Witches' Diaries

by Morgana Best

  “Who was that?”

  Aunt Maude put her hands on her hips. “We didn’t get his name, but he was a real estate agent. He told us you have agreed to think about selling Mugwort Manor.”

  Aunt Agnes’s complexion turned a pasty shade of grey. “That fool! I told him to keep it himself.”

  “But you can’t sell without our permission,” Maude said. “Agnes, this is our ancestral home.”

  Aunt Agnes crossed her arms over her chest. “Ancestral? That’s a bit of an exaggeration, surely.”

  Aunt Maude stomped her foot. “You know what I mean! I cannot believe you were speaking with that man behind our back!”

  “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Maude. He approached me and said he had a client who wanted to buy the manor plus the Bed and Breakfast business, and I simply said I’d think it over.”

  “Then why the secrecy?” Aunt Maude asked. “Besides. we can’t sell the manor.” She lowered her tones and whispered, “There’s a tunnel under it.”

  “We could concrete it in,” Aunt Agnes said.

  “Have you completely lost your senses? That would take hundreds of concrete trucks!”

  “We can’t talk about it now,” Aunt Agnes said in dismissive tones. “There’s been a murder, if you hadn’t noticed.”

  Lucas returned at that moment with the detectives, saving Aunt Agnes from further interrogation by Aunt Maude.

  “We will need to question the boarders one by one,” the detective said. “Lucas has told me the rest of you were all together for the few hours leading up to the murder.”

  The aunts and I nodded. “That’s right,” I added.

  “Where could we question the guests?”

  “They’re all in the living room now, but we will take them to the kitchen. There’s a nice fire in the lounge room, and so you’ll be warm.” Aunt Agnes nodded slowly and smiled as she spoke.

  Detective Oakes offered a thin smile. “Thanks. That sounds good.”

  Aunt Agnes beckoned to him. “Follow me, and I’ll introduce the boarders to you.”

  Breena was asleep in the chair, her hand over her nose in a typical cat posture. Aunt Maude hurried over to her. “Off you go to bed, Breena.”

  Breena stood up, looked in surprise at the detectives, and strolled out of the room.

  “My niece was with us the whole time,” Aunt Agnes told the detectives.

  Detective Oakes nodded. “Quite so, quite so.”

  Aunt Agnes wasted no time with the introductions. “And this is Colonel Mustard. Oh, I mean Frances Wiggenbottom-Higgenhouse the Ninth.”

  The Colonel hiccupped. Aunt Agnes pushed on. “And this is the victim’s daughter, Demelza Miles. This is her ex-husband, Eli, and this lady is their daughter, Moxie Maisie.”

  Detective Mason turned his attention to Finn. “And who are you, sir?”

  “I was employed to help out,” he said. His eyes darted wildly from side to side.

  The detective consulted his notepad. “We’d like to speak with Frances Wiggenbottom-Higgenhouse the Ninth first please.”

  “The detectives will take statements from people in the living room one by one, and the rest can wait in the dining room,” Aunt Agnes announced. “Lucas, can you, Maude, and Dorothy look after the guests, as Valkyrie and I have to attend to some business.”

  “Who is Valkyrie?” Moxie Maisie asked.

  I groaned. “My name is Pepper, but the aunts insist upon calling me Valkyrie.”

  Moxie Maisie appeared to have lost interest and was already following Lucas into the dining room.

  Aunt Maude and Aunt Dorothy both winked before following them. They obviously knew Aunt Agnes and I were going to the secret room to listen in.

  When the panel slid aside and let us into the room, Aunt Agnes fiddled with the technology. In nanoseconds, the screen showed the detectives and Colonel Mustard. He was still sitting on the chaise, and they had pulled two chairs over to him. Detective Mason was perched precariously on the edge of a flimsy antique chair.

  “Are you inebriated?” Detective Oakes asked him.

  “And what if I am?” the Colonel said belligerently. “I’m not driving anywhere. It’s not illegal.”

  The detectives did not respond. Finally, Detective Mason said, “Please tell us what happened tonight, in your own words.”

