Witch Is When It All Began (13 page)

Maxwell was silent for a long moment, and then said, “That changes nothing. We still have the cross daggers tattoo, and his confession. Kilburn did it.”

Chapter 20

I could have let it go at that. After all, everyone was happy. Jack Maxwell was happy because he thought he'd got his man. Danny Peterson was happy because he believed his girlfriend's killer had been caught, and his serial killer theory had been proven correct. Even Martin Kilburn was happy because he was in the limelight. So why wasn't I happy?

It just didn't sit right with me. It was all way too neat and convenient.

“Hi!” Kathy greeted me. She looked harassed as usual. “Come in.”

“Sorry, I should have called first.”

“Don't be daft. I need some grown-up company.” She was picking up Lego pieces as we walked through to the living room. “How was Candlefield?”

“Good. Really good, actually. Shall I make us a coffee?”

“That would be great, thanks,” she said while still collecting Lego pieces. “I'm sure this stuff is breeding.”

“So? What's your new family like?” Kathy sipped her coffee. “Biscuit?”

I declined the offer. Custard creams, digestives, ginger nuts and jammy dodgers—all in the same biscuit barrel—just wrong. “Aunt Lucy is a darling, and Amber and Pearl—”

“Amber and Pearl? That's their names? Seriously?”

“Yeah. They're identical twins and really sweet.”

“What about Grandma?”

A shudder ran down my spine. “She's a bit scary.” Make that a
lot
scary.

“How do you mean?”

“You'd understand if you saw her.”

“When do I get to visit Candlefield?”

I'd been dreading that question. How was I meant to explain to Kathy why she couldn't visit Candlefield when I wasn't allowed to tell her about the whole 'witch' thing?

“Amber and Pearl want to come to Washbridge. I told them all about the kids and they can't wait to meet you all.”

“Really? That would be great.”

“The kids will love them.”

I'd dodged the bullet for now, but Kathy wasn't stupid—she'd soon realise that I was hiding something.

“Are the kids okay?” When in doubt, change the subject. Clever eh?

“They're great. Especially when they're asleep.” She dunked a ginger biscuit into her coffee.

Yuk! She knew how much I hated it when she did that.

“What?” Kathy said through a mouthful of mushy ginger biscuit.

“Nothing.”

“I saw you pull a face. It tastes better when it's been dunked.”

“It's disgusting.” I had to look away.

“It's yummy. You should try it.”

“I think I'll pass.”

“Please yourself.” She shoved the rest of the biscuit into her mouth. “I seyo caut—”

“What? I can’t understand a word you are saying. Wait until you've finished eating.”

“There! All gone. Happy now?”

“Why do you have to do that? It's gross.”

“You have biscuit issues.” Kathy glanced at the biscuit barrel, but thankfully thought better of helping herself to another one. “I see they caught your serial killer.”

“Maybe.”

“You don't sound convinced.”

“I'm not. I told Maxwell that I thought he had the wrong man.”

“I bet that went down well. What makes you think that?”

I told her about the guy's collection of serial killer tattoos, and my concern over the lack of any other evidence.

“What are you going to do about it?”

That was a good question. Danny Peterson considered the case closed, so what would be the point in my pursuing it any further? It's not like I'd get paid. I'd have to be stupid and incredibly stubborn not to let it go.

Stupid
and
stubborn? Did someone call?

“What did you do to that cat?” Mrs V said when I arrived at the office.

“Nothing. Why?”

“He's gone insane.”

“How can you tell?”

“You'll see.”

I didn't like the sound of that. I braced myself; this wasn't going to be good. I walked through to my office, and closed the door behind me.

Winky was curled in a ball on the window sill—fast asleep. I glanced around, but there was no obvious sign of carnage. I didn't get it. What could he have done that had upset Mrs V so much? Aside from breathing? Oh well, whatever it was, everything seemed to be okay.

And then I saw it.

“What the—? Winky!”

“What's up?” He half-opened his good eye.

“I'm going to kill you!”

“Take a chill pill.”

“Take a—?” I ran my fingers across my desk. The once-smooth surface now felt like a cheese grater. “What did you do to my desk?”

“You mean my scratching board?”

“Scratching—? Come here!” I reached out to grab him, but he was too quick. He'd jumped off the window sill, ducked under the desk, and was now mono-staring at me from the other side of the room. “Why did you do this?”

