Scarlett (A Very British Witch Book 1) Page 2

  At the office desk she checked to see if there were any phone messages, but no one had called. She doubled back to the show room and opened the register. She counted and logged the cash on hand, then stepped to the kitchenette in the backroom. She filled the kettle with water from the cooler, then set the kettle on the hotplate and set it to boil. She grabbed a mug from the cabinet and dumped a teabag into it.

  PG Tips… That will get her head straight. A nice, solid caffeinated mug of-

  The phone rang in the shop. She paused her private tea ceremony and went to go answer it, hoping that Karl had left her some milk in the fridge.

  "Bicester Vintners. Scarlett speaking. How may I help you?"

  "It's me.” Karl's voice. She smirked with mild superiority. He was late. And she was here!

  "Scarlett. I'm running a tad late this morning."

  "Is everything all right?" she asked with honest concern.

  Not that it mattered much either way – he didn't really do much when he was there. Scarlett was perfectly capable of handling the business by herself. If anything his faffing and interfering got in her way.

  "Yes, fine, fine,” he muttered like a doddering professor. “Something came up. Nothing for you to worry about. I'll be there in a bit. Ooo and make sure you take those Cabernets on the front table off half price. I thought I mentioned it to you yesterday, but they were still on when I left last night."

  And with that, he hung up.

  She replaced the receiver and eyed it suspiciously. Then her face dropped.

  “Wanker,” she mouthed at it, comically.

  Scarlett returned to the kitchenette to finish making her tea. She stirred her teabag calmly, about to gather her thoughts.

  A tinkle of the front door bell distracted her again.

  She sighed, pulled the teabag from the mug and dumped it in the trash, then headed through, wiping her fingers on her pants legs.

  "May I help you?" she asked as she stepped through into the shop, before even seeing who it was.

  At first, she saw no one and assumed it was a false alarm. It happened sometimes that people stepped inside and stepped right back out, especially if they saw no one at the register. And there were a couple of bratty kids in the neighborhood who liked to run down the sidewalk pushing open all the doors just to hear the bells and startle the proprietors. She was dying to catch one of them doing it.

  Her thoughts meandered to what she might do if she ever got ahold of-

  "Yes, actually." A tenor voice interrupted her dark musings.

  Startled, Scarlett turned to the sound and saw a young man in a military uniform standing on the other side of the discount Cabernet bin near the Pinot Noirs. He held his beret in its hands.

  Taken aback, Scarlett opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

  Her mind whirled trying to get a handle on something to say.

  When he stepped out from behind the promo she needed to fix, his boots struck heavily on the carpeted floor, and Scarlett got a better look at him. Apart from some graying around his temples he looked young enough to have just graduated college, with an ambitious gaze that seemed to take in everything around him. He had close-cropped sandy hair. His uniform was green and brown camouflage, and it bore two stripes on the blue shoulder lapels.

  Flight Lieutenant, she thought. Royal Air Force.

  From his posture he seemed to be a man ready and willing to take charge.

  He had a thin, chiseled face with brown eyes. His cheeks were tanned unevenly, as if he had stood at attention too long in the sun. He wore glasses and no wedding ring. In one hand he held a manila folder.

  “My name’s Tim Clarke, ma’am,” he told her.

  “Scarlett Slater,” she answered robotically, then launched into her standard patter, picking up on his seeming interest. "We have one of our best Pinot Noirs on sale today…" The words fell from her mouth, but didn’t seem to synch with her actual intention as she stood mesmerized by the handsome stranger.

  Doofus! she thought kicking herself, again scrambling in her mind for some intelligible words to say.

  He stepped up to the counter. "I'm actually here on official business."

  Scarlett’s mind stopped scrambling for ways to impress him and was now paying full, professional attention.

  The base was close by, and often soldiers came into the shop. She was used to seeing men in uniform. But none were this…striking. Plus, none had ever approached her on “official business,” whatever that might mean. She felt a slight thrill at the prospect, and more than a little concern.

  He must have seen it in her eyes, because he amended his prior statement. "This is just routine, ma'am."

  No one had called her ma'am before. She was only twenty-eight, and looked five years younger. His politeness made her feel more mature, like a real adult.

  Like really old.

  He continued. "Do you have a moment?"

  Now he was being too polite, she thought. Obviously she had a moment. They were the only two people in the store, and she was paid to be here.

  "Of course," she said, hoping to regain some elegance with a casual, nonchalant wave of her hand.

  He placed the manila folder on the counter, and opened it. Scarlett saw documents inside, stapled white pages and a few printed photographs.

  He took out the top photo, turned it around to give her a better look, and placed it on the countertop in front of her.

  "Have you seen this man?" he asked.

  The man in the photo looked to be in his fifties, or possibly his sixties, pale and gaunt with long gray hair like a werewolf, or a nutty professor. He seemed vaguely foreign, but she couldn't pinpoint it on a map. Had she seen him before?

  She wasn't sure.

  “No,” she said. “I don’t think so. Is he connected to the wine industry?”

  “As a drinker, I suppose.” He hesitated, as if considering whether he should say more. Then he did. “He’s a writer.”