  “Who else’s words would I use?” Colonel Mustard snapped. “When people speak, they always use their own words.”

  The detectives exchanged glances. Detective Oakes leant forward. “Apparently, you were found standing over the body, holding the candlestick.”

  “Have you taken the candlestick into evidence?” the Colonel asked.

  “We have,” the detective said.

  “Good. Maybe you’ll find the murderer’s fingerprints on it.”

  “Please go over the events of the evening in your own words,” Detective Mason said for the second time.

  Colonel Mustard sat bolt upright. “Priscilla and I were in a relationship,” he blurted out.

  “And how long had this relationship with Priscilla Lockhart been going on for?” Detective Mason asked.

  “A couple of years, give or take,” Colonel Mustard said. “Anyway, we were pretending to retire early, and then we were going to meet up in her cottage.”

  “Why were you pretending?” Oakes asked.

  “The family members don’t approve of me, obviously. Colonel Mustard rolled his eyes. “I can’t tell you what happened if you keep interrupting me.”

  Detective Mason waved him on.

  “When I got there, her door was unlocked. I knew it would be—she left it open for me, you see. I walked in and saw her just lying there! Without thinking, I picked up the candlestick. Then I screamed. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it,” he said over and over again, before bursting into sobs.

  “Did Mrs Lockhart have any enemies?”

  Colonel Mustard nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes! She was widely disliked. Nobody liked her, not even her own family. She was horribly mean to everybody. I did like her, of course. I like that type of spirit in a woman. Priscilla disinherited Demelza years ago as she said she was too plain and bookish. She didn’t speak to her again until Moxie Maisie was a teenager. She approved of Moxie Maisie because she’s so glamourous.”

  After a short interval, Detective Oakes asked, “Are you a beneficiary of the will?”

  Colonel Mustard stopped crying instantly and looked up. “The will? Oh, I don’t think so. Maybe.” He shook his head. “No, I doubt it. Maybe you should ask Priscilla’s lawyer.”

  “We intend to do that.” Mason’s tone was solemn. “Tell us everything you know about the terms of the will.”

  “But, but I just did,” the Colonel sputtered. “I don’t know anything about the will. She never mentioned anything to me.”

  “Were you and Mrs Lockhart going to get married?”

  Colonel Mustard seemed to think that was funny. “Married? Certainly not. Our relationship was based on fun, you understand.”

  It was clear the detectives did not understand at all.

  I was rubbing out a cramp in my leg when Colonel Mustard was dismissed. The next person to be questioned was Finn.

  After the detectives asked him his name and address, they asked him his occupation.

  “Farmhand,” he said.

  “Are you related to any of the other boarders?”

  He shook his head and fidgeted.

  Detective Oakes pushed on. “Why did you accompany them? How do you know them?”

  Finn let out a long sigh. “Nobody is supposed to know, but I suppose you’ll find out. If Mrs Lockhart found out about me, she would have cut Moxie Maisie out of the will.”

  “Know what?” Detective Oakes prompted him.

  “Moxie Maisie and I are secretly engaged.”

  Chapter 4

  Aunt Agnes and I looked at each other in shock.

  “There’s the motive right there,” Aunt Agnes said. “Finn Fletcher murde
red Priscilla so he could marry Moxie Maisie.”

  “Or maybe Moxie Maisie murdered her grandmother,” I said. “Or maybe Finn and Moxie Maisie were in it together.”

  It seemed the detectives thought so too. “And where were you at the time of the murder?” Detectives Oakes asked Finn.

  “I don’t know exactly when Mrs Lockhart was murdered, but I can tell you where I was when we heard Frances scream.”

  Mason waved his hand at him. “Go on.”

  “Moxie Maisie and I were kissing.”

  “Where?” Mason asked.

  Finn looked confused. “Well, on the lips.”

  I chuckled, but Aunt Agnes elbowed me in the ribs. “Shush! I’m trying to hear.”

  The detective’s expression did not change. “I meant, what was your location? Which cottage were you in? Yours, Moxie Maisie’s, or somewhere else?”

  Finn shook his head. “We were sitting in the garden, on a garden seat in front of the big house.”

