“Who sounds perfect?” Belle asked.
“The Ghost Helpers!” Rachel cried with enthusiasm and Jack tensed.
“The Ghost Helpers?” Belle asked Jack’s question and she asked it in an alarmed tone that reflected Jack’s feelings precisely.
“Yes.” Rachel got closer. “They don’t work together all the time but Cassandra thinks this might be a case where they need to team up.”
“Cassandra?” Belle queried.
“Cassandra McNabb. She’s a clairvoyant white witch,” Rachel answered.
“Fucking hell,” Jack muttered and Rachel’s eyes went to him.
“No, she’s good. I called her references,” she informed him.
“Fucking hell,” Jack repeated at the thought of a witch having references and Rachel’s eyes narrowed ominously.
“You said she’s working with someone?” Belle put in quickly, seeing, and probably knowing far better than Jack, the level of portent behind Rachel’s narrowed eyes and they cleared when she looked back at her daughter.
“She works with The McPherson!” Rachel announced grandly as if this meant anything at all.
“The McPherson?” Belle enquired.
Rachel came forward and wrapped her arm around Belle’s waist, moving them deeper into the hall.
“I called a friend of mine in Tucson who knew some Native Americans who had healers amongst them who bought rare herbs from some women who they said were in a coven who knew another coven on the East Coast who knew Cassandra who knew The McPherson,” she rambled her explanation. “And Cassandra says he’s the best. They just helped to dispatch a particularly nasty ghost witch up in Devon.”
“Dispatch?” Belle asked with concern.
“Well, they sent her to hell,” Rachel replied and Belle pulled out of her mother’s arm.
“We don’t want Myrtle and Lewis to go to hell!” she exclaimed.
“No, of course not!” Rachel exclaimed back, “I told Cassandra the story and she knows they’re supposed to go to heaven. She was happy to accept the gig.”
It was at this announcement Jack decided it was time to enter the conversation.
“The gig?” Jack asked and Rachel looked at him.
“Yes, the gig. She does this kind of thing for a living. Not just ghosts, other stuff. Talking to family members beyond the veil. Whipping up potions. Things like that.”
Jack ignored the ludicrous notion that anyone would have such employment and focussed on the more important issue at hand.
“You’re saying you’ve hired her,” Jack stated. When Rachel nodded, Jack asked, “How much?”
“Thirty pounds an hour, plus expenses,” Rachel answered.
“Fucking hell,” Jack muttered yet again.
At the same time, Belle cried, “Mom!”
Rachel looked at her daughter, “What? She’s highly specialised. I thought that was a bargain.”
“Who’s going to pay her?” Belle snapped.
“Your grandmother, for one, me for another. I’m not destitute you know,” she hesitated, “Though I should look into getting a job. Do you think I could help at your shop?”
Before Jack could speak, Belle said briskly, “Of course you can work at my shop. That isn’t the point. The point is this could take hours. What does this McPherson person charge?”