by Adele Abbott
“Yeah, we thought we might get a few more through the door,” Pearl said. “Still, the next one will be better.”
“What is it next time?”
“Origami.”
Oh dear.
***
“Organising P.R. for the museum can be quite challenging,” Sandra Bell said. “It’s a very hard sell. Unfortunately, there’s nothing glamorous about a museum. Nothing exciting—certainly not for the youngsters. It’s a horrible thing to say, but when I heard that the wand had gone missing, my first thought was that it would make a great story.”
Sandra Bell was your typical P.R. type. Larger than life, and bubbling over with enthusiasm.
“Did you suggest that to Coral?”
“Of course, but she shot me down in flames. Coral doesn’t subscribe to the idea that ‘No publicity is bad publicity’. But, I’m still hoping to change her mind. That’s partly what our meeting is about today. The Candle would be all over a story like this.”
“Do you think Coral will let you run it?”
“Knowing her, probably not. It might help if you backed me up.”
“Me? Why would she listen to me?”
“A story in The Candle might generate some leads for you to follow up.”
That was certainly true, but it would also bring out the nutjobs who always latched onto this kind of thing:
I think my pet snake has swallowed the wand. He’s been all out of shape recently.
I saw the wand in my newsagent, but it was a different colour and a different shape.
I saw it in the zoo. Or maybe that was a Zebra.
“Sorry, but I don’t think I should get involved. I wouldn’t feel right about putting pressure on Coral to publicise the theft.”
“Fair enough.” She shrugged. “What do you think are the chances of finding it?”
“I honestly don’t know. There’s very little to go on at the moment, but I’m still hopeful.”
“If you don’t find it, I think this place is finished. The museum without the wand will be just an empty shell.” She checked her watch. “Sorry, but I’ll have to catch up with Coral now. I have another appointment straight after that one.”
“Good luck trying to get her to change her mind.”
“Thanks. I have a feeling I’m going to need it.”
***
Wands or War? Who comes up with this rubbish?
I wanted to pay them a visit, but first I needed to find out as much about the organisation as I could. In the human world, I would have simply turned to my trusty friend, Google, but in Candlefield there was no internet, so I had to rely on the library. I managed to dig up a little information in the archive section—The Candle had run a few articles on them. W.O.W. believed that a witch’s wand was far more than just a symbol. To them, it was the very essence of witchcraft. They’d campaigned long and hard to bring back the wand, but with little success, apparently. They believed it should be mandatory for witches to carry a wand with them at all times. It was a very radical position, and one that didn’t seem to have garnered much support. W.O.W. had held numerous demonstrations and sit ins—they’d even chained themselves to the Town Hall railings once. And whilst this had attracted a certain amount of publicity, it didn’t appear to have translated into increased support.
I’d managed to find an address for what was apparently W.O.W’s headquarters—it was very near to Beryl Christy’s bakery. The name on the building was The Cheese Exchange—I had no idea why. W.O.W. had a small office on the first floor. The witch who answered the door had her hair combed in a centre parting with purple hair on one side, and green on the other. A few stray strands of green hair had drifted over to the purple side, but I didn’t feel it was my place to point it out. She was wearing a conventional witch’s costume—the only other time I’d seen a witch do that had been in the tournaments. There was a wand poking out from one of her pockets.
“Hi, my name’s Jill Gooder. I’m a private investigator. Would it be possible to speak to whoever’s in charge?”
She eyed me up and down for the longest moment. “Wait here,” she said. Then she slammed the door in my face.
I was left kicking my heels for several minutes, and was beginning to think that no one was going to talk to me. But, then the door opened again. This time, it was a tall witch with tight, curly blonde hair who came to the door. She too was dressed in full witch’s outfit, and was holding a wand, which she pointed at me.
“A private investigator, you say?”
“That’s right.”
“What do you want with us?”
“I’d just like to ask a few questions.”
“What about?”
“The Wand of Magna.”
“I see. You’d better come in.”
The interior of the office was very dingy, and smelled of cheese. Perhaps a legacy of the Cheese Exchange? There were another two witches inside; they too were dressed in conventional witch’s outfits, and both had wands.
“My name’s Desdemona.” It was the tall witch with the tight, curly, blonde hair who spoke. “Come into my office; we can talk there.”
I followed her through to an even smaller room which had a single light set in the ceiling. For some reason, it had been fitted with a red bulb—it was like being in a photographer’s dark room.
“Sit!” Desdemona pointed to one of two plastic chairs next to a plastic table.
“Thank you. I understand your organisation has been campaigning for the return of wands.”
“That’s our raison d’etre, but you said you wanted to ask about the Wand of Magna.”
“I assume you’re familiar with it?”
“Of course I’m familiar with it. We at W.O.W. hate everything it stands for. It was Magna Mondale who was responsible for persuading witches to forsake their wands. If it wasn’t for her, witches would still have them today. You’re a witch. Surely you understand the importance of the wand?”
