The Complete Spellbinder Bay Cozy Mystery Boxset

by Sam Short

  Millie nodded. “Yes,” she said, not relishing the task she’d been asked to perform. “I’ll inform her.”

  “And I’ll go with her,” said Judith, glowering at Fredrick.

  Fredrick grunted his thanks as Millie and Judith followed Timothy towards the door, his eyes on Judith as she crossed the cave. Watching Fredrick studying her friend so intently suddenly filled Millie with unease, and it was only when the vampire put a hand to his chin and narrowed his eyes that Millie realised why. He was watching Judith with suspicion, she realised, his distrust made even more evident in the way he held his head and murmured something to himself as Judith reached the doorway.

  Averting her eyes as Fredrick glanced in her direction, Millie made her decision quickly. Going against her instincts, and once again breaking a promise she’d made to herself, she concentrated hard, briefly closing her eyes as she worked on sending an invisible finger of energy from her mind to the mind of the tall vampire.

  As Millie’s energy brushed against that of Fredrick, he showed no sign that he was aware his mind was being probed as he crossed the room towards Edna, casting another look at Judith as she left the cave.

  It was as he cast that final glance at Judith, that Millie gasped. She broke the connection between herself and Frederick as Timothy turned to see if she was all right. “What’s wrong, Millie?” he asked. “Why did you make that noise?”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” lied Millie, walking after Judith. “I yawned. That’s all. I’m tired.”

  As she left the room she glanced over her shoulder at Fredrick, standing alongside Edna, both of them with their backs towards the door as they studied the bottles and jars on the table.

  Had Fredrick really meant what he’d just thought? Or had it merely been one of those fleeting intrusive thoughts that all people were susceptible to? The sort of thoughts that people were ashamed of, and ushered from their minds promising never to think such a thing again?

  Millie wasn’t sure, but what she was certain of, was that Fredrick’s thought had been a million miles away from the truth. It had to be. There was no way that Judith and her father had plotted together to kill Trevor Giles.

  Yes — Judith was an accomplished witch, but Fredrick was disastrously incorrect if he thought that Edna Brocket was going to connect any of the magic she found in the poison which had killed Trevor, to Judith.

  Very, very wrong.

  Chapter 16

  Typified by dirty brickwork and even dirtier windows, most of the houses in the street showed signs of neglect, but number fourteen Marigold Lane appeared more rundown than most of the other homes situated in one of the poorest areas of town.

  Yellowed net curtains hung from the grimy windows, and the lopsided gate scraped along the cracked concrete garden path as Millie pushed it open. Gazing around at the rubbish strewn garden, Millie looked at Judith for support. "So, we tell her the truth?"

  Judith gave a firm nod. "Yes," she said, no doubt in her voice. "We tell her exactly what happened. It's only fair and right."

  Although Timothy had hinted at the fact that they hide the full truth in fear of the werewolf community turning on Sergeant Spencer, Millie agreed with her friend. When you began hiding even the smallest element of a story, then it should come as no surprise when people disbelieved everything you told them about it.

  The early morning sun beginning to warm her face, Millie stifled a yawn. Yes, it was early, and yes, she’d hardly had any sleep, but she didn’t want to be seen yawning by Helen Giles as she approached the house, especially as the news she brought with her was far from boring. It was devastating.

  Smelling cigarette smoke as she approached the front door, Millie straightened her blouse, attempting to hide the creases which had formed during the short drive from Judith's home after she had picked her friend up.

  Judith appeared as nervous as Millie felt, flicking strands of blonde hair from her face, and tucking her shirt into the black trousers she considered appropriate attire for informing a recently married woman that she was already a widow.

  The muffled sound of a television coming from somewhere within the house indicated that Mrs Giles was up and about, and Millie flinched as she knocked three times on the door in quick succession. She rubbed her knuckles to ease the pain. She hadn't meant to bring her fist down so hard, in fact, she'd secretly intended to make hardly any noise at all, in the hope that Mrs Giles wouldn't be alerted to her visitors, giving Millie the chance of postponing the awful task of informing a woman of her husband’s death.

