Witch Is Why The Owl Returned (A Witch P.I. Mystery Book 21)
Page 3
“Thanks. I take it that things with you and Ryan are okay now?”
“Yeah. I suppose.”
“You don’t sound very sure. What’s wrong?”
“It’s probably just me. It feels like I’m always finding fault with him.”
“Something is obviously bothering you.”
“While I was at his place last weekend, I was thirsty, so I checked the fridge for juice.” Her voice trailed away.
“And?”
“It was full of bottles with some strange, dark red liquid in them.”
Oh bum! What was wrong with that guy? Did he have no sense at all?
“What kind of dark red liquid?”
“That’s just it. I don’t know. There were no labels on the bottles.”
“Maybe it was raspberry juice? Or cranberry?”
“It wasn’t juice at all. The liquid inside was really thick. I know this is going to sound daft, but it was almost like blood.”
“Maybe Ryan is a vampire?” I laughed.
“You’re right.” She managed a smile. “I’m just being stupid.”
“Did you ask him what it was?”
“No. I made some silly excuse, and said I had to leave.”
“You need to ask him about it.”
“I will. He’s gone away on a course for a few days. I’ll have it out with him when he gets back.”
“Is the gardening business going any better than the boyfriend business?”
“Much better. In addition to the one-off jobs, I’m also starting to build up a clientele made up of customers who need regular garden maintenance. I enjoy this so much more than the modelling. There’s only one slight downside, and I realise I shouldn’t complain, but some customers have such bad taste.”
“How do you mean?”
“The one thing that drives me crazy is people who insist on having garden gnomes. I mean, seriously? Whoever thought a garden gnome looked good?”
“Do you get many requests for gnomes?”
“A surprising number. Still, I shouldn’t complain because I’ve sourced a really cheap supplier, so I’m making a killing on them.”
***
I hadn’t been in the house for more than a few minutes when Jack came home.
“You’re early. I haven’t started dinner yet.”
“The boss let me go early because I was there so late yesterday.” He held up a small flyer. “Do you fancy this?”
“What is it?”
“A guy was delivering them door-to-door. There’s a new chippy opened a few streets away.”
“A fish and chip shop? Yes!” I punched the air.
“I’m not sure it’s all that exciting.”
“Of course it is. Fish and chips? Best. Food. Ever!”
“I hope their food is better than the name of their shop.”
“What is it?”
“‘But Never Battered’.”
“I like it.”
“You would. So, what do you think? Should we give it a try?”
“Definitely. Fish, chips and mushy peas for me.”
“You do realise that this doesn’t count as your having made dinner, don’t you? It will still be your turn tomorrow.”
“That doesn’t seem fair.”
The leafleting campaign had obviously worked because there was a queue snaking all the way out of the door of But Never Battered.
“Come on. Let’s forget it.” Jack turned back.
“No. Let’s wait.”
“But you hate queuing!”
“What makes you say that?”
“Probably because whenever we have to queue, you always say that you hate it.”
“I do not.” He was right. Normally, I hated queuing for anything, but this was different. And besides, if we’d gone back home, I would have had to cook dinner.
“Look!” I pointed to the counter. “They’re serving them in old newspapers, just like they used to do.”
“Are they allowed to do that? It doesn’t look very hygienic.”
“Of course it is. The newsprint gives it added flavour.”
Jack looked unconvinced.
“Hi.” The woman behind the counter greeted us when we finally made it to the front of the queue.
“Hi. We love the name of your shop, don’t we, Jack?”
“Err—yeah. It’s very—err—good. Very funny.”
“Thanks. I’m Tish, and that’s my husband, Chip.”
Tish and Chip? “Very good.” I laughed.
“What is?”
“The made-up names. Very funny.”
“No. They really are our names.”
“Oh? Sorry. I thought—err—it’s just that they’re quite appropriate. Tish and Chip, running a fish and chip shop?”
“I suppose they are. I hadn’t thought of that.”
Oh boy!
“So, what can I get for you?”
“Fish, chips and mushy peas for me, please.”
“Just fish and chips for me,” Jack said.
“No mushy peas?” I looked at him in disbelief.
“I don’t like them.”
“Freak!”
Tish handed us our food; it looked and smelled delicious.
“We’re also running a special offer on cushions today.”
“Sorry? I must have misheard. I thought you said—”
She reached under the counter, and produced a red cushion.
“They’re five pounds each or two for eight pounds.”
“Cushions?”
“We have a variety of colours and patterns.”
“Err—right. They’re very nice, but I think we’ll just stick with the fish and chips, thanks.”
Chapter 4
The next morning, I was woken at five-thirty by a stupid bird, singing its head off.
“Can’t you make it stop?” I pulled the pillow over my head.
“Why would you want to do that? It’s a beautiful sound.” Jack went over to the window to look for the culprit. “What better way to welcome a new morning?”
