Murder Ghost Foul: The Complete Mystic Springs Paranormal Cozy Mystery Series

by Mona Marple

  “Okay.” I say. I believe him. He’s not emotionally attached to the Skipton drama. The only reason he could have killed him would be a damaged ego after Bruce showed him up, but Sirius appears to have no ego. He’s just a regular joe. “Do you have any ideas who might have killed him?”

  “No idea.” Sirius says. “It’s clearly someone in town, so I can hardly comment.”

  “Why someone in town? Anyone could have visited and done it?”

  “I guess so.” Sirius says. “There’d be no reason for any of the family to come and hurt him, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I was over here especially to try and come to an agreement with him. It would have been the worst possible time for them to hurt him. And as for other visitors, well, who knows the kind of company the man kept.”

  “Indeed.” I say.

  10

  Connie

  “How long’s this going to last, Taylor?” I ask.

  I’ve invited myself to his house, where I found a week’s worth of dirty plates, coated with the remnants of take-out curry sauce, and two greasy pizza boxes. So much for the man’s health kick.

  “I just need to focus on the case.” he says, his head in his hands. He looks awful. It’s clear he’s not sleeping, the bags under his eyes could pack enough luggage for a long-haul flight, and his usually clear skin has erupted into two spots on his chin. Two spots might not sound like many, but for a man whose skin is usually clear, it’s obvious something is taking its toll.

  “You need to look after yourself, too.” I say, turning on the hot faucet and filling the sink with water and a generous dose of washing up liquid.

  “You can’t wash my dishes, Connie.”

  “Oh, I’m not going to.” I say with a smirk. “Come on over here, let me teach you some housekeeping tips.”

  “Ugh.” he groans, but he gets to his feet and comes across to the kitchen.

  “Now, these are caked on. You’re not going to get these clean without letting them soak. So we’re going to leave them in this water while we take the trash out and give these counters a clean, okay? I’ll help.”

  To my surprise, he nods his agreement and lowers the plates into the warm suds, then ties the handles of the bin liner and carries the sack out to the refuse bins out back. By the time he returns, I’ve done a check of four cupboards before finding the cleaning supplies.

  “Let’s do the oven while we’re at it. This needs time to soak through too.” I say, spritzing the oven top. The artificial lemon scent puts a smile on my face.

  “You enjoy this stuff?” Taylor asks.

  “More than I should.” I admit. “It’s just a good feeling to stand back and see what you’ve achieved. I’ve even been thinking about setting up a little business cleaning for others.”

  “You’re hired.” Taylor says with a grin. “You’re not doing medium work any more?”

  I shrug. “It’s draining. I quite fancy something mindless.”

  “Like getting involved in a murder investigation?”

  “Touche.” I say, flashing him a smile as I return the oven cleaner to the cupboard. “Your cupboards are all messed up, by the way.”

  “Huh?” he asks, confused. “My cupboards don’t have enough in them to be messed up, do they?”

  “No, I mean, the things aren’t where they should be. Well, not that there’s a right or wrong way, but if there was gonna be a right way, it wouldn’t be this.”

  He lets out a laugh. “And what would it be?”

  “Cleaning products under the sink, for a start.” I say, then begin to work my way around the kitchen. “Laundry products here, right next to the washer. Tea and coffee up here by the kettle. This should be your utensil drawer. And right here, I’d line this drawer and use it for potatoes and things that you’ve got in the fridge.”

  “Potatoes don’t go in the fridge?”

  “How about I organise it for you? You go and get some sleep? Looks like you need it.”

  “No.” he says, an urgency in his voice. “I never have company at home. This is nice, let me stick around and enjoy it. You can organise or whatever the hell you want. I’ll even help if you give me orders.”

  “Oh, I can do that.” I say with a wink.

  And that’s how I end up at Sheriff Morton’s house, emptying every cupboard and drawer in his kitchen, and moving things into new, logical places.

  “Can you see how the flow of the room works so much better now?” I ask as I do a guided tour of the new improved cupboard plan. He stands behind me, arms crossed.

