Witch Is When Stuff Got Serious (A Witch P.I. Mystery Book 11)

by Adele Abbott

  “Did Anita ever mention anyone who might have wanted to hurt her?”

  “We didn’t talk much. She didn’t like me, and if I’m honest, I didn’t like her very much either. We exchanged pleasantries each morning and evening, but that was about it. She moaned about her ex-husband a lot. I don’t know much about him, but from what I can gather, they were going through a rather messy divorce. The only other thing that comes to mind is that she had an ongoing dispute with her next door neighbour. I don’t know what it was about—dogs or something, I think. It sounded like a storm in a teacup to me, but her neighbour came into the library a few times. The two of them had a shouting match once. I had to intervene, and escort her neighbour off the premises because it was getting a bit heated.”

  ***

  Great! Just what I needed!

  I was on my way home after visiting Mad in prison when my car decided to give up on me.

  I hated cars.

  I managed to pull into a lay-by on a quiet country road, but when I took out my phone to call roadside assistance, the battery was stone dead. Fantastic! Could this day get any better?

  Parked a hundred metres in front of me, in the same lay-by, was a white van. Maybe the owner would let me use his phone? As I walked towards it, I passed an A-board which read: ‘Malcom the Mobile Barber’.

  Inside the van was a man wearing a flat cap; he was fast asleep with his head on the steering wheel. When I knocked on the window, he stirred, and opened the door.

  “Sorry, my dear, I only do men’s hair.”

  “I’m not actually after a haircut. I’m parked back there. My car’s broken down and my phone is dead. I wondered if you had a phone I could use?”

  “Yes, of course, dear. Come on board.”

  Once I was inside, I could see he’d removed all the seats from what had obviously once been a minibus, and turned it into a small barber’s shop, complete with mirror, sink and barber’s chair. I’d never seen anything quite like it.

  Roadside assistance confirmed my call was important to them, which was nice to know, and then put me on hold for fifteen minutes. When I eventually managed to speak to someone, they told me a mechanic would be with me as soon as possible—whatever that meant.

  “I’ve never seen a mobile barber’s van like this one before,” I said.

  “This little beauty is a one-off.” He was obviously proud of his mobile workplace.

  “I’m Jill. I assume you’re Malcolm.”

  “None other.”

  I hadn’t seen more than a dozen cars go by since I’d pulled over.

  “Do you get much trade out here, Malcolm?”

  “Oh, yes. I’ve had two customers already.”

  “Today?”

  “No.” He laughed.

  “This week?”

  “This month.”

  “Two this month? That’s not many is it?”

  “Then there’s my regulars.”

  “Right. And do you have many regulars?”

  “Oh yes. There’s Bill.”

  “Bill?”

  “Yes, and Timothy.”

  “Two then?”

  “But Timothy has shaved his head for charity, so he probably won’t need my services for a while.”

  “Have you ever considered parking somewhere a little busier? Maybe closer to the town centre?”

  “No, dear. Too much competition there. Out here I’ve got it all to myself.”

  I sat and chatted with Malcolm for the next thirty minutes. He was obviously completely bonkers, but appeared perfectly happy to ply his trade in the middle of nowhere. It was already halfway through the month, so by my calculations he was probably doing one haircut per week. It made my business look like a thriving concern.

  I was glad to see the mechanic arrive, and even more pleased it wasn’t the same man who’d come out to Mr Ivers’ Diamond. This guy found a loose connection on the alternator. At least, that’s what he told me—it meant nothing to me.

  I waved to Malcolm as I sped off, but he already had his head back on the steering wheel.

  Chapter 4

  As I walked along the street, I noticed there were several large vans parked directly outside of Ever A Wool Moment. Surely, they couldn’t all be making deliveries? When I got closer, I spotted the Wool TV logo on the side of the vehicles. Of course! They must be setting up for the reality TV show that Kathy had mentioned. I was curious to see what was happening, so I went inside and found Kathy sitting in a chair behind the counter. A young woman was doing her make-up.

  “How’s it going, Kathy?”

  “I’m fed up already.” She certainly looked it. “I have to wear this stupid mic all the time, and the cameras are going to be following me no matter where I go.”

  “Not to the loo, surely?”

  “No, Jill. Not to the loo.”

  “How long are they going to be here?”

  “Every day this week.”

  Suddenly, Grandma appeared from the back office. She was dressed to the nines.

  “Are you going to a wedding, Grandma?” I quipped. She gave me a look.

  “I always dress like this, Jill. You know that.” Then she turned to Kathy. “I’ll walk the floor today as usual.”

  Kathy rolled her eyes. “She doesn’t normally show her face out here for more than a few minutes each day,” she whispered. “She usually hides herself away in the back, and leaves muggins here to do everything. She’s just desperate to get herself on TV.”

  “Young man,” Grandma shouted at the director. “Don’t forget to include close-ups of the displays of Everlasting Wool and One-Size Knitting Needles.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “You better had. I’m doing you a favour allowing your cameras in here.”

  “Will this be going out live?” I asked.