“It’s the middle of the night.”
“Rubbish. The sun’s almost up. We should take an early morning stroll.”
“No chance. I’m not getting up yet.”
“I think I will. The early morning air will do me the world of good.”
“While you’re out there, shut that bird up, would you?”
He didn’t.
It continued with its incessant noise until in the end I was forced to admit defeat.
I’d showered, dressed and was in the middle of breakfast when Jack got back.
“I was beginning to think I’d have to send out a search party for you.”
“I feel so much better for that walk. Do you know what I think?”
“That you’d like to make dinner every night of the week?”
“I think we should start jogging every morning.”
“You can jog on if you think I’m running around the streets.”
“It would do you good. You’re stuck behind that desk all day.”
“Rubbish. I spend most of the day on my feet, and have you forgotten that I am the proud owner of a lifetime subscription to I-Sweat?”
“How often do you actually work out there?”
“Most days. Sometimes more than once a day.”
“I never see you with any sports gear.”
“Err—that’s because I keep it at work.”
“Doesn’t it smell?”
“Mrs V washes it for me.”
“You make your PA do your laundry?”
“No, of course not. It just so happens that Mrs V has some kind of laundry fetish. She practically begged me to let her do it.”
Jack gave me that look. “I still think an early morning jog would be good for you.”
“Yeah, anyway, what about those fish and chips? They were quite something, weren’t they?”
“I know you’re changing the subject, but yes, they were rather nice.”
“That was rather strange. Oh well, I suppose I’d better go and grab a shower.” He started for the door. “By the way, you haven’t forgotten about the charity sports competition this weekend, have you?”
“What charity sports competition?”
“Don’t you remember? I told you about it the other day.”
“I’m pretty sure you didn’t.”
“I thought I had. It’s an annual sports competition between Washbridge and West Chipping police forces. We’re going to give those Washbridge lads a good hiding.”
“That sounds right up your street. You should enjoy it.”
He was half way upstairs when he shouted, “And everyone’s partner is expected to compete too.”
“What? Jack? What did you just say?”
If I had one fault, it was that I was too giving. Too selfless for my own good.
What? It’s true—I just hide it well.
By the time Jack left for work, I’d somehow let myself be talked into taking part in the charity sports competition. I loved that man way too much; I just couldn’t say ‘no’ to him. Still, how bad could it be? From what Jack had told me, it was just a few silly games that no one took particularly seriously. It would probably be a good laugh.
I know. I know. Famous last words.
***
It was Mrs V’s day off; Jules was busy behind her desk.
“Morning, Jules.”
She looked up and smiled, but didn’t speak.
“Everything okay?”
She nodded.
What was that all about? Normally, it took me all my time to shut her up. Perhaps she was having boyfriend troubles? Maybe Gilbert’s bottle top obsession was getting out of hand. Whatever it was, it was probably best not to get involved.
Winky was fast asleep on the sofa; he didn’t stir when I walked in. Lying next to him was his phone.
Hmm?
Curiosity got the better of me. If I was careful, I’d be able to sneak a look at his app. I tiptoed over to the sofa, picked up the phone, and then tiptoed to my desk. On the first screen was an icon for an app called Purrbnb—that had to be the one. Winky still hadn’t stirred so I clicked on the icon. As its name suggested, it was very similar to Airbnb. It allowed me to search for short-term rental properties in any part of the country. The one striking difference was that the prices were all remarkably low—ridiculously so. I didn’t see how anyone could offer to rent out their rooms or houses for that kind of money.
“Do you mind?” Winky jumped onto my desk, and snatched the phone out of my hand. “Who said you could look at that?”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“Oh? I suppose the phone just happened to fly across the room, and land in your hand?”
“Your app looks a lot like Airbnb.”
“With one very important difference.”
“Which is?”
“You’ve been looking at it. Surely you noticed?”
“The prices?”
“Bingo.”
“I don’t understand how you got people to offer their properties to rent at such low prices. They’re less than half what I’d expect them to be.”
“That’s the genius of it.”
“How did you manage it?”
“That’s a trade secret. I couldn’t possibly tell you that.”
“I assume you take a cut from every booking?”
“Naturally.”
“I’m impressed. When do you launch?”
“It went live first thing this morning. Downloads of the app are already off the scale. This time next year, I’ll be rich.”
“Don’t forget my twenty percent cut.”
“For doing what?”
“Providing office accommodation for Purrbnb, of course.”
“Dream on.”
“Either that, or you find somewhere else to run your new enterprise.”
“Okay, then. You’re a hard woman.”
Mid-morning, someone knocked on my door. Winky and I exchanged a glance (in his case, a one-eyed glance). No one ever knocked on that door.
“Come in.”
Jules walked into the room. “Your post.” Her voice sounded rather odd.
“Thanks. Do you have a sore throat, Jules?”
She shook her head.
“Are you feeling okay?”
