What? ‘No. On Dartmoor.’
A door opened across the street and a group of laughing children piled out, the occasional delighted scream punctuating the air. Clare’s mum didn’t even look at them. ‘You’d better come in,’ she murmured. She led me into the living room and gestured. ‘Please. Have a seat.’
I moved to the nearest chair. Clare let out a small shriek. ‘Not there!’ I sprang up again. ‘That’s my dad’s chair,’ she said. ‘No one sits in that chair apart from him.’
I edged round to the sofa and did my best to look casual.
‘Would you like something to drink?’ Mrs Rees asked. ‘Tea or coffee or something?’
It should probably be me asking her that. ‘No. But I can put the kettle on if you…’
‘No.’
Footsteps sounded outside and a man appeared, wiping his hands on an oily rag. He glanced at me, then at Clare’s mum. ‘What’s going on?’
‘This is…’ Mrs Rees faltered. I hadn’t even introduced myself yet.
‘Ivy Wilde,’ I said. ‘I’m…’ I’m what? A taxi driver? A medium?
‘She’s here about Clare,’ Mrs Rees said. The note in her voice said it all.
The man, presumably Clare’s father, stiffened. He sat down in the chair, his shoulders slumping. ‘Fuck.’
That’s pretty much what I was thinking too.
***
It took some time to explain everything. A lot of the conversation had a strange roundabout fashion.
‘So you’re with the Hallowed Order of Magical Enlightenment?’
‘No, but sometimes I work with them.’
‘You’re not a witch then?’
‘I’m a witch.’
‘You’re in a coven like Clare was?’
‘No.’
‘So who the hell are you?’
I wasn’t sure even I knew the answer to that any more. About the only thing that was clear to all of us, even Clare, was just how devastated her parents were. There had been a few quiet tears and very little in the way of hysterics but that was because they had so many questions and, right now, I had very few answers.
‘She’s here then?’ her mother asked. ‘She’s dead and she’s been dead for weeks. Her body has been cremated. But she’s here as a ghost and you can talk to her?’
I nodded. ‘Pretty much.’
‘We don’t have any money,’ Mr Rees said, with a hard, sceptical look in his eye. ‘If you’re trying to get us to give you some so that we can talk to Clare then…’
I held up my hands, palms facing outwards. ‘I don’t want your money. I’m not here for that.’
Clare knelt down beside him. ‘He was so proud when my magic first appeared,’ she said. ‘Even though we all knew there wasn’t much of it. There hadn’t been a witch in our family for generations. He thought I’d go on to do great things.’ She sighed. ‘Yeah, right. Tell him that I’m sorry about the money I stole when I was twelve. And that I wish I’d come back to visit more often. And that I’ll always be his munchkin, no matter what. Tell my mum that Granny’s necklace is in my old jewellery box. There’s a false bottom. I only took it because…’ Her voice trailed off. ‘It doesn’t matter now.’
I repeated what she’d said. Both her parents stared at me as if they weren’t sure whether to hug me or grab the nearest barge pole with which to prod me out of their house.
‘I know this is difficult,’ I said. ‘Truthfully, I can’t begin to imagine how difficult. But the man who did this to Clare and the rest of her coven is still out there. The faster we find him, the less chance there is he’ll do this to someone else. I just have a few questions.’
They nodded.
Drawing a deep breath, I tried to prioritise. ‘Why did you think she was in Iceland?’
‘We got a postcard,’ Clare’s mum said. She went to the mantelpiece, picked up a pretty card and passed it over to me. ‘Here.’
Clare was at my side in an instant. ‘I’ve never been to Iceland,’ she said, looking at the photo of a shooting geyser. ‘Turn it over.’
Apart from the address, there were only three words scrawled on the back: ‘Love you. C.’
‘It looks like my handwriting.’ Clare’s voice started to rise. ‘How the hell does he know my handwriting? He copied me. Blackbeard bloody…’
I hushed her while her parents looked on with frozen watchfulness. ‘He was inside your house, Clare. It probably wouldn’t have been difficult to find an example of your writing and copy it.’ I bit down hard on my bottom lip. No, it wouldn’t have been difficult. But it did show a level of premeditation that chilled me.
‘She didn’t write this?’ her father probed.
‘No. I’m sorry.’ I paused. ‘Did you ever meet anyone with a black beard and a skull earring who came round and said they knew Clare?’
They exchanged glances. ‘No. There’s not been anyone,’ Mrs Rees said. ‘Apart from that Order witch conducting the diligence checks.’
I sat up straight. Clare’s gaze shot to her mother as well. ‘What?’
She stood up once more and walked over to a bureau, opening a drawer and taking out a business card. ‘He left his details.’ She passed it over to me. I stared at Tarquin’s gold-embossed name and tried very hard not to scream. ‘She’d finally given up on that foolish idea of the coven and had applied to become an Order witch.’
Clare’s mouth dropped open. ‘I didn’t! I wouldn’t do that! I hate the Order! I’d never join them.’ She gave me a sidelong glance. Both of us knew that her magic wasn’t strong enough for her to do well in the Order. She’d probably be accepted but she’d never progress beyond Neophyte. She’d been in a seven-strong coven outside the Order for a reason.
‘Can I keep this?’ I asked.
‘Of course. Does it mean something?’
I had a horrible feeling it did. ‘No, but it’s good to explore every clue.’ I stood up. ‘I should probably get going.’
Clare’s parents also rose to their feet. ‘Clare?’ her mother asked, almost timidly. ‘Will you stay? It will make me feel better knowing you are here.’
Clare sniffed loudly. ‘I’ll stay. Of course I’ll stay.’
I nodded to her mum in acknowledgment.
‘We also need to get her remains so we can give them a proper burial,’ her father added, in a gruff voice choked by tears.
‘The police will be in touch about that,’ I said. ‘But here’s my number as well. Call me any time. I’m so very sorry for your loss.’
They reached for each other, their hands clasping together for comfort. And even though they couldn’t see her, Clare leaned in towards them, her head bowed and her hands outstretched towards them for further comfort. I let myself out.
Chapter Twelve
I walked away from the house with a lead-filled soul. I knew speaking to Clare’s parents was going to be hard but it had been much worse than I’d anticipated. Taxi driving was a far simpler proposition than all this, even if it meant I had to have the same conversation about the weather twenty times a day.