The Witching Hour Read online

  I was about to ask her what made her think I had any news, but I thought I might as well come straight to the point. “I’m hoping my boss will pay for me to go to England.”

  Aunty June narrowed her eyes. “And why would your boss do that?”

  “Because, as luck would have it, I was about to do a story on the Hellfire Caves in West Wycombe in England. And then yesterday I got a letter from my Aunt Beth. Do you know her?”

  “You know I’m not a blood relative, Misty,” Aunty June said.

  I had a strange feeling she was fielding the question. I wondered whether to press her on it, but decided not to. She clearly didn’t want to tell me. Aunty June was nothing if not mysterious.

  “And what did your Aunt Beth say?” Aunty June asked me.

  “She said she has some family items she wants me to collect.”

  Aunty June raised her eyebrows. “Does she now!” She looked up at the ceiling and tapped her chin. After a moment, she added, “I don’t have a good feeling about this. I’m afraid I can’t come with you this time.”

  “But I wouldn’t have expected you to,” I began, but she interrupted me.

  “I would like to, you understand, but I simply can’t. Please be on your guard. You know I’m psychic, and something about this concerns me. Now fetch some wine glasses.”

  I did as she asked and presently returned to the room with two wine glasses. Aunty June poured the Moscato into the glasses. She drank the wine quickly and then poured herself another glass. “Misty, I really don’t like this.”

  “Do you think I shouldn’t go?” I asked her.

  “I can’t interfere in your life,” she said sadly. “It’s not for me to say whether you should go or whether you shouldn’t go. The decision is entirely yours. Please be careful. I’ve already told you that there are big changes ahead for you, but you need to be on your guard. Trust no one.”

  I sipped my wine. “It might not be my decision at all,” I told her. “My boss hasn’t agreed to send me yet.”

  “Your dreadful boss, Skinny?”

  I shook my head. “No, it’s Keith, the big boss. He said he’d think about it and call me sometime this evening with his decision.” I looked at my phone once more. Keith hadn’t called me yet, but the Oracle book seemed to think I was going to England.

  Aunty June pointed to my phone just as the call came in.

  Keith came straight to the point. “The accountant says we can claim it on tax, but Daisy doesn’t think it’s a good idea. I’m overriding her this time, but make sure your stories are really, really good, first rate. We’ll book your flight for next week, if that suits?”

  I made up my mind on the spot. I had always wanted to see England. “Great news! What about a small travel allowance?”

  Keith hung up.

  Perhaps I could broach that subject later.

  Chapter 3

  The plane ride was hellish. The coffee was good, but I hate flying. I always imagine that the bottom of the plane might fall off, or that another plane might hit us.

  I don’t like take off. I hate that feeling of being pushed back in my seat. I’m always relieved when the flight attendants start serving coffee, because I figure that means there can’t be an upcoming and sure-to-be-fatal emergency that the passengers don’t know about.

  I had the window seat. I’m sure whoever booked me the window seat thought that they were being nice, but I’d rather not see how far I am above the ground. The two seats next to me were vacant, so I’d moved across as soon as the seat belt sign had gone off. I had tried to fall asleep, but every small bump had woken me up. I felt like a zombie by the time the plane landed.

  If only Aunty June had come with me. I sighed wistfully.

  “G’day!” The cab driver at Heathrow looked so pleased with himself that I didn’t have the heart to tell him that Australians rarely say, “G’day.” We don’t have kangaroos hopping down our streets either, or crocodiles in our gardens—venomous snakes and deadly spiders, yes, but not crocs. That is, of course, unless you live in Darwin.

  I didn’t get much of a look at England on the way to Aunt Beth’s, as we were on major roads and there was nothing to see except traffic. I did see some lovely old homes, but I also saw rows and rows of houses which looked exactly alike, just like in the Harry Potter movies.

  The cab driver turned off the main road, and I was surprised at just how narrow the streets were. In Australia, you could fit at least one English house in the middle of our roads. Here, in England, cars were parked up on the footpath, and cars on the street had to pull over to let taxis pass.