  The director was obviously pleased to escape from Grandma’s interrogation. “Yes, we’ll be carrying a live stream throughout the day with a highlights program each evening.”

  “Is there a time delay on the live stream? In case anything goes wrong?”

  “No. It’s completely live—warts and all.”

  Speaking of warts. How come Grandma’s wart had disappeared?

  “Why are you staring at me, Jill?” she said.

  Whoops.

  “Err—I was —err nothing.”

  Either she’d found the world’s best concealer or magic was involved. Maybe it would work on my frown lines?

  “Okay, everyone!” The director shouted. “We go live in three, two—”

  That was my cue to leave. I had a feeling that the next week could turn out to be very entertaining indeed.

  ***

  When I arrived at Aunt Lucy’s, I found her staring out of the window, tutting to herself. She hadn’t even noticed me walk into the room.

  “Ahem!”

  “Oh. Hello, Jill. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Is anything wrong, Aunt Lucy?”

  “Look at the state of this garden. It’s a real mess.”

  “Hasn’t Sebastian been around lately?”

  “I had to sack him.”

  “Why?”

  “Come on, Jill. You don’t have to pretend. I know what happened between him and the twins.”

  “They told you?”

  “They didn’t volunteer the information, but I’m their mother—I know when something’s wrong. I got it out of them eventually. Stupid girls. I sat them down and gave them a serious talking to. They’ve got two lovely fiancés, and yet they spend their time flirting with the gardener. Ridiculous! And, it’s left me in the lurch—I could hardly keep Sebastian on after that debacle. Look at my rhododendrons. I’ve never seen them looking so sorry for themselves.”

  Now, I understood why the twins had suddenly rediscovered their fiancés, and had started house-hunting. Aunt Lucy must have given them a real dressing-down. The garden still looked quite splendid—it put mine to shame. But Aunt Lucy’s standards were extremely high,
and I could see she was upset.

  “I don’t suppose you know any gardeners, do you, Jill?”

  “I know one—my brother-in-law, Peter, but I can’t exactly ask him. He’s a human, so he can’t come to Candlefield.”

  “That’s a pity. I think I’m going to have to put an advert in The Candle.”

  “What about Lester? Does he do any gardening?”

  “Lester? Goodness, no. I wouldn’t trust him with my garden. I love the man to bits, but I don’t think he’d know a hydrangea from a hyena.”

  “Talking of Lester, are you and he still thinking of moving to the human world?”

  I had my fingers crossed that she’d dropped the idea of moving in with me.

  “Lester suggested we could rent some sort of weekend retreat over in Washbridge, so we could see how I adjust.”

  “That sounds like a great idea.”

  “I’m just going to see how things develop. I’m not in any great hurry, I must admit.”

  “Aunt Lucy, while I’m here, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “What’s that, dear?”

  “It’s a bit of a confession, actually.”

  “Oh?” She looked a little concerned.

  “I’ve met my father.”

  “But I thought you said you didn’t want to see him?”

  “I hadn’t planned to, but I literally bumped into him in Washbridge.”

  “Hmm? That probably wasn’t a coincidence.”

  “I did wonder about that, but anyway we’ve met up again since then. He seemed very worried about my safety, and kept warning me to be careful.”

  “Are you going to keep seeing him?”

  “No. I have nothing to say to him. He abandoned me for no apparent reason, and made no effort to see me again. He’s not a part of my life. I have my family here in Candlefield, and my family in Washbridge. I don’t need him.”

  “Good. It’s probably for the best.”

  “Is Grandma still seeing Horace?”

  “Yes, as far as I know.”

  “What do you think of him?”

  “He’s a strange man. I don’t really know what to make of him.”

  “To be honest, he gives me the creeps. He came to my flat.”

  “With Grandma?”

  “No, by himself.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, but he seems to know all about my sister and her family.”

  “Have you mentioned this to Grandma?”

  “No.”

  “You should.”

  “What would I say? ‘Your new boyfriend gives me the creeps’? Maybe I just need time to get to know him.”

  ***

  I’d tried really hard to persuade the twins that they should have a ‘soft’ launch of the conveyor belt—to test it while there weren’t many people in the shop, so they could iron out all of the problems. But no—they knew best. They wanted a big launch party, and they’d invited everyone.

  And, today was the day.

  Everyone who was anyone in Candlefield was in Cuppy C, including the mayor, the chief of police, numerous level six witches, and reporters from The Candle. Aunt Lucy and Lester were there too, along with the twins’ fiancés. Grandma had cried off; she said she had important business in Washbridge. I had a feeling she had a sense of what was to come. I’d thought I was there as a guest too, but it turned out they wanted me to work behind the counter. Great. I’d got all dressed up for nothing.

  Amber and Pearl had both invested heavily in new outfits, and they’d spent hours preparing a speech which went on for way too long. Everyone in the audience looked comatose by the time Pearl wrapped it up.

  “And so, in closing,” she said. “It is with great pleasure that we switch on the first tea room conveyor belt in Candlefield.” Both of them placed a hand on the red button, and pressed.

