Witch Is When Stuff Got Serious (A Witch P.I. Mystery Book 11) (15 page)

“Excellent, Jill. Thank you very much.”

“Here’s your card back.”

“Thank you.”

“The owner of Everything Rodent tried to sell me a cross-trainer.”

“That would be a sledgehammer to crack a nut. These are all I need.”

“He also has a fitness club. He tried to sell me a membership for you.”

“I’m not surprised. He’s into everything, that fellow. Anyway, thank you for these.”

I turned to leave.

“Oh, and by the way, Jill—”

“Yes?”

“Have you considered investing in some exercise equipment? A bit of toning up wouldn’t do
you
any harm.”

Cheek!

Chapter 18

“But I hate picnics.” I groaned.

Kathy gave me her patented, ‘
Jill’s being a pain again
’ look. “Jill, would you mind doing me a tiny favour, please?”

“What now?”

“Stop your moaning.”

“But picnics are so naff. Wasp sandwiches? Yuk! And, it’s muddy and there are smelly cows everywhere.”

“What you’ve just described there? It’s called the countryside.
Everyone
loves the countryside.”

“Not me. Can’t we have the picnic in the town centre instead?”

She rolled her eyes. “You, me, Lizzie and Mikey are going into the countryside. We’re going to have sandwiches, cakes, and pop. And, we’re all going to enjoy ourselves. That’s an order!”

“What about Peter? How come he gets let off the hook?”

“Pete’s working. He’s busy.”

“I’m busy.”

“You told me yesterday that you didn’t have any work on.”

“Yeah, but a case came in late last night.”

“What case was that?”

“It was—err—a missing—err—armadillo.”

“Armadillo?”

“Yeah. It belongs to an eccentric millionaire. He collects them, and one of them is missing.” I noticed the look on her face. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“No, Jill, I don’t believe you. Armadillo? Is that the best you could come up with? Even by your standards, that’s pretty bad.”

She was right. If I’d had more warning, I could have come up with a much better excuse. Missing armadillo? What was I thinking? I deserved to go on the picnic.

“Look, Auntie Jill! Zebodile is coming on the picnic with us.” Lizzie held up the monstrous beanie for me to see.

“That’s great.”

“And I’m bringing my drum.” Mikey started hitting it for all he was worth.

“Fantastic!”

It just got better and better.

It was only ten miles to the picnic site, but it felt like a thousand. I was in the back seat sandwiched between Lizzie, who kept showing me her horrific beanie, and Mikey, who was playing his drum. And, I use the term ‘
playin
g’ very loosely.

“Why can’t I sit up front with you, Kathy?” I shouted over the noise of the drum.

“There’s no room.”

“Couldn’t you put the hamper in the boot?”

“It’s full. Pete’s tools are in there.”

“Why can’t the hamper go in the back with the kids instead of up front with you?”

“Because the kids would eat all of the buns before we even get there.”

“Would you like to hold Zebodile, Auntie Jill?”

“Listen to me play my favourite tune, Auntie Jill.”

By the time we arrived at the picnic site, I’d almost lost the will to live.

“Come and throw the Frisbee, Auntie Jill.” Mikey had at last put the drum down.

“I’m not really very good with Frisbees.”

“It’s easy, Auntie Jill.” Lizzie grabbed my hand.

“Look!” Mikey threw the Frisbee towards Lizzie. She tried to catch it, but it went sailing over her head.

“That was too high, Mikey,” she complained.

“No it wasn’t. You’re just rubbish at catching.”

“Kids,” Kathy warned them. “No arguing or we go home.”

Lizzie went chasing after the Frisbee, grabbed it, and threw it in my direction. It was too high, and even though I jumped, I still missed it, so I had to go chasing after the stupid thing. Have I mentioned I hated Frisbees?

Before I could pick it up, a dog appeared from nowhere, grabbed it in its mouth, and went dashing off into the distance. Oh dear. How very sad. No more Frisbee. Snigger.

“Sorry, kids. That dog’s taken the Frisbee.”

“Aw.” Lizzie pouted. “Daddy only bought it yesterday.”

“Oh well.” I feigned disappointment. “Let’s go and have some sandwiches.”

“Where’s your Frisbee?” Kathy asked the kids.

“A dog stole it,” Mikey said.

“He ran off with it in his mouth.” Lizzie stamped her foot in anger.

“Why didn’t you get it back?” Kathy was looking at me.

“He was too fast.” I shrugged. “And besides, he looked really fierce.”

“Help! Somebody help me, please!” shouted a woman, about Kathy’s age. She looked panic-stricken. Both Kathy and I hurried over to her.

“What’s wrong?” I said.

“It’s Jimmy. He’s stuck. He’s going to fall.”

I followed her gaze, and saw a young boy hanging from a branch high in a tree. It appeared that the only thing stopping him from falling was the belt on his trousers which had snagged on the branch.

“I didn’t even realise he’d climbed the tree. I only took my eyes off him for a couple of minutes.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Kathy reassured her.

I wasn’t so sure.

“How?” The woman sounded even more desperate. “That branch won’t hold his weight for long.”

She was right. The branch that he was hanging from wasn’t very thick. If it gave way under his weight, he’d plummet straight to the ground. If that happened, he was sure to sustain a serious injury—or worse.

“Have you called the fire brigade?” Kathy said.

“No, I didn’t know what to do.” The woman was becoming increasingly distraught.

“I’ll do it.” Kathy took out her phone and dialled nine, nine, nine. “We’re at Sunset Picnic Park. There’s a young boy hanging from a tree. Please hurry. He’s going to fall any minute.”

She’d no sooner said the words than the branch snapped, and the boy plunged towards the ground.