“One word.”

“What?”

“Barry.”

“You destroyed my desk because you were jealous?”

“I would never have agreed to live with you if I'd known you were going to have a dog.”

“
You
wouldn't have agreed to live with
me
?”

“Exactly!”

“There's no exactly about it. Firstly, I chose you. And secondly—” I couldn't believe I was trying to justify myself to a cat. “I've already told you. Barry isn't my dog!”

“Whose dog is he then?”

I wasn't supposed to tell humans that I was a witch or about Candlefield. What about cats? Could I tell them? Why didn't this whole 'witch' thing come with some kind of instruction manual? I daren't risk it.

“He belongs to my cousins, Amber and Pearl. I went to visit them.”

“Bad names.”

“Yes, well, anyway—Barry is their dog, but they said I should think of him as mine.” This sounded lame even to me. “My lease doesn't allow me to have pets—any pets. If it did, I'd take you home. Obviously.”

“Hmm.”

“It's true. I'm sorry if I upset you.” Why was I apologising to him after he'd destroyed my desk?

“You got any food?”

“There's a tin in the cupboard.”

“Go get it and then we'll say no more about this.”

“Okay. Thanks!”

Bettered by a cat. My fall from grace was now complete.

I felt a little self-conscious, but at least there was only Winky around to witness my crazy. “Mum?” I glanced around. “Are you here?”

Winky glanced at me, but I ignored him.

“Mum!”

“What is it, Jill?” My mother's ghost appeared next to the window.

Winky hissed in her general direction, but then went back to his food.

“Can he see you?” I asked.

“No, but he can probably sense my presence. Animals are much more sensitive than humans.” She screwed up her face. “Ugly isn't he?”

“That's not very nice.” True, but not nice. “He does his best with what he has.”

“You called me.”

“Yes, sorry. It's just that I don't know what to do about Kathy.”

“Is she all right?”

“Yeah, she's fine. It's just that I told her about Candlefield before I realised that I
shouldn't
tell her about Candlefield.”

“You told her you're a witch?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I just mentioned that my new family lived there. I wish I hadn't because she's already asking if she can go to Candlefield with me. I don't know what to do. What can I say to her?”

“That's an easy one to solve. You need the 'forget' spell—it's in your book. “Now what page is it on? I forget.” She laughed. “Sorry, my little joke.”

I forced a smile. She and Kathy would make a great double-act.

“Oh, yes. Page sixty-seven.”

“How does it work?”

“The book will explain it better than I can, but essentially if you ever find yourself in a tight spot, and she's asking you about Candlefield, you cast the spell and voila!”

“Voila?”

“Precisely. She'll forget what she was talking about, and you'll be able to change the subject.”

“Would it work when she talks about beanies too?”

“Sorry?”

“Never mind. That sounds ideal.”

Chapter 21

“Mrs V, I have a little job for you.” I didn't like having to interrupt her knitting, but sometimes needs must.

“Do you want me to order you a new desk, dear?”

Why does everyone have to be a comedian?

“Will you contact Mr Lyon and Mr Lamb, and see if you can arrange a time later today when I can go and see them, please?”

“Certainly dear. Shall I ask them if they'd like a scarf?”

“Why not?”

My phone rang.

“Jill!” The high pitched voice almost shattered my ear drum. “It's Amber!”

“Oh? Hi, Amber.” I held the phone two inches from my ear.

“And Pearl!”

“I'll do the talking,” Amber said.

“She's my cousin too.”

“It's my news!”

“Girls!” I interrupted. “What can I do for you?” And to think my first impression had been how well they got on together.

“You said we could come to Washbridge soon,” Amber said.

“Yes, I suppose I did.”

“Well—” Amber giggled.

“What?”

“We were wondering—” She giggled some more. Now, she was making me nervous. “Could we come over tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow?” I said. “Like the day after today?”

“Yeah. If that's okay? We wouldn't normally ask, but I have some exciting news.”

“Really, what's that?”

“She's got engaged!” Pearl shouted from the background.

“I wanted to tell her,” Amber complained.

“You were too slow.”

“Engaged?” I managed to get a word in. “To William?”

“Yeah. Can we come over? I want to show you the ring.”

