by Mona Marple
A knock at the door interrupts our chat, and I push myself up off the settee, feeling my knee creak as I get up. I’ve been putting off going to the doctor’s, knowing there’s a good chance they might say the arthritis word that I know for sure I don’t want to hear. When did my body start failing on me?
I open the door and manage to give a small smile to Sheriff Morton. “Come in, Sheriff.”
“Thanks Connie. How are y’all holding up?” He asks, tipping his hat as he enters the house. He glances around the house in the way I’ve noticed him do anytime he enters anywhere. I haven’t worked out whether he’s looking for signs of danger, signs of crime, or escape routes, but I know it must be his professional training that he just can’t switch off.
“We’re bored out of our minds.” I admit, leading him into the kitchen, where I instinctively flick the kettle on. The man has a serious caffeine habit. “Coffee?”
“You know it.” He says with a shy smile. This can’t be easy for him, I realise. I’m his friend, or at least an acquaintance, and now here he is investigating my niece. “Look, Connie, I’m trying to make this as easy as I can for everyone.”
“I hear you’ve closed the town, nobody can leave?”
He shrugs. “I’ve learnt my lesson, you gotta act fast.”
I nod. “With Coral locked away in here, does this mean you’re looking at other options?”
He takes a deep breath. “I’m investigating all avenues, that’s all I can say right now.”
“Does that include the curse?”
He stifles a laugh, turns it into a fake cough. “Nah, Connie, that stuff ain’t real.”
“Sheriff, you’re in a town full of ghosts. Why would a witch putting a curse on something not be real?”
“Well, I…” He says, stroking his chin. “I just never heard of anything like that.”
“I saw Bruce Skipton leave the Baker House after the gig.”
“You’ve already said. It’s coincidence, Connie. I can’t be looking into curses when a real killer’s on the loose.”
“You’d rather waste your time looking into my niece? Who found the body but has no motive, no opportunity, no means to kill a person? I mean, for Lord’s sake, she’s here on a holiday Sheriff, to get to know her dead mother. She’s not come over here to kill a person.”
“Anything could have happened out there.” He says. “I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but let’s imagine they got in a tussle. Maybe he was making advances on her, and it all got a bit out of hand.”
I feel my stomach flip. “Are you suggesting he hurt her? Do you have any evidence of that?”
Sheriff Morton takes a sip of coffee, swallows with a loud glug, and meets my gaze. “All I’m saying is she might have had her reasons. I can’t discount her just because she’s your niece, Connie, as much as I like ya.”
**
I manage to steal Coral away, telling the others that I have some errands to do and could do with her help. And so we’re bundled together in my bedroom, me throwing clothes out of my wardrobe onto the bed, for her to inspect. Supposedly, I’m deciding what I should keep and what should be sent to the thrift store. In reality, I need to keep her busy so she’ll open up easily.
“You know that the police are going to want to interview you again, right?” I say as I examine a leopard-print muumuu and toss it onto the bed pile.
“Yeah. Can’t say I’m looking forward to that.” Coral says, holding up a pair of leggings that have grown see-through in the butt. I nod permission for her to toss them out. “I almost wish I’d just walked past the man.”
“He was… he was dead when you found him, wasn’t he?” I ask, trying to make the question sound casual, relaxed. She doesn’t fall for it, though.
“Dead? Of course he was.”
“Hmm.” I say. I take a breath. There’s nothing for it, I just need to dive in and get the job done. “Because you know if anything happened out there, you could tell me. I could help you.”
“If anything happened? You mean, like me killing him?” Coral asks, narrow-eyed. “Don’t you believe me, Aunt Connie?”
“Of course I do. The Sheriff just put a thought in my mind. About how maybe Bruce had hurt you?”
“Hurt me?” Coral asks, and the reality of what I’m asking dawns on her. Her mouth transforms into a little circle. “No way. I’d never met the man before. Has he done something like that before?”