  All chances of postponing the visit evaporated as a woman’s voice came from within the house, her shrill tone easily competing with the noise of the television. "Trevor? Is that you? Have you lost your key again? I’m mad at you for what you did to me yesterday! I was supposed to go to Norman's open day, not you! Where have you been all night? I know you were arrested. Norman told me exactly what happened! Did you go on another drinking binge after that bastard at the police station released you?"

  Millie gave Judith a nervous glance as footsteps approached the door, and a loud clicking sound indicated the lock being turned. The door swung inwards quickly, and a short woman wearing a worn flannel dressing gown, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, stared at her two visitors with suspicion.

  She lifted her hand to her mouth, and took a puff of her cigarette, her fingertips yellowed, and her nails ragged and bitten short. "What do you two want?" she said. "I know who you are. Are you here in the capacity as Norman's teachers, or are you here in the capacity as run around lackeys for that idiot, Sergeant Spencer?" She looked at Judith, tilting her head, a smile teasing the edges of her mouth. "No offence," she said. "I'm sure your father is a perfectly nice man when he's not throwing innocent people in that cell of his."

  “I’m afraid it’s bad news, Mrs Giles,” said Millie, the ominous words not leaving her mouth easily. She swallowed as the colour rushed from Mrs Giles’s face, making the next sentence even more difficult to speak. “Would you like to invite us in so we can all sit down?”

  Tossing her cigarette through the gap between Millie and Judith, Mrs Giles rushed through the door and hurried down the garden path, looking left and right along the empty street. “It’s Norman, isn’t it?” she said. “Is he okay? He left early! After making his own breakfast! He told me he’d been invited to his friend’s house to play computer games! What’s happened to him?”

  “It’s not about Norman,” said Millie, hurrying down the path after the frantic woman. “It’s about Trevor. We should go inside and sit down.”

  Taking a steadying breath, Mrs Giles turned away from the garden gate to face Millie and Judith. “This is the worst type of news, isn’t it?” she said, dropping her eyes. “People only tell you that you need to sit down when it’s the worst type of news.”

  “Mrs Giles,” said Judith, her voice calm. “I’m afraid it’s —”

  Helen Giles scrunched her eyes closed and waved both hands in front of her face, as if protecting herself from what was about to come. “Don’t tell me!” she demanded. “Not out here. I think you’re right — if I’m going to be hearing bad news, I want to be sitting down, with a cigarette and a cup of tea.”

  The small woman made her way slowly up the footpath, her slippers making a scuffing sound as she dragged her feet. “Come in,” she invited. “You’ll have to excuse the mess. I haven’t got around to doing any housework this week.”

  “Don’t worry about any mess,” said Millie, following Mrs Giles into the house, the stench of cigarette smoke becoming stronger as she closed the door behind her.

  Mrs Giles veered right, pointing to a door on her left. “You two sit down in there, I’ll fetch us some tea.”

  “Would you like me to make the tea?” offered Millie.

  Mrs Giles shook her head. “No,” she muttered. “No. I’ll do it.”

  Millie and Judith filed into the living room as the sounds of tea being made emanated from the kitchen. Spotting th
e remote control amongst dirty mugs and magazines on the crowded coffee table, Millie muted the large television set in the corner, and perched on the tatty leather sofa, alongside Judith.

  The room stank of smoke, and the once cream carpet showed evidence of many food and drink spillages and was home to two empty gin bottles which lay forgotten in a corner. Spotting a photograph on the mantlepiece, of a smiling Norman proudly wearing his school uniform, Millie wondered if the young boy had left so early in the morning to escape his surroundings.

  “I knew Norman had it bad,” whispered Judith, as if reading Millie’s mind. “But I didn’t know that he lived in such poverty.”

  “Isn’t it unusual for members of the paranormal community to be so poor?” asked Millie, her voice as low as Judith’s. Aware that vampires tended to be stinking rich, due to the huge fortunes they could build up over multiple human lifespans, and conscious of the fact that witches never appeared to be poor, Millie wasn’t certain about the position of werewolves on the societal scale.

