Witch Is When the Bubble Burst (2 page)

He looked at me as though I just rode in on the crazy stagecoach. “This room is purple.”

“Yeah—I know—I meant—never mind. Shall we see what’s in your wardrobe?”

The man was beyond any help I might be able to offer. His clothes spanned the decades, and somehow he’d managed to pick the worst from each.

“I thought a pin-stripe suit with the red and yellow cravat,” he said, holding said cravat under his chin.

“No one wears cravats any more.”

“I thought maybe I could spark a revival.”

“This is going to take a lot more work than I thought,” I admitted.

“I don’t have long.”

“I know, but you want to get it right don’t you?”

“Of course. I have my readers to consider. I don’t want to disappoint the ladies.”

“Quite. Why don’t you leave it with me? I’ll give it some thought and get back to you.”

He looked disappointed, but said, “Okay then.”

I took a couple of wrong turnings on my way out, but eventually made it back to the land of the sane. Advising Mr Ivers was way beyond my capabilities, but I thought I knew someone (make that
someones
) who could do it.

Chapter 2

“You’re looking exceptionally pleased with yourself, Mrs V,” I said.

I hadn’t seen her look so happy since the regional knitting competition, which she’d won despite my inadvertent attempt to sabotage her scarf.

Mrs V, my PA/receptionist (allegedly), spent most of her day knitting. She specialised in scarves, and was something of a celebrity in local knitting circles.

“I am feeling quite chipper. I’ve had a letter from an old flame.”

It was probably ageist of me, but somehow I found it hard to envisage Mrs V with a man. There had been the unfortunate incident with the sailors when she and Grandma had a night out on the tiles, but she couldn’t remember anything about that.

“His name is Donald.”

“That’s a nice old fashioned name.”

“Donald Hook.”

I laughed. “Sorry. He must have had a tough time at school.”

“What do you mean?” Mrs V’s smile had been replaced by a puzzled look. “I think Donald is a nice name.”

“It is. I wasn’t laughing at that. It’s just—you know—Donald Hook—quack, quack.” I laughed.

Mrs V didn’t.

“I still don’t know what you mean,” she said.

“Come on. With a name like that he must take a lot of stick.”

“No, not really.”

Just me then.

“So, what did Donald have to say?”

“He wants to visit. He’s asked me to go for lunch with him.”

“Very nice. Were you and he once an item?”

“Not exactly, but we came very close.”

“What happened?”

Mrs V began to tidy her desk. “I don’t remember exactly.”

I didn’t buy that, but I didn’t feel like I should press her.

“Do I have anything in the diary this afternoon?”

She checked. “Mrs Rhymes at three thirty. That’s all.”

“Good. I’m going to be out early afternoon. I have a meeting with Detective Maxwell.”

“Really?” Her face lit up again. “It’s high time you two got together.”

“We aren’t getting together. It’s just a business meeting.”

“Of course, dear. Will you be wearing those?” She looked disapprovingly at my green top and skirt. It had taken almost half an hour for me to choose this outfit.

“What’s wrong with these?”

“Nothing. Maybe you should ask your sister for fashion advice? She managed to snag herself a man.”

My mouth opened and closed like a goldfish, but no sounds came out. There were so many things wrong with that statement; I hardly knew where to begin. Ask Kathy for fashion advice? I was the only one in the family who understood fashion, or had any taste. Snag myself a man? I could snag myself a man if I wanted to—granted he’d probably be a narcissistic, cheating, loser. But even so—I knew how to attract the opposite sex. Didn’t I have two men competing for my affections right now?

I didn’t care what Mrs V thought, I liked my green ensemble, but I needed a second opinion. From someone a little more knowledgeable in matters of fashion than Mrs V.

“Winky? What do you think of my outfit? Do you think I look hot?”

Winky, my one-eyed, psycho cat, glanced across from where he was sitting on the leather sofa.

“Meow, meow.”

“Don’t just meow at me. I need your honest opinion.”

Ever since I’d inherited my witch powers from my birth mother, I’d been able to talk to Winky. For a feline, he had good fashion sense—particularly when it came to eye patches which I noticed he’d discarded today.

“Meow, meow.”

He jumped off the sofa, walked over to me, and began to rub against my legs while purring at high volume.

Something was amiss. Winky was acting strange—for him. Acting like a normal cat in fact. Winky never did that.

“Stop messing around. I need your opinion.”

“Meow, meow.”

I glanced over at the window sill. That was where Winky normally kept his little flags. He’d taken to using semaphore to communicate with Bella, his catwalk model girlfriend, who lived across the way. There was no sign of the flags.

“Meow, meow.” He continued to rub against my legs.

What was going on? Had he reverted to being a ‘normal’ cat? Could I possibly be so lucky? Might I actually be able to focus on my work instead of having to worry about what he was going to get up to next?

This day was getting better and better.

By early afternoon, Winky was still acting—err—normally, I guess. By that I mean he was still acting like a cat.

“I’m off to meet Jack Maxwell,” I said, as I left the office.

Mrs V gave my outfit another disapproving look. “I should make sure you go somewhere with subdued lighting.”

Charming. “By the way. Have you noticed anything different about Winky?”

Mrs V shrugged. “What kind of thing?”

“He isn’t—I mean he doesn’t—I don’t know. By the way, did you move the flags?”

“What flags?”

“Never mind. See you later.”

***

Jack Maxwell was waiting for me outside the coffee shop.

“Green suits you,” he smiled.

“What do you mean by that? What’s wrong with green?”

“Whoa!” He held up his hands. “Who bit your bum?”

“Sorry. I thought you were—sorry—I’ve been having kind of a strange morning.”

