by Mona Marple
“And you two come as a package deal?”
“My mom’s the COO of my company.” Boyd explains. He pads across to the fridge and grabs a beer, opens it and guzzles.
“Oh, amazing.” I gush, not sure what a COO is or why I imagined Lucille to be a housewife. She’s certainly power dressing. “So, big corner office, lots of important meetings?”
“And unblocking the toilets when needed.” Lucille quips. “Small team means every rabbit for every hole, ya know? Gotta do what’s needed.”
“You’re quite the woman, hey.” I smile. “She raised you right, Boyd?”
He looks up from the beer and I see that it’s not beer, it’s a fancy type of pressed apple drink in a can. “Well, I hope I took all her lessons from her and do her proud. She sure raised me right, so if I mess up, that’s me not learning the lesson, not that I wasn’t taught it.”
“No other ladies got your heart, Boyd?” I ask, hoping he doesn’t think I’m flirting.
He laughs. “No time for that. I’m just keeping my head down and doing my work.”
“And you were making that claim, weren’t you?” I ask, playing dumb. “About money from your dad?”
“It was a group claim.” Lucille says. “All of the children and former wives were part of it. Fighting for maintenance and spousal support that hadn’t been paid over the years.”
“He didn’t pay his child support?” I ask, feigning shock. “How awful.”
“He was a horrible man.” Boyd says with a shrug. “It’s not so bad for me and mom, but some of the others, they’ve struggled all their lives. It’s not really fair when you consider how much he had. It’s not like he couldn’t afford paying what was due, ya know?”
“Why’s it not so bad for the two of you?” I ask.
“Because of how well he’s done on his own.” Lucille says with a smile. “And him being kind enough to bring me along for the ride.”
“No, no. Here’s the truth. Mom worked every dang job she could find to make sure we didn’t go without.”
“That’s my job, sweetie.” Lucille says. “Sage, you have children?”
“Well, yes, I do.” I say, sitting up a little straighter. “Two girls. Women now. They’re here visiting.”
“Ah, they grow too fast.” Lucille says. “I always thought I’d want more, but then I had Boyd and he was so perfect, there wasn’t any need really.”
“Plus dad was never around.” Boys spits.
“Boyd, please.” Lucille says. “That’s enough about your father now. Let the man rest in peace.”
14
Connie
Taylor Morton’s house looks like the HQ of a murder investigation, which it pretty much is.
“There’s only so many hours I can sit in the police station. Plus, it spooked me a little when your sister came by.” he says.
“My who did what?” I repeat, open-mouthed.
“Sage dropped by last night.” he says, rubbing his brow. He looks dog-tired.
“What did she want?” I ask. I wondered where she’d gone. She barely leaves a room nowadays without Sandy and Coral being with her, but insisted last night she had an errand to run alone. I should have known she was up to no good.
“Oh, that doesn’t matter.” he says. “When you’re running a murder case, everyone has their theories and ideas they want to share. Everyone’s an expert.”
“Sage came over with a theory?”
He shrugs, clearly not wanting to talk about it. Why raise it, then?
“Something just isn’t making sense in this case.” he groans. “And I don’t know how I’m gonna join the dots without a cup of coffee to help.”
“Want to chat about it?” I ask. I never meant to come in here today, honest. I was taking a walk - not even towards Taylor’s house - when he drove past and asked if he could run some ideas past me, about the case. He hasn’t mentioned me ignoring his invitation to dinner. Probably already forgotten he sent it. A man like Taylor Morton has no shortage of women to go to dinner with, I’m sure.
So despite the initial discomfort, at least I know where I stand now. Well and truly back in the friend zone. Where I belong.
“You wanna talk through the things that don’t add up?” I ask.
“Well, the problem is we’ve got too many suspects.” Taylor shares. He opens a brown file and takes out a collection of images, filtered and posed enough to clearly be from social media. “These are the ex wives. These are the children.”