“I have no idea.” I say.
“Well, I don’t know what to say. He was lying there, already dead, and I thought at first he was drunk maybe. Or passed out. When he didn’t respond, I screamed. I’ve reported on some gruesome things in my time, but I’ve never actually seen a dead body up close. I was pretty spooked.”
“That’s understandable.” I say, holding up a hideous green pinafore dress to lighten the mood.
“Now that’s gorgeous.” Coral says, reaching out to hold the material in her hands.
“Seriously?”
“Oh, yeah. I’d totally wear this. Match it with some cute little pixie boots, tights, maybe a roll neck jumper. Yeah, this is a keeper.”
“Well.” I say with amusement. “I guess I really am clueless with style.”
**
“It’s starting!” I call from the living room, remote control in hand. The intro tune for the news rings out from the TV and the room fills with Sandy, coffee in hand; Coral, hands in pockets of the hoodie she is hiding in; and Sage, still off-colour and weakened. They all clamber into chairs and we face the screen ready for the broadcast to begin.
“And tonight we bring you news of the murder of Bruce Skipton, renowned property developer and entrepreneur. Mr Skipton was found in the town of Mystic Springs yesterday and the town Sheriff, Taylor Morton, leads the investigation.” An attractive woman with a smattering of freckles and gorgeous curls says, before the screen shows Sheriff Morton, standing in front of the police station, for a pre-recorded segment.
“We are all devastated to confirm that Bruce Skipton died yesterday. I can confirm that the cause of death is poisoning. He was a well-known figure locally and his presence will be missed. My team and I are investigating this case promptly and rigorously. We will catch Mr Skipton’s killer.”
The screen returns to the freckled woman, who gives an inappropraitely cheerful smile at the camera, revealing perfect white teeth. “Mr Skipton’s death is as controversial as his life was. The property tycoon had a total of five marriages during his life and was famed for sharing his vast wealth with none of those wives in divorce settlements. At the time of his death he was single and estranged from his three adult children. It’s not clear who will inherit his fortune now.”
The screen pans to a young man leaving a restaurant, fighting through a river of cameramen and journalists, before stopping and gazing out at the crowd. Boyd Skipton, the newsreel announces. A son, clearly.
“Boyd, Boyd, over here! What will you do with the money?” A reporter calls.
Boyd Skipton, who has sadly inherited his father’s weaselly looks, glares at the crowd, unable to isolate the reporter who asked the question. “Give it to my mother, like that son of a bitch should have done.”
“Ooh! Motive?” Sage calls out. “He’s seriously angry at his dad.”
“You would be if you were him. You know all of his kids grew up on welfare?” Sandy says. “While he was building his empire! He put these sneaky clauses into his pre-nups that meant he basically paid no child support, never mind spousal maintenance. The wives lost everything when he kicked them out.”
“Please don’t tell me that Bruce Skipton was well-known in the UK too?” I ask, incredulous.
“Oh, no.” Sandy says with a laugh. “I’d never heard his name before. I looked him up online.”
“The man’s got plenty of haters.” Coral says. “If there was a list of people wanting to kill him, I’d be way down it, believe me.”
“I wonder if Sheriff Morton knows about Boyd.” I pond
er aloud.
“You should tell him.” Sage urges. “Ya know, since you two are so cozy.”
I roll my eyes. “I will tell him. I’m sure he’ll be paying us a visit soon.”
**
Less than an hour later, Sheriff Morton returns, strolling down the path as I sit outside on the rocker.
“I hope I’m allowed this far outside the house?” I quip.
“Oh, hush.” He says, standing above me awkwardly before plonking his weight down on the veranda step. “Look, about that, you guys can leave if you want. The officer’s here for your protection.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious.” He says, sincere eyes gazing at me. “I don’t want anything happening to you, Connie. And right now, I can’t be sure if the threat is in your home or not.”
I feel an unfamiliar fluttering in my stomach and wonder if it’s gas or hunger. “She didn’t do it, Taylor.”
