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

with this charade, please keep my name out of the paper. I may want to run for the Town Council again next year. Being associated with this debacle won’t do me any good at all.”
    “In that case, Grandma, I suggest you leave now because the reporter from The Candle will be here any minute.”
    “Oh? I’d better be going then.”
    Good riddance!
    “Look, Jill, you can still back out of this, you know,” Aunt Lucy said. “I’m sure Annie Christy would understand. There are plenty of other things you could do to raise funds.”
    “It’s too late now. I’ve already told The Candle.”
    There was a knock at the door.
    “It sounds like he’s here.” Aunt Lucy stood up. “I’ll go and let him in, and then leave you to it.”
     
    “Jill Gooder I assume?” the ruddy faced man said.
    “Yeah, that’s me.”
    “I’m Don Roming from The Candle sports desk. I assume all this BoundBall business is a joke, is it?”
    “Why would you think that?”
    “You can’t seriously be planning to take on a men’s team, can you?”
    “That’s exactly what we’re planning to do. It’s for charity—for SupAid.”
    “I believe the men are giving you a start?”
    “Yes, a hundred points.”
    “Is that all? You’d need a thousand, and even then you’d struggle.”
    “Look, I hope you’re going to do a balanced article.”
    “Of course, what else?”
    Throughout the interview, he was both condescending and patronising, but I managed to keep my cool because I needed his help. When he’d finished asking questions, I said, “Look, there’s just one more thing.”
    “What’s that, dear?”
    “I’d like you to include an appeal for women interested in joining our team to get in touch with me.”
    He laughed. “Does that mean you don’t actually have a team yet?”
    “Not a full team, no.”
    “How many players do you have?”
    “Not enough to make a team, as yet. So, will you include the appeal?”
    “Of course. For what good it will do.”
    After he’d gone, I was seething. The man was a complete moron. Well, we’d show him, and all the other men who doubted us.
     

Chapter 10
    The next morning, as I walked up the stairs, I could hear sounds coming from the outer office. Had Winky recruited another receptionist? Perhaps someone from the fish packing industry this time?
    “Mrs V? You’re back!”
    “Hello, Jill.”
    “How are things with your sister?”
    “When I got down there, G was sitting up in a hospital bed, looking as fit as I’d ever seen her.”
    “But I thought you said it was her heart?”
    “It was just exhaustion. It seems she’d been doing another marathon knitting session, and she’d obviously overdone it. The fatigue must have got to her, but they ran an ECG and did blood tests. She’s perfectly fine.”
    “So she didn’t mind you coming back?”
    “Oh, she minded all right. She said if I cared about her, I’d stay down there for a few weeks and help her with the housework and the shopping, and anything else she could dream up. I told her, if she thinks I’m going to be her slave, she’s got another think coming!”
    “It’s so good to have you back, Mrs V.”
    “It’s good to be back. Did you have to get someone in?”
    “Well, yes and no. We had a young girl called Jules, but she wasn’t here for very long. She was poached by that lot next door.”
    “Armitage?”
    “Yes. Actually, they did me a favour. She wasn’t really qualified to be a receptionist. She’d only had experience in the sausage and black pudding packing industries.”
    “How very unusual. How did she get the job in the first place?”
    “It’s a long story. Maybe some other time. Anyway, would you like a cup of tea?”
    “That would be lovely, dear. I’ll unpack my knitting and crocheting, and get back to work.”
     
    ***
     
    I’d spoken briefly to Jack about Anita Pick’s murder. As always, he’d played his cards close to his chest.
    “What about Roxy Blackwall? She told me that