The Complete Spellbinder Bay Cozy Mystery Boxset

by Sam Short

  "Agreed," said Judith, unfolding a sheet of yellowed paper.

  The majority of the letters were from Betty, the dates showing they spanned almost a decade. Millie soon became accustomed to Betty's neat handwriting, and moved directly to the end of the letter when she didn't recognise the hand it was written in. The letters not penned by Betty included letters signed off by Albert's mother, and a couple from his grandparents.

  As Millie neared the top of the pile, the paper became more modern, and she noticed that the address the letters had been mailed to had changed from a street in Edinburgh, to a road in Glasgow. With only two letters left to read, Millie had already decided that there would be no helpful information hidden in the stack of personal correspondence.

  She unfolded the final letter, a plain unlined sheet of white paper tucked into a faded brown envelope, and read it slowly, her blood running cold as the words made sense. She tapped Judith's leg. "Read this," she urged, handing Judith the letter.

  Judith read it slowly, and gasped. "That's a death threat if ever I've seen one," she said.

  "Look at the date on the franking mark," said Millie, handing Judith the envelope.

  “Two-thousand-and-three,” said Judith. She looked at Millie. "I don't understand why that's relevant?”

  “Remember what Jim Grayson said?" asked Millie. "He said that Albert and Betty had moved here about fifteen years ago. And the content of that letter makes me think I know why they came here."

  Judith nodded. "Of course!" she said. "And didn't Jim say that Albert was very concerned about his security! It makes total sense. They moved here to hide!"

  "Where better to hide than in a concrete tower next to the sea?" said Millie. "But who were they hiding from? The letter is just signed with initials."

  Judith stood up. "Come on. We need to show this to my dad."

  Millie follow Judith up the stairs, and as they reached the next floor and began climbing the final flight of steps, they heard a shout from above them. "Stop right there! You! Stop!"

  Judith clambered up the last of the stairs quickly, and Millie followed close behind. They emerged into the light-room to see Sergeant Spencer on the balcony, waving his arms. "Stop!" he yelled.

  "What's happening?" said Judith, stepping onto the balcony alongside her father.

  Sergeant Spencer pointed at an outcrop of rocks below them. "Look," he said. "Our mystery blonde haired woman."

  Millie looked at the section of rocks at which Sergeant Spencer was pointing, cold wind whistling in her ears. There she was — staring up at the lighthouse, using a hand to shade her eyes. She wore a flowing white dress, and her long golden hair blew parallel to the ocean in the onshore breeze.

  As Sergeant Spencer shouted again, the woman turned her back, and with surprising agility began hopping from rock to rock, quickly putting distance between herself and the lighthouse.

  "We'll never catch her," said Sergeant Spencer.

  “Can't you call for a helicopter?" asked Millie.

  “Police helicopters might be a common sight where you've come from, Millie," said Sergeant Spencer. "But the nearest one is based almost thirty miles away from here. She'll be long gone before it's even in the air."

  "We might not be able to get a helicopter," said Judith. She looked at Millie, and smiled. "But I know somebody who can provide us with aerial surveillance.”

  "Me?" said Millie, gazing at the long drop below the lighthouse balcony. "Even if witches can fly, I haven't got a broomstick, and the first trick I try is certainly not going to be launching myself from the top of a lighthouse! You're a witch too, Judith — you do it!”

  "Not you!" said Judith. She pointed at Windy-dune Cottage. “I mean Reuben! Summon him!"

  Millie gazed at her cottage. A few hundred metres separated the lighthouse and her home, but the wind was blowing in the right direction to carry her voice. Reuben had insisted that Millie left a window open for him before she’d left that morning, so there was a high possibility that he would hear her shouting. She’d give it a try. What did she have to lose?

  She made a funnel around her mouth with her hands, and shouted. "Reuben!" she yelled. "Reuben! We need your help! Come here!”

  Judith laughed. "No," she said. "He won't hear you shouting. He made you leave the TV on for him. I mean summon him, as in use magic to call your familiar to your side."

  "I can do that?" said Millie.

  "We'll find out whether or not you can do it," said Judith. "The fact is, you should be able to do it. You're a coven witch. Reuben is your familiar. It's how things work."