  “Huh, fancy that.” he says.

  “Are you mocking me?”

  “Absolutely not. I just couldn’t see it. This is so much better.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “It’s similar to the murder case, really. A new perspective can help. Sometimes you get stuck in a rut and only see your own point of view.”

  “You want my point of view too?” I ask.

  “Sure, why not.” he indulges.

  “It’s obviously not my niece.” I begin.

  “I know it’s fanciful to think it’s Coral just because she found the body, Connie, but I have to consider her. That’s all.”

  “I know.” I admit. “But it’s not her. And it’s not Atticus.”

  Taylor pulls a face. “Nobody cares about this town more than he does, that gives him motive.”

  “Motive doesn’t seem to be an issue in this case.” I say. “You heard that the Will reading happened?”

  “It was today?” Taylor says, tired eyes suddenly alert.

  “Everything left to his eldest son, Boyd. The interesting thing is, there’s a claim against the estate - against Bruce. He was being sued by the ex-wives and the children.”

  “In their interests to keep him alive, then?”

  “Only if there was a possibility that he’d agree, and I think it’s pretty clear that was never going to happen.”

  “So it could have been one of them. But no evidence to say any of them were here?”

  “Well, I haven’t personally gathered any evidence about that.” I say, wondering how far I can push the man while I take control of his domestic life. “Have you?”

  He narrows his eyes and walks across the room towards me. I’ve pushed it too far. Crap.

  He reaches behind me, opening the cupboard that now houses his cups and glasses, and pulls out two wine glasses.

  “Let’s take this into the living room?”

  I feel my cheeks flush and it’s not the antibacterial spray getting to me. “Sure.”

  His living room is wooden floor and dark leather couches, an enormous flat-screen TV and a battered rocking chair. He notes me glance towards the rocker.

  “My gran’s.” he says with a distracted smile.

  “It’s nice.” I say, cautious about saying more about gran until I know whether she’s dead or alive.

  “It’s not that nice, but apparently I loved sitting on her lap when she was sat there knitting… when I was a kid? So she left the darn thing to me. I can’t get rid of it.”

  “I haven’t seen it down here before.”

  “It was in the study but I’m redecorating up there.”

  “Oh?”

  He shrugs. “It was keeping me busy… before the case.”

  “I didn’t have you down as a decorating kind of guy.”

  “What kind of guy did you have me down as?” he asks, then rolls his eyes and laughs. “Geeze, sorry, that sounds so cheesy. Forget I asked that.”

  “It’s okay.” I say, reminding myself that this is not a date. This is not a date. This is not a date. “You’re a good guy, Taylor, that much is obvious. Just not the, erm, domestic type.”

  He grins and takes a swig of the wine. White wine, which goes straight to my head. Dangerously to my head. Some people drink and get aggressive. Violent. Some people drink and fall asleep (frankly, I’m surprised this isn’t me). And then there’s me. I take a single sip of the silky nectar and suddenl
y lose my ability to filter what’s appropriate to say or when to shut the hell up.

  For that reason, and the fact that my cheeks are still flushed, and the fact that despite those two spots on his chin, Taylor Morton has been looking more and more attractive to me over the last few days… for all those reasons, I should ask for a glass of water instead of joining him in this unplanned wine drinking.

  I think all of these thoughts even as I nod at him to fill my glass, even as the glass grows heavy in my hand because he’s really filling it, and even as I raise the glass to my lips and drink.

  “So, what kind of guy do you have me down as?” I breathe. I kid you not. I say this. Shoot me now. I’m doomed.

  He meets my gaze, all muscle and dark eyes behind distinguished glasses. “My kind of guy.”

  The spell breaks and I retreat into myself, back into the friend zone, where I well and truly belong. I make a show of placing my glass on the table, checking my watch and appearing shocked.

