A Very British Witch Boxed Set Page 11

  Tim opened the door to the shed. There was a lightbulb dangling down, but he didn’t dare turn it on. He had seen Scarlett turn on the light when he was watching from the road and it had practically lit the place up like a stage.

  He stepped inside and closed the door of the shed behind him. He rummaged inside his crime scene bag until he found his penlight. He turned it on. It was a soft, narrow beam that was unlikely to be noticed from the outside, so long as he kept the door closed.

  He looked around. The inside of the shed had the faint odor of mildew, but he couldn’t see where that was coming from. It was relatively clean and organized. He found the shovel hanging from a peg on the wall. He used his penlight to examine the blade of the shovel close up.

  Bits of dirt still clung to the blade. It appeared as if the soil had a good amount of clay, not unusual around these parts, and would account for it sticking to the metal.

  He took a plastic evidence bag from his crime scene kit, and with the penlight gripped between his teeth, he used the scraper tool to collect a good amount of the dirt from the edge of the shovel blade. The dry clumps and smaller particles dropped into the bag.

  He sealed it closed, found a pen and wrote his initials and the date in the chain of evidence box. He noted the location of the shed and the fact that the dirt in the evidence bag came from a shovel. He also noted that the shovel was in the possession of Scarlett Slater.

  Then he put the evidence bag into his crime scene kit and replaced his tools and penlight into his kit too.

  Almost done, he took his cell phone out of his pocket and snapped a few photos of the shovel for reference. Gathering his gear up he shuffled back out of the shed and closed and locked the door behind him. He took a photo of the shed and a wider shot of the allotment with the shed in the frame.

  Satisfied, he returned to his car, stored his things in the back, and drove back to the hotel.

  Chapter Nine

  Aunt Tabitha’s Residence, Bicester, England

  Instead of going straight home to an empty house, Scarlett stopped by to visit Aunt Tabitha. She needed someone to talk to, and Amanda was over with Ronnie again tonight.

  Probably bonking, she thought dryly. Can’t blame a girl though.

  Tabitha made them tea, filling the kitchen again with the fragrant aroma of orange hibiscus mixed with secret flavors of her own devising.

  “I can see the worry in your face,” she said.

  Scarlett attempted a smile, with only modest success. “Is it that obvious?”

  Tabitha poured two cups and brought them to the dining table. “Tell me everything.”

  “They found the body,” she blurted out.

  “What body, dear?”

  Scarlett tried to sip her tea but it was too hot. “Remember I told you there was a man who came into the wine shop looking for some writer?”

  “Oh, yes. You did.”

  “Well, he turned up dead in a field on some guy’s farm.”

  “Whose farm?”

  “Robert Johnson.”

  “Oh, my,” Tabitha gasped. “He never seemed like a killer to me.”

  Scarlett shook her head. “No, no. He’s not a suspect. He’s the one who found the body.”

  “Do the police have a suspect?” Tabitha asked.

  Scarlett hesitated for a moment. “Err. Yes,” she said. “Me.”

  “You? Oh, posh,’ Tabitha laughed. “Why would anyone suspect you? You wouldn’t harm a living soul!”

  Scarlett scrunched her face. “The way things are looking, I may need you as a character witness.”

  “But why do they think it’s you? There must be some mistake, isn’t there?” Aunt Tabitha was leaning forward in her chair now, genuinely concerned despite her words of dismissal.

  Scarlett sighed and pushed the teacup further onto the table as if out of her way. “Someone claims they saw me at the White Hart with the murder victim the night he was killed.”

  “Oh, that’s nothing. It’s a public place. Lots of people must have been there.”

  “But I wasn’t,” Scarlett insisted. “Not that night.”

  Aunt Tabitha waved a hand. “Put it out of your mind,” she told her decisively now.

  “That’s just it. It is out of my mind. I don’t remember where I was that night.”

  Tabitha sipped her tea. Scarlett wondered if the woman had a mouth of asbestos. “It sounds like hearsay to me, and that’s no evidence at all.”

