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

Everlasting Wool!” one of the women shouted. “So why has mine run out?”
    “There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation,” Grandma said.
    “Yes, there is.” One of the other women interrupted. “It sucks! I was halfway through a cardigan, which I was knitting for my niece’s birthday, and it just ran out. I rang the Everlasting Wool support line, but the woman on there was next to useless.”
    Kathy seemed to be studying her feet. One of her jobs was to man the support line. The problem was, she had no more idea how Everlasting Wool worked than the women who were calling in for help.
    I’d thought Grandma had resolved the problems with Everlasting Wool, but obviously not all of them.
    “So what are you going to do about it?” a third woman demanded. “Look at this scarf. It’s only two-thirds finished. I can’t match this colour anywhere else. I need my subscription to start working again.”
    “It’s all in hand, madam.” Grandma kept glancing directly into the lens of the camera. She knew this was being broadcast live. Instead of being the advertisement she’d been hoping for, this was turning into a P.R. disaster.
    “ When will it get sorted?” one of the women said.
    “By the end of today, all the subscriptions will be working again.” Grandma reassured them.
    “It better had or we’ll be back here again tomorrow.”
    Talk about train wreck TV.
     
    ***
     
    There was no sign of Socks in the office.
    “Has your brother gone back home?”
    “Socks? No, he’ll be here for a while yet.”
    “Where is he?”
    “My bro doesn’t hang around. He’s found himself a girlfriend already. Poor girl, little does she know he likes to love ‘em and leave ‘em. Still, they’ll have fun together while he’s up here.”
    “Do you know anything about his new girlfriend?”
    “Not really. He said she’s a bit of a looker, but then all of his girlfriends are hot.”
    “All?”
    “He’s always been a bit of a ladies’ man.”
    I bet he has.
    “I was actually a bit jealous of him when I was growing up,” Winky said. “Not now of course. Not now I have Bella.”
    Oh dear. I was beginning to think my chat with Socks hadn’t done any good. I wandered casually over to the window, and glanced across the way. There was no sign of Bella. Had she gone out somewhere with Socks? Should I tell Winky what was going on? But what if Socks had given up on Bella? What if he’d found himself another girlfriend? Winky and his brother were obviously very close. I didn’t want to do anything which would damage their relationship until I was absolutely sure.
    “Did Socks say he’d bring his girlfriend over to meet you?”
    “It’s funny you should ask that. He usually likes to show off his ladies, but this time, he didn’t seem very keen.”
    I bet he didn’t.
     
    ***
     
    I’d completely underestimated the number of phone calls I’d get as a result of the BoundBall piece in The Candle. The article itself was a travesty. Don Roming had basically tried to turn the whole thing into some kind of a joke; he’d mocked the very idea of women playing BoundBall. That obnoxious man had now joined Dougal Bugle on my list of journalists to avoid.
    Despite the disparaging article, I’d had calls from dozens of women—all keen to take part in the game. I had been worried that I wouldn’t be able to recruit enough players, but I’d actually ended up with far too many. I was starting to get excited about the whole venture.
    I’d told everyone who called, to meet me in Candlefield Park, after work. It was a cold, damp evening, and I was a little concerned the weather might put a few people off, but I needn’t have worried. Thirty-one women turned up; a mixture of all kinds of sups.
    “Hi everyone. For those of you who don’t already know me, I’m Jill Gooder. This game was my idea, and I’m thrilled to see so many of you here today. Let’s have a show of hands—how many of you have actually played BoundBall