He shrugs. “I’ve seen stranger things. It just needs investigating, okay? Let me do my job. But you’re not prisoners.”
“Have you spoken to the ex wives and the children? Seems like there’s a long list of people with a reason to want Bruce Skipton dead.”
“True.” He accepts. “But those grudges are going back years, decades some of them. And we don’t know that any of the wives or kids were in the area.”
“Surely it’s something to investigate, though.”
“Oh, sure. And there’s going to be the reading of the Will. I’d expect at least some of them to turn up for that, so I’ll get a feel for them.”
“Will it happen here?”
“I think so.” Taylor says. “I can’t talk to you about this stuff.”
“I know.” I say, and we settle into a comfortable silence as the night grows cooler. “You trying to avoid going home?”
“The babies aren’t there.” He says, offering me a sad smile. “It’s strange how quiet the place can be.”
“Fancy a drink?” I offer.
“Nah, I should get going.”
“You’re welcome to stay.” I say, then add. “For a drink, I mean.”
“If I didn’t know better, Connie Winters, I’d think you were feeling sorry for me.”
“Never.” I say.
“In that case, make it a double.”
I potter indoors, guessing by the silence that the day’s tension has worn the girls out and hoping they’re not all in my bed again, and pour Taylor a double whisky, then make myself a hot cocoa. I return to the veranda and hold out the cool glass for him. Our hands touch for a moment and I feel myself blush as I pull away.
“Cheers.” He says, raising his glass.
“Cheers.” I repeat.
We say nothing as we sit there, each lost in our own thoughts of loss and love and second chances. I think of Sage, completed by the presence of her girls, who can only stay for so long. How will she ever want to face a day without them? What does completeness look like for me? Am I complete now, have I always been complete, or have I always been empty?
“Are you crying?” Taylor asks, concern etched across his face.
“Oh man.” I say as I realise that I am. I wipe the tears away quickly and force a smile for him.
“What’s going on?” He asks. “Talk to me. As your friend, not the Sheriff.”
“I don’t really know.” I admit. “I guess it’s all been such a whirlwind, with Sandy and Coral arriving. I’m fine, honestly.”
“Maybe you need a good night’s sleep.” He suggests, with a glance at his watch. “It’s nearly tomorrow.”
“No way.” I say, wondering how the night has passed so fast.
“Go and get some rest, Connie. I’ll check in on you guys in the morning.”
“Thanks.” I say, rising to my feet at the same time as Taylor does. He stands, facing me, eyes earnest behind his black-framed glasses. He holds the whisky glass out to me and our hands touch again, sending a jolt through my body.
“Hey…” He says, and for some reason I don’t want to hear whatever he’s going to say.
“Please find the real killer.” I whisper. “I need you to find them, and leave Coral alone.”
He lets out a long breath, moves in, and kisses my cheek. “Goodnight, Connie.”
“Goodnight.” I say, the word barely audible. I watch as he hops off the veranda and walks down the path, hands in his pockets, heavy boots trained into silence. He gets to the gate, pauses, then swings a left towards his empty house without a backwards glance.
5
Sage
“So we can leave?” I repeat, regretting all of the walking-through-doors that I did yesterday if we were free to leave as we wanted.
Connie nods but her mind isn’t with us this morning. I shake my head and gesture to Sandy and Coral, who are both tapping away at their cell phones.
“Shall we go to the coffee house?” I suggest, desperate to leave the house by way of opening the front door.
“I’m going to stay here.” Connie says.
“I just have a few messages to send.” Sandy says, with an apologetic glance towards me.
“Work?”
She nods, distracted. When her fingers finish flying across the phone screen she looks at me. “They’re having some problems with a supplier, I’m just sending a couple of eMails. I’ll be ready to go in ten?”
“Coral? You fancy it?”
