the worst.”

  I wished I could offer him some crumbs of comfort, but I shared his fear. The question was: would it be better to find a body and have closure, or wonder for a lifetime what had happened to her?

  On a much brighter note, I was in a meeting with my new accountant, Luther Stone. He’d taken over from my previous accountant, Robert Roberts, who had left the profession to work as a food critic. Luther was one of the best looking men I’d ever met. He looked more ‘special forces’ than ‘bookkeeper,’ but I wasn’t complaining. Even though he’d told me my business needed only quarterly consultations, I’d signed up for monthly ones. So? Sue me. It was money well spent in my opinion.

  “Jill?”

  He’d apparently asked me something while I was daydreaming about him, but I had no idea what. I’d been way too busy staring at those broad shoulders to listen to journal, balance, loss and profit stuff.

  “Sorry?” I flashed him what I hoped was a sexy smile. Judging by the puzzled look on his face, I think I’d got it wrong again. I really should spend more time in front of the mirror trying to perfect that.

  “I asked if you’d checked your overdraft recently?”

  “Not recently. Do you work out, Luther?” What? I was just curious.

  “Yes, several times a week.”

  I just bet he did. Now if I could just find out which gym he went to—

  “Jill! The overdraft. Have you looked at it recently?”

  “Yeah. Recently.”

  “How recently?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Last week, month. Definitely within the last six months. Or so. Maybe last year.”

  “You’re almost up to the limit.”

  “Really? Are you sure? I increased it.”

  “At the rate things are going, you’ll run out of funds within the month.”

  “That’s not good is it?”

  “No. It’s not. You need to increase sales and reduce expenses. You should consider moving to my new budget plan.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Instead of visiting your office, I conduct my consultation via Skype. Have you ever used Skype?”

  “I’ve played around with it.” An ex-boyfriend had a thing for it. It was a long and sordid story, and one I didn’t intend to share with Luther.

  “So should I sign you up for that?”

  “Yes, please.” The prospect of being able to get Luther on my computer at the touch of a button was too good an opportunity to pass up.

  “Good. I’ll sign you up and cancel the monthly visits.”

  “No!” I said way too quickly. “I mean, no, I want both. I find these monthly meetings are invaluable. If it wasn’t for you coming today, I never would have known about the overdraft.”

  “You should have known. It’s your job to know.”

  I’m a bad girl. Punish me. Punish me now.

  “Jill? Are you okay? You’d gone again.”

  “Sorry. I’ve taken on more work recently. That money should be in the bank soon.”

  “Good. Well that’s a start at least. But you still need to cut costs.” He looked around. “Do you really need offices as large as these? They must be costing you a small fortune in rent. There’s only you and the knitting lady—”

  “And the cat.”

  “Of course. I’m sure you could make do with somewhere half the size, and half the cost. I noticed a new company has moved in downstairs. I’m not sure exactly what it is they do—err—the sign is kind of confusing. But maybe they would take over the lease on this place?”

  “This was my father’s office. I could never leave it.”

  “It’s your decision obviously, but I recommend you give it serious consideration.”

  I promised I would.

  “See you next month,” I said as he stood up to leave.

  “Yes. I’m moving to another flat soon. That might throw next month’s schedule out a little. I’ll contact your P.A. if I need to switch the dates around.”

  “Okay, bye.”

  He looked just as good from the back as he did from the front. Stop it, Jill. Stop torturing yourself.

  ***

  I was getting into something of a routine now. I tried to practise magic for at least an hour, sometimes more, every evening. Originally it had been to make sure I could pass Grandma’s tests, but it was more than that now. I wanted to be the best witch I could be. The twins appeared to be content to stay at level two. I wasn’t criticising—maybe I’d have felt the same if I’d been brought up as a witch. But for me this was a new challenge, and I was determined to see how far I could go. Grandma was a level six witch; my mother had been one too. I owed it to myself and to my new family to try to emulate that achievement. Even though Grandma still scared me, I felt less apprehensive about the tests because I could see I was making progress.

  I liked to get to the Spell-Range as often as I could because it was the best place to practise magic by far. When I’d first started going there, I’d tried to persuade the twins to join me, but they’d come up with all kinds of excuses. I’d soon realised they simply did not share my enthusiasm for magic, which was kind of weird. I’d got to know a few of the other regulars at the Range, including one level five witch who’d been very encouraging.

  That day, I went to the Spell-Range with the intention of practising the ‘shatter’ spell. This was a classic example of a spell which was difficult to practise anywhere else. I asked one of the helpers who manned the Range to provide me with a suitable object to practise on. He in turn had asked what level I was. It took two of them to carry the stone statue, and place it on the ground in front of me. It looked expensive, but I guessed they probably bought these in bulk. I’d been surprised at the size of the statue—I’d been expecting something much smaller. Still, I was willing to give it a go. At least there wasn’t anyone close by to see me fail miserably.