  “By big house, do you mean this manor?” Detective Oakes asked him.

  Finn nodded. “Yes. We were sitting on a garden seat. Moxie Maisie said it was pretty because there was an arbour covered with roses next to it. She’s the romantic type, you see.”

  “Go on,” Detective Mason prompted him.

  “That’s about it, really. We were sitting there kissing, and then we heard the scream. That made us stop kissing,” he said, somewhat unnecessarily.

  “And how long were you sitting on the garden seat?” the detective asked him.

  Finn shrugged. “Ages. It was ages.”

  Aunt Agnes elbowed me in the ribs again. “One of the security cameras shows the area around that garden seat. We’ll be able to see if he’s telling the truth.”

  I nodded and looked back at the screen. Detective Mason was ushering Finn out. “Please ask Moxie Maisie if she would come in next.”

  I was hoping the detectives would discuss the case while they were waiting for Moxie Maisie, but they simply exchanged glances and remained silent, much to my disappointment.

  Moxie Maisie floated into the room. The detectives indicated she should sit on the chaise, but she skirted around them and sat on a yellow, Hepplewhite style Messenger chair and crossed her legs. “Is it my turn to be interrogated, detectives?” she asked in a sultry voice.

  Detective Oakes came straight to the point. “What is your relationship with Finn Fletcher?”

  Moxie Maisie yawned widely, covering her mouth with her perfectly manicured hand. “Oh, he has told you, has he? Yes, we’re secretly engaged.”

  “When you say secretly, who knows apart from the two of you?” Mason asked.

  “Grandmama didn’t know, of course, but my mother and stepfather did, and they didn’t approve.”

  Mason leant forward. “And your mother and stepfather didn’t tell your grandmother?”

  Moxie Maisie chuckled. “Of course not. They knew she would cut me out of the will if she found out. They want me to inherit everything because they think I’ll give them money. At least, my mother does.” She wrinkled her nose. “Grandmama cut Mother out of the will before I was born.”

  “And did your grandmother have any enemies?” Mason asked.

  Again, Moxie Maisie laughed. “Obviously! She was murdered, after all. Surely, that would have occurred to you, given that you are detectives.”

  The detectives did not react to her rudeness. “Is there anyone in particular who would have wanted her dead?” Oakes asked.

  “I don’t know.” Moxie Maisie’s tone was dismissive, and she waved one hand in the air, causing the firelight to reflect from her delicate silver Albertina bracelet.

  “Try hard to think,” Oakes pressed. “It’s very important.”

  “I am writing a book, you know.”

  The detectives looked as confused as I felt. I had no idea how that was pertinent to the case at hand. Before one of the detectives could ask, she pushed on. “It’s my autobiography. It’s in the form of diaries, my diaries. I’ve made plenty of notes in my diaries, and you might be able to get some information from those.”

  “What sort of information?” Oakes asked her.

  “Why, about people who didn’t like Grandmama, of course. I’ve made lots of notes in my diaries about my family members and who might want to see them dead, and all that sort of thing.”

  “You thought people might have wanted your family members dead?” Mason asked her.

  Moxie Maisie nodded. “Yes. Grandmama was a very wealthy woman, and wealthy people always have enemies.”

  “So, you’re writing a non-fiction book,” Mason said.

  Moxie Maisie shook her head. “Oh no, how boring! No, I’m writing a murder mystery. That’s why I was looking for people who disliked my family members.”

  Oakes appeared thoroughly perplexed. “Are your diaries fictional?”

  Moxie Maisie rolled her eyes. “Of course not. They are all based completely on fact,” she said slowly, as if speaking to a young child. “I was going to turn them into fiction, but they are fact. They contain notes I’ve made over the last few years, so they should be a huge help to your murder investigation.”

  “And where are these diaries now?”

  “In my cottage. I take them everywhere with me. Would you like me to get them for you now?”

  “Yes, that would be good,” Detective Mason said. “But first, could you tell us where you were when your grandmother was murdered?”

  “I don’t know when she was murdered,” Moxie Maisie said. “I only heard Frances scream.”