  Just like before, the conveyor belt set off at a snail’s pace. If anything, it was even slower, probably because of the number of cakes which had been piled onto it. After a few minutes, the cakes were still making their way slowly around the room. The guests were becoming more and more impatient. The rumbles of complaint got louder as people grew tired of waiting for their cake.

  “I thought you’d sorted this?” I said.

  “We did.” Amber looked stressed. “We got it going faster, but I can’t remember how we did it.” She pressed a button, and the conveyor belt started to go in reverse. There were more moans and groans as the cakes got even further away from the guests. She pressed a different button, which at least meant it was travelling in the right direction again.

  Pearl pulled one of the levers. “I think it’s this,” she said.

  “No. It isn’t.” Amber pulled it back.

  “Yes it is.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  Suddenly, the lever broke off in their hands, and the conveyor belt began to speed around the room so quickly that the cakes flew off in all directions. A custard tart hit the mayor smack bang in the face. Buns were spilling into people’s laps.

  Amber jumped up onto the counter and shouted, “Don’t panic. Everything’s in hand.”

  But it was way too late; everyone was leaving. The last person to leave the shop was the photographer from The Candle. He turned, and snapped a few photos.

  I could already picture the next morning’s headlines.

  ***

  Everyone else had left, but I stayed on in Cuppy C. It seemed a shame to let the blueberry muffins go to waste.

  “Hi, Jill.” It was Annie Christy. “Where is everyone? And what’s that monstrous thing?”

  “A conveyor belt. It’s the twins’ latest brainwave, but things didn’t quite go to plan.”

  “Oh dear. Can you spare me a minute?”

  “Sure. Would you like a drink?”

  “No, I can’t stay. I popped in on the off chance that I’d catch you here. I know you’re never far away from the blueberry muffins.”

  Harsh, but true.

  Some time ago, I’d been hired to find out who was sabotaging Annie’s mother’s bakery business. It turned out that it was actually her mother who was behind it. She’d done it for the best of reasons. Annie had wanted her to sell the business and retire, but her mother had been dead set against the idea. She hadn’t known how to tell her daughter that she didn’t want to sell up and retire, so she’d sabotaged her own business to put off the potential buyer. Anyway, it had all ended well, and afterwards, Annie and SupAid had helped me to find an expert for Lester to consult when he temporarily lost his magic powers.

  “I haven’t seen you for ages, Annie. How are things at SupAid?”

  “Not great, actually. That’s the reason I’m here. I’m after a favour. I’ll get straight to the point, Jill. Donations to SupAid are at an all-time low. I’m not sure why. Money’s tight, I guess. We’re struggling to meet our commitments. What we need is a big fundraiser—something that will really make an impact, and replenish the coffers. The truth is that myself and my colleagues are all out of ideas. I wondered if maybe you could come up with some suggestions?”

  “Me? I know nothing about fundraising. What made you think of me?”

  “You have the highest profile of all the witches in Candlefield, so anything you do will probably get the headlines.”

  “But I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  “Will you at least think about it?”

  “Yes, of course. If I come up with anything, I’ll give you a call.”

  “Thanks, Jill. That’s all I can ask. I’d better be off. I’ve got an appointment in five minutes. Nice to see you again.”

  A fundraiser? That sort of thing was more Kathy’s department. She was always raising funds for the school or some other good cause. I could just imagine how that conversation would go.

  “Hey, Kathy. Do you have any suggestions for a fundraiser?”

  “What’s it for?”

  “SupAid.”

  “Never heard of it
.”

  “They help supernatural creatures who have temporarily lost their magical powers.”

  “Do what?”

  “You know. Witches, wizards—that sort of thing.”

  “Have you been drinking again, Jill?”

  Chapter 5

  I was pleased to discover that the mini-market across the road from my block of flats had, at long last, restocked on custard creams. And about time, too!

  Jammie Dodgers, indeed!

  I bought five packets—just in case there was a rush on them.

  There was a large crowd gathered around the front of my building. What was going on? As I got closer, I noticed a number of small signs which had been pushed into the grass. They read: ‘Yard Sale Today’.

  I enjoyed a good yard sale. Obviously, most of what was on offer was usually rubbish, but you could occasionally pick up a bargain. This one had certainly attracted a crowd; there were dozens of people milling around. It was only when I got closer that I realised the person running the yard sale was none other than Betty Longbottom.

  My heart sank.

  I took a quick look around the tables, and sure enough, there was all the contraband which she’d had stashed in her spare bedroom. The contraband which I’d managed to hide from the police when they’d caught her shoplifting. I’d made her promise that she’d return all of these goods, and stop the shoplifting. So why was she selling it in a yard sale?

  “Betty!”

  “Hi, Jill.”

  “Or should I call you Miss Longbottom?”

  “Betty’s fine. I only insist on Miss Longbottom when I’m on duty.”

  “I thought tax inspectors were always on duty. Did Luther get in touch with you?”

  “He did. Everything is sorted now. Nothing for you to worry about.”

  “Good.”

  I would have loved to be a fly on the wall when Betty met Luther. She’d probably thrown herself at him. Poor old Luther—having to fight off a rampant Longbottom.