  “That’s not the only worrying thing. There’s also the matter of the shovel.”

  “What the matter with the shovel?”

  Scarlett shifted in her seat before responding. “Karl took it without asking me, then lied when I asked him about it.”

  “Oh, yes. You told me that on Friday. You need to keep repeating yourself around me, you know. I haven’t slept that much. Oh no, not by a long shot. Now drink your tea, dear.”

  Scarlett sipped the tea that had cooled a little by now. She felt the liquid warmth course down her throat and spread throughout her body. Tabitha’s tea always had a soothing effect on her nerves.

  “But what I didn’t tell you on Friday,” Scarlett continued, “because I didn’t know it then, was that the missing person was actually and truly dead. Someone had already buried him in a field and that’s what shovels are for. And mine went missing.”

  She hadn’t put all those pieces together before, even in her own mind, but now saying it out loud and hearing the words all strung together and coming out of her own mouth, Scarlett found the implications frightening. She felt a sudden pressure behind her eyes, like she was about to cry.

  Tabitha put a hand on Scarlett’s hand. “Finish your tea, you’ll feel much better.”

  Scarlett took the last sip and set the cup down on the saucer. The cup was empty except for a scattering of tea leaves and a small bit of liquid at the bottom. Scarlett felt like she’d been able to finish it fast… especially for something that was so hot.

  Tabitha put her own cup and saucer back down on the table. “Now I’ll do a reading.”

  Scarlett rolled her eyes.

  “Hush and do as I say.”

  Scarlett knew the ritual well, but Tabitha went ahead and instructed her anyway, as she always did.

  “Take the cup by the handle, in your left hand,” her aunt instructed. “Good. Now spin the cup in a circle three times from left to right. Yes. And tip the cup over to let the liquid drain out into the saucer. Excellent. I trained my niece well.” She smiled. “Now Scarlett, think about your future.”

  Scarlett closed her eyes and thought herself forward into her own future self, but the images were hazy and dark.

  “Now, Scarlett, deliver the cup into my care.”

  Scarlett turned the teacup back up again, and handed it to her aunt, who stared deeply into the pattern of leaves inside the cup.

  “Yes,” Tabitha cooed softly. “I am beginning to see the patterns now, the symbols and their placement. Nothing is as it seems at first, but things become clearer with time. Your life, Scarlett, is about to change. You sense this, and it causes anxiety. You are feeling some fear in the present about these future changes. But there is no cause to fear. No need to worry. You fear your life will contract, but the opposite is true. Your life will expand.”

  Scarlett felt no comfort at her aunt’s words. She did not really believe in Tabitha’s fortune-telling powers, as she once did years ago. Scarlett was older and wiser now. She knew better that to put her faith in the patterns of tea leaves in a cup. But she loved her aunt dearly, and there was a warmth Scarlett felt in her heart whenever she was in Tabitha’s presence. It was good to talk with her, to be with her, even if her messages were vague and cryptic.

  Tabitha gave her back the teacup. Scarlett looked inside and saw a scattering of tea leaves.

  “I don’t see any symbols or patterns,” she admitted.

  “It’s an art, not a science. You open yourself to it. Bring to the ritual a beginner’s mind. The
patterns are there. But they mean nothing without an observer.”

  Scarlett smiled. She did feel much better now. Not so much because of the prediction. More because of the company.

  She set the cup back down it the saucer. “You know, Aunt Tabitha, some people would call you a witch.”

  “Some would, and others do.” Tabitha gave her a wink. “And they’d be right, dear. It’s a useful craft. Your mother learned it too.”

  Scarlett felt her mood darken again. She didn’t want to think about her mother right now. “Fat lot of good that did her.”

  “Well, it did. Some things are just beyond anyone’s control. When your time’s up, it’s up. And no amount of power or potions are going to change that.”

  “Then what good is it being a witch?”

  Tabitha was about to answer when Scarlett’s phone rang. It was Amanda.