  “Someone famous?”

  “Bill Knight.”

  Scarlett didn’t recognize the name. She studied the photo some more, wondering if she’d ever seen his face in print, or on the back of a book, or next to some newspaper byline.

  “Journalist?” she asked.

  “I believe so, yes. He was down here on research for a book. He’d been a professor up in Nottingham I believe, but the last few years he’s been a freelance writer. Bit of a gadfly, according to my commander.” The Flight Lieutenant stood at ease now, warming to the conversation. “He was working on a book.”

  That piqued her interest. “Oh, you know, I love to read. I read all the time.”

  He shifted his weight and seemed to relax some more. “Me too. In the barracks, I’m always the one with my nose in a book. That’s probably why they chose me for this assignment. I’m not normally the door-knocking type.”

  She smiled. “The door-kicking type, I imagine.”

  He laughed, showing his teeth, and nodded. “It’s all in the training, ma’am.”

  Score! She made him laugh.

  She caught herself dropping out of character - the cool, casually-together kind of person she was trying to portray and with a more serious demeanor brought him back to the subject at hand. “You say he’s writing some kind of book.”

  “Well, he hasn’t written the book yet. And now… maybe he never will.”

  “Writer’s block?”

  “Missing. Possibly dead.”

  She felt her gut tighten. “Dead,” she managed.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to alarm you.” He blushed. “I must admit I’m new at this. What I should have said was, this is a missing persons case. At the moment. Officially. That’s what I should have said.”

  She pressed a hand to her chest. “Well, that’s some comfort, then I suppose.” She dropped the hand, realizing that it was something that Amanda said was overly-dramatic.

  The Flight Lieutenant continued, oblivious to the way she was trying to manage herself. “Mr. Knight was visiting our base on assignment. Interviewing people, asking questions.”

  “About what?”

  “Local history, mostly.”

  “Of Bicester?” She frowned, confused. “Not much to say about Bicester, is there? Nothing ever happens here worth writing about, not in the big scheme of things, anyway. Unless you want to go back to Roman times, I suppose. Sure, we’ve got the Roman baths for the tourists to gawk at. Medieval churches. That’s some history. What was he after, do you suppose, this Mr. Knight?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say, ma’am. I’ve probably said too much already.”

  “I see,” she said, pretending to be more detached than she actually was.

  She studied the photo some more. To Scarlett, the missing writer looked a bit like a professor, like one of those Oxford dons she sometimes chatted with in the store.

  Come to think of it, there was something familiar about this man, this Mr. Knight. Perhaps she really had met him somewhere, in town or in transit, or someplace long ago. Thinking on it now, that somehow felt true. If only she could remember where…

  “You think he might have come into my shop, then, do you?”

  “We’re asking everyone in the area, ma’am.” He cleared his throat. “I have a hunch he may have been out drinking last night.”

  “Ah,” she said. “So you’re specifically interested in the local pubs and liquor stores.”

  “That is correct, ma’am.” His posture was more formal now, as if remembering his mission. “I suspect he may have had too much to drink last night, then checked himself into a hotel.”

  “Did you talk to the Bicester Hotel and the–”

  “Yes, ma’am. I did. They have no record of him. That’s why I’ve been canv
assing the area this morning, to see if any of the locals saw him last night.”

  “I wish you good luck, then,” she said, and slid the photo back to him.

  He ignored it and kept looking at Scarlett, studying her eyes. “If you don’t mind my asking, ma’am, where were you last night?”

  Last night?

  Her throat tightened. She honestly couldn’t say. Because she couldn’t rightly remember.

  To avoid the man’s gaze, Scarlett glanced back down at the photo between them.

  And then it hit her.

  The dream…

  The teeth…

  The body on the ground…

  She could feel sweat under her armpits. It was getting warm inside the store.

  Pull yourself together! she chastised herself.

  She met the man’s eyes with hers, and fashioned her face into a mask of calm. “No, I’ve not seen him.”

  He nodded, seeming to accept the lie and not press the fact that she didn’t answer his actual question of her whereabouts.

  He pulled a card from his front pocket and handed it to her. “If you think of anything that might help us find him, please don’t hesitate to call.”

  She studied the card for a moment, still processing the new information. When she looked up Flight Lieutenant Clarke was turning away from her, and putting his beret back on.

  He walked out of the shop.

  When he was finally out of sight, Scarlett let out a deep sigh and leaned against the counter for support.

  Oh, bloody hell… she exhaled under her breath.

  This was bad. She didn’t know why or how, but it was really, really bad.

  A strong cup of tea, she reminded herself. She had completely skipped her morning tea. No wonder I’m so flustered.

  More than just tea, she needed someone to talk to, and right away.

  Scarlett headed in the back room-cum-office-cum staff room and fished her phone from her purse. She texted Amanda, her flat mate. “Can you meet for lunch?”

  She waited, but there was no answer.

  Scarlett continued waiting, standing quiet and alone, unable to shake the horrible feeling of her nightmare coupled with a new anxiety.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Bicester Vintners, Bicester, England

  All Friday morning and early afternoon business had been brisk, but Scarlett had been standing at the register now for more than four hours without a break, ringing through orders, altering promotional material, and answering questions.