She nodded.
“Are you sure? You seem rather subdued.”
She nodded again, and then scurried quickly out of the room.
“What’s going on with that one?” Winky said.
“No idea. Maybe she’s having problems with her love life?”
“Don’t talk to me about ‘love lives’.” He sighed.
“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me Peggy has dumped you?”
“Of course not. It’s just that she wants us to go on a double-date with her friend, Carrie, and Carrie’s boyfriend, Tom.”
“I take it you’re not keen?”
“Carrie is alright, but that boyfriend of hers is a stuck-up, toffee-nosed prat.”
“You’re not a fan, then?”
“He’s a pedigree, and he never lets up about it. He looks down his nose at moggies like me.”
“Why would you care what he thinks?”
“I don’t. He just does my head in. He lives in some posh gaff on the other side of town, and is always banging on about it. And then there’s me, stuck in this grotty old office.”
“This office isn’t grotty.”
“He talks to me like I’m some kind of peasant.”
“I’m surprised you stand for it.”
“Normally I wouldn’t, but I don’t think Peggy would be very impressed if I punched him.”
It was almost eleven o’clock, and Jules still hadn’t brought my cup of tea through, so I pressed the talk button on the intercom. “Have you forgotten my drink, Jules?”
All kinds of strange noises came back through the speaker; it sounded as though she’d dropped the intercom onto the floor. Eventually, a deep husky voice came through, “Sorry. What would you like?”
“My usual.”
“I can’t remember what that is?”
Oh boy!
“Tea, please.”
“Milk and sugar?”
“Milk and my usual sugar, please.”
“Okay.”
Five minutes later, Jules appeared, cup of tea in hand. And then something remarkable happened: she didn’t spill a drop.
“Thank you.” I took a sip, and almost spat it out. “How much sugar did you put in here?”
“Three teaspoons.”
“What? Why would you do that?”
And then the penny dropped: The bowed head, the strange voice, the knocking on the door, and the un-spilled tea.
“Lules? Is that you?”
She looked up. “I’m sorry, Jill.”
“What’s going on? Where is Jules?”
Lules pulled off her wig. “Jules has been poorly all night.”
“And she asked you to stand in for her?”
“No! She doesn’t know anything about it. Jules asked me to phone and tell you she couldn’t make it, but I thought it would be a good chance to get some experience. You won’t tell Jules, will you? She’ll kill me.”
“I won’t tell her. What about your job at the black pudding factory?”
“I called in sick. I couldn’t miss out on this opportunity. I’m really sorry. I suppose I’d better go.”
“Hold on. If it means that much to you, you can stay for the rest of the day. But don’t touch anything on the computer. Just sit out there, and greet any visitors. Okay?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Jill.”
“One more thing, Lules.” I passed her a slip of paper. “That’s the number for my next-door neighbour, Megan Lovemore. She’s worked in the modelling business for some time. She said if you give her a call, she’d be happy to talk to you.”<
br />
“That’s brill! Thank you so much, Jill. Jules was right about you.”
“She most certainly was right about you,” Winky said, after Lules had gone back to the outer office. “You’re such a soft touch.”
***
Ever since Desdemona Nightowl’s visit, I’d been eager to find out more about the portrait that she’d given to me. Not only the portrait, but also the pendant. I had so many questions: Who was the woman in the picture? Who was the man with the red hair and red beard? To find all the answers, I would probably have to return to CASS. In the meantime, I intended to try to find out more about the pendant, so I called in at the antique jeweller that was located on one of the side roads, off the high street.
Some of the letters on the sign must have dropped off because instead of reading ‘Antique Jewellery’ it now read ‘Ant Jewellery’, which conjured up some amusing images in my mind.
“Good morning!” A jovial, old wizard with huge sideburns stood behind the counter.
“Morning. You seem to have lost a few letters from your sign.”
“Really? It must have been that strong wind last night.” He came out from behind the counter, and went outside to take a look. “It looks okay to me.”
“Shouldn’t it say, ‘Antique Jewellery’?”
“Now I understand your confusion.” He laughed. “I’m Anthony Coultard, but everyone calls me Ant. Hence the name of the shop.”
“I see. Sorry to have worried you like that.”
“No problem at all. It’s nice to have a witch in the shop. I don’t get many sups in here. How can I be of assistance?”
“Would you take a look at this pendant, please.” I put it on the counter.
“Are you wanting to sell it?”
“No. I wondered if you might be able to give me any idea how old it is?”
He picked it up and studied it closely. “Interesting. Very interesting. You called it a pendant, I believe?”
“Yes?”
“Actually, it’s a locket.”
“Really? Are you sure?” I’d studied the pendant many times, and I’d seen nothing to indicate that it was anything but a solid piece of jewellery.
“This is not from the human world, but you probably already know that. I’ve only ever seen one similar piece before, and that was many centuries ago.”