by Sam Short
“Why would it be kept a secret from you?” asked Millie.
“Who knows?” said Fredrick. “Those sorts of secrets are rife amongst the staff in the school, and they cause animosity between people. They cause distrust — for instance, how do I know that I’m not the only staff member who is unaware of the real reason Trevor Giles was expelled all those years ago? Perhaps many secrets are being kept from me, perhaps I am disliked by more people than I ever imagined. That is why I will go through the motions of attempting to solve the crime committed against Trevor Giles… to prevent anybody from speaking ill of me to Henry Pinkerton. If Henry was told that I simply did nothing, and awaited his return before beginning an investigation, I’m certain that I’d be removed from my position on the Board.”
“Why are you telling me all of this?” asked Millie, aware that the vampire seemed to be content in unburdening himself of many personal issues. “How do you know I’m not the sort of person to talk behind your back.”
“In the same way I could tell from the flash in your eye that you were reading my mind, I can tell that you’re the sort of person who can be trusted,” said Fredrick. “I’ve become a good judge of character over the many years I’ve walked the earth, Miss Thorn. I know a trustworthy person when I meet one, and as for why I’m speaking to you in such a candid fashion… I wanted to clear the air between us, Miss Thorn. I hoped we could be allies and not enemies.”
“I’d like that, too,” said Millie. “I don’t enjoy conflict.”
“Then I promise no further conflict from me,” said Fredrick. “Whatever you and George decide to make of your relationship.”
Millie smiled. “That means a lot, Fredrick,” she said.
Fredrick gave a curt nod. “Good. Now we understand each other, why don’t you go and speak with some of the people on that list of suspects?”
“I’m in full agreement that I should go and speak to people,” said Millie. “But I’m surprised that you still want me to — after telling me that you have no expectations of finding out who killed Trevor before Henry returns.”
“My motivation in looking for clues may be selfish, Miss Thorn,” said Fredrick. “I simply wish to make it appear that I’m trying to solve this crime, but I’m sure your motivations are more wholesome. I imagine you really do want to solve Trevor’s murder, if not to discover who is to blame so justice may be done, then to expel that tiny part of you that still wonders whether Miss Spencer or her father may have had any part in the crime. That part of you that won’t be quiet, even though you know it to be wrong. That part of you that all of us have inside our minds.”
Millie gave the vampire a smile. “Almost,” she said. “But I also want to make sure that Sergeant Spencer is in no danger from the werewolf community before the real killer is found.”
“I wouldn’t harbour too many concerns about that,” said Fredrick. “Werewolves are apt to make grandiose threats, but even if the worse in their community did discover that Trevor had died while in police custody, I doubt that any of them would actually be stupid enough to do anything silly.”
“I’d rather not take that risk,” said Millie, remembering the anger displayed by Helen Giles when she’d been told how her husband had died. She stood up. “I’d prefer to try and get to the truth right away.”
Giving Millie a thin smile, Fredrick pushed the list of names across the desk towards her “There’s a lot of names on this piece of paper, Miss Thorn, maybe somebody on it will know something about what happened to Mister Giles. I wish you good fortune.”
Chapter 23
Winding its way uphill, into the countryside surrounding Spellbinder Bay, Briar Avenue was home to a sizeable amount of the witches who lived in the town. Large detached houses with spacious front and rear gardens lined the broad road, and colourful shrubs and plants grew in neatly mowed grass strips between the pavement and the street.
With her window wound down, Millie drove slowly, appreciating the cool breeze on her face and the sounds of children playing in the park alongside the small lake, in which ducks fought over chunks of bread thrown at them by mothers and children.
The difference between the poverty-stricken street in which Millie had been that very morning while visiting Helen Giles, and the road in which Beth Taylor resided, was stark, and as she parked on the driveway outside number twenty-four, she found herself wondering how young Norman Giles was coping with the news about the death of his stepfather.