  She hadn’t even had time to finish updating the price promotion on the central bin that Karl had forgotten about until that morning. Every time she was about to change the promotion though, she was interrupted by a customer.

  An American couple was reading the label on a bottle of rosé. Three Chinese women were huddled by the brandy. An local older gentleman was haunting the cabernets.

  Bicester Vintners was a popular spot in the market square where the locals shopped. The wine shop catered to all tastes, but specialized in local wines from Oxfordshire vineyards.

  A cheery Oxford girl was trying to haggle over their lowest-priced chardonnay. “What if I buy three at once? Like three for the price of two?”

  We don’t sell plonk, Scarlett wanted to say, but didn’t.

  “I can give you two for the price of two,” Scarlett said with a smile.

  At least my cheeks are getting a workout.

  The girl pursed her lips. “Just the one then.”

  Scarlett rang her up.

  As she broke a fresh roll of twenty pence coins into the register, she could feel the blood pooling in her feet and ankles. The soles of her feet were sore and her toes were starting to tingle. She just wanted to go and sit down. Just ten minutes would do it. Plus, her hangover wasn’t helping. She needed to be resting and drinking water.

  That’s what she needed.

  The student left with her chardonnay.

  Scarlett seized the moment. She took one quick check on the shop and slipped through to the back to get herself a glass of water. While she was there, she put some water in the kettle and put it on to boil. Her feet ached. She contemplated sitting down. Just for a moment.

  Then her eyes wandered towards the back door. It was one of those frosted glass paneled doors, like the one her nanna had. She had always guessed that residential doors were either cheaper, or once upon a time, this had been a terraced house before they converted it into a retail unit. But that wasn’t where her thoughts were right now.

  There was something not right. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Then she realized it looked like there was something just outside the door, darkening the frosting. Not a shadow. But something physically there.

  Scarlett unbolted the door and opened it. The kettle had nearly boiled, and she needed to get back out to the customers. But curiosity was getting the better of her. With another shove the door opened out onto the two chunky steps below. Perched up against the wall just to the side was a shovel.

  She looked at it more closely, feeling like she was seeing something out of place. She noticed mud caked on the business end of it and remembered the state of her shoes on her bedroom floor. Her mind swarming again she shook her head to clear her thoughts. That was… that was her shovel. From her aunt’s allotment.

  But that doesn’t make sense. Why would it be here?

  The bell over the front door tinkled, pulling her attention. She pulled the door closed. The mystery of the shovel was going to have to wait. And so was any hope of another cup of tea. At least for now.

  The kettle flicked off, just as she left the room and hurried back out onto the shop floor.

  A well-dressed Indian gentleman set a box of top-shelf Riesling on the counter. Scarlett had seen him before. He had been to the store three Fridays in a row now. He owned a restaurant in Banbury but bought his wine in Bicester.

  She gave him a smile. “Hello again, Mr. Rao.”

  “Oh, please,” he said, “you may call me Harish.”

  “And you may call me Scarlett. Fair trade?”

  “Fair trade, yes. Very fair.”

  As she rang him up, the front door opened. Karl bustled in.

  Finally.

  She gave Mr. Rao his change. “Have a nice day.”

  “You too, Scarlett,” he said, lingering at the counter. “Listen, I was wondering.”

  “Excuse me,” she said to him, by way of goodbye, then locked eyes with Karl as he approached. “Can you take over?”

  Karl said nothing, and continued into the back office.

  Scarlett clenched her jaw. It was past time for her lunch. He couldn’t keep her working without a break.

  She moved the “One Moment Please” placard to the counter, and went to the back room. Karl was seated at the desk, rubbing his eyes, not really doing anything.

  “Karl, may I take my lunch break now?”

  He didn’t look at her, but kept rubbing his eyes. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry about this morning. I’ll cover.”

  “What happened?”

  He looked at her for the first time today. There was no apology in his eyes. No understanding of what he’d put her through. “I said you could go.”

  Karl was acting strange. This wasn’t like him. And that wasn’t the only strange thing today.

  “I noticed my shovel in the back,” she said, half expecting to be corrected and told it must be one that looked like hers.

  Karl hesitated. “Yes, I borrowed it from you last week, remember? I’m returning it.”

  “You didn’t ask me.”

  “I did. You remember.”

  “No, actually, I don’t remember.” Scarlett felt incredibly confused. She wondered for a moment if this was all some kind of hazing. A bad joke. Maybe he was going to laugh, and tell her that Amanda was in on it and they just wanted to play a prank on her.

  That was just silly.

  What did Karl want with a shovel anyway? He didn’t have an allotment or garden at home, and even if he did, he’d just hire some help. She couldn’t imagine him doing manual labor. Not by choice, and not with those big rings he always wore. Especially that big red gemstone ring. She’d never seen him without it.

  Karl was looking at her coldly. “Well, you should remember. I asked you last week and you said yes and I’ll bring it back tomorrow. Which I did, and told you about it. But it looks like you forgot and left it there all week.”