  I’d honed my technique to the point where memorising and recalling the images came second nature. All of my energy now went on the focus. Grandma had stressed this time after time, and one day it was as if a light bulb had lit up. Much as I hated to admit it, she was right. It was the reason the twins were still stuck on level two, and probably always would be. Their level of focus was almost non-existent. I closed my eyes, whizzed through the images, and then focussed on the statue. Just as with the ‘lightning bolt’ spell, I had to direct the power by pointing at the object. I could feel the energy surge down my arm and out through my finger. The statue shook, but was still in one piece. I’d failed.

  The force almost knocked me off my feet. The statue exploded into a trillion tiny particles which were taken by the wind. I’d done it. I wasn’t sure why there had been that split second delay, but it had worked.

  “They’ll let anyone in here.” The familiar, but unwelcome voice came from behind me.

  I turned to see Alicia standing there. At her side stood the same skinny young wizard I’d seen with her before.

  “Looks that way,” I said.

  “You should get back to the human world where you belong,” skinny said.

  “I still don’t know your name,” I said to him.

  “Cyril.”

  “Cyril?” I laughed.

  He didn’t.

  “Sorry. Cyril’s a nice name. Oh, and while I remember, Alicia, thanks for tripping me up the other day outside of Cuppy C.”

  “Did I?” Alicia said. “I’m so sorry. I hadn’t realised.”

  “Anyway, it’s been nice talking to both of you, but I really must get on.” I turned away.

  “Don’t turn your back on me!�
� Alicia spat the words, and at that moment I felt something sting the back of my leg.

  I glanced down and saw what looked like a burn. That evil witch had used the ‘burn’ spell on me! This was something I’d never got around to discussing with Grandma or Aunt Lucy. I’d always assumed there was an unwritten law that a witch would not use magic against another witch. If such a law did exist, Alicia obviously didn’t think it applied to her.

  Another sting on my other leg made me jump to one side. Cyril was responsible for this one.

  I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t scared of them, but I was worried in case they were trying to provoke me into doing something which might have serious consequences for me.

  “Stop right there, or I will wipe you off the face of Candlefield,” Grandma shouted. She’d appeared directly between me and my two assailants. “Get out of here now, both of you, while you still can, or I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.”

  Alicia scowled, but the two of them began to edge away.

  “Can’t you fight your own battles?” Alicia shouted back to me when she was some distance away.

  “Why did you do that?” I turned on Grandma. “I could have handled those two.”

  “Maybe, maybe not, but it wouldn’t look good for a relative newcomer to attack another witch.”

  “She attacked me.”

  “That’s not how it would come out. Look, I know her mother and her grandmother. Alicia Dawes comes from a long line of wicked witches. Steer clear of her if you can. Otherwise things may get out of hand.”

  “Okay. Sorry.”

  “You did well with the ‘shatter’ spell.”

  “Not really. There was some kind of delay before it took effect.”

  “But then you were dealing with a level four object.”

  “Level four? No, that’s not right. That was only a level two object.”

  “Do you doubt my word?”

  “No, but I—”

  “I had a word with the man who fetched it for you. I told him to give you the level four statue.”

  “Wow! So I did good didn’t I?”

  “You did okay. Like you said, there was a delay. It still needs work.”

  Had the statue really been for a level four witch? I found it hard to believe, so after Grandma had left, I caught up with one of the men who’d brought it to me.

  “Excuse me.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I was doing the ‘shatter’ spell earlier. I believe my grandmother told you to give me a level four object?”

  “Level four?” He shook his head. “No, that’s not right.”

  I might have known. Grandma loved to mess with my head at every opportunity.

  “That statue was for a level five.”

  Chapter 15

  “Jill!”

  I turned around to find Betty Longbottom hurrying after me. Betty, a tax inspector and sea-shell expert, had only recently moved into the block of flats where I lived.

  “Morning, Betty.”

  “Morning.” She was struggling for breath. “I’m glad I caught you.”

  I had a horrible feeling I wouldn’t be.

  “What’s happened to Mr Ivers?” she asked, still breathing heavily.

  “How do you mean?”

  “He’s changed. He looks—I don’t know—different.”

  “Oh that. It’s his new image. Suits him don’t you think?”

  “I almost didn’t recognise him. Has he got a new job or something?”

  “Not exactly. He’s landed a weekly column on the Bugle. Movie reviews.”

  “Really? Who would want to read that rubbish?”

  I shrugged. I could think of one person. “My cousins helped him with the makeover. He wanted a new image for his readership. Do you fancy him now?”

  “Definitely not. He’s so boring. I like my men to be men—if you know what I mean?” She blushed and giggled at the same time.

  Maybe my initial impression of Betty had been wrong. Maybe she was something of a dark horse—another wild child, perhaps.

  “Do you think the Bugle would be interested in a column on sea shells?”