An urgent beep from her pocket interrupted her thoughts. She unlocked her phone and read the message from Judith. The list of witches who practised moon-magic contained over two dozen names, and Millie scan read them, pausing on the name near the bottom. Beth Taylor. So, Beth Taylor utilised moon-magic in her spells.
The fact that a witch favoured the moon as an element in his or her magic, did not by any stretch of the imagination suggest that the witch was capable of murder. That much was obvious, and as Millie walked to the front door and rang the doorbell, eliciting a chorus of musical chimes from behind the blue painted door, she suddenly realised that she had no idea what she was going to ask Beth Taylor.
Yes, Trevor had offended Beth yesterday. Millie recalled the sarcastic comments he had made about the witch’s weight while in the cookery classroom, but comments such as those surely hadn’t incited Beth into wanting to kill Trevor?
She frowned, remembering some of the events from the day before. Beth had been working on the cake stall, and if the poison Trevor had taken had been placed inside a cake, as was suspected, Beth would have had every chance to put it there. She’d even helped Emma serve Norman with the cakes he’d bought for his stepfather, and she practised the same magic which was found in the poison. Millie bit her lip. No, that couldn’t be it. Beth certainly hadn’t come across as the murdering type when Millie had spoken to her the day before. She’d come across as quiet, and gentle.
The front door swung open, and a face framed by long brown hair looked up at Millie, the smile quickly being replaced by a worried frown. “Miss Thorn,” said Emma. “I knew it. I knew it was too good to be true. You’ve come to take my TV off me, haven’t you?”
“What?” said Millie. She smiled at the young witch. “No! No, of course I haven’t! I wouldn’t give you something on one day and then take it back the very next!”
Her face brightening, Emma smiled. “Why are you here then, Miss?” she asked.
“I’d like to speak with your mother,” said Millie. “If she’s got a few minutes to spare.”
Her smile sliding again, Emma’s eyes widened. “Is it because of something I did in school?” she blurted. “Because if it is, please don’t tell my mum. She gets very anxious and depressed, and I don’t want to add to her worries.”
“No, Emma,” said Millie, stepping nearer to the door and placing a hand on the teenager’s shoulder. “No, Emma. You haven’t done anything wrong, in fact, you’ve been an outstanding pupil. All the teachers speak highly of you, especially Miss Spencer — she says she loves teaching you magic because you put so much into learning it.”
Emma appeared to relax, tension leaving her shoulders, and her eyes twinkling. She stepped out of the doorway and stood aside so Millie could pass. “Come in then, Miss Thorn. Mum’s in the garden with my grandmother. I think Mum will be happy that you’re here. My grandmother has been nagging her all morning.” She winked at Millie. “Between you and me, I think she’ll be happy for an excuse to get away from her for a while.”
Pulling the door closed behind herself, Millie followed Emma through the house, admiring how clean and beautifully decorated it was. Whereas Millie’s cottage showed no sign that the occupier was a witch — unless a person discovered the secret cavern beneath her home, Beth Taylor’s house was the complete opposite.
A bookcase loaded with spell books stood against one of the hallway’s walls, and a display case housing a selection of beautifully crafted wands had been placed on top of it. Peering into the cosy living room
as she passed the open door, Millie noted the broomsticks standing in one corner, and the iron cauldron standing on the fireplace, with tendrils of steam rising from it, finding their way into the chimney. “Is your mother making a spell?” she asked, spotting the pestle and mortar and the assorted herbs alongside the cauldron.
“Oh no,” said Emma, following Millie’s gaze. “That’s my spell!” She smiled. “Well, it’s not really a spell! I’m making a potion!”
“Is it anything exciting?” asked Millie, promising herself that she really had to begin embracing the art of potion making. The potions she made were usually very boring, such as potions for curing the burns she received while cooking, or potions that helped her to get up early in the morning so she could take a run along the beach. Other witches always seemed to make far more exciting potions than she did, such as potions which would enable the user to speak with animals or see in the dark. She gave Emma an excited smile. “So? What is it? What’s bubbling away in your cauldron? Something fun?”
