Page 38 of Spirit Witch
Oh yeah. I got back to the point. ‘I once stayed inside for ten days straight. Didn’t go out, didn’t talk to anyone, just lay on my sofa with my duvet and my cat.’ I sighed. ‘It was wonderful.’ Both Winter and Pete looked at me as if I were mad. I shrugged. ‘Anyway, by the time I finally ventured outside again, I had to clear a path to the door. There were bills and junk mail clogging up my doorstep. It took ages to open the door and it had only been ten days. Clare Rees hasn’t been home in weeks.’ I jabbed at the photo. ‘Where is her post? Where are the flyers for the local takeaway? Where are her bills? Or postcards? There’s not a single letter lying on her doormat.’
‘I know the postman,’ Pete argued, momentarily abandoning his bid to wheel round and stare at thin air as if he expected Clare to materialise spookily any second. ‘He’s a good guy.’
‘I’m sure he is. I think Blackbeard has had Clare’s post redirected.’
Winter’s brow furrowed. ‘To what end?’
‘Goodness only knows,’ I said. ‘But if I’m right, we need to find out where her letters are being sent and we’ll find him.’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘It’s not just booby traps we need to look for at the other coven members’ homes, it’s letters as well. As Clare said, serial killers take trophies. Maybe junk mail is the trophy Blackbeard is after.’ I wrinkled my nose at Winter’s expression. ‘I’m not saying it makes any sense. I’m just saying it can’t be a coincidence that there aren’t any letters waiting for Clare.’
‘Are you telling me,’ Winter said, ‘that you once were too lazy to get up and pick up the post from your own doorstep? For ten days?’
I grinned. ‘And look where that attitude has got us! Halfway to solving a series of tragic and brutal murders.’ Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Clare wincing. ‘We’ll get all the way there, Clare. I promise.’
‘You shouldn’t make promises you can't be certain you’ll keep,’ she whispered.
‘We could still go out on a date,’ Pete broke in. ‘I could book a table at La Boheme. The lazy blonde one can come and translate for us.’
‘I have a serial killer to catch,’ I informed him sniffily. ‘I don’t have time to go on dates so I can act as a conduit between the spirit world and the real world.’
‘You mean you’re too lazy to do it,’ Pete said.
No. I meant yes, kind of, but it was also too damned weird.
Clare smirked. ‘This is what you get for suggesting I fancied the pants off him.’
I rolled my eyes. Bloody ghosts.
***
Winter went off to speak to both the police and the Arcane Branch witches who were here to investigate the other coven members. He decided, all on his lonesome, that he’d do a better job persuading them to apply for the media embargo without my help. Apparently I had problems conducting myself in a professional manner and that might discourage them from acceding to our wishes. Pete seemed to agree with this assessment even though he’d only met my front half fifteen minutes earlier. Whatever. My ego could take the hit if it meant that Winter was the one who wasted time answering inane repetitive questions. When it comes to government agencies, whether we are talking about serial killers or rotas for recycling paper clips, the forms and bureaucracy can destroy your psyche in a manner which even Nietzsche couldn’t have envisaged. Unless you are Raphael Winter, of course. I secretly suspect he lives for that kind of thing.
Tempted as I was to take advantage of Winter’s absence and have forty winks, Clare’s obvious unhappiness precluded any naps. Given what neighbourly Pete had told us about the lies Blackbeard had spun him, I reckoned her family had probably been told something similar. Finding out for certain would at least cheer her up; she’d still be dead but she’d know that her family cared about her. Of course, that meant I’d have to be the bearer of bad tidings and tell her family that she’d been murdered. It wasn’t exactly my idea of fun by the seaside. Ice cream, yes; lying in the sun, yes. Informing a family that a serial killer had slaughtered their nearest and dearest several weeks ago and they’d not realised anything was wrong … no. It was tempting to sprint in the opposite direction as fast as my chubby little legs would carry me.
Clare’s parents lived in a quiet cul-de-sac less than twenty minutes from her house. It was the sort of place where the neighbours all spoke to each other, not just to murmur a hello in the morning but to stop and have a real chat. When someone baked cookies, Tupperware boxes were probably passed around every house on the street. My witchy senses might have never experienced precognition but I foresaw many casseroles in the Rees family’s future. I gave a loud sigh.
By my side, Clare was twitchy and nervous. ‘What if they really don’t care that I’m dead? Blackbeard might never have come here. He might never have spoken to them. They simply might not have noticed that I’m not around.’ She wrung her hands and I saw that her fingers were trembling. She might be a ghost but she was still afraid. Apparently you don’t lose your emotions or humanity when you lose your life. I wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or dismayed by that.
Unable to place a reassuring hand on her arm, I forced a smile in her direction. ‘How often did you see your family when you were alive?’
Her expression creased into worried guilt. ‘Not as often as I should have. We lived close to each other so I should have been round more often but they were always here, you know? I might have postponed a lot of dinners or days out, but it was only because I thought I could see them any time.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I didn’t know. I didn’t know I had such little time left. No wonder they don’t care that I’m gone – I didn’t care when they were here.’
Clare was seriously over-thinking. ‘Stop it,’ I said, harshly enough to make her glance at me in surprise. ‘You were human. Youarehuman. You did something that people all over the country do. You can’t beat yourself up for living or for making a few mistakes. To err is human, Clare.’
She screwed up her face. ‘And to forgive is divine.’ She waved a hand around. ‘I’m dead and I don’t see anyone divine around here. I’ve even managed to mess that up.’
I was starting to get the impression that nothing I said was going to make any difference. When Clare’s family heard what had happened to her and collapsed, devastated, she wasn’t going to feel any better about herself. To err was human indeed – I should never have come here. Some things were better left to professionals. What the hell did I know about grief?
I pressed my finger on the doorbell and stepped back. With any luck, no one would be in and the police would come later and do this themselves. I counted to three in my head.
‘No one’s here! We should go.’ I twisted round hurriedly and walked away far faster than I normally did.
‘Ivy!’ Clare protested immediately. She needn’t have bothered – I could already hear the door opening behind me. Arse.
I turned back slowly, my stomach churning and my mouth dry. I’d take on a platoon of zombies over this any day. Hell, I’d take on Tarquin – and that was saying something.
The woman had Clare’s face but with a few more careworn lines around her eyes and mouth. She started to smile at me but something about my expression gave her pause because her smile faltered. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked.
Big fat ghost tears started to roll down Clare’s cheeks. ‘Mummy.’ She ran towards her, arms outstretched, and tried to throw herself into a hug. Of course it didn’t work and Clare fell through her mother’s body, stumbling to the other side. She let out an anguished sob and slumped down.