The ex wives all look exactly as you’d expect the ex wives of a wealthy man to look. They’re all, sequentially, slightly younger and more artificial versions of the first. The children, sadly, all look more like their father than their mothers.
“And then we’ve got Barb, who stood to benefit.” Taylor says, adding a photo of the secretary to the desk. Unsurprisingly, she’s standing on a beach, cocktail in hand, in her photo.
“And Atticus.” Taylor says, sharing the photo of Atticus that was used to accompany the obituary feature that ran following his death. His wire-rimmed glasses sit low on his nose, his expression serious. “Who makes himself a suspect with the hate mail.”
“Quite a party.”
“This is just the start.” Taylor says. “I’ve been looking back through the deals Bruce finalised just in the last six months, and pretty much every person he’s been involved with could have motive.”
“What? How come?”
“He screws people over. Well, he screwed people over. Every single person who felt forced into doing business with him could, in theory, want to kill him as revenge.”
“So how do you start? With a guy this unpopular? Like, alphabetical order, or…?”
“That’s the thing, anything like that is going to take up so much time and manpower. Which is fine, but the whole thing feels wrong. These aren’t new grudges, ya know? I mean, the wives and children, they were gonna win that claim against him. It’d make no sense for them to kill him now.”
“Maybe whoever did it didn’t do it for money.” I suggest. “Just because he had money doesn’t mean that’s the motive.”
“Yeah, I get that feeling too.” Taylor says.
“You didn’t include Coral in your suspect list. Is she off the hook?” I ask.
“Nobody’s off the hook till we close the case, but I don’t think it’s likely.” Taylor says. “And I know she’s got a plane to catch soon, yeah?”
“Well, that’s the plan. Although I’m sure Sage is hoping they decide to stay.” I confide. “Coral can work from anywhere if she goes back to journalism like Sage is trying to talk her into.”
“She’s a journalist?”
“Yeah, she did a great interview with Kim Kane.” I say.
“I read that. Veganism Is My Religion? Catchy headline.” Taylor says. “I didn't realise that was her article. She’s good.”
“Yeah, she had to be pretty creative with it.” I say. “Apparently, there’s not much to him. Or not much he’s happy to talk about on record, at least.”
“I thought rock stars were supposed to be wild. The whole vegan thing, it’s a bit strange.”
“It’s like his USP, I think.” I say with a laugh. “The animal rights charities love him.”
“Well, he’s doing something right.” Taylor says.
“What do you think about the curse?”
Taylor sighs. “I’m accepting it’s a possibility. In fact, I’ve called Vera in for interview this afternoon. You want to sit in?”
“I’d love to.” I say, glancing at my watch and realising what time it is. “I just have somewhere to go first. I’ll meet you at the station?”
**
Violet Warren opens the front door, alive and kicking, living proof that the curse isn’t real.
“Ta da, I’m still around.” She proclaims with a flourish.
“Can I come in?” I ask, thinking I should at least attempt to do some kind of health check on her. My medical knowledge goes no further than
being able to recite all of the bones in the human body, which I don’t think will be too helpful. She does have particularly good malar bones, defined enough to give her face structure without making her look stern or haggard, as they can on some people. My own cheekbones are still hidden under the resulting weight gain that comes from a diet of beige.
“Oh, fine.” Violet says, reluctantly. Her eyelids are painted bright yellow today and the effect is slightly disturbing. Some colours should be reserved for wildlife, and that’s one of them. It is good to see her being colourful again, though.
As she leads me through the hallway, I glance into the kitchen to see a mop merrily dancing its way through the room, cleaning the floor, alone.
“What the -”
“Oh snap!” Violet says, bustling back through the corridor towards me. She clicks her fingers and the mop collapses to the floor. “What do you want, Connie?”
“That mop was working on its own!” I exclaim, peering into the kitchen just in time to see a cloth rag make a final circular movement on the window before tumbling to the countertop. “And the rag!”
