Page 54 of A Spell of Midlife Mayhem

But not for Ronald Morris.

Signs in the park pointed to various landmarks, but I ignored them and set off in a random direction. The park was huge, and I hadn’t appreciated how large it truly was. I ambled for half an hour before tiredness overcame me, and I sat on the grass beneath an old oak tree.

The loud squawking of birds drowned out the passenger jets that descended into Heathrow every couple of minutes. In the nearest tree, a green parrakeet with a coloured ring around its neck came into view. An escaped pet?

And then I saw the others. A dozen, twenty, thirty or more of them, all in the same tree. They were the ones making a racket.

Not one escaped pet, then. A colony. A breeding pair or a bunch of them must have gotten loose.

I stared at them. A park in Greater London with wild parrakeets? I would never have guessed.

My phone beeped with a text message. Rachel.

Rachel: How’s it going, gf?

Me: You wouldn’t believe it. A man was murdered at my work this morning.

I waited for a minute before the reply came.

Rachel: Seriously?

Me: Yes. It’s terrible. The police sent us home while they investigate.

Rachel: Fuck. Are you safe there?

Me: I think so. I’m pretty sure this was a one-off event. I’ve been thinking of poor Ronald, the man who was killed. He seemed a nice gentleman.

Rachel: Now I’m worried about you.

Me: Don’t worry. I can look after myself. How are things with you? What are you up to?

Rachel: I just got home with a pile of legal documents to wade through with a couple of glasses of wine.

Me: How long will that take you?

Rachel: Four hours or so. I’ll be up half the night.

Me: Good luck. I’ll let you get onto it.

After resting for a while, I walked back the way I had come. I’d only ventured through a tiny portion of the park, but I was far too tired to walk further. I could explore more of the park at other times. This could be something to do every couple of days to build up my strength and fitness.

Might Raven come with me on some of those outings?

My thoughts returned to Chirtlewood House and the untimely death of Ronald Morris. No way could it have been an accident. It was definitely murder. Someone killed him and stole the witch’s spell book.

A pang of regret filled me. I wanted to see inside that book in case I could help Aunt Ruth, or so she could help herself with the healing magic it contained. Was it really a witch’s spell book? The murderer likely thought so.

I’d neglected to tell the police about the stolen spell book. I hadn’t meant to forget... but I didn’t mind. To the police, that wouldn’t be important. They wouldn’t seriously consider following a line of inquiry about a stolen book purporting to contain witchy spells in a police investigation.

But I would consider it. I wasn’t going to let that book disappear without trying to find it.

And if I found it, I was sure I’d find the murderer at the same time.

A stab of doubt hit me. Investigating a murder was beyond me, surely. How could I think I might pull this off?

I trudged along, worn out now. Look at me after walking less than an hour. Exhausted.

I was being too hard on myself. I’d come a long way since the operation—and not just in distance.

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