by Adele Abbott
“Surely he must have realised someone would find out what he’d done,” Roy said.
“That’s just the point, isn’t it? If none of you questioned the list of charities, who else was going to?”
“What will happen now?” Julie asked.
“Bridge has already been arrested. I was wearing a wire during my meeting with him. That recording is now in the hands of the police.”
“Are they allowed to use that?”
“The recording itself? Probably not. But the information contained on the tape will give them more than enough to allow them to build a case against him.”
“There’s one thing I don’t understand.” Julie had managed to compose herself. “If he knew you were onto him, how come he allowed you to walk out of his office?”
“I let him think he’d managed to hypnotise me. He tried to get me to commit suicide too. Unfortunately for our Mr Bridge, I’m not susceptible to hypnosis.”
***
The more I thought about it, the more I’d come to like the idea of having myself immortalised in wax.
What do you mean that’s because I’m so vain?
I’d never been to a waxwork museum before, and I was sceptical about how realistic a waxwork could be. My scepticism was soon put aside after I discovered that I’d spent the last two minutes speaking to a waxwork model who I’d mistaken for one of the staff.
Humbled, and more than a little embarrassed, I reported to the main reception, and told them that I had an appointment for a sitting. The witch behind the desk said I needed to go through the double-doors, down a long corridor, where I’d find a second, smaller reception area. Once there, I should ask for a Mr Max Kirk.
“Can I help you?” The female werewolf behind the desk was filing her nails.
“My name is Jill Maxwell. I’m here for a sitting.”
“You’ll be seeing Mr Kirk.”
“Is that really his name?” I grinned. “Max Kirk?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Max Kirk. It rhymes with wax work.”
“So it does. What of it?”
“Nothing. I just thought it was—never mind.” Sheesh, what was wrong with people?
“I’ll let Mr Kirk know you’re here.”
It was twenty minutes after my appointment time, and I was still waiting for Max Kirk to make an appearance. I’d asked the receptionist twice if she was sure that he knew I was there, and she assured me that he did.
Eventually, a tall man with thinning hair, and a bushy beard came through the door to my right. “Mrs Maxwell?”
“That’s me. Call me Jill.” I offered my hand, but he ignored it.
“Follow me, would you?” He led the way into what looked like a photographer’s studio. “Sit there.”
I climbed onto a tall stool, which was in the centre of the room.
“How does this work, exactly? Do you have to coat my face with gooey stuff?”
“Gooey stuff?” I would try to describe the look on his face, but I really couldn’t do it justice. “No, Mrs Maxwell. There is no gooey stuff involved. Today, I’ll be taking photographs and measurements. Lots of them. This will go much quicker if you sit perfectly still and only move when I tell you to. Understood?”
“Aye, aye, captain.” I gave him a salute.
Without another word, he began to take one photo after another. He must have been well past the hundred mark when I asked, “How many more do you need?”
“What did I tell you about staying still? This will take much longer if you insist on talking.”
“Sorry.”
A hundred more photos later, he finally put the camera down.
“Is that it?” I made to stand up.
“Don’t move. I need to take your measurements now.”
“Sorry.”
The measuring took even longer than the photos had, and by the time he’d done, my bum was numb.
After he’d declared the sitting finished, I tried a little friendly small talk, but I might as well have been talking to the wall. He couldn’t get me out of there quickly enough.
On my way out, I asked the receptionist, “Is Mr Kirk always so nasty?”
“Max? No, he’s a sweetheart.”
“A sweetheart? He was really offhanded with me just now.”
“The thing is, Max believes very strongly that the museum should include only waxworks of artists: authors, painters, sculptors and people like that. He doesn’t agree with including waxworks of celebrities and sports stars.”
“I see. That might explain it. Oh well, do you have any idea how long it normally takes for the waxwork to be completed?”
“It’s usually two to three weeks.”
***
After my ordeal at the waxworks, I figured that I deserved a little treat, so I took a walk over to Cuppy C. The shop was quiet, so once I had my cupcake and coffee, Pearl came to join me.
“Congratulations on the broom flying, Jill. I didn’t really get the chance to talk to you after the event.”
“Thanks. It was a bit hairy.”
“I thought the way you managed to rescue that dog was fantastic. Not many people would have done that.”
“Grandma wasn’t very impressed. It’s a good thing we still won. If we hadn’t, I would never have heard the end of it.”
“You’ve got that much right.” Grandma suddenly appeared at the table next to us. “You put the whole competition at risk just for the sake of a silly little dog.”
“I won’t apologise for what I did, Grandma. I’d do the same thing again. I thought I did quite well, considering I only found out the day before that I’d be taking part.”
“You did very well.”
Was I hearing things? Had Grandma just paid me a compliment? “Thanks.”
“In fact, your performance has made me have a rethink.”
“About what?”
“I’m going to make Dimples Lowe first substitute. You’ll be in the starting line-up from now on.”
“Me? No! I don’t want to be in the troupe.”
“The next training session is on Friday, and I expect you to be there on time.”
“Grandma, no. Wait!” It was too late; she’d already disappeared.
Pearl was in hysterics.
“I don’t know what you’re laughing at.”
I was just about to leave when Daze made an appearance. After grabbing a coffee, she came over to join me.
“I hear you did well in the broom flying display, Jill.”
“I wish I hadn’t. Grandma’s just told me she wants me in the troupe full-time.”
“Aren’t you pleased?”
“Are you kidding? There’s nothing I want to do less. I’ll just have to find a way to get out of it. Incidentally, is the UFO thing all sorted out now?”
“Yes, all done and dusted. The Oodahs have all been rounded up, and the poor souls who were conned by them have been deprogrammed.”
“Jack almost fell for the wind turbine thing, you know.”
“Really?”
“Yes, he tried to persuade me it was a good idea, but I said I thought it was a bit iffy, and that we shouldn’t bother.”
“You’d be surprised at the things people will fall for. Slate vultures, for example.” She grinned.
“Okay. There’s no need to rub it in.”
“Talking about gargoyles, I hear they’ve come up with another con.”
“Oh?”
“This time they play a high-pitched whistle into a building, and then tell the owners that it’s caused by gutter geese. Then they ask for a payment to get rid of the non-existent geese. Can you believe it?”
“That’s crazy.” I laughed. “Who would fall for that?”
More mystery and magic await Jill Maxwell in the next book:
Witch Is How To Lose Big
(Witch P.I. Mysteries #35)
ALSO FROM ADELE ABBOTT:
Whoops! Our New Flatmate Is A Human
Susan Hall Invest
igates Book #1
Take a shy werewolf, a wizard who fancies himself as a ladies’ man, and a vampire dying for her first taste of human blood. Then add a human for good measure.
Web site: AdeleAbbott.com
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