Witch Is When Things Fell Apart (6 page)

“Jill?” Jack Maxwell’s voice came over the seat.

Busted!

I stood up. “Jack? I didn’t see you there.” Not even I would have believed me.

“Do you want to join us?” Maxwell said. “This is Susan.” The floozy stood up, handed me the least sincere smile I’d ever seen, and said, “Hi.”

“Hi. Thanks, but I have to get back to the office.” I turned to Mrs V. “Why don’t you stay and have a drink with your sister. I’ll see you later.”

“Thanks
very
much.” She scowled. “By the way, I forgot to mention, the new accountant is coming today.”

“A meeting with your accountant?” Maxwell said, as I made my way to the door. “Some people get all the excitement.”

The floozy laughed.

Chapter 6

I didn’t go back to the office. Instead, I went to Kathy’s.

“What’s the deal with your phone today?” She greeted me at the door. “Every time I call you, I get cut off.”

“Must be a problem with the network,” I lied.

“Do you want coffee?”

“No thanks, I’ve just had one.”

“Are you still mad about the garden party?”

“Nah. I’ll take one for the colonel.”

“Who are you going to bring? Jack or Luther?”

“I’ll probably go by myself. Luther is way out of my league.”

“What about Jack? I thought you and he were an item.”

“Me and Jack Maxwell have never been an
item
. We’re working better together since your illegal manipulation of the raffle, but that’s all. Anyway, Jack seems to have got himself a floozy.”

“Is that even a word?”

“I just saw them in the coffee shop. She’s all curls and peroxide. Definitely a floozy.”

“Who is she?”

“Who cares? Susan somebody.”

“You met her?”

“Kind of. I just happened to be in the next booth to theirs when Mrs V came charging in—”

“OMG, you were spying on them and got busted.”

“Firstly, I was not spying on them. Secondly, I did not get busted. And thirdly, who over the age of fifteen says ‘OMG’?”

Kathy laughed. “You so got busted. I wish I could have seen your face. I bet it was so red you lit up the whole shop.”

“I was just having a coffee.”

“So, not eavesdropping then?”

“I didn’t even realise they were there.”

“Liar. Who do you think she is?”

“I don’t care.”

“His girlfriend?”

“Which part of ‘I don’t care’ don’t you understand?”

“The part where you’re lying through your teeth.”

Based on the snippets of conversation I’d heard before Mrs V and Mrs G had shown up, I’d come to the conclusion that the floozy must have been an ex work colleague. That still didn’t explain why she was in Washbridge unless there was more to their relationship. Not that I cared either way. Not even a tiny bit.

“What are those?” I said.

Kathy followed my gaze. “That one is a kangadillo and this one is a camoose.”

“You are sick.”

“What’s wrong with them? Lizzie likes to dream up new creatures.”

“So did Dr Frankenstein.”

“Don’t you think he’s cute?” She tried to hand me the kangadillo, but I waved it away.

“My beautiful beanies. How could you do this to them? After all the years of love I gave them.”

“Get over it.”

“You can be a real bitch sometimes.”

“Of course I can. I’m your big sister. It’s in my job description.” She put her hand on mine. “You know I don’t mean it though, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Good. Well stop bitching then.”

We both laughed.

“Holy moly. What’s that?” I pointed to the offending object.

“This?” She picked up the ugliest toy I’d ever seen. “This is Things.”

“Things? What kind of a name is that? And what’s it supposed to be?”

“It
was
a rabbit, although you’d never know it now. We bought it for Lizzie when she was two years old. It’s always been one of her favourite toys.”

“Why is it called
Things
?”

“It used to sing before the mechanism inside of it broke.”

“A singing rabbit? I still don’t get the name.”

“It was actually called Rabbit Sings but Lizzie couldn’t pronounce her ‘S’s back then so she used to call it Rabbit Things. That got shortened to Things and the name stuck.”

“It looks like it’s on its last legs.”

“It is. I don’t know what we’ll do when it finally gives up the ghost. Lizzie loves it to bits.”

The roads were busy as I drove home. I saw the cyclist in my wing mirror as he came down the inside of the lane of traffic. At the head of the queue a double-decker bus signalled to turn left. The lights changed, and everything seemed to happen in slow motion. One second the cyclist was there, and the next he’d gone. A woman on the pavement screamed. The bus came to an abrupt halt. Two men in yellow hard hats who had been working on a nearby building, rushed over to the bus. I might have stayed put and waited for the traffic to start moving had it not been for the blood curdling scream which sent a shiver down my spine.

The traffic wasn’t going anywhere, so I had no qualms about leaving my car. A small crowd of people had gathered around the front axle of the bus. The screams grew louder and more desperate. When I was some ten yards away, I saw him—the cyclist was trapped under the front wheel of the bus. His helmet was still on his head, and I could see no obvious head wounds. His face was contorted in agony, as he screamed again.

“The ambulance is on its way,” someone said.

“We’re going to need the fire brigade.”

“They’re on their way too.”

But how would they ever get through? The gridlock now stretched in all directions as far as the eye could see.

“We have to get him out,” a desperate voice said.

“How?” someone else said.

“We have to lift it,” I said, as I stepped up to the side of the bus.

“One of the men in hard hats turned to me. “How are we meant to do that?”

“We have to try. Get as many people on it as you can.”

He looked far from convinced, but he encouraged all the bystanders to take a hold of the bus. “On three,” he said.

“One, two, three!”

I cast the ‘power’ spell, and the bus felt no heavier than a toy.

“Get him out!” hard hat guy shouted.

“Be careful,” someone warned.

A man, and a woman who had identified herself as a nurse, pulled the cyclist from under the bus. The screaming had stopped, but only because he’d lost consciousness—probably a blessing.