  The taxi turned into a few different streets, all with houses that looked the same as each other, and pulled up on the footpath in a street where the houses had a decidedly older and uncared-for look.

  I paid the driver a princely sum with my newly acquired English money and stood outside Aunt Beth’s house. All the houses in the street were crammed together in the typical English manner, and Aunt Beth’s was apparently half an unremarkable brick building. From watching numerous seasons of Location, Location, Location, I knew the English called those houses ‘semi-detached.’

  Small, old looking, blue car in the driveway, path overgrown by grass, garden overgrown by weeds. Those were my first impressions. A sickly looking red rose bush struggled to rear its head above the weed level. Only two plants were alive, and both were in pots next to the front door. The blueberry bush was thriving, as was the rue. I expected that they wouldn’t last outside in an English winter.

  I dragged my luggage to the front door and lifted my hand to knock. My hand did not reach the door.

  The rest I later remembered as a haze, but a man ran out of the house and knocked me down, literally bowled me right over. He didn’t even say sorry.

  I picked myself up and looked around, but he was gone. I would have said he had vanished, but that’s a little melodramatic. Great welcome to England, was my first thought.

  Vanishing Man had left the door open, and my second thought was that I was afraid that Aunt Beth might have been robbed. I felt dizzy, whether from jet lag or being knocked down, I don’t know.

  I peered inside. There was a staircase directly ahead and to the right, just like the one Harry Potter used to live under. There appeared to be a kitchen at the end of the hall from what I could see.

  I poked my head inside. “Aunt Beth! Aunt Beth, hello!” I yelled.

  No answer.

  I walked inside and turned left into the small living room. There was Aunt Beth, slumped in her chair, asleep, or so I thought. I walked over to wake her up, and the smell of garlic made me take a step backwards.

  “Aunt Beth.”

  When she didn’t respond, I said it even louder. “Aunt Beth!”

  No answer. I shook her shoulder gently. She fell forwards.

  She was dead.

  I’m good in an emergency; it’s only afterwards that I fall apart. I scanned the room for a phone. An antique drum table and old wooden furniture, some of it antique, flanked the faded, bulky floral chairs.

  Books, antiques, Victorian ruby glass, and porcelain ornaments along with hideous Toby Jugs were crammed into every available space on furniture tops and shelves.

  I didn’t see the old green phone sitting in the corner right away, so camouflaged was it against the overpowering, green, regency stripe wallpaper. At any rate, I didn’t know the number to call. 000 for Australia, 911 for the USA. What on earth was the emergency number in the UK?

  I looked at the note board hanging on the wall above the phone. There was only one note, and a large one at that. Under the word Dr Spence in capitals was a mobile phone number. I picked up the phone and called the number.

  The voice promised that Dr Spence would come immediately. I slumped to the floor, my head in my hands, not wanting to look at Aunt Beth. Instead I stared at a particularly horrible flower on the floral wallpaper and tried to focus my attention. Of all the bad luck, coming halfway across the world
to meet Aunt Beth and she had passed away right before I arrived.

  Soon, being in the same room as a body started to make me quite uneasy, so I sat on the front doorstep to wait for the doctor. Thankfully, he arrived fairly soon after. However, he arrived at the precise moment that I noticed something spilling from under the doormat. It looked like red brick dust, or was it simply dirt? The place was hardly spotless, so it could just be dirt. The potted plants, blueberry and rue, suddenly made sense. Both are protective plants, as I had learned when I had written an article on hoodoo the previous year. Blueberry, if planted near the front door, will keep away unwelcome guests. I would have to investigate more closely.

  The doctor barely looked at me and mumbled a hasty ‘Hello’ as he pushed past me. I showed him straight into the living room. He bent over Aunt Beth briefly and then stood up. “Garlic,” he said. The comment appeared to be addressed to himself.

  I nodded. “Yes, the smell of garlic is overpowering. What does that mean?”

  The doctor looked at me for the first time. “Nothing. Your aunt was fond of natural therapies, that’s all.”