“Not really,” said Emma. “It’s a potion that helps Mum get to sleep at night. She suffers from insomnia, you see. It’s not really a very magical potion… most of the magic comes from the natural properties of the plants I put in it. It helps Mum, though. She gets a lot more sleep since I’ve been giving her a spoonful of my potion last thing at night.”
It may not have been the most thrilling potion in the world, but the love which Emma evidently held for her mother was evident, and Millie experienced a blossoming of warmth in her chest as she looked at the young witch. “Your mother is lucky to have you,” she said.
“No!” said Emma, shaking her head vigorously. “I’m lucky to have her!” Her voice dropping in volume and her eyes shimmering with moisture, Emma spoke in a cracked voice. “I nearly lost her last year, Miss,” she said. “She almost… She almost died.”
“Oh,” said Millie. “I’m sorry to hear that, Emma. I had no idea.”
“It’s okay, Miss,” said Emma. “Nobody knew about it. Mum didn’t want anyone to know about it... it’s sort of a secret, so please don’t tell Mum that I —”
“Hello?” said a voice from the end of the hallway, cutting off Emma’s sentence. “Can I help you? Who is this lady, Emma?”
“It’s my teacher, Nan,” said Emma. “It’s Miss Thorn, the one I told you about. My cookery teacher. She’s here to see Mum.”
Millie stepped forward as the slender woman with a head of soft greying curls hurried towards her, removing one of her gardening gloves as she approached and offering a hand in greeting. “How lovely to meet you,” she said. “I must say, Miss Thorn, you have taught Emma well! She makes her Mum and I some beautiful cakes and scones!” Giving Millie’s hand a firm shake, she smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Victoria. I’m Beth’s mother, and Emma’s grandmother.” Releasing Millie’s hand, she turned her back and hurried back the way she’d come. “This way, Miss Thorn, Beth is in the garden deadheading her rose bushes. You go out and find her, I was just about to make a cup of tea and fill a plate with biscuits. I do believe it’s time for a break. Emma can help me. She can practice her magic. She’s trying to master the magic required to make a pot of water boil, but she’s not quite there yet, are you, my dear?”
Emma shook her head. “Not yet,” she admitted. "I can make it nice and warm, but I can't get it to bubble."
“You’ll get the hang of it soon, sweetheart,” said Victoria. She led Millie into a bright kitchen and pointed through the window. “There’s Beth,” she said. “You go out and speak to her, Emma and I will bring some refreshments.”
Millie spotted Beth Taylor standing in the shadow of an apple tree at the bottom of the long garden, moving slowly as she worked, pausing every few seconds to wipe her brow with a glove. Even from the distance Millie was observing her from, it was apparent that Beth was in dire need of a cup of tea and a break.
Exiting the kitchen through the door propped open with a metal doorstop in the shape of a rabbit, Millie followed the paved pathway winding a route past flower beds and a small pond buzzing with insect life. Watching Beth struggle to reach a high branch on the rose bush, Millie wondered if her weight and evident lack of fitness had contributed to the circumstances under which she had almost died the year before.
Angry at herself for being capable of such judgemental thoughts, Millie called out to Beth as she neared the bottom of the garden. “Beth,” she said. “I wonder if I could have a few minutes of your time?”
Appearing surprised by the unexpected visitor, Beth Taylor took a few moments to recognise who it was that was in her garden. After a few seconds, the puzzled look on her face was replaced by one of recognition. “Miss Thorn!” she said, taking slow steps towards Millie. “This is unexpected. Can I help you? Is something the matter?”
“I’m sorry to arrive unannounced,” said Millie. “I’d just like a few minutes of your time if you can spare them. Something happened yesterday, and I need to ask you a few questions about it.”
“Something happened? What sort of something?” asked Beth, gesturing towards the circular garden table situated on a patch of gravel alongside the pond.
Settling into one of the iron garden seats, and swatting away an inquisitive wasp, Millie set her face in an expression she imagined would convey the seriousness of her visit. “It’s bad news, I’m afraid,” she said.