“Down!” hard hat man said, and we allowed the bus to drop.

We congratulated one another, and in the distance I could hear the sirens.

The flash from a camera blinded me.

“Bugle.” A scruffy man with a red nose shouted in my face.

Great. That was all I needed.

The next morning I was on my way out of the flat when my phone rang.

“Auntie Jill!” Mikey screamed. “You’re a hero.”

“What?”

“You’re on the front page of the paper.”

“I am?”

“Give me the phone, Mikey.” I heard Kathy’s voice. “Morning sis. Have you seen the paper?”

“Not yet.”

“Heroes lift bus.” Kathy read the headline.” There’s a photo of you and the others.”

“Does it say how the cyclist is doing?”

“According to the article, he’s in intensive care but his injuries are not life threatening. The doctor said that if he’d stayed trapped under the bus any longer, things might have been much worse.”

“Thank goodness he’s alive. When I saw him under there, I thought he was a goner.”

“How did you lift it? You’re so puny.”

“Gee thanks. It’s not like I did it by myself. There were loads of us.”

“According to an expert, it should have taken twice as many people as it did to lift the bus.”

“Experts—what do they know?”

The photographs I’d seen of Tregar Court did not do it justice. The building itself, although relatively small—just five stories high—was hugely impressive. It was one of five executive apartment blocks in the Primetime Development, which was located in central Washbridge—just five minutes walk from my office.

The concierge, who was located on the ground floor, was ultra friendly. He said I was free to visit each apartment, but if the residents didn’t want to speak to me, then I shouldn’t push it. I wanted to take a good look at the lift, so decided to start at the top of the building—on the fifth floor. The lift was actually smaller than it had appeared on the CCTV. The lift opened onto a corridor. The only doors off the corridor were to the fire escape and the single apartment on that floor.

I rang the bell.

Susan Tagg was in her mid twenties, and a sports fanatic—her words, not mine. Not that I doubted her. You didn’t get a body as toned as hers by sitting on the sofa eating chocolate—trust me I’d tried that approach.

“I never use the lift,” she said.

“Never? What about when you’re shopping?”

“I do my grocery shop online. It’s delivered to my door.”

Sounded like a great idea. I should really look into that.

“So you didn’t use the lift on the day of the murder?”

She shook her head. “I’d left almost an hour before. I cycle to work.”

Of course she did. “What do you do?”

“I work in the city. I’m a broker.”

No wonder she could afford this place.

“Did you hear or see anything suspicious?”

“Like I told the police, I didn’t see anyone that morning except the concierge. There aren’t many people around at that time.”

“How well did you know the victim?”

“Hardly at all. I don’t really know any of the other residents. I say ‘hello’ if I see them in the lobby, but that’s about it. I prefer not to get too friendly with neighbours.”

I gave her my card in case she remembered anything else, but I wasn’t optimistic.

I took the lift to the floor below where a married couple, by the name of Dixon lived. Mrs Dixon answered the door. I hadn’t been sure what kind of reception I’d get—not everyone was willing to talk to a private investigator—but she couldn’t have been more welcoming. After taking me through to the huge living room, and introducing me to her husband, she insisted on making tea for us all.

“Do you have any theories?” Mr Dixon asked, after settling down on a white leather sofa opposite the matching armchair I was seated in.

“Not yet, but then I’ve only just taken the case. Do you have any thoughts on who might have done it?”

“I wish I did. It’s unnerving, as you can imagine. One minute the poor man was standing right in front of us, and the next he’s lying dead in a pool of blood.”

“And you didn’t see anything?”

“Nothing. Have you watched the CCTV?”

I nodded.

“Damnedest thing. Wouldn’t have believed it possible if it hadn’t happened right in front of me.”

Mrs Dixon reappeared carrying a silver tray on which were china tea cups. Not a good idea when I was around.

“Biscuit?” The biscuit tin probably cost more than my car. I glanced inside. I guess money can’t buy biscuit etiquette. Custard creams, digestives and ginger nuts—so very wrong.

“Not for me.” I smiled. “Did you know the victim?”

“No. We tend to keep ourselves to ourselves. Everyone here does.”

Thirty minutes later, and I hadn’t learned much of anything except that tea didn’t taste the same out of a china cup. Give me a good old fashioned mug any day.

There was no answer on the first or second floors. The victim had lived on the third floor.

“Any luck?” the concierge asked.

“There’s nobody in on one or two.”

“They’re probably out together.”

“Oh?” I sensed juicy gossip.

The concierge checked left and right in case anyone was within earshot. “The young man on two and the young woman on one seem to have hit it off, if you know what I mean?” He gave me a knowing wink.

“Are both of them single?”

“As far as I know. She seems to spend more time in his place than her own. You didn’t hear that from me though.”

“Mum’s the word. I’ll call back another day to see if I can catch them in. Thanks.”

One thing I’d come to realise in this job is that there are two kinds of people in the world: those who refuse to tell you anything, and those who just love to gossip. Luckily for me, the concierge was the latter.

I’d planned an evening of spell practice because I wanted to be absolutely certain I had this week’s spell mastered ahead of our next lesson. I didn’t want to give Grandma any reason to pick on me.

As I walked from my car to the flat, I kept an eye open for Mr Ivers. After the speed dating debacle, he’d reverted to his boring self. Signing up for his movie newsletter had been a mistake of epic proportion. He now believed I was interested in his film reviews, and he missed no opportunity to waylay me whenever I had the misfortune to bump into him. Not tonight though—I was determined.

“Hello.” The female voice took me by surprise.

“Oh, hello?” I said to the tiny, mouse of a woman who looked to be in her early thirties.