Violet sighs and looks away, lips pursed like she’s just had fillers.
“You are a witch! It’s true!” I whisper, hand over my mouth. I’ve had my suspicions, of course, but Violet’s always played it down. I can’t say it’s the biggest surprise, but still, you don’t expect to walk in someone’s house and find it cleaning itself. It’s like something out of a Disney movie.
“Fine.” She says, exasperated. It’s the closest to a confession I’m going to get. “Is this why you keep turning up unannounced? Trying to catch me out?”
“No!” I say, offended. “I just came to check you were still alive. You know, after going in the Baker House.”
“Hmm.” Violet ponders. “You could see that when I answered the door. No need to push your way inside.”
“This is so cool, Violet. I’d love to never have to clean my house.” I tease. “Hold on. If you’re a witch, you can bring the coffee back?”
“I could.” Violet says. “That’s what she wants me to do.”
“But why?”
Violet sighs again and flounces back through the house into the jungle room, where she collapses into a huge zebra-print chair that swallows her whole. Her little legs swing, unable to reach the floor.
“She’s got a chip on her shoulder.” she says finally.
“About you?”
“About everything.” Violet says. “I was mummy’s favourite, she’s never got over that. I was only the favourite because I studied more than she did. You have to work at magic. People think it’s a gift, you just click your fingers and -”
She clicks her fingers and a cloud of smoke appears in the corner of the room.
“Oh, for goodness sake.” Violet says. “I’m getting wound up. Magic and emotions aren’t a good mix.”
“Is that why you're staying out of Vera’s way?” I ask.
“I’d never use my magic for bad.” Violet says. “Even against her, as tempting as it might be.”
“You were saying? About you being your mum’s favourite?”
“I just read the spell books and practiced, that’s it really. There was a lot of pressure following in mummy’s footsteps. At least, I felt there was. Vera was more bothered about courting the press, getting her face in magazines, creating a name for herself. Which is all well and good, but everything’s easier to learn as a kid. She didn’t spend the time on the basics like I did, she just found shortcuts.”
“So you’re the more powerful witch.” I say, everything slotting into place. “And she can’t stand that.”
Violet shrugs. “She can’t stand anything that means she isn’t the centre of attention, that one.”
**
I nip home to change into more smart clothes before the police interview, and find Sandy, Coral and Sage all in my bed, under the covers, fast asleep. They’re a beautiful pile of arms and hair and I’m tempted to take a photograph of them, until I remember that Sage’s image wouldn’t process.
The no-photos side effect of being dead is one of the cruelest, I think. Sandy and Coral will take their memories home with them, but no photographs of them with their mother. And for Sage, to be unable to play around with the modern phenomenon of perfectly filtered selfies seems particularly harsh.
I pull on black bootcut trousers that I rarely wear and almost jump up and down with excitement when I feel how baggy they are. I’ve made a point of not weighing myself because I knew the sight of scales not moving would depress me, so this is the first concrete sign I’ve had that my body is changing. I pull on a slightly more fitted top than I’d usually choose, and look at my reflection. Sure, I’m not likely to ever love seeing myself in a mirror, but I have to admit I look nice.
I’m not saying gorgeous, okay. I’m saying nice.
My curls are having a good day, my eyebrows are freshly tweezed thanks to an evening pampering session from Coral, and my skin’s clear. My eyes are bright and my smile is full. Yeah. I look nice.
“Let’s do this.” I say, forgetting the sleeping girls in my bed. They don’t stir. I look at them once more, imagining how quiet the house will feel when they return to England, then force the thought from my mind.
**
Taylor looks me up and down in a way that convinces me my outfit is inappropriate somehow. Offensive. I’ve clearly done something wrong. Whatever the protocol for police station interview clothing is, I’ve broken it.
Then he grins, and I’m a puddle.
“You look great.” He says, holding my gaze way longer than necessary.