My instincts took over as I cast the ‘faster’ and ‘power’ spells. I reached the tree just in time to catch him.

“My name’s Jimmy.” He seemed totally unfazed by his brush with death.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I was climbing the tree, but I slipped.”

I put him down, and he seemed none the worse for his adventure.

Kathy and the boy’s mother came running over. His mother scooped him up in her arms, and kissed him. Tears were running down her cheeks.

“Thank you so much. Thank you.”

Kathy still had the phone in her hand. “No, it’s okay. He’s down from the tree now. Yes, he’s fine.”

After the woman and the boy had left. Kathy stared at me.

“What happened just then, Jill?”

“How do you mean?”

“One minute you were standing next to us. The next, you were at the tree—catching the boy. How did you get there so quickly?”

“I always was good in the sprint.”

“But how did you catch him from that height? I’m surprised he didn’t drill you into the ground.”

“He wasn’t
that
heavy. He’s only a small boy.”

Fortunately, before Kathy could press me further, two elderly women approached us.

“It’s her. I told you it was her.” The one with the purple rinse pointed to Kathy.

“You’re right, it is.”

“Can I have your autograph?” Purple Rinse rummaged through her handbag.

“You! Young lady!” The other old girl shouted to me. “Will you take my photo with Kathy.”

Kathy posed for photos, and signed autographs for them both. I felt like a spare wheel.

“Does that happen often?”

“You’d be surprised, but then I guess it’s the price of fame.”

On the drive home, I was allowed to sit up front with Kathy. The empty picnic hamper was in the back with the kids, who were both fast asleep.

“I still don’t understand what happened back there,” Kathy said.

“Jimmy’s okay. That’s the main thing.”

“I suppose so, but there’s something strange going on. I’ve said it before. Something’s different about you, and I don’t know what it is.”

“Maybe it’s because I’m with Jack.”

“Hmm?” She looked doubtful.

The journey home was through the countryside. There were very few houses, and the roads were mostly deserted. About half-way home, we drove past a lay-by. Parked in it was none other than my new friend, Malcolm, the mobile barber—as usual, he seemed to be doing a roaring trade.

***

When I got back to my flat, a note had been pushed under the door. I didn’t recognise the handwriting. It said:

‘I know the whereabouts of the wand. Meet me in the basement of the museum tonight at midnight.’

Who could have written it? More importantly, how had they known where I lived? And why deliver it to my flat in Washbridge rather than to the flat above Cuppy C? If the note had come from the thief, why ask to meet in the museum? Surely, they must know that was risky. They could have requested to meet anywhere—somewhere they’d know if I’d been followed—somewhere they could make a quick getaway. By meeting in the basement of the museum, they’d be effectively trapping themselves.

Or was the trap meant for me?

Even if it was, I had no choice. I had to go, but I’d need to be on my guard. This could be TDO.

***

When I arrived at the museum, the door to the main entrance was unlocked. I stepped inside, and pushed it closed behind me. There was no sign of Bert, the security guard, so I made my way to the basement. I switched the light on, and walked slowly down the steps. There was no one in there.

I paced up and down nervously as the minutes ticked by. Each one seemed to last an hour. By fifteen minutes after midnight, there was still no sign of anyone. Maybe it had all been a hoax. I was just about to go back upstairs when I heard a voice. It seemed to come from inside the sealed room. It was a voice I recognised.

“Amber?”

“Is anyone out there?” She sounded scared. “Help us, please.”

And then I heard Pearl’s voice. “Can anyone hear us? Please help us.”

I put my ear against the door.

“Amber? Pearl? Are you in there?”

“Is anyone out there? Help us, please!”

They obviously couldn’t hear me. How had they got in there, and who had locked them in?

“Please help us!” Pearl sounded desperate.

I had to do something.

“Stand back girls.” I wasn’t sure why I’d said that because they obviously couldn’t hear me.

I cast the ‘power’ spell, and pushed against the door with all of my strength.

Nothing happened.

I fired a thunder bolt at the door handle.

Still, nothing happened.

“Help us, please!” Pearl shouted.

I had to get inside, but conventional spells weren’t going to work. I had to pit the strength of my mind against the magic that was keeping the door sealed.

I gripped the pendant, which I always wore around my neck. With my eyes closed, I focused all my thoughts and energy on the door. The pressure building inside my head was almost unbearable—it felt as though the top of my skull would explode at any moment.

The creaking sound brought me back to earth. I opened my eyes to find the door was ajar. Nervously, I pushed it open and stepped inside. There was a single piece of furniture: a table covered with dust. On it was an equally dusty book. I picked it up, and was about to flick through the pages when I heard a familiar voice.

“I believe you’re looking for this?”

“Grandma? What are you doing here?”

She handed me something. “Is this what I think it is?”

“I expect so.”

“The Wand of Magna?”

“Yes. You can return it in the morning.”

“I don’t understand?”

“I brought you here because I needed you to get inside this room.”

“How did you know I could?”

“I wasn’t sure, but I thought if you had the right motivation, you’d have the best chance of succeeding.”

“I heard the twins in here.” I glanced around. “Where are they?”

“They were never in here. The voices you heard came from me. One of my better party tricks.”

“So you took the wand? Just to get me in here?”

“Yes. It was ridiculously easy too. I just had to put the security guard to sleep for a few hours.”

“But I still don’t understand why.”

“For that.” She pointed to the dusty book.

“Is that Magna’s spell book?”

“Take a look.”

“No!” I backed away from the table. “I can’t.”

“Of course you can.”

“No. You open it.”

She sighed—clearly annoyed.

As she reached out to open it, something happened. It was as if she’d received an electric shock.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. But the book clearly isn’t meant for me. You open it.”