“I thought ‘strange’ was your default. Anyway, I meant what I said. Green does suit you.”

“Thanks.”

Jack insisted on buying the drinks—I pretended to object. The coffee shop was quiet except for the usual posers with their shiny, metallic laptops.

“I was sorry to hear that Sushi’s gone,” I said, trying my best not to smile.

“I doubt that. It’s a shame that you two didn’t hit it off. Sue is exceptionally good at what she does—”

“Get up people’s noses?”

“See, you do have something in common.”

“Touché. So, if she’s so good, why did you get rid of her?”

“We both felt it would be for the best.”

I wanted him to admit it was because he wanted to spend time with me, but he was never going to do that.

“Does that mean we can go back to our previous relationship?” I said.

He grinned. “I wasn’t aware we were in a relationship.”

I blushed. “I meant our
professional
relationship.”

He grinned some more. He was obviously enjoying my self-inflicted discomfort.

“You know my feelings about private investigators,” he said.

“They aren’t top of your Christmas list?”

“My feelings haven’t changed, but—” He took a sip of coffee. “I’d be a fool not to recognise that you’ve contributed to a number of recent high profile arrests.”

You think? Solved them all single-handedly more like.

“For that reason, I’m prepared to allow you a little leeway, but the old rules still apply. You do not get in the way of my investigations, and you bring everything you have to me. Understood?”

“Aye, aye, sir.” I gave him a little salute.

“And cut the smartassery.”

“Now you’re asking the impossible.” I smiled. “Everything else I can live with.”

“So we have a deal?” He offered his hand.

“Deal.”

I liked the feel of his hand on mine. Now if only I could get those lips on mine too.

“Refill?” he asked, but before I could say yes, his phone rang.

“Maxwell.”

He listened, and the longer the call went on, the more serious his expression became.

“Where? When? Okay, I’ll be there in ten.”

He finished the call, stood up, and almost as an afterthought turned to me.

“Sorry. I have to go.”

“Something serious?”

But he’d already gone, along with the promise of my second latte.

***

“Why does that cat have to be out here with me?” Mrs V sighed. “You know how much he hates me.”

“Mrs Rhymes is allergic to cats. You know what happened last time.”

Mrs Rhymes was a sweet old dear who thought her husband of close to fifty years was cheating on her. When she first came to see me, I almost had to call an ambulance because she couldn’t stop sneezing. She sneezed so much that she could hardly draw breath. I’d had no idea she was allergic to cats, and she hadn’t spotted Winky who was fast asleep under my desk. It was only when he popped his head out to see what all the noise was about that she was able to let me know what the problem was. I didn’t want a repeat performance, so this time I planned to get Winky out of my office before the old dear arrived.

Winky was still acting strangely. And by strange, I mean like a normal cat. He wasn’t talking to me, he wasn’t using semaphore to communicate with his girlfriend, Bella, and he hadn’t ordered anything online for several days. He was meowing and rubbing against my legs. I’d begun to wonder if maybe my magical powers had disappeared, but I tried a few spells and they seemed to work okay.

“He’s been on his best behaviour,” I reassured Mrs V, as I lay him down under the radiator in her office. It was the furthest point from the linen basket, which was full of yarn.

“I don’t trust him.” She eyed him suspiciously.

“Look.” I pointed to Winky who had curled up, and looked ready to sleep. “He won’t be any trouble.”

“He’d better not be.”

Before Mrs Rhymes arrived, I sprayed my office with a ‘neutraliser’ spray which I’d bought specially. It promised to get rid of any airborne allergens—it had better work—it had cost me an arm and a leg.

“Mrs Rhymes, how nice to see you again.”

Short, big-bosomed, and with hair that had a mind of its own, Mrs Rhymes reminded me a little of Aunt Lucy.

“I’ve been dreading this,” she said, as she took a seat. There were tears in her eyes, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t due to her allergy. “I’m not sure I want to know the truth.”

“I think you’ll want to hear this.” I smiled.

“You mean. Ronald isn’t—?”

“Your husband isn’t cheating on you.”

“Are you sure? He’s been acting so strangely recently. Going out in the evenings. Ronald never goes out in the evenings.”

“I believe it’s your wedding anniversary soon?”

“Yes, fifty years; our golden wedding. That’s what makes it all the worse.”

“I followed Ronald. He’s been taking dancing lessons.”

“Dancing? Ronald can’t dance. He hates dancing.”

“The course of lessons he’s been taking is usually for people who want to be able to lead the first dance on their wedding day. It’s specifically targeted at beginners. Do you have a celebration planned for your wedding anniversary?”

“Yes. We’ve booked the Regent Hotel. Family and friends have all been invited.”

“Will there be music?”

“Yes, a four piece band.”

“There’s your answer then. I think Ronald plans to surprise you on the day.”

“Oh my goodness.” She reached for a handkerchief.

“You have absolutely nothing to worry about. Your husband obviously loves you very much.”

“Oh my goodness. I feel terrible for thinking badly of him. Does he know I had you follow him?”

“No. I was very discreet. He need never know anything about this.”

“Oh my goodness. I’m so relieved. How can I ever thank you?”

“No thanks necessary.”

“What about your bill? I wouldn’t want you to send it to the house.”

“I assumed not.” I opened the drawer, took out the bill which Mrs V had prepared earlier, and slid it across the desk to her. “There you are.”

Mrs Rhymes floated out of the office.

“Another satisfied customer,” Mrs V commented, after she’d left.

“Pity they can’t all be like that.” I glanced over at Winky who didn’t appear to have moved. “How was he?”

“He’s never moved. Never made a sound.”

“Been good as gold then?”

“I still wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.”