  “And where were you when he screamed?” Oakes asked.

  “Finn and I were sitting in the garden, on a garden seat near a rose arbour.”

  “And how long were you there?” Mason asked.

  Moxie Maisie shrugged. “It was quite a long time. We went there as soon as we left the weirdos who run this boarding house.”

  I felt Aunt Agnes tense.

  “And were the two of you together the whole time?” Oakes asked.

  Moxie Maisie nodded. “Yes, the whole time.”

  “Quick, Valkyrie,” Aunt Agnes said urgently. “Slip out of the kitchen door. Use your vampire speed to get to her cottage, and grab those diaries.”

  “But shouldn’t we leave the diaries for the police?” I asked her. “Won’t they need them to solve the case?”

  “We’ll pretend we found them later and turn them in to the detectives.”

  “But that will throw their investigation off because they might think the murderer stole them. It will mislead them.”

  Aunt Agnes held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Okay then, use your vampire speed, get to the cottage, and take a photo of anything in those diaries you think would be helpful. Do you have your phone on you?”

  “It’s in my pocket.”

  Aunt Agnes opened the door for me after checking that the detectives were still speaking with Moxie Maisie.

  I skirted around past the dining room and opened the kitchen door, and then I did indeed use my vampire speed to get to Moxie Maisie’s cottage, the one styled as a library.

  Luckily, the door was open as I had forgotten to grab the spare key. I hurried into her bedroom. She hadn’t unpacked, so I looked through the contents of her suitcase which was sitting open on the bed. Sure enough, she had a collection of notebooks in the top of her suitcase. Some were lying open.

  I looked through the diaries as quickly as I could. They were exceedingly boring, comprising long notes and contemptuous comments about various hair and nail salons, and other scathing remarks about people she knew and what they were wearing. It wasn’t until the fifth volume that I struck gold. This volume was filled with notes about people who didn’t like her grandmother.

  I pulled out my phone and took a photo of each page, but when that proved time-consuming, I set my phone to video and turned over each page carefully. I had only just finished when I heard a sound at the door.

  I took a deep b
reath, slammed the suitcase shut, and dived under the bed.

  I heard the unmistakable sound of Moxie Maisie’s heels approaching the bed.

  Surely, she would discover I was there.

  My heart was beating out of my chest.

  How could I possibly explain my presence in her cottage, under her bed?

  Chapter 5

  Moxie Maisie flung open her suitcase. So far, so good. She hadn’t discovered me.

  I tried to breathe in a shallow manner, but that only served to make me panic and gasp for breath.

  It seemed luck was with me. Moxie Maisie was muttering loudly to herself about how stupid the detectives were and what shocking taste in clothes they possessed. She flung some clothes on the floor and then said, “Aha!”

  She turned on her heel and hurried from the room, slamming the bedroom door behind her.

  I stayed there for a while, shaking. I had seen too many horror movies where people think somebody has left and then leave their hiding place, only to find the perpetrator is waiting for them.

  After what seemed an age but was probably only a few minutes, I crawled out from under the bed and stood upright. I crept to the door and opened it a crack before opening it fully and stepping into the living room of the cottage.

  I looked around me. There was no sign of Moxie Maisie, only wallpaper made to look like bookshelves to my left, and to my right, wooden bookshelves covered with the aunts’ old books.

  I peeked behind the curtains, but there was no sign of anybody. I carefully opened the front door, quietly closed it behind me, and used my vampire speed to run back to the kitchen door. Still shaking, I opened it and stepped inside. Nobody was around, but I could hear people speaking in the dining room. Rather, I could hear Aunt Dorothy telling one of her favourite tales.

  I bit back a smile and made my way to the secret room.

  “Did you manage to get the photos?” Aunt Agnes asked me by way of greeting.

  I waved my phone at her. “I hope so. She had plenty of diaries.”

  Aunt Agnes nodded. “I can see that. She just handed the detectives a stack of them. Did you find anything of use?”

  I shrugged. “I didn’t have much time. I did find a diary that listed people who didn’t like Priscilla.”