“I don’t know.” she says, scrolling through pretty pictures of pumpkins and cartoon skeletons, a scrolling website I’ve seen people use where it seems the point is not to live your life but to spend time arranging perfectly photographed snapshots of an imaginary idealistic life to share with strangers. “I don’t know if I want to face the world while I’m being investigated.”
“You haven’t been named as a suspect.” I say. “Nobody else will know anything.”
“Trust me, if you were named as a suspect, you’d be in jail. We don’t have the kind of money to get you bail.” Connie says, then slams a hand across her mouth.
“Yeah, real sensitive. Well done, sis.” I say with an eye roll, then turn my attention to Coral. “She’s right, though. You wouldn’t be waltzing around town if you were a suspect. So, getting out and about is probably the best thing you could do.”
“Okay.” Coral agrees.
“I’m done.” Sandy announces, turning the cell phone screen over so the glass kisses the table top to prove her point.
**
The thing with living in a town of ghosts is that it really takes a lot for people to be that interested in your life. We walk into Screamin’ Beans, which is pretty crowded, and nobody gives us a second glance. Sure, people are speculating about the murder and sharing stories of how horrid Bruce Skipton was, but nobody seems to have realised that Coral’s under suspicion.
Ellie greets us at the counter and takes our order, and Coral and I go and find a seat, a nice corner table with two quirky, battered leather settees around it.
“See? Nobody cares.” I whisper. Coral smiles.
“Were you always right when we were younger?” She asks, a slither of sarcasm in her voice. The question floors me.
“Heck no.” I admit. “If I was right one time in ten, I was doing pretty good.”
“You’re like a goddess in my memory, you know.” Coral says. “So hippie and full of big dreams.”
“Dreams that never came true.” I say, unsure how to continue. “I let myself off. I decided that having a husband and kids made my dreams impossible. I should have put the work in. Like you have, with your journalism.”
“I gave up my dreams too.” Coral says with a shrug. “I wanted to go to London.”
“You’re like me. You’ve got my wanderlust.” I say. “You should go.”
“I don’t know if I could leave Sandy.”
I glance across towards the counter, where Sandy’s waiting for the drinks. “Well, that’s a tough decision to make. You two sure are close.”
“She’s my b
est friend.”
I smile. “That makes me so happy, knowing that even though I couldn’t be there, you’re there for each other.”
“Yeah, we get on most of the time!” Coral says with a laugh.
“Anyway, how did things go with Kim Kane?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
Her cheeks flush. “Oh, mama, he’s so deep. I could sit and listen to him all night. As soon as the interview was done, he started opening up more. He’s super interesting, he just really likes his privacy.”
“You’ve got it bad.” I tease, but there’s no time for her to respond because the door bursts open, and in walks Vera Warren. Balancing on 6 inch heels and dressed in a black velvet minidress that shows what must be an artificial cleavage given her age, she glances around the room before tottering to the counter to place her order.
“Is she still in town?” I ask, stunned.
“Of course she is, the town’s in lock down.”
“Wow, I didn’t think that applied to celebrities.” I say, as Sandy joins us with a drink in each hand. She places one in front of Coral and takes a sip of her own.
“She’s always playing for the audience, isn’t she.” Sandy says with an amused smile. “Although I have to say, she looks incredible for her age.”
“Money can buy amazing things. There’s no way her bosom’s nearly touching her chin naturally.” I retort, watching her shapely legs as she stands at the counter.
“Forget her boobs.” Sandy says. “What’s the deal with the snakes?”
We all glance across towards the slithering creatures on top of her head. If they’re not real, they’re as good as.
“Yo, Vera, how’d you sleep last night?” Someone calls out from a corner of the coffee shop. Vera’s head turns towards him and she casts a smile in his general direction.
“Like a corpse, of course.”
“Ouch. Insensitive.” Sandy murmurs.
“How can you show your face? Your curse has killed a man!” The same voice calls out. No wonder people aren’t suspicious of Coral. They all believe the curse is real.