Witch Is When I Said Goodbye (A Witch P.I. Mystery Book 10) (4 page)

Chapter 4

I’d finished for the day, and was on my way to the car when I spotted an advertising board showing The Bugle’s headline.

Oh no! It can’t be. Please tell me it isn’t so.

I dropped into the nearest newsagent, and grabbed a copy. Great! Just what I’d feared.

I headed straight back to the office.

“Back again so soon?” Mrs V put down her latest knitting project—a purple and black scarf. “I thought you’d finished for the day.”

“I had, but then I remembered something—err—something urgent I needed to do.”

Where was that little ball of trouble? “Winky! Winky where are you?”

“Huh?” He crawled out from under the sofa, where he’d obviously been fast asleep.

“What’s wrong? I was having a fantastic dream. Bella, me and Cindy—”

“I don’t want to hear about your sordid dreams.”

“How dare you call my love life sordid? The three of us were just about to—”

“Stop! If you tell me, I’ll never be able to erase the mental image. And anyway, I have a bone to pick with you.”

“A toe bone?”

Would I never be allowed to forget that?

“Look at this!” I put the newspaper on the floor, so he could see it.

“What am I meant to be looking at?”

“The headline of course!”

“
‘Alien Cats’
?”

“Precisely!”

“What’s it about?”

“Read it!”

“I can’t be bothered! Give me the Cliff Notes.”

“Apparently, there have been multiple reports of cats waving flags around.”

He laughed. “Good! It looks like my students are doing what I asked them to—they’re practising.”

“Why didn’t you tell them to practise somewhere where no one could see them? The Bugle has received numerous phone calls from worried cat owners who think that their pets have been taken over by aliens.”

“Why would they think that?”

“Because cats don’t normally wave flags around.”

“I object to the expression: ‘wave flags around’. Semaphore is a sophisticated communication system.”

“I don’t care what you call it. You’re going to have to stop the lessons.”

“Why? I’m making a small fortune.”

“You’ve already got enough money-making scams. I’m sure you can afford to lose one of them.”

“Scams? I’m hurt.”

“You’ll be hurting a whole lot more if you don’t cancel these lessons PDQ.”

“Purr Don’t Quit?”

“Huh?”

“That’s what you said. PDQ.”

“PDQ doesn’t stand for Purr Don’t Quit.”

“Of course it does.”

“Not in the human world. It stands for Pretty Damn Quick!”

“Ah, right. That makes more sense.”

“So, you’ll cancel the lessons?”

“But, I get lonely in here. It’s nice to have some feline company.”

He was toying with my emotions; I knew he was. But I did feel sorry for him being stuck inside by himself, and I didn’t want to deprive him of contact with other cats if I could help it.

“Look, if you insist on continuing with the lessons, you have to tell your students that they can’t practise where anyone can see them. They must be more discreet or their owners will freak out.”

“
You’ve
seen me doing semaphore, and
you
didn’t freak out.”

“Yes, but I’m a witch. I understand that cats can do these things, but most cats live with humans. If this story continues to gain ground, sooner or later someone’s going to trace it back to me. Then, where will I be? I have to keep this witch thing under wraps.”

“Are you saying you wouldn’t want me to broadcast the fact that you’re a witch?”

“That’s precisely what I’m saying.”

“So, for example, you wouldn’t want me to make a post on FelineSocial?”

“No!”

“And you’d probably be willing to pay to keep it quiet?”

“That’s blackmail.”

“I’m not sure I’d call it that.”

“What would you call it then?”

He thought about if for a few seconds. “Okay, you’re right. It is blackmail. And make sure it’s red not pink.”

***

My next step was to visit the two women who had been thrown out of the knitting circle. Knitters gone rogue.

Wanda Moore lived closest to my office, so I called on her first. Her house had a name plaque on the front which read: ‘Knit One’.

Hmm? Could that be a coincidence? Surely, if she was the murderer, she wouldn’t have left a note which would give her away so easily. Or would she?

The woman who answered the door was quite short in stature, but had the longest arms I’d ever seen. She could easily have scratched her feet without bending over.

“Yes, can I help you?”

I couldn’t stop staring at her arms.

“Sorry, I was given your name by Annabel Versailles.”

She scowled. “What does
she
want?”

“Have you heard about the murders?”

Her expression softened a little. “Yes, I did. I heard it on the news when I was coming back from my sister’s house. Terrible thing.”

“My name is Jill Gooder; I’m a private investigator. Would you mind answering a few questions?”

“What kind of questions?”

“I understand that you were expelled from the knitting circle.”

“What if I was? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Did you think you were treated unfairly?”

“Of course it was unfair. The whole thing was a farce. Those stupid women said that I hadn’t returned their knitting needles. Why would I hold onto someone else’s needles? It’s their memories that are the problem. I gave each and every knitting needle back to its rightful owner. It’s a pity they don’t have anything better to worry about.”

“So, it was all a misunderstanding?”

“Of course it was. Downright malicious, some of those women. And to think I used to be good friends with some of them. Rowena’s husband and mine used to work together.” She took a step back. “Would you like to come in? I have lots of stories I can tell you about the knitting circle.”

Why not? She seemed harmless enough.

My opinion of Wanda Moore went up a couple of notches when she brought out a fresh packet of custard creams.