  “There’s not much poverty in the paranormal community,” whispered Judith, “but it exists. Especially among wolves.” She looked towards the door, presumably checking the coast was clear, before lowering her voice even more. “The thing is…Trevor’s never really done anything worthwhile with his life, and up until a few weeks ago when Helen married him, she’d been ostracised from the werewolf community after her first husband walked out on her. We shouldn’t forget that it was probably hard for them both to get on in life, and hard for them to make much of themselves.”

  “That’s not the only thing you shouldn’t forget!” came an angry shout, startling Judith, who sat bolt upright, as if electrocuted. “You shouldn’t forget that werewolves have far better hearing than you do.”

  Chapter 17

  Millie shifted uncomfortably on the sofa as Helen appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray laden with three chipped mugs and a bowl of sugar. Millie looked up at her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “We didn’t mean to cause any offence.”

  “There is no combination of words in the English language which you could assemble, in any order, that would offend me,” snarled Helen, slamming the tray on the coffee table, rusty brown tea spilling over the rims of the mugs. “I’ve lived with insults being muttered behind my back since Norman’s father walked out on us. What you two think about me, Trevor, or our relationship — does not bother me in the slightest.” She slumped into the worn armchair which faced the television, and took a cigarette packet from her pocket, plucking one from the box and drawing heavily on it as she lit it with a shaking hand.

  She fixed Millie in a steady stare and nodded. “I’m ready. I’m assuming you’re here to tell me that Trevor has died. I’ve always sort of expected it — Trevor has always had the knack for getting into fights. I told him that one day it would be the end of him. I told him he’d pick on the wrong person, but he never listened. He always thought he was tougher than he actually was.” She sucked on her cigarette again, tilting her chin as she blew a long stream of smoke towards the window. “Go on then… was it another werewolf that killed him? A vampire that ripped him to shreds?” She narrowed her eyes, leaning forward in her chair, her eyes on Judith. “Or a witch who cast a spell on him?”

  Judith gave a little cough and added a spoonful of sugar to her tea. "We don't actually know what happened to him," she explained.

  "You don't know what happened to him?" said Helen. "Then what do you know?”

  “I heard what you were shouting before you opened your front door,” said Millie. “So I know you’re aware that Trevor was arrested yesterday?”

  Helen blew out more smoke and nodded. “Yes. Francine brought Norman home after the school fête, and she and Norman told me that Trevor had been up to his old tricks again. Drinking and fighting. I was informed that he was arrested by your father, Miss Spencer, and unceremoniously carted off to a police cell."

  Judith nodded. “That’s right.”

  Helen tapped ash from her cigarette, allowing it to flutter to the carpet. "What Trevor did to me yesterday — spiking my lemonade with gin so I fell asleep on the settee and couldn't attend Norman's school open day, made me mad. I didn't really care that he didn't come home last night. I assumed that when he'd been released from the police station, he'd gone on a drinking bender and fallen asleep in a ditch somewhere." She narrowed her eyes, staring at Judith. “Is that what happened? Did he go and get himself in more trouble after he was released by your father?”

  Judith sipped her tea, only a brief flicker of an eyelid suggesting that it tasted as dire as it looked. "Trevor didn't… He wasn't…"

  "Mrs Giles," said Millie, looking the werewolf directly in the eyes. "I'm afraid Trevor wasn't released from police custody last night. I'm afraid to say that Trevor died while in police custody. He died in his cell."

  “He what?” demanded Helen, the colour leaving her cheeks. She filled her lungs with smoke again, and shook her head. "What?" she said. "That makes no sense! Trevor was a werewolf! Werewolves don't just die at his age — they don't get diseases or have heart attacks or strokes... I don't understand. How did he die?”