“It looks cheap!” Pearl shouted.

“It does
not
look cheap. It's beautiful.”

“Looks like it fell out of a lucky bag.”

“I'm going to kill you, Pearl.”

“What did Aunt Lucy say?” I asked.

“About us coming over? She's fine with it.”

“I meant about your engagement. What did she say when you told her?”

“I kinda haven't
actually
told her yet. I'm going to though—soon. So, is it okay for us to come over?”

“I've actually arranged to visit my sister tomorrow night,” I lied.

“That's great, we'll come with you.”

“With me?”

“Yeah.”

“To Kathy's?”

“Yeah. It'll be great. We can't wait to meet the kids.”

The kids and the twins in the same room?
Great
wasn't the first word that came to mind.

“Is that okay?” Amber said.

“Please say yes,” Pearl shouted.

“Yeah. Sure. Why not? I'd better give you my sister's address.”

“No need. We'll find it. We'll stay overnight at your place and go back the following day, if that's okay?”

“At my place?” Oh dear. “Sure.”

“See you later.”

What had I let myself in for? When I'd told the twins that I'd arranged to go to Kathy’s, I was kind of hoping that might put them off. It wasn't that I didn't want to see them—I did—but I’d hoped to have longer to build myself up to it.

I called Kathy.

“Do you have plans for tomorrow night?”

“You only ask if I have plans when you want a favour,” she said.

“That’s not true.”

“What about the time you wanted me to wait in at your place for the new sofa to be delivered?”

“I was on a stake-out.”

“Or the time that you wanted me to take that ugly cat of yours to the vet?”

“First of all, Winky is not ugly. And I'd have taken him, but I had to visit a client.”

“So you don't want a favour?”

“No, and I'm very hurt that you'd think so. I was just checking if you fancied company tomorrow night?”

“Sure. We never go out on a Friday night. Or Monday, or Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday—”

“So it's okay if we come over then?”

“Why not? Hold on—
we
? Have you got yourself a man at last? Jack Maxwell?”

“What do you mean at last? And no, it's not a man. I thought it would be nice for you to meet my cousins.”

“The twins? Opal and Diamond?”

“Pearl and Amber. Is that okay?”

“Yeah. I'd love to meet them. Maybe they'll invite me to visit Candlefield because it doesn't look like my own sister is ever likely to.”

I ignored the not-so-subtle dig at me.

“How long will they be over for?” Kathy asked.

“Just overnight. They'll be going back on Saturday.”

“They're staying at your place?” I heard her laugh.

“What's wrong with that?”

“Aren't you worried they'll mess up your precious show home?”

“I don't know what you mean.” I knew only too well what she meant. As much as I loved Kathy’s kids, I rarely (never) invited them over to my place. What? That doesn't make me a bad person. I'd seen the devastation they could wreak. Amber and Pearl were adults—they'd have more respect for my property. Wouldn't they? Now she had me worried. Maybe I should pack away some of my ornaments.

“I'm sorry about the desk.” Winky jumped onto the chair opposite me.

Was I hearing things or had he just apologised?

“So you should be. I'm going to have to get someone in to remove these scratches.”

“Why don't you throw the old thing away and get a new one?”

“This is an antique, and besides it belonged to my father.”

“So? It's decrepit. Like that old bag out there. You should get rid of her too while you're at it.”

That was more like the Winky I loved to hate.

“Mrs V isn't going anywhere. You two will have to learn to get along together.”

“She hates me. When you're not here, she tortures me with her knitting needles.”

“You're such a liar.” I hoped it was a lie, but I wouldn't have put it past her.

Mrs V hadn't managed to contact Mr Lyon, but Harry Lamb had said I could go over straight away.

“Thank you,” Mr Lamb said when I passed him the scarf. “I didn't really need this, but your receptionist was quite insistent.”

“Sorry about that. She can be a little pushy. Have you heard from the police since the arrest?”

“Nothing. All I know is what I've seen on the news. Do you know anything about this Kilburn chap?”

“Only that he has some kind of serial killer fetish. And, apparently, he's confessed.”

“Do
you
think he did it?”

“I don't know. I'd like to see more by way of proof.”

“What do the others say? Geoff and what's his name?”

“Danny Peterson. Danny seems happy about the arrest. I haven't spoken to Geoffrey Lyon yet.”