  “I have to get this,” Scarlett said. She hit the button to accept the call. “Amanda?”

  “Okay, I did what you asked,” Amanda said.

  “About the wheelbarrow?”

  “It was just like you said. A broken handle fixed up with electrical tape.”

  “Then it is mine.”

  “I haven’t said anything about this to Ronnie.”

  “No, don’t. Listen, I’m coming right over.”

  “Here? To Ronnie’s?”

  “Yes. Just wait for me.”

  Scarlett hung up.

  She pushed her chair back and stood. “I’m sorry, Auntie, I have to go.” She gave her aunt a peck and a quick hug. “Something’s come up.”

  Tabitha gave her a knowing smile. “No worries,” she said as Scarlett hurried out the door.

  +++

  Ronnie Jones’s Residence, Bicester, England

  Scarlett arrived quickly at Ronnie’s place. His pickup truck was parked in the driveway, so she found parking on the street. She went up to his door and knocked.

  Ronnie answered the door dressed in shorts and a tee shirt. His hair was mussed, his chin stubbled, and his feet bare. He held an open beer bottle in one hand. Scarlett had never seen him so casual, but Ronnie probably wasn’t expecting visitors.

  And he certainly wasn’t expecting her.

  Seeing Scarlett at the door, he beamed. “Hey, girl! What’s this? You looking for Amanda?”

  “No, actually, I’m looking for you.”

  He seemed to take that in stride. Or not to register her response. “Well, come on in. Amanda’s in the bathroom.” He called out to her. “Amanda! Scarlett’s here!”

  There was no answer.

  “She’ll be out in a minute,” he said, and waved Scarlett inside. “Can I get you something? Beer? Water?”

  Scarlett stayed near the door and crossed her arms. She didn’t like confrontation, but it was the only way. She was being falsely accused, or at least falsely suspected, of murder. She had to get to the bottom of this and clear her good name.

  “Where were you Thursday night?” she asked.

  “Thursday night?” He seemed confused by the question. He plopped himself down on the sofa. “Take a seat, relax. Is something wrong?”

  “That depends on where you were Thursday night.” She stepped into the room and sat on the loveseat.

  “He was here with me,” Amanda said, stepping in from the hall.

  She was wearing a silk robe and nothing on her feet. Her face looked freshly scrubbed, no makeup.

  “That’s right,” Ronnie said. “We stayed in on Thursday.”

  Scarlett felt something was off. “All night?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, but why does that matter?”

  Amanda sad down on the sofa next to Ronnie and put a hand on his thigh in solidarity. “What’s this about, Scarlett?”

  Scarlett looked Ronnie squarely in the eye. He was a smooth talker and a bullshitter, and she knew she had to deal with this straight on, or he’d try to slip away from her. He was a master of diversion and dodging the issue.

  “You took my wheelbarrow,” she said.

  Ronnie gave a little squint of confusion, then laughed. “What? That’s what this is about?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I remember you said something about the wheelbarrow at the party, but I didn’t think you were serious. But listen, it’s no problem, if you want to borrow it, go ahead.”

  “I don’t have to borrow it. The wheelbarrow belongs to me. It has broken handle with electrical tape. Amanda confirmed it.”

  Ronnie put his arm around Amanda. “Is this true?”

  “I looked out back. It has tape on the handle. She called me and wanted to know. I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.”

  He shrugged. “It’s no big deal, really. If you say the wheelbarrow is yours, I believe you. What do I know about wheelbarrows? I can always get another one.”

  “Why did you take it in the first place?” Scarlett asked.

  “I didn’t.”

  “Then how did it get there? It belongs at the allotment. I was there tonight, and my wheelbarrow is missing and it’s in your yard. If you didn’t take it, who did?”