  Then I remembered that, back in Australia, just before a friend of mine got divorced, her husband was sweeping the upper deck and fell off the deck backwards and broke both his ankles. The police came and questioned her at length. I figured that the English police would surely attend a death. “Are the police coming?”

  “Police?” The doctor shook his head. “No, the police don’t come unless it’s a suspicious death.”

  I was taken aback. “But I told you that a man ran out of her house right when I arrived and found her, err, like this. Could it be murder?”

  The doctor looked at me like I was crazy. “Murder? Who would want to murder your aunt? This is natural causes. My dear, I know this is a shock, but your aunt was elderly, and had a chronic and serious heart condition.” He walked over to me and patted my shoulder in a condescending manner.

  I was annoyed that he wasn’t taking me seriously. “What about the man who ran out and knocked me over? Perhaps he was robbing her!”

  The doctor shook his head, more strongly this time. “Your aunt has been deceased since yesterday.” His tone approached the arrogant. “Someone who arrived at the house today couldn’t have had anything to do with what happened to your aunt. Have you looked around to see if anything has been taken?”

  For a moment, I felt like a complete idiot, but then I realised that I wouldn’t have a clue if anything had been taken. “I don’t know if anything’s been taken. I just got here. Literally.” I was quite tense. “What happens now? Do I have to fill out a report? Do I need to file a report with the police at least? I’ve just arrived in the country!”

  Dr Spence abandoned his oh-so-superior attitude for a moment and looked at me with an almost kindly expression. “Misty, isn’t it? Misty, I know this is a shock.” He patted my shoulder again. “There is no coroner’s inquest as the cause of death is known. I do the necessary paperwork, so the police are not called. You will simply need to contact relatives to inform them. Now try to describe the man to me. Over the years I’ve met some of your aunt’s neighbours. He might have called on her and had a fright when he found her deceased.”

  I tried to remember through the fog of the rapidly descending jet lag mixed with shock and stress. “I really can’t remember. I think he was a man, that’s all. I didn’t actually see him.”

  “What colour was his hair?”

  I wondered why the doctor cared so much about the man’s description. I didn’t buy his story that it could have been one of the neighbours. But why would the doctor lie? I thought about it for a second. I supposed that a neighbour might have called in and had a terrible shock to see Aunt Beth like that and had run out. “I don’t have a clue!”

  “Could he have had dark brown or black hair?” The doctor’s tone sounded stronger, even urgent.

  I did feel something wasn’t quite right, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Call it women’s intuition. “Like I said, I didn’t see him. Why, do you think he was someone you know?”

  The doctor considered for a moment before answering. “No, but your aunt had been donating many items lately. Did she ever mention having any antique dealers come around?”

  I shook my head. “No, she only told me to come and get her stuff, historical stuff about the family.”

  “Have you received any of her historical items yet?”

  I looked up and saw the doctor looking at me with deep concentration. His gaze made me uneasy. “No, I was to collect it all on this visit.”

  “She didn’t send anything to you in Australia? Maybe a book?” Still the urgent tone.

  I didn’t answer at once, because it was at that point that I noticed an oil lamp behind the doctor. Why did Aunt Beth have an oil lamp? It wasn’t simply a decoration; it had been used, and recently too. Couldn’t she pay the electricity bills? Or... no, surely she couldn’t have been into spells? I turned my attention back to the doctor and tried to remember his question.

  When I shook my head, he asked another question. “When was the last time you spoke with her?”

  I again hesitated before answering. “I called her at the Sydney International Airport, just before I boarded. She said she wanted to pass me her legacy.”

  The doctor gasped and then coughed. He sat down and made a gurgling, wheezing sound at the back of his throat.

  “Are you okay?” I was wondering if I’d have to call another doctor for him.

  The doctor stood up and thumped his chest two or three times. “Yes, just a tickle in my throat. Is that all she said?”

  “Pretty much. Why?”

  The doctor cleared his throat. “I was just wondering if she mentioned donating any items to charity or selling items. I’d say your visitor was such a collector. Not that it matters when it’s all said and done, as he clearly had nothing to do with what happened to your aunt. Are you able to contact Mrs Banks’s relatives?” He crossed to the window and stared between the slight opening in the heavy drapes. It didn’t seem to be a casual look.