“Do you like these? They’re all I’ve got, I’m afraid.”

“Custard creams? They’re my favourites.” I took a couple, and then one more.

Wanda spent the best part of an hour carrying out a character-assassination of every member of the knitting circle, including some very juicy stories about Mrs V. As I was eating the last of my custard creams, I noticed a photo on the sideboard. It was Wanda Moore with a man who was quite a bit taller than her, but whose arms were of a more conventional length.

“Is that your husband, Mrs Moore?”

“
Late
husband. Billy was a good man and a darling husband. I never had cause to doubt him—not like some of these youngsters today. They get married one day, and divorced the next. Same with work—they can’t hold down a job for more than five minutes. My Billy spent all his life in the same job, and never once complained.”

“That doesn’t happen very often these days. What did he do?”

“He worked in office equipment. Not the kind of stuff they have nowadays; none of those new-fangled computer thingies. I mean
real
equipment: Desks, chairs, typewriters—that sort of thing.”

My ears pricked up at that. “Do you have a typewriter, Mrs Moore?”

“Me? No, dear. Never seen the need for one.”

After I’d finished my tea, I thanked her for her hospitality, and went on my way. There was no doubt that Wanda Moore felt aggrieved at the way she’d been treated by the ladies of the knitting circle, but was that enough to drive her to murder? She’d denied ever owning a typewriter, but surely, if her husband had worked in office equipment all of his life, it was possible he’d brought one home at some point. Could she be lying?

***

It was the first time Kathy and I had had a chance for a proper catch-up since my ‘date’ with Jack. It didn’t take her long to start the inquisition.

“So, what went wrong?”

“Nothing went
wrong
. It was okay, I guess.”

“
Okay
? After all that build up, it was just
okay
?”

“It wasn’t his fault. It’s just that the suspension is like a black cloud hanging over him.”

“How come he’s still suspended? What’s taking them so long? They must know he had nothing to do with taking that money.”

“He says it’s just how these things work, but it seems to me that he’s not prepared to push it. And what’s worse, he won’t allow me to help him.”

“Since when did that ever stop you?”

“What kind of start to a relationship would it be, if I ignored his wishes?”

“You’re smart.” She hesitated. “Or at least, that’s what you’re always telling me. Surely you can find a way to do something without Jack finding out.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Peter arrived back with the kids just in time for dinner; they’d been swimming.

“I can swim two widths!” Mikey shouted.

“Well done you.”

“I can too.” Lizzie beamed.

“No you can’t!” Mikey said.

“I can.”

“Only with a float. Floats are for babies.”

Lizzie looked as though she was about to cry.

“That’s enough, Mikey.” Kathy scolded him. “Remember what I said. If you aren’t good between now and your birthday, then there’s no drum kit.”

“But Mum! It’s true. Floats are—”

“That’s enough.”

Mikey went into sulk mode.

“Have you told Auntie Jill your news, Lizzie?” Kathy was obviously trying to take her mind off her brother’s jibes.

Lizzie looked puzzled.

“Come here.” Kathy whispered into her daughter’s ear, and suddenly Lizzie’s face lit up.

“Oh, yeah! Auntie Jill, guess what? I’m going to take part in a talent competition.”

There’s only one thing worse than talent competitions. No, wait. I was wrong. There’s
nothing
worse than talent competitions. Still, just as long as
I
didn’t have to go.

“Really? That’s great, Lizzie.”

“It’s in a couple of days’ time,” Kathy said. “Don’t you remember, Auntie Jill? You asked me to get you a ticket. You are still going, aren’t you?”

I gave her a look. She’d never mentioned a talent competition—I would have remembered. And, she certainly hadn’t asked if I wanted a ticket, but now Lizzie was looking at me with those big, hopeful eyes. What was I meant to say?
I’d rather have a root canal than sit through a talentless competition.

“Oh, yeah. Ticket. I remember now. Of course I’m still going.”

Kathy smirked. She’d trapped me again. Now I knew why she’d invited me over. She knew if she asked me in front of Lizzie that I wouldn’t be able to say ‘no’. That sister of mine was so conniving.

“Are you entering the talent competition too, Mikey?” I asked.

“No. It’s too sissy.” He was still sulking. That was something else he’d inherited from his mother. When we were kids, Kathy could sulk for days on end.

“Don’t be silly, Mikey,” Kathy said. “There’s nothing sissy about a talent competition.”

“Yes there is. It’ll just be lots of girls singing and dancing and stuff. There won’t be any drummers there. Drummers don’t enter talent competitions.”

“What will you be doing in the competition, Lizzie?” I tried to calm things down.

“I’m going to sing.”

“I didn’t know you could sing.”

“Mummy says I’m really good. Shall I sing for you now?”

“Not at the table, thank you.” Peter looked horrified. Perhaps Lizzie’s singing wasn’t quite as good as she and Kathy had made it out to be.

When the kids had finished their meals, they asked to be excused. Kathy said they could go and play in their bedrooms. Once they were out of earshot, I turned to Kathy.

“Can Lizzie really sing?”

“Of course she can.” Kathy beamed with pride. “She’s my daughter.”

“That’s why I’m asking. You can’t sing for toffee!”

“What do you mean? I was in the school choir.”

“You were
not
in the school choir.”

“Yes, I was!”

“No, you weren’t. You just used to hand out the music.”