Free Witch Is Why The Laughter Stopped (A Witch P.I. Mystery Book 14) by Adele Abbott

the woman in Holo. After a few moments, he staggered to his feet, but only managed a couple of paces before he fell to the floor. Another man, sitting close by, rushed to his side.
    “Should I call an ambulance?” someone shouted.
    “It’s too late.”
    Something was definitely wrong. That was twice now that I’d seen someone start to laugh uncontrollably, and then drop dead. It was very scary.
     
    ***
     
    I’d arranged to meet Patricia Lewis, the widow of Joseph Lewis—the man in the article I’d come across when looking through the archives for news items on lost dogs. Even though Toto and Hector had been reunited with their owners, I was still curious to learn the details of this murder.
    Patricia Lewis wore her hair in a bun. She reminded me a little of Sue Zann, the Buninator.
    “Jill Gooder?” She answered the door wearing slippers.
    “That’s me.”
    “Do come in. Would you like a drink?”
    “No, thanks. I’ve not long since had one.”
    We went through to the lounge, and I took a seat in the armchair. Patricia sat opposite me.
    “You said you wanted to talk to me about Joseph’s murder?” She picked up a woollen jumper, from the small coffee table next to the sofa, and began to squeeze it much like a child with a comfort blanket. “What do you want to know?”
    “I came across an article about your husband’s murder when I was researching another case. Am I right in thinking that no one has ever been charged?”
    “That’s right. The police have all but dropped the case. They seem to be trusting to fortune now.”
    “How do you mean?”
    “They have the murderer’s DNA. They ran a check against their databases nationwide, but there was no match. So, unless the man walks into a police station and gives himself up, the only way he’s likely to be caught is if his DNA is taken in relation to some other offence. I don’t hold out much hope after all this time.”
    “This may sound kind of weird, but I came across your husband’s case when I was searching the archives of The Bugle for articles on lost dogs.”
    “Is that something you specialise in?”
    “No. In fact, I’ve never had a lost dog case until recently. The article about your husband mentioned that his dog had gone missing.”
    “That’s right. Desi—that’s what we used to call him. He was a lovely dog—a wire-haired terrier. Joseph treated him like a son, and was devastated when he went missing.”
    “How long was that before your husband was murdered?”
    “Only a matter of days. I think there must have been a gang of dog thieves in the area because a colleague of Joseph’s had her dog taken around the same time. Ironically, on the morning of the day he was killed, Joseph actually seemed much brighter. He was convinced he was going to get Desi back.”
    “What made him think that?”
    “I don’t know. He said it would be his present to himself.”
    “Present?”
    “Didn’t you know? Joseph was murdered on his birthday. He was wearing the jumper that I’d knitted for him. I’m not very good at knitting, but Joseph said he loved it. He was kind hearted like that. That was the last time I spoke to him. The next thing I heard was when the police called to tell me he’d been murdered.” She pressed the jumper tight to her chest. “They gave me his clothes a few weeks later.” She glanced down at the jumper. “I can’t bring myself to throw this away. I had to wash it though. It was covered in dog hairs.”
    “Desi’s?”
    “Yes, and lots of others too. Joseph loved dogs. All dogs.”
    “You said a colleague of his also had her dog stolen?”
    “Yes. She was on Washbridge Council with my husband. Now, what was her name? Charlene—Charlene West, that was it. I remember that her dog turned up again, out of the blue, the day before Joseph was murdered.”
     
    As I made my way back to the car, I remembered something that Maisy Topp had said when she’d first come to see me. She’d been in a hurry