“I only recently discovered I’m a witch. I honestly haven’t given much thought to the subject of wands.”
“Well, it’s time you did. The wand is as essential to a witch as these robes. That’s what our organisation is about—returning to traditional values.”
“What does the Wand of Magna represent to you?”
“It doesn’t represent anything to me. It just happens to have belonged to the woman who single-handedly did more to damage witchcraft than anyone before or since.”
“Okay. Let me get this straight. If the museum was to offer you the wand to use as part of your campaign, would you accept it?”
“Of course not. All that fuss over one wand is ridiculous. We want all witches to have wands.”
“Do you have any demonstrations planned at the moment?”
“Do you seriously think I’d tell you if we did? We’re a guerrilla organisation. We strike when no one expects it, in order to cause the maximum disruption.”
“Of course. How many members are there in W.O.W?”
“Including those here today?”
“Yeah.”
“Thirteen.” She hesitated. “Well, twelve now, I suppose. Deirdre has defected.”
“Deirdre?”
“Yeah. She couldn’t handle the smell of cheese. Lactose intolerant, I believe.”
“I see. Well, thank you very much for your time. It’s been illuminating.”
Wow! Or should I say W.O.W?
I came away convinced that W.O.W. were unlikely to have been behind the theft. Not just because they appeared to have little or no interest in the wand, but also because they were quite clearly graduates from the school of nutjobs.
***
It was time to report back to Coral Fish.
“Hi, Jill. Any news?”
“Nothing so far I’m afraid. Your staff have been extremely helpful though. Elizabeth put me onto W.O.W.”
“Do you think they might have stolen it?”
“I thought it was a possibility, but having sp
oken to their leaders, I’m not convinced they’d have the combined IQ to organise such a thing.”
“Where does that leave us?”
“Sandra told me she’d like to let the press have the story. That might help.”
“No! I’ve already told her that’s a non-starter.”
“Fair enough. I had thought I might find some clues somewhere in the museum, but I’ve covered it from top to bottom, except the sealed room of course. No joy so far, I’m afraid.”
“Do you have any theories, at least?”
“The fact that you haven’t received a demand of any kind suggests to me that the wand may have ended up in the hands of a collector.”
Coral nodded. “That’s precisely what I think. In some ways I hope it has because then at least that would mean the wand will be safe.”
“I haven’t given up on this case yet. I’m going to try to track down some of the collectors to see if I turn anything up.”
“Thanks, Jill. I really appreciate your help.”
Chapter 17
I’d been asked to meet the captains of the three men’s BoundBall teams: Wayne Holloway, the werewolves’ captain, Aaron Benway, the wizards’ captain, and Archie Maine, the vampires’ captain. I was headed for the BoundBall clubhouse, which is where I’d first met them some time ago when I’d been asked to investigate the disappearance of the Candlefield Cup. In fact, I’d discovered that the cup was never actually missing, but the incident had led to the resolution of a long-running feud between the wizard team and the other two teams.
“Hello again, gentlemen.”
The three of them greeted me with smiles and handshakes.
“Have a seat, Jill,” Archie said. “It’s really good to see you again.”
“I see the cup’s still here, then?”
“Yes. There haven’t been any more disappearing acts I’m pleased to say. How’s the P.I. business going?”
“Slow, probably best describes it.”
“You’ve no doubt already guessed why we wanted to speak with you?”
“Could it possibly be about a certain fundraising event in aid of SupAid?”
“The three of us have been discussing this,” Aaron said. “And we’re really not sure it’s a good idea.”
“Rubbish!”
They all seemed taken aback by my blunt response. They’d obviously forgotten how tactful and reserved I could be.
“Surely you should have learned from the mistakes of the past,” I said. “Exclusion is never a good thing. It doesn’t matter if it’s exclusion based on sup type, as happened to the wizards, or exclusion based on gender.”
“But women have never played BoundBall,” Wayne said.
“That’s where you’re wrong. Women most certainly do play BoundBall. Not in the same numbers as men, granted. The problem is their sport gets no coverage whatsoever. They’re ignored by the press, or worse still, treated as a joke.”
“I’m sure that isn’t true,” Wayne said.
“I can assure you it is. You only have to look at the article The Candle ran on this event. You’d be hard pressed to find a more patronising and condescending piece of sports journalism. Anyway, what harm can it possibly do? Surely it’s all about the game, regardless of gender?”
“I’m not even sure you’ll be able to put a team together in time,” Aaron said.
“That comment just underlines what I’ve already said. Our problem isn’t finding enough players—we already have far more than we need. It’s having to disappoint those who don’t make the cut.”
“Do you intend to play yourself, Jill?” Wayne asked.
“Me? No. I’ve never played the game, but I have agreed to act as team manager. I’ve already appointed a captain who will handle team selection.”
“You seem pretty determined to go ahead with this.”
“Oh, it’s going to happen. Trust me on that one. But, I’m sure the game would be even more successful if you three gentlemen are willing to endorse it.”