“You must have your doubts or you wouldn't be here.”

“I wanted to ask you about something your wife's brother said.”

“Derek? You've met him then?”

I nodded.

“Watching him destroy himself broke Trisha's heart. They'd always been so close.”

“He told me that Trisha was thinking of leaving you.”

Harry Lamb shook his head. I'd expected him to react angrily, but instead he looked sad. “Derek is a mess. Half of the time he doesn't know what he's saying.”

“He looked in a bad way.”

“That's why Trisha spent so much time around there. She tried to help, but it was hopeless. Most of the time, he just threw her kindness back in her face. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?”

“No thanks.” I noticed the photo album open on the table.

“Memories,” he said. “That's all I have now. Sit down, let me show you.”

How could I say no? The man was hurting so badly, it seemed a small sacrifice to spend a few minutes with him.

“That was when we went to London for the weekend three years ago. And that was our anniversary party.”

“Your wife changed her hairstyle a lot.”

“She used to. Not so much in recent years though. Back then, Derek used to try out his new styles on her. Trisha didn't mind because he was so talented. He even won a few awards. You probably saw his trophies when you went to see him.”

“Her brother is a hairdresser?”

“He was. Now he just spends all day drinking.”

I checked in with Mrs V. She still hadn't been able to get in touch with Mr Lyon. My next phone call was to Janet Wesley, Mrs Lyon's sister. She was able to provide me with the name of the salon where Pauline Lyon had had her bad hair day.

Twists Hair Salon was only a short walk from my office.

“Good afternoon, madam.” The receptionist glanced disapprovingly at my hair. “Do you have an appointment?”

“I'd like to speak to the manager, please.”

“Who should I say wants to see her?”

“I do.” What? She deserved that for the way she'd looked at my hair.

The manager was all smiles and curls. “How can I help?”

“I'm a private investigator.” That usually impressed people. “Can I have a few words in private?”

I followed her to a small office at the back of the shop.

“I wanted to ask you about an incident that took place here some weeks ago now.”

“What kind of incident?” She kept glancing at my hair. Surely it wasn’t that bad.

“One of your customers made a complaint against a member of your staff.”

“We get the occasional complaint. Nothing serious though. Usually one of the younger girls running their mouths off. The stuff some of these youngsters talk about; it embarrasses our older ladies.”

“It was a little more serious than that. One of your stylists was drunk, and ruined—”

“How did you hear about that?”

“That’s not important.”

“It was terrible. The poor lady was distraught, and I don't blame her.”

“Mrs Lyon?”

“I don't remember her name, but she's never been back since. Can't say I blame her. It was partly my fault. I should have sacked him the first time it happened, but he begged for another chance and big softy that I am I—”

“What's his name? The stylist?”

“Antoine.”

Damn it, I'd been so sure.

“Right, I'm sorry to have troubled you.” I started for the door.

“Of course, that isn't his real name. We all use 'stage names'. His real name is Derek Cairn.”

“What do you want?” Cairn said. He looked more awake this time, but smelled much worse.

“Can I come in?”

“What for?”

“I want to see your trophies.” I'd already cast the 'power' spell, so when I pushed the door it sent him flying backwards across the floor.

“What do you think you're doing?” he said, as I walked past him.

“I've already told you. I want to see your trophies.”

He picked himself up, and followed me into the living room.

“These were your glory days, eh Derek?” I picked up one of the trophies. “Or should I call you Antoine?”

“Put that down or I'll call the police.”

“I seriously doubt it. When did it all start to go wrong? When did the drink take over?”

“Get out!” he shouted. “I mean it.” He grabbed a pair of scissors from the table.

“Are they what you used on Pauline Lyon?”

“Get out!” He pointed the scissors at me.

“And on Trisha?”

The colour drained from his face. The scissors fell to the floor.

“Why did you do it Derek? Trisha was the one person in the world who still loved you. Why kill your sister?”

The tears gathered in his eyes, and he slumped down onto the floor. “I didn't mean to.”

“So how did it happen?”

“I begged her.” He sniffled. “I begged her, but she wouldn't listen.”

“She was going to tell the police, wasn't she?”

He didn't answer. I leaned over and pulled up the sleeve of his tee-shirt.

Just as I’d suspected.