  “I’d better get going.” I say with an awkward laugh. “I only wanted to pop across and check on you. I was passing. Well, we live on the same street so I’m always passing, and I don’t always pop in, so you might think that’s not true. But I was passing. And I know you’re working so hard and honestly I thought I could pick your brains about the investigation a little, but then I saw those plates stacked up - sheesh - I couldn’t just leave you living like that, Taylor. Not since we’re friends and all. We are friends, aren’t we? You and me? Buddies? Pals? I’d sure say so. Who else would be over here giving up their evening to wash your dishes. Oh, crap.”

  “Crap?” he asks, and I think he might be swaying in front of me. Hooray, I’ve got the Sheriff drunk in the middle of a murder investigation! That must be against a law, right?

  “The dishes! They’re still in the sink.” I whine, already moving back towards the kitchen.

  “What are you -” he asks, coming after me. The kitchen is in darkness and we both reach for the switch at the same time. Our hands touch and an electric burst of chemistry jolts through my body. Not just my body, though. I somehow manage to play it cool, while Taylor jumps backwards. “Did you feel that?”

  I have no idea how to answer, so I move back towards the switch and turn it on, then empty the sink and pour fresh, warm water in together with more bubbles. I begin to scrub, willing the headiness from the mouthful of alcohol to leave me. It’s pathetic to be a grown adult with such a poor tolerance for alcohol. I really need to get a grip on that, but I can’t work out how to increase my tolerance without some kind of alcohol training programme, which seems a little, erm, unwise.

  “Connie?” Taylor asks, behind me in the kitchen.

  “That’s my name, mate.” I sing-song. And yes, I do a bit of a Cockney accent when I say this. I need to get out of this house right now, but there’s no way I can leave without cleaning these plates. There’s something satisfying about wiping them and watching how easily the curry remains come off, revealing the white of the supermarket branded plates underneath. How easy it is to take something spoiled and transform it to looking brand new.

  “Mate?” Taylor asks, amused. “Look, I can finish those off. Really.”

  “It’s fine, it won’t take me a minute.” I say, willing myself to say only the bare minimum.

  “You want to see the office?” he asks, and it’s such a neutral question, such an obviously safe topic, his way of getting us back on track as friends after the awkwardness, that I say yes. I finish the plates, dry them and put them away, and then smile at him.

  “Okay, show me.” I say.

  “It’s up here.” he says, flicking the kitchen light off as we leave the room. I follow him, unfamiliar with the twists and turns of the house’s layout.

  But then I realise.

  Taylor Morton is taking me upstairs.

  **

  Vera Warren and Kim Kane stand in the street, her with arms wide, snakes dancing around her head, face pinched with fury, him nodding an understanding that seems insincere. As I approach, a teenage boy also approaches from the other end of the street.

  “Oh, ey, look, the witch is out! Is it a full moon?” He asks, clearly getting his mystical creatures confused. I resist the urge to correct him, partly because it is a full moon and I don’t fancy tempting werewolves into the chaos that my life is right now.

  “You again. Don’t you have a curfew, you little maggot?” Vera snarls towards him. The teenager, forehead hidden beneath an impressive Afro, laughs and pulls a cell phone from his pocket, holding it up towards her.

  “Come on, say hi to my friends!” he calls, clearly recording her.

  “Come on, man, let it go.” Kim urges, glancing between Vera and the teen anxiously.

  “Nah, man, she’s a laughing stock. Calls herself a witch! I know a dozen people been in the Baker place, they ain’t died! False news…” he chimes, grinning.

  “How dare you!” Vera erupts, turning to fully face the youth. She advances towards him. “You want magic? You want more death?”

  “Well, I mean, I ain’t requesting it or nothin’, but don’t come into town and say there’s a curse when there clearly ain’t, okay, oldie?” he says, white teeth gleaming under the street lamps.

  “You fool.” she seethes. “Okay, how’s this?”

  “Oh, man.” Kim says, then notices me and grimaces. “Vera, we got company. Let’s go.”

  Vera glances towards me, too far gone with her fury to care who sees. In fact, probably preferring an audience.

  “Ahh, if it isn’t the ticket seller. Friend of my sister’s, I believe?”