They looked at one another as though uncertain what to say or do. Eventually, it was Archie who spoke. “Would you mind giving us a few minutes, Jill?”
“Certainly.” I stepped out of the clubhouse and waited outside. Five minutes later, Archie called me back in.
“Look, Jill, I’ll be completely honest with you. We still have our reservations, but we owe you a great deal for the help you gave us.”
“Does that mean you’ll officially endorse the event?”
“We’ll be happy to.”
“Thank you, gentlemen. And, I trust you’ll all be there on the day?”
“We wouldn’t miss it for the world. This is the biggest thing to happen to BoundBall for many a year.”
No pressure then.
***
While I was in Candlefield, I called in to check on Barry.
“I want to go for a walk. Can I go for a walk? Please, Jill, can I go for a walk?”
“Yes, okay, we’ll go to the park.”
“Can we go and get Babs? Can we? Can we go get Babs?”
“I’ll give Dolly a ring now and see if she’s in.”
“Babs is my girlfriend.”
“Yeah. I’m not sure about that. Has she actually said she is?”
“She doesn’t need to—I can tell.”
“Okay, well, I’d better give Dolly a ring first to make sure it’s okay.”
I tried Dolly’s number, but there was no reply, so I gave her daughter, Dorothy, a call.
“I just rang your mother. I was hoping to take Babs for a walk, but she’s not answering her phone.”
“She’s gone away on an artist’s retreat for the weekend, and she’s taken Babs with her.”
“An artist’s retreat?”
“Don’t laugh.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Incidentally, did you know your mum had done a portrait of my sister and her family?”
“Oh dear. How did that work out? As if I didn’t know.”
“I haven’t seen the end result yet.”
“How did your sister take it?”
“She’s still in a state of shock, I think.”
“I’m really sorry.”
“No need for you to apologise. I’m sure Kathy will soon get over it now she’s a TV celebrity.”
“TV celebrity?”
“Do you watch Wool TV?”
“Is there such a thing?”
“That is the correct answer. I’ll explain the next time I see you. I’d better be going because Barry is getting impatient.”
“You’re out of luck, Barry. Babs has gone away for the weekend.”
“Why didn’t she ask me to go with her?”
“I don’t think they had any spare tickets.”
“Can we go to the park, anyway? I like the park. I want to go for a walk.”
“Why not?”
As soon as I’d let Barry off his lead, he began to run around the park, but I’d learned my lesson, so instead of chasing after him, I found a bench, sat down and waited. He’d eventually run out of steam, and come to find me.
I’d been there for about thirty minutes when I spotted Drake in the distance. He was making his way towards the gate at the bottom end of the park. This was my opportunity to have it out with him. But how? I wasn’t sure of the best way to tackle it.
“Drake!” I chased down the path after him, even though I still had no idea what I was going to say.
He turned around. “Hi, Jill. Is Barry with you?”
“Yeah, he’s around somewhere. Look, I’d like a word, if you’ve got a minute.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll get straight to the point.”
“You’re making this sound very serious.”
“There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just come right out with it.”
Oh boy! I wished I’d thought it through first.
“The other day, I let myself into your flat.”
“What?”
�
�I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have, but the point is—what I wanted to say—I mean.” This was going well. “Why are all the drawers empty? You have nothing in that flat at all.”
“Oh, that? Right.”
“So?”
“I was going to tell you, but I didn’t know how to.”
“Tell me what?”
“I’ve given up the flat.”
“But you’ve barely had time to get settled in. Why?”
“Your grandmother told me that you were seeing someone. A policeman, she said.”
“Grandma told you that?”
“Yes. She seemed to take great delight in doing so.”
“I still don’t understand why you gave up the flat? I thought you wanted it for when you’re in Washbridge on business?”
“Not really. I know that’s what I said, but the truth is I’d hoped that if I had a base in Washbridge, maybe you and I would become closer. So, when I found out that you were with someone, I couldn’t see the point in keeping it on. I moved out a few days ago.”
“I see. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.”
“That’s okay. Win some, lose some. Look, I can’t hang around. There’s somewhere I need to be.”
“Okay. See you around then, I guess.”
And with that, he was gone. No wonder there was nothing in the flat. I’d had no idea that the only reason he took it on was in the hope that he and I might become closer.
I felt awful.
***
Back at Cuppy C, I was giving Barry some Barkies when Hamlet called to me. I’d been giving him a wide berth because that hamster had a bad habit of spending my money—money I didn’t have.
“Hi, Hamlet. How are you?”
“Very well, thank you, Jill.”
“Are you out of books again?”
“No. We seem to have overcome that little problem. One of our reading club members lives quite close to the library, so he’s able to bring a new supply of books with him to every meeting.”
“That’s great.”
“I do, however, have another slight problem.”
“What’s that?”
“Between you and me, I’m worried that I’m getting a little out of shape.”