  “I’m not sure. I don’t suppose it would hurt to ask. I wouldn’t get your hopes up though.”

  “Incidentally, I’ve abandoned the idea of starting a newsletter,” she said. “Sorry if I got your hopes up.”

  “Shame.” Phew! “Oh well.”

  “I’ve decided to start a podcast instead.”

  “A podcast. On—?”

  “Sea shells of course.”

  “Of course. Well, I hope it goes well.”

  “Actually, I wanted to ask you a favour.”

  Great!

  “I need someone to interview me—for the first podcast. A kind of introduction, if you like. I wondered if you might do it?”

  “Me? I don’t know anything about podcasts.”

  “You wouldn’t need to. I can sort out all the techie stuff. I just need you to ask me a series of questions.”

  “What kind of questions? I don’t know anything about sea shells.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ll provide you with the questions—you just have to read them out. It will be just like being on the radio.”

  Except no one will be listening.

  “I am quite busy,” I said.

  “Please, Jill. I wouldn’t ask, but I haven’t really got to know anyone else around here yet.”

  “What about the people you work with?”

  She laughed. “They’re much too boring.”

  Of course. “What about your friends?”

  “I don’t really have any friends.”

  Whoops.

  “Except you of course.”

  “Me? Right, of course.”

  “So will you do it?” Her eyes pleaded with me.

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “Thanks. You’re a good friend,” she said, as she hugged me.

  ***

  Winky pestered me for food and milk, but then went back to ignoring me once he’d finished both. He was totally engrossed in his smartphone. I tried to glance at the screen, but he covered it up.

  “I hope you aren’t watching something you shouldn’t be watching,” I said.

  “Who do you think you are? My mother?”

  “Well, yes. Kind of.”

  He laughed. “Anyway, people in glass houses and all that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you understand how your web browser history works?”

  “Of course.” What on earth is a web browser history?

  “Really? Are you sure about that?” He grinned. “If you do, then you’ll know it’s possible to see which web sites you’ve been browsing.”

  I didn’t like where this was going.

  “Hot accountants—need I say more?”

  I could feel the colour rising in my cheeks. “That was—err—I was looking for—”

  “It’s okay. No need to explain. We all have our needs.”

  “No. It wasn’t like that. I was trying to find a new accountant after Robert Roberts left.”

  “And he had to be hot?”

  “That’s an acronym. It stands for—err—Highly—err—Official—Tested.”

  “Highly, Official, Tested? What does that mean exactly?”

  “You wouldn’t understand. It’s accountancy speak.”

  “And does it also require that they are bare chested?”

  “Go back to what you’re doing. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  Memo to self. Find out how to erase my browser history.

  ***

  Bob Dale called me, and I could tell instantly from his tone that something was wrong. I feared the worst.

  “Steve has been arrested.”

  “What?” I hadn’t been expecting that.

  “What about Amanda?”

  “Still no word.”

  “Why have they arrested him? Any idea?”

  “I don�
��t know. The police aren’t telling me anything.” His voice broke, and I sensed this was taking more of a toll on him than he’d care to admit. “There’s no way Steve did this, Jill. He’s a good guy.”

  “I need to speak to him. Does he have a lawyer?”

  “Yes. I sorted out one for him as soon as I heard he’d been arrested. Arthur Greaves—he’s one of the best. I’ll speak to Arthur and see if they’ll let you see Steve. I’ll call you as soon as I have an answer.”

  “Okay, and Bob—”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s all going to be alright.”

  “I hope so.”

  The police must have uncovered new evidence for them to have arrested Steve Lister. It was unlikely they’d found Amanda, dead or alive, because they wouldn’t have been able to keep that under wraps. Bob Dale was unequivocal in his belief that Steve was innocent, but history was littered with cases where the person least likely to have committed the crime was eventually found guilty. Steve had seemed genuine enough to me, but then I had found him at Rachel Nixon’s flat, and I still wasn’t sure what if anything was going on between them.

  ***

  “It’s us!” Pearl and Amber yelled down the phone. I could tell by the echo that they had me on speakerphone.

  “Hi, girls. How’s things?”

  “Good.”

  “Jill, we rang to remind you that it’s Mum’s birthday tomorrow.”

  “I hadn’t forgotten. What’s the plan?”

  “We’ve got the food and drink organised, and we’ve contacted all of her friends. Everyone is coming.”

  “Does she suspect anything?”

  “I don’t think so. We told her we’ll let her have our presents in the morning, but then we have to work all day in the shop, and then do stocktaking. Lester has said he has to work too.”

  “What about Grandma?”

  They giggled.

  “What?”

  “It’s so funny, Jill,” Amber said. “We did what we said. Every time she’s been in the room with us, we’ve thought about ice cream. She keeps chuntering on about young people eating too much ice cream.”

  “Hasn’t she asked about Aunt Lucy’s birthday?”