  "We don't really understand what actually happened yet," said Judith. "We think —"

  Helen moved quickly, propelling herself out of her seat, her pupils flashing yellow and the muscles in her forearms twisting and bulging as thick hairs burst from the backs of her hands. She emitted a guttural roar, before shaking her head and regaining control of herself, her eyes reverting to their normal colour, and the hairs retreating into her skin, her forearms frail and thin once more. She remained on her feet, staring down at the two witches. "What happened to him?" she asked. "I don't understand."

  "He'd ingested something," explained Judith, her voice shaking. "Some sort of poison. We’re not sure what poison, yet, but we're working on finding out exactly what happened to him."

  "Poison?" said Helen. She lowered herself into her seat and shook her head. "Poison? I don't understand. How was Trevor poisoned while he was in a police cell?"

  Watching Judith licking her lips nervously, her mouth opening and closing with no sound emerging, Millie spoke for her, still shaken herself by Helen’s sudden rage. "We think the poison was in the food and drink which Sergeant Spencer served to Trevor, Mrs Giles," she said. "We have no idea how it got into the food, or who it was that put in there, but please rest assured that things are being done to find out. Edna Brockett is studying the poison which was found in Trevor's stomach, and Timothy Huggins is compiling a thorough list of anybody we think could be a suspect."

  Her lips a thin white slash across her face, Mrs Giles lifted a hand and pointed a finger at Judith. "Her and her father should be on the top of that list," she said. "They both hated Trevor, and now you're telling me that he died after consuming a meal which Sergeant Spencer served him? They did it! They murdered my husband! Sergeant Spencer and his daughter poisoned my Trevor!"

  “No – no,” stammered Judith. “We didn’t!”

  Her eyes angry and her teeth bared, Helen stared at Judith. "You may have thought that due to the way in which Trevor treated me, I might not care that he died. I know what people say about me and Trevor, and I've heard the rumours — people saying that I only married Trevor so that I could regain my honour within the werewolf community.” She took a deep breath. “Oh, there's some truth in that. There's a lot of truth in that, but let me tell you, whatever Trevor did or said to me, he was a werewolf. I'm a werewolf. There is honour amongst werewolves, and if I find out that you or your father harmed my husband…" She stopped speaking and took a long breath. "You'll find out."

  Still shaken by the woman’s anger, Millie spoke as calmly as she could. "I understand that you’re angry," she said, "but Judith and Sergeant Spencer didn't hate your husband, Mrs Giles. You said yourself that Trevor liked drinking and fighting. Unfortunately, that way of living led to a few too many interactions with the police. There's no way that Sergeant Spencer
or Judith would want to harm your husband. They both want to find the person who did poison Trevor."

  "Oh," said Helen. "Sergeant Spencer must be hiding behind the sofa, or behind the curtains, because I don't see him here, with you two — showing that he cares about my husband’s death."

  "You know how things are, Helen," said Judith, her voice edged with nervousness. "Trevor was a member of the paranormal community, my father wouldn't necessarily investigate the case, even if he could. He’s human, Helen — the death of a werewolf is a matter for us paranormal types."

  "Even if he could?" said Helen. "What did you mean by that? You said you father wouldn't necessarily investigate the case even if he could."

  "It's procedure, Mrs Giles. That’s all," said Millie. "Although Sergeant Spencer certainly wasn't the person who poisoned your husband, he was the only person present when Trevor died. It would be inappropriate for him to be investigating this case until —"

  "Until his involvement has been ruled out!" said Helen, her voice rising. She stood up again and took a step towards Millie. "I wouldn't rule him out of the investigation too quickly," she said. "Not after what happened last weekend when Trevor was arrested. Sergeant Spencer had the motive required to have harmed my husband."

  "Mrs Giles," said Judith, "I can assure you that —"

  Helen’s head turned quickly, her eyes flashing yellow as she fixed Judith in a fierce stare. "And I can assure you that Trevor told me everything that happened in that police station last Saturday night!" she yelled. "He was ashamed that he'd hit you, Judith! It was the drink — he even managed to stay off alcohol for two days because of what he did to you. That's how ashamed he was that he'd laid a hand on a woman. I also know what you said to him, and what your father said to him afterwards.