  "If you’re going to do it," said Sergeant Spencer. "Do it soon. She's heading around the corner of the peninsula. It's about three quarters of a mile until she crosses the open ground and sand dunes, but if she reaches the forest even Reuben won't be able to see her. Not without a thermal imaging camera anyway."

  Millie looked at Judith and Sergeant Spencer in turn. What did they expect of her? She’d only known she was a witch for two days, and she was expected to know how to summon a magical cockatiel to her side? "How?" she said. "How do I summon him?"

  "I don't know," said Judith. "I don't have a familiar, but the knowledge should be within you. You should just feel what you have to do — that's how magic works. There are no special ingredients and no chant that needs to be incanted. Just reach within yourself. You must be able to feel something different since you came to Spellbinder Bay? Find that thing, focus on it, and you'll know what to do."

  Millie closed her eyes. Pressure. She never worked well under pressure. "I'll try," she promised.

  Bewildered, and even a little amused at the fact that in the space of two days she’d managed to move from London to Spellbinder Bay, discover she was a witch, and somehow find herself at the top of a lighthouse preparing to summon a magical cockatiel through the use of her magic — she closed her eyes. That seemed the most appropriate method to attempt first. Maybe she should try wiggling her nose, too? No. That would just make her look stupid, and bring attention to the fact that she had been born with a nose which was a little askew.

  Doing as Judith suggested, Millie allowed herself to look inwardly, placing all her focus on the warm spot deep within her chest, the spot which seemed to have blossomed since she first stepped off the train at Spellbinder Bay station. The same spot which made her feel calm and safe when she was in the cottage.

  She wasn't sure what the spot was, but it felt like it should be there. Like it should have always been there. Like a part of her body had been unknown to her until she arrived in the strange town she found herself in.

  A hand fell on her shoulder, startling her. “Are you okay?" said Judith. "You're wobbling a little bit, and you’re quite close to the railing. We don't want somebody else falling off."

  Millie kept her eyes closed, and nodded. "Yes," she said. "I'm fine. Give me a moment.“

  She focused on her chest again, using the techniques she'd learned during the spiritual month she'd taken up meditation and yoga. She allowed everything around her to become superfluous. The sound of the wind, the annoying scraping sound Sergeant Spencer's boots made as he shuffled impatiently on the metal balcony grid, the calling of the gulls, and the sweet aroma of salt air mixed with the pungent stench of rotting seaweed.

  She ignored everything around her, and focused only on what was within her.

  Then she found it. It was that simple. Like switching on a light. The feeling in her chest was no longer merely a feeling. It was a thing, and she felt like she could touch it. Closing her eyes tighter, and conjuring an image of Reuben in her mind, she allowed the ball in her chest to do what it wanted — almost as if it had free will, knowing that it would respond to the request she made of it.

  She opened her eyes, her chest heaving. "I've done it," she murmured. "I think I've done it."

  Chapter 15

  Sergeant Spencer saw him first. "Look," he said. "I see him. At the back of the cottage."

  Millie na
rrowed her eyes. Sure enough, there he was — a tiny speck in the air above the cottage, but rising higher, and heading in their direction.

  Within seconds the little black speck took on colour, and soon enough it was possible to make out the bright red dabs of colour on his yellow cheeks. For such a little bird, he could move fast.

  "Reuben! You heard me!" said Millie, as the little bird landed on the balcony rail next to her hand.

  Reuben gave Millie an intense scowl. "You summoned me! I haven't been summoned for years! How dare you! You’ve hardly paid me any attention since you arrived in Spellbinder Bay, and now suddenly you think it's okay to summon me? And not only did you summon me — you waited until I was in the middle of a Jeremy Kyle episode I haven't seen before! I was waiting for the DNA results. Trevor denies he fathered Chantelle’s baby, but the red hair speaks for itself! This had better be good, or we are going to have some serious issues."

  "I'm sorry I interrupted your viewing, Reuben," said Millie, a little startled at the bird’s vitriol. "But this is important. We need you to fly in that direction," she said, pointing. "And follow the blonde-haired woman you'll see running away. She can’t have got far. At the speed you can fly, you’ll soon catch up with her.”

