Read Online Witch Is When It All Began by Adele Abbott - Free Book Online

too—just to be safe. The bill came to over a hundred pounds—it was money I could ill afford, but it was that or never get a good night’s sleep again.
    “Thanks again,” I called after him. He’d no doubt be telling everyone back at his office about the crazy woman who had been hiding under the bed.
    I dragged the book out from under the sofa. What on earth had just happened? I’d always considered myself to be a logical type of person, and every ounce of logic in me said that it wasn’t possible to make yourself invisible. But what other explanation could there be? I could have been drugged. Another possibility was that someone was trying to spook me, and had paid the locksmith to pretend he couldn’t see me. But what about Mr Ivers? They might have paid him too. Or maybe they had told him it was a practical joke. None of that explained why I couldn’t see my reflection in the mirror. Maybe someone had swapped the mirror for some kind of stage prop. Or maybe I was just going insane. Right now, that sounded like the sanest explanation.
    I heard a noise coming from the bedroom—it was the same noise I’d heard earlier. I’d just about had enough of this.
    “Don’t be afraid,” the woman said. At least I thought it was a woman. The figure appeared to float in mid-air between the bed and the wall. Her body was barely visible and her head seemed to be fading in and out of view. She said something which I could barely make out. It sounded like ‘You’re a witch’.
     
    I closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. It was all in my head—just an overactive imagination—nothing more than that. Everything would be back to normal once I’d calmed down. Another deep breath, and then I’d open my eyes. Ready, breathe in, steady, breathe out, open eyes.
    Phew! There was nothing there—obviously.
     
    I found the number, which was still on my call log. She answered on the second ring.
    “Aunt Lucy? It’s Jill.”
    “Jill. How nice to hear your voice.”
    “We need to talk.”
    “Of course. I’ll be happy to answer any questions you may have about your mother.”
    “This isn’t about my mother. Well, it might be, I’m not sure. It would be better if we could talk face-to-face.”
    “Of course. Why don’t you come over to Candlefield? I can answer your questions, and you’ll have a chance to meet—”
    “No!” I hadn’t meant to shout, but there was no way I wanted to go back there. “Can you come to me? Could we meet in a coffee shop?”
    “I don’t really drink coffee.”
    “They have tea and soft drinks.”
    “A cup of tea would be lovely. When did you have in mind?”
    “The sooner the better. How about tomorrow morning. Could you get to Washbridge by ten o’clock?”
    She said that wasn’t a problem, so I gave her the name of a coffee shop, which was close to my office.
     
    I’d been trying to contact Mr Lyon, the husband of the first victim for some time, but without any success. He’d moved out of the family home. Only the police who were working on the case knew where he was staying, and they weren’t likely to share that information with me. I did have a phone number, which I’d obtained from one of my contacts, but I had no idea whether Mr Lyon would still be using that number. I’d tried to call him numerous times, but he hadn’t answered and he didn’t have voice-mail activated. I decided to try one more time before calling it a day.
    “Hello?” a man’s voice said.
    “Is that Mr Lyon?”
    “Speaking.”
    “Mr Lyon. I’m sorry to bother you. I’m not the press.” After my initial run-in with Mr Lamb, I thought I’d better make that clear. “My name is Jill Gooder, and I’m a private investigator.”
    “I was expecting your call.”
    “You were?”
    “Harry Lamb mentioned that you’d been to see him.”
    “You’re in touch with Mr Lamb?”
    “Yes. We’ve met a couple of times. He said that you were investigating another murder, and that you thought it might