Free Witch Is When Stuff Got Serious (A Witch P.I. Mystery Book 11) by Adele Abbott

office?”
    “That’s right. Socks is an expert when it comes to the microlight.”
     
    The window was still open an hour later, but there was no sign of Winky’s aerobatic brother.
    “Can we shut this window? I’m freezing.”
    “No. Socks will be here any minute now.”
    “I’m still not sure this is a good idea. It sounds really dangerous to me. Couldn’t he land somewhere close by—maybe in a field—and just walk from there?”
    “You worry too much. My bro knows what he’s doing.”
    “Your bro ?”
    Just then, I heard the sound of a small motor.
    “It’s Socks. Look! He’s over there.” Winky pointed over the roof tops of the buildings opposite.
    “Does he have a pilot’s license for that thing?”
    “Of course he does. He’s not irresponsible.”
    “What’s he doing now? Why did he suddenly plummet down like that?”
    “It must be the down-draught between the buildings.”
    “Is he okay?”
    Winky looked a little worried. “I hope so.”
    We both watched as Socks tried to combat the strong downward gusts.
    “He’s not going to make it,” I yelled.
    “Yes, he will. He’ll be okay.”
    “I don’t think—”
    “Look out!”
    We both dived for cover as the microlight came sailing in through the window, and slid to a halt at the far side of the room. Winky dashed over to his brother.
    “Socks! Socks, are you okay?”
    The black and white cat climbed out of the microlight, discarded his helmet and goggles, and embraced his brother. “Good to see you again, bro.”
     
    ***
     
    I drove over to Anita Pick’s house. I wanted to speak to her neighbour—a woman called Roxy Blackwall. Mad had told me that Anita and her neighbour had been involved in some sort of long-running dispute.
    As soon as I arrived at Anita’s house, I could see the source of the friction. In the back garden of the neighbouring house were at least seven, maybe eight, dogs running loose. There was a mix of sizes and breeds, and they all began to bark as soon as they heard me. I wasn’t in any danger because they couldn’t get over the fence, but it was still quite intimidating. I could see how this situation might have upset Anita.
    As I looked over at the dogs, the door to the neighbouring house opened, and a woman stepped out. She was short with greying hair—perhaps in her early fifties. She was wearing some kind of uniform—an ambulance driver or paramedic.
    “Can I help you?” she said.
    “Are you Roxy Blackwall?”
    “Who wants to know?”
    “My name is Jill Gooder. I’m a private investigator. I’m looking into Anita’s murder.”
    “I couldn’t believe it when I heard the news.” She shook her head. “Although I have to be honest, she and I never really did get on.”
    “What was the reason for that, if you don’t mind me asking?”
    “She was always complaining about my dogs.”
    “You do have rather a lot of them.”
    “Yes, but they’re all very well behaved.”
    “What in particular did she complain about?”
    “Oh, everything. It’s a pity she didn’t have anything better to worry about. If she’d seen the sights I see on a daily basis, then maybe she wouldn’t have worried about a few dogs barking. I see plenty of human tragedy day in, day out, and I can tell you there are more important things in life to worry about than a few dogs.”
    “I understand from the Assistant Librarian that you went into the library, and had words with Anita not too long ago.”
    “That’s right, and with good cause. I could put up with Anita’s constant complaining, but then she went and poisoned Jo Jo.”
    “Jo Jo?”
    “She was my setter. Anita killed her.”
    “Do you have any proof of that?”
    “No, of course not. I went to the police, but they didn’t want to know. But I know it was her. That’s why I went to the library—I would have throttled her if her assistant hadn’t pulled me off. It’s probably just as well she did, or I’d have been doing time, and who would have