  "Hurry!" said Sergeant Spencer. "Don't lose track of her. I'll head around the coast in the car with Judith and Millie, and cut her off. You just follow her to wherever she goes if she does manage to evade us. Have you got that, Reuben?"

  "And why, may I ask, am I following a woman? Could that not be construed as weird, Sergeant Spencer? I may be a bird, but I still have morals,” said Reuben.

  “We think she might be involved in Albert’s death,” said Millie. "Just get going. Aren't you supposed to do what I tell you? I am your witch, aren't I?"

  Reuben flapped his wings. "Okay, I get it. Ignore your familiar for a couple of days, and then when you want something, summon him. I see how it is. I’ll do what you ask, but only because I have to, and because I happened to have liked Albert."

  The little bird swooped low as he took off, and gained height as he neared the crashing waves and sea spray. Millie watched him until the bright sunlight hid him, and turned to follow Judith and her father down the stairs.

  "Quick," said Sergeant Spencer. "It will take us ten minutes to get to the road which will cut her off. There's no way she can run that fast.”

  "We found a letter, too, Dad!" shouted Judith, as the three of them hurried towards the ground floor. "We think we know why Albert and Betty came here in the first place. To hide!"

  "Tell me about it when we catch up with this suspect," said Sergeant Spencer. "One thing at a time."

  Millie pulled the door shut behind them as they left the lighthouse, and Sergeant Spencer made sure to lock the door. He rushed to the waiting police car, and as he opened the door, looked skyward as a voice drifted down on the wind.

  “There's nobody there!" squawked Reuben. “She's gone."

  "What do you mean, gone?" said the sergeant. "That's not possible. Even an olympic athlete couldn't have crossed that much ground in so little time!"

  Reuben landed on Millie's shoulder, which she took as a mediocre compliment. "I mean, gone," said the cockatiel. "I'm not speaking in riddles. She's gone. G-O-N-E. I even found her footsteps, but they just stop in the sand. Like she vanished into mid-air."

  “A paranormal?" said Sergeant Spencer. "Is she a ghost?"

  “Not one I'm familiar with," said Judith. "But if she is a paranormal, she must be a ghost — no other paranormal person can simply vanish like that."

  “Can a ghost push somebody?" said Millie.

  "Yes," said Judith. "A ghost could find the strength to push somebody. It would need to be a well-established spirit though. A ghost must be dead for well over fifty years before they find that sort of power.

  “They can pull duvets off people's beds and move teacups around kitchens pretty much straight away after dying, but people pushing? That takes time. Even being able to leave footsteps in sand requires some serious energy. If she is a ghost, she’s been around for a long time.”

  "You're sure she’s gone, Reuben?" said Sergeant Spencer. "She couldn't have just been hiding somewhere?"

  Reuben sighed. "There is nowhere to hide around the corner. It's beach and sand dunes. Nothing else. I'm telling you — she vanished!" He pecked at Millie's ear. "If you're going to insist on being the sort of witch who summons her familiar, then please also be the sort of witch who insists that her colleagues respect the information I give them!"

  "Okay, Reuben," said Sergeant Spencer. "I trust you. She vanished. We should get this information to Henry. If a ghost is involved in Albert's death, Henry will need to deal with it."

  "You'll want to see the letter me and Millie found, too, Dad,” said Judith. "It's a clue."

  Sergeant Spencer climbed into the car. "Come on, get in," he said. "Show me the letter when we get to Spellbinder Hall. If a ghost is involved in a crime, we need to inform Henry quickly. The letter can wait a little longer.“

  “Absolutely not!” said Florence, the contents of a bookshelf visible through her midriff. “I’d know about it if there were a new spirit in the bay. We ghosts can sense one another. We operate on a different spiritual level than the rest of you. There is absolutely no possibility that a ghost pushed Albert Salmon from the lighthouse.”

  “Then how do you explain the vanishing footprints on the beach?” said Millie, warming to her new role as an unofficial police woman, and realising that her fear of the paranormal had diminished exponentially over the last twenty-four-hours.