“Erm, thanks.” I say, feeling the heat rise up my cheeks. “Erm, you too?”
He laughs, because he’s in the same Sheriff’s uniform I’ve seen him in dozens of times. It’s a compliment by return, of course, said because I was trained to be nothing if not polite, but it’s also true. He makes those khakis look good. And there’s something about a man in heavy duty boots that makes me swoon a little. Like he can chop the wood and build a fire and probably make a darn good hot cocoa too. Erm, anyway.
“You wanted to see me?” The raspy 40-a-day tones of Vera Warren thankfully interrupt the awkwardness.
A bulky police officer stands next to her, large bald head disappearing into a shirt collar, no neck. “Interview room, Sheriff?”
“Please.” Taylor says.
The neckless wonder leads Vera down the corridor and I glance up at Taylor to see that he’s watching me closely.
I pull a face, silently asking what’s wrong. He smiles, bites his lip, shakes his head, and off we go to the interview room.
“So.” Taylor starts. He leans back in the chair and gives off a relaxed vibe. Vera sits ruler-straight, dressed in a gothic lace design dress that almost covers her thighs, with a velvet blood-red cardigan draped across her and secured at her chest with a huge spider brooch. Her snakes are tamed, lying motionless amongst her hair.
Does she dress this way year round, I wonder, or is this her October wardrobe? And are those snakes real?
“I’d like you to tell me about the curse that you placed over the Baker House.”
Vera grins, cracking the inch-thick foundation she wears and revealing a maze of wrinkles. “A little bit of showmanship.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, there is no curse Sheriff. Come on, you couldn’t possibly believe my thanks to this great town for hosting me would be to place a curse?”
“How do you explain a man dying after entering the house?”
“Oh, easy.” Vera says. “Although I’m not sure it’s my responsibility to explain that.”
“It can only help you at this stage, ma’am. You’re sitting in a police station, remember.”
Vera shrugs. “I’m happy to help, Sheriff. Just questioning why you’re asking me to do your job for you. But, fine. My little curse was the perfect chance for someone to kill and evade suspicion.”
&
nbsp; “It’s a possibility.” Taylor says slowly.
“It’s more than a possibility.” Vera says. “The man was a ghastly little thing.”
“I wasn’t aware you knew him.”
“I knew him as well as I’d want to. He came over to the venue before our gig.”
“Ma’am, you should have come forward with this information.”
“Oh, please.” Vera says with an eye roll. “Dead man visited a rock god before dying? Hardly a news story.”
“A rock god? You mean yourself?”
Vera narrows her eyes. “I’d be more of a goddess, Sheriff, obviously. No. He was with Kim.”
“Kim Kane? They knew each other?”
“I have no idea. He’s a good guitarist but goodness he’s dull. I try not to talk to him more than I have to.”
“But you’re telling me the curse isn’t real?”
“Exactly.” Vera confirms, stretching her long fingers out and examining her blood-red, coffin shaped nails.
“And the coffee thing?”
She laughs, a shrill, mean little sound. “Oh! Everyone goes crazy without coffee, huh, Sheriff?”
“Like you said, you wouldn’t want to show disrespect for this town, now would ya?”
“The coffee will be back in no time.” Vera says with a wink, and there’s a light rap on the interview room door. No-neck stands there, in a daze, a mug of steaming coffee in his hand.
“What?” Taylor asks, irritated at the interruption.
No-neck looks like he’s just woken from a trance. He glances at the cup in his hand, lifts it towards his face and takes a deep sniff, then grins. “Coffee’s back, boss!”
Taylor sighs and makes no reply.
“You’re welcome!” Vera calls out after no-neck as he closes the door.
“Okay, ma’am. That’s all for today. What I’d ask is that you don’t disrupt this investigation. I can take a joke and all, but a man’s died here, and I don’t want any of this magic stuff getting in the way of that. Ya hear me?”