  Ronnie set his beer bottle down on the coffee table and took his arm from around Amanda. He leaned forward to explain, his elbows on his knees. “Karl was using it to bring some wine cases over,” he said. “For the party. I called in a large order and he said he’d deliver it. The wheelbarrow seemed like a smart idea. I didn’t really think about it, to be honest. Karl hung out with me for a while after that, and he must have just forgotten it when he went back to the shop. I only noticed it there Sunday morning, and I was going to remind Karl to take it back, but one thing led to another, you know. That’s all there is to it. Really, Scarlett, I had no idea you would be upset.”

  “I’m not upset,” she said, though the denial sounded hollow.

  “I didn’t even know it was yours. But now that I think about it, it makes perfect sense that you would lend it to him.”

  “I didn’t,” Scarlett said.

  Amanda glared at her. It was the look she gave when she wanted to end an argument.

  Scarlett backed off. “Sorry, I’ve just had a stressful week. I thought… I don’t know what I thought. That you took it for some reason. Overactive imagination, I guess.” She stood. “I’m gonna go now.”

  Amanda rose from the sofa. “I’ll walk you out.”

  +++

  When Scarlett and Amanda had stepped outside, Ronnie went to his back office and closed the door. He dialed a number on his cell phone, and the call went through.

  “It’s Ronnie,” he said. “Listen, we’ve got a problem with Scarlett. She’s starting to ask too many questions. I think she’s remembering something. Fix it!”

  Scarlett got back in her car and drove home from Ronnie’s house.

  Her heart raced with agitation and her grip on the steering wheel was tight enough to crush a can. A glance at the speedometer told her she needed to ease up a little. She lifted the pressure from the gas, rolled down the window and took a few deep breaths. She took her hands off the wheel one at a time to shake out the tension.

  More clear-headed now, she thought over what she had learned. The wheelbarrow was hers. Ronnie had the wheelbarrow but denied using.

  Moron!

  He claimed Karl had taken it to move wine cases over.

  Clearly a lie.

  There was no need to move wine cases in a wheelbarrow when Karl had a dolly in the shop. They moved wine cases all the time without ever needing to borrow, or steal, a wheelbarrow. Ronnie had talked a good game in the moment, as he always did when he needed to weasel out of something, but on further reflection the idea was ludicrous.

  But what if the wheelbarrow was used for moving something other than wine cases?

  Like a dead body.

  If the wheelbarrow was hers, and if it was used to move a murder victim, Scarlett was in a sea of trouble. Already Soldier Tim seemed suspicious of her. He claimed to have a witness who saw her at the White Hart with the guy
who got killed.

  “That can’t be true,” she muttered aloud, as if trying to convince herself.

  Truth was, she couldn’t remember Thursday night. She was sleeping and having nightmares, that much she knew. Had she gone out drinking and blacked out afterwards? Some kind of whiskey-induced amnesia?

  Nothing like that had ever happened to her before.

  Scarlett could feel herself tensing again. She came to a stop at a traffic light and focused on slowing her breathing and calming her nerves.

  Okay, Scarlett, consider this calmly.

  She needed to think like a detective, like one of those professional sleuths or amateur busybodies she read about in her books.

  Someone had been murdered. Who were the suspects?

  Me, for one.

  But Scarlett knew she was innocent, so she crossed her name off that mental list.

  Who else?

  Karl.

  She thought about her boss. He’d been acting strange lately. Showing up late to work. Lying about the shovel. Meeting with Tarquin. And now Ronnie saying Karl brought the wheelbarrow to his house.

  Karl was late to work on Friday morning. Thursday night was the last time Bill Knight was seen alive. Could there be a connection? Could Karl have killed the man?

  Scarlett ran through a potential timeline. Thursday night, Karl kills Bill Knight for unknown reasons. Friday morning, Karl is late for work. But Scarlett’s shovel is at the wine shop. Soldier Tim shows up looking for Bill Knight, who may already be dead and buried.

  A car horn blared behind her.

  She refocused on the road ahead and saw that the light had turned green.

  “Sorry,” she waved as a sports car roared around her and sped off.

  Prick.

  She continued driving, paying more attention now to the road but unable to stop her mind from churning over the clues.

  Karl is involved in the murder, she decided.