  I crossed to the window too and looked behind the drapes, but couldn’t see anything interesting or unusual out there. I wondered what the doctor had been staring at. However, from this position I did see, on the floor in the corner of the room, a small glass bottle filled with black salt. Witches’ salt—ash mixed with salt.

  This could not be a coincidence. I ticked off the evidence in my head. One, red brick dust under the doormat, a hoodoo tradition used for protection. Two, blueberry and rue plants, used for protection in traditional witchcraft. Three, witches’ salt, used for protection. Four, an oil lamp, used for spells in hoodoo. What had Aunt Beth been into? I was anxious for the doctor to leave so I could explore the house.

  I turned around and saw he was waiting for me to answer. “No, actually, I don’t even know who the relatives are. Well, there are my parents, but they’re all in Slovakia, I think, at the moment and travelling through Europe, so we only email each other. They can’t email often. Aunt Beth was my mother’s aunt and I don’t know of any other relatives at all. I don’t think there are any. Not that I know of,” I added.

  My phone interrupted me. I checked the Caller I.D. Work. “Excuse me, Doctor Spence. I’ll tell them to call me later.” I waved the phone in the air at him.

  “Not at all. I have to be on my way. Don’t worry about anything. I will arrange for the funeral directors to collect, umm, to come as soon as possible, today. Will you be here all afternoon?”

  I nodded and showed the doctor to the door. Of course by the time he had said all that, the caller had hung up, but the phone rang again just as I was shutting the door.

  “Misty, it’s me.”

  “Oh sorry, Cordelia,” I blurted out. “It came through as Keith’s phone. The doctor was here and I couldn’t call back because I’m not on a payment plan for calling from England, so I can only get incoming calls while I’m here.”

  �
��Yes, I know about the calls, but what was that about the doctor? Are you okay?”

  “Aunt Beth’s dead!”

  “What!” Cordelia practically screamed down the phone.

  My words came out in a rush. “I just got here from Heathrow and found her like that. The doctor came straight away. He said she had a bad heart. The funeral directors are coming today and I don’t know what to do!”

  “Oh no! Are you okay? Well, the funeral directors will know what to do. Don’t come back early. Stay there and get your stories.” Cordelia was the practical one.

  “What if someone makes me leave?” My voice was tinged with a touch of hysteria.

  “Who can make you leave? Look, it’s all been arranged for you to stay there for five weeks, so stay there for five weeks and get your stories. Sure it will be harder, but nothing you can’t cope with.”

  Cordelia always made me feel better. “That’s true. It all feels a bit creepy, staying here after what’s happened.”

  “Creepy is good. You’re a paranormal writer, remember? Don’t forget, whatever you do, don’t go to sleep until tonight England time. That’s the quickest way to get over jet lag. Don’t go to sleep our time. Oh no, I might have to go in a sec. Looks like Skinny is back early.”

  I laughed, despite the situation. “Cordelia, you’ll be in trouble calling from work. Skinny goes through the phone statements, you know.”

  Cordelia spoke in a loud whisper. “Yes, silly, that’s why I’m not calling from my desk. I’m calling from Keith’s office. Gotta go.” The line went dead.

  As keen as I was to explore the house, I didn’t want to stay in the house with poor, deceased Aunt Beth, so I walked into the back yard via the kitchen. Besides, I needed a bit of fresh air. I wondered why the washer and dryer were in the kitchen. In Australia, they always go in a separate room, which we call a laundry, which is also the room where we store most of our junk.

  The kitchen was old and dated, and a bit musty, as if it had been locked up for ages. There was a bare wooden table, I guessed oak, and some wooden kitchen chairs that looked hard and uncomfortable. The back yard was quite big, but was overlooked by both the adjacent house and the house on the other side. It was bare. The lawn, if you could call a few pieces of grass a lawn, looked dead. There were a few sickly looking shrubs along the back fence, which was a picket fence in a poor state of repair and I guessed a few decades old. Aunt Beth sure was no gardener.