  She still experienced a healthy dose of chills running along her spine when she reminded herself she was speaking to a ghost, but the cold hard fear which had gripped her heart was now just a light pressure. An almost insignificant pressure.

  Florence scowled. “I don’t know, Miss Thorn. Perhaps she’s a witch. Perhaps she made herself vanish — I’ve heard stories about people such as you being able to perform such feats.”

  “And that’s what they are,” said Henry, sitting at the table. “Stories. Yes, it’s possible for some witches to make themselves temporarily invisible, but not like the woman on the beach. It takes a lot of skill, and a surprising amount of time to perform. It’s not the sort of spell which can be cast instantaneously in the conditions the mystery woman found herself in.”

  “Then who or what was she?” said Sergeant Spencer. He looked at the cockatiel on Millie’s shoulder. “I trust Reuben. I believe him when he says she vanished.”

  “How kind of you,” muttered Reuben. “I’m honoured.”

  “I think it’s fair to say that the woman in question should be found,” said Henry, ignoring the bird’s sarcasm. “But in the meantime, I suggest you focus your investigation on the contents of the short letter which Judith and Millie found.” He smiled at Judith. “Read it once again, would you?”

  Judith unfolded the letter, and paced in front of the fireplace as she read. “I’m coming for you, Albert. You can’t hide. You need to pay for what you did to her. When I get out of prison I’m coming for you. You ruined her life. My new year’s resolution for two-thousand-and-four is to get revenge. I’ll be seeing you soon, Albert. W.M”

  Sergeant Spencer frowned. “The lack of anything identifying in the letter leads me to believe it was smuggled out of prison. No letter which contained threats would have gone through the normal channels. They get vetted, and that letter wouldn’t have passed. Whoever sent it probably paid an unethical guard to post it for them,” he said.

  “The postmark says Glasgow,” said Judith, studying the envelope. “That helps, doesn’t it? The prison must have been in Glasgow.”

  “Maybe, but there’s more than one prison in Glasgow,” said Sergeant Spencer, “plus, we don’t know if it was a man or a woman who wrote it. The handwriting doesn’t give it away. I can ask somebody to check for male and female prisoners in Scotland with the initials W.M, who were incarcerated during th
at period, but I don’t hold out much hope.”

  “And who does the letter refer to?” said Millie. “Whose life did Albert allegedly ruin? His wife Betty? Jim Grayson said he kept her locked away — maybe Albert’s treatment of her made him an enemy.”

  Sergeant Spencer shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said, “it all sounds very unrealistic. A threatening letter smuggled out of prison fifteen years ago… if somebody harboured enough hate to kill Albert, they’d have killed him long before now. They’ve had plenty of time.”

  “Unless Albert and Betty were in hiding,” said Millie. “Jim said they arrived here about fifteen years ago, and kept themselves to themselves. Maybe they were very good at hiding.”

  “I’ll ask some questions,” said Sergeant Spencer. “But my money is on the mystery blonde woman being the killer. If somebody runs away when a policeman tells them to stop, they usually have something to hide.”

  Henry stood up. “What about the tradesman Albert mentioned?” he asked, tidying a stack of papers on the table. “The one he asked to leave for being too noisy. Have you had any luck finding out who that may have been?”

  “No,” said the Sergeant. “I’ve been in touch with Albert’s telephone company, and I’m still waiting for information about any calls he made. I found no evidence of any unfinished work having been done around the lighthouse, so we’re in the dark as to what sort of tradesman came to his home.”

  Henry straightened his dicky bow. “Well,” he said. “I’ll leave it in your capable hands, Sergeant. I’m afraid I need to be downstairs in five minutes. I always give a speech to the teachers and children on the last day of term. They’ll be waiting for me in the main hall.”

  “It’s the last day of term?” said Judith. “I hadn’t realised.”

  Henry gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry you didn’t do much teaching this term, Miss Spencer. There just weren’t enough pupils. Next term will be busier, I promise. There are over thirty paranormal children reaching school age in the coming year, and the ones we already have will still require your very important input.” He turned his gaze to Millie, and smiled. “Maybe we’ll have enough pupils to warrant taking on another teacher. One with experience of life outside the paranormal community.”