  “Well…” I stammer. Not particularly, I want to say, which would be the honest answer. But there’s no way of saying that without sounding like a Judas.

  “Looked that way to me. Make sure to tell her about this, okay?” she shrieks, but while her attention has been on me, the teenager has gone. Disappeared. Fled into the night. Or, more likely perhaps, grown bored of the whole thing and moved on to find fresh entertainment.

  “Come on, Vera.” Kim urges.

  “I promised a spell.” she says, smug smile on her face. “Let’s see. Eye of toad and butt of monkey. Rid the town of all but tea.”

  “Seriously?” Kim asks. “Is that the only spell you know?”

  “Rid the town of tea?” I ask.

  “All but tea.” Kim corrects. “She did it in a town last week, too.”

  “It delights me watching these morons panic because they can’t have their coffee fix.” Vera says with a mischievous grin.

  Quite the comeback from a deadly curse, I think, but decide not to say it aloud.

  “Well, nice seeing you.” I say, because this evening is going from strange to bizarre and it can’t end fast enough. As soon as my head hits the pillow, I’ll be happy, even if Mystic Springs has become a coffee-free zone.

  “Set an end date.” Kim says.

  “Oh, Kim, you’re too soft.”

  “People need their coffee, Vera. Come on, just a couple days?”

  “Oh fine.” Vera says, then mutters under her breath.

  I shake my head and walk away, my house in sight. I get my hopes up that the girls will all be fast asleep, hopefully not in my bed. A night on the settee might leave me tempted to head back to Taylor’s.

  I blush at the thought.

  And, if you’re wondering, nothing happened. He clearly realised partway upstairs that he was leading me upstairs, resulting in the most awkward tour of an in-progress decorating project that the world may have ever seen.

  He offered to walk me home and I refused, too fast and too definite.

  He kissed me goodnight when we were safely deposited downstairs, and while yes I think he may have lingered a little longer than necessary on that kiss, I’m not overthinking it. In fact, knowing how busy Taylor is with the murder investigation, I think the best thing would be to leave him alone completely. Ignore his calls, even. Not that he’ll ring. Nobody ever does.
/>   I remember fantasising about ignoring the calls of the one man who I allowed to break my heart. Fantasy it remained. He never rang either.

  I’m just not the kind of woman who men ring.

  I made my peace with that a long time ago.

  I unlock the front door and slip out of my shoes, looking at them with new eyes as I do. They are what my mother would call biddy shoes. You know, shoes for women of a certain age? Shoes more focused on support and comfort than anything resembling style. With a shake of my head, I pick up the shoes, carry them through into the kitchen, and toss them into the trash.

  Then I feel guilty, because there are plenty of people in the world who wear whatever shoes they’re given without vanity being something they can afford. I reach back in to the trash bin, my hand brushing against something wet on the side of the trash bag, and then pull out the shoes. I wipe the shoes dry with kitchen roll, then lift them to my nose. They’re obviously shoes that have just been dunked in tomato soup.

  With a sigh, I get out the shoe cleaner and give them a polish. Thankfully the smell hides the soup scent, and I leave the shoes on the kitchen counter. I’ll walk them down to the thrift store in the morning. Maybe look through my wardrobe with new eyes too.

  Satisfied, I turn out the kitchen light. Movement at the top of the staircase catches my eye.

  “Oh, you’re home?” Sandy asks, with a smile. “Someone rang for you. I left a note on the fridge. I think his name was Taylor?”

  11

  Sage

  The Town Hall’s crowded again, but this time not because of a stage show, but an Audience With The Sheriff. That’s what Patton’s calling it anyway.

  “It’s ridiculous.” he moans as we file in behind Connie. The girls have taken the evening to start packing, and since I can’t handle the idea of them getting ready to leave me, I agreed to accompany Patton. “Since when does the Sheriff host Q&As with the town?”

  “I think it’s a marvellous idea.” Connie says, rose-tinted glasses firmly in place. “It’s important that the Sheriff stays in tune with the opinions of the town people, don’t you think?”