As Beth sat down opposite Millie, placing her gloves and pruning shears on the table, a flash of concern registered in her eyes. “Bad news?” she said, her voice strained. “About what?” She gave a worried gasp, and looked towards the house. “About who?”
“Don’t worry,” said Millie, reminding herself of Beth’s anxiety issues. “Nothing has happened to anybody who’s close to you. I’ve come to speak to you about Trevor Giles.”
“Trevor Giles?” said Beth, relaxing a little. She frowned, and her expression hardened. “What about Trevor Giles?”
“He died last night,” said Millie, observing Beth's face carefully. “He was poisoned.”
If Beth had indeed had anything to do with the premature demise of the werewolf, it was now that the clue would be written on her face — when the subject of Trevor’s death had first been broached. A quick glance towards the floor or a twitch of an eyelid might have indicated that Beth Taylor knew something about what had happened to Trevor, but instead, to Millie’s surprise, Beth smiled. “Trevor Giles is dead?” she asked.
Millie nodded. “Yes. And we don’t think his death was an accident. We think he was killed by a complex poison which was purposefully administered to him. Trevor Giles was murdered, Beth.”
“Murdered?” said Beth. “By who?”
“We don’t know,” said Millie. “That’s why I’m here. I’m going to be speaking to everybody that Trevor Giles might have argued with yesterday.”
“To ascertain whether or not one of them murdered him?” asked Beth. She narrowed her eyes as she looked away from Millie. “You’re here to ascertain whether or not I had something to do with his death, aren’t you? Because you heard him insulting me in your classroom. Well, don’t worry, Miss Thorn, I can assure you that Trevor Giles didn’t offend me enough yesterday to make me want to kill him. He teased me about my weight. I can handle that. I’ve always been teased about my weight.”
Millie gave Beth a smile. “I’m not saying that I think you hurt Trevor. There are a lot of people who had an axe to grind with him. I have to speak to them all, though, as you probably understand.”
Beth sighed. “Of course I understand,” she said. “You’re regarded as a police officer here in Spellbinder Bay, so I’ll do everything I can to help you.” She shifted her weight in her seat and smiled at Millie. “Ask me anything you like.”
Millie nodded. “Thank you,” she said. “You practice moon-magic, don’t you?”
Beth nodded. “Mostly, yes. It runs in my family. I use a little water magic, too, and some fire magic when needed. Why do you ask? Has magic g
ot something to do with Trevor’s death?”
“The poison which killed Trevor contained magic,” explained Millie. “It wasn’t simply a mixture of toxic chemicals. It was a complicated mixture of herbs and magic, both moon-magic and some water magic.”
“So you believe a witch poisoned Trevor?” said Beth.
“It seems most likely,” said Millie.
“How was he poisoned?” asked Beth. “When was he poisoned? He seemed full of life when Sergeant Spencer bundled him into his police car and drove him away.”
“We believe the poison was in a cake which Trevor ate,” said Millie. “But we’re not sure when he ate it. Trevor Giles died in a police cell after Sergeant Spencer had served him a cake brought from the fete, but Edna Brockett has discovered a magical trigger in the poison. She’s not quite sure how the trigger works yet, but it could point to the fact that Trevor was poisoned earlier in the day, and something triggered the poison while Trevor was in a police cell.”
“Triggers are simple magic,” said Beth. “And a trigger could be anything. A smell, a word, a time, a sight.”
“Yes,” said Millie, “and until Edna discovers what the trigger may have been, we’re looking for other answers, like when the poison may have been put into the cake which Trevor ate yesterday.”
Beth licked her lips, and then her eyes widened a fraction. “Oh my!” she said. “You think I might have poisoned Trevor because his stepson came to the cake stall and took some cakes away for his stepfather! I can assure you I didn’t, and I’ll happily allow Henry to use the stone of integrity on me to prove I’m not lying!”
“Henry won’t be back for a couple more days,” said Millie. “But when he does return, I’m sure that he’ll be happy to eliminate you from any enquiries.”
