by Mona Marple
“Playing mum?” I finish the sentence for her. It’s occurred to me too, how Taylor Morton comes with some pretty substantial - if cute - baggage.
“No, that would be okay. But say I get attached to those babies, and then things don’t work out…”
“You’re scared they’d just disappear out of your life.” I say. Much like my daughters are about to do, I think.
“I’d have no rights legally.” she says with a shrug.
“It’s a gamble.” I admit. “But then, isn’t any relationship?”
**
Sandy was always the responsible one. The one who saw a problem, or a person in pain, and took it upon herself to make things better.
When she approaches me the next morning, her suitcase already half-packed as if she can’t get out of Mystic Springs quick enough, her eyes are wide and full of concern. It’s a look I’ve seen on her face a thousand times.
As a kid, she had that look after watching Blue Peter and learning about the golden lion tamarind monkey being an endangered species, and she had that look when she got home from school and reported that one of her classmates had failed a test. We ended up sponsoring a lion tamarind monkey, sending £3 a month or whatever. In reality, I’m pretty sure the commitment was cancelled after a couple of months, those pennies being diverted to an essential outgoing instead, but Sandy told anyone who’d listen about her pet monkey for years.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, not overly concerned. Sure, something will be wrong - Sandy isn’t a dramatic type. It’s just that her idea of something being wrong tends to sometimes be my idea of other people’s business.
That probably means that Sandy’s a better person than I am, with a bigger heart, and if that’s the case, surely that means I’ve done my job well. Isn’t parenting all about raising your children to be better people than you?
“I don’t feel okay about leaving.” she says, with a slight pout.
“Okay…” I say slowly, trying not to get my hopes up.
“It’s just, how can I leave you when a murderer is on the loose?” she asks, gazing at me with those deep brown eyes.
“Well, honey.” I say with a smile. “They’re not gonna be able to kill me, are they.”
She rolls her eyes. “Aunt Connie, then. You know what I mean, mum! It doesn’t feel right.”
“This isn’t your problem to solve.” I say, scooping her into a hug. She feels like home.
“Well, if everyone only solved their own problems, the world would be a worse place.” she says, and I smile to myself. How did I raise such a passionate young woman?
“What do you want to do?” I ask, eyeing her warily. Her spunk’s admirable, but I won’t let her put herself in danger. It’s better that she stays out of it.
There’s no time for her to answer, though, as a hammering comes on the front door.
I groan and untangle myself from my daughter’s long limbs, floating across and pulling the door open.
Lucille stands on the veranda, wearing a heavy, old-fashioned dress. Her hair’s been backcombed to within an inch of it’s life and a far-too-realistic raven sits atop her head. Her eyes are bloodshot, face pale, and clumps of dried blood hang from her mouth.
“You look fabulous.” I say with a grin.
“Trick or treat!” she exclaims with a giggle, holding up the childish pumpkin bucket. Her eyes flit towards Igor and she laughs again. “Oh my, you didn’t tell me about this handsome devil!”
“You’re trick or treating, alone?” I ask. “No little kids?”
She shrugs. “Thought it’d be a great way to meet the neighbours. This place is so cute!”
“Come in.” I encourage, holding the door open. Sandy peers across and grins at Lucille.
“Great costume!”
“Oh, thanks. I’ve been wearing this every Hallowe’en for years. Bought it in a thrift store, would ya believe, and I just love it. I’m Lucille, just moved to town.”
“Hey.” Sandy says, and introduces herself.
“This is my daughter.” I say, pride swelling my chest.
“Are you a murder detective like your momma?” Lucille asks, grinning at Sandy.
“Well, I guess.” Sandy says. She’s told me about the cases she’s worked on back home in Waterfell Tweed, and I do not approve. It’s one thing me being dragged into this kind of hobby thanks to a dead Sheriff I can’t seem to say no to, but for my daughter to put herself in danger? No way. That’s not right.
“Sandy owns a bookshop and cafe.” I say. “She doesn’t need to be getting involved in things like this. Especially on her holiday.”
“Oh, of course.” Lucille says, voice sugar sweet. Then she turns back to Sandy. “You got any theories, sugar?”
“I think it’s clear the killer knew in advance that Vera was going to do the stunt with the curse.” Sandy says with a shrug.
“What?” I ask. She hasn’t mentioned that to me. I mean, sure, I’ve closed down the topic with her because I don’t want her involved, but still. I didn’t know she was paying enough attention to have her own theory, all well-developed and tended to, like a secret.
“The poison was ingested before the gig started. The curse was a great cover - threw everyone down the wrong track, didn’t it? So the killer knew about the curse beforehand.”
I glance at Lucille who is staring at Sandy before a wide grin crosses her face.
“Ingested!” She shrieks. “Would you listen to you? So clever. You should meet my Boyd. He needs a woman who has brains and beauty.”
Sandy blushes and shakes her head.
“Well, I best be off.” Lucille says. “It was awful nice to meet ya, Sandy. Sage, she’s a real treasure. No wonder you want her to stay here with ya. I personally can’t imagine being without my Boyd.”
I accompany her back through the house, where she grins at Igor again on her way out.
“Igor’s been awful quiet.” I call after I close the door.
“Oh, Coral unplugged him.” Sandy admits, her hand shooting to her mouth. “He creeps her out.”
“Where is your sister anyway?” I ask, as I cower down behind the butler figure and plug him back in. He comes to life immediately and makes me jump.
“She was going to buy us tickets for the ball.” Sandy says.
“You girls want to go to that?” I ask, trying to hide the disappointment from my voice. We’re quickly running out of time together and I want to hide the girls away and keep them to myself, not have them abandon me for a night.
“It sounds fun.” Sandy says. “You’ll come, right?”
I force a grin across my face. “Of course I will.”
I’ll do whatever makes you happy, I think.
**
Violet Warren looks Igor up and down with something approaching boredom. “He looks like my father.”
I let out a tight laugh. I’m not sure what Violet’s doing here, and my experience with witches is pretty slim to none.
People seem to imagine that spirits and witches and other mystical creatures must all get along, but that’s just not the case. For the majority of my afterlife, I’ve surrounded myself with spirits because the living world couldn’t see me.
“Oh!” Connie calls, thundering down the staircase three steps at a time. She’s an accident waiting to happen. “You came. Thank you so much.”
“Huh?” I whisper as I float across to her side. Since when were Connie and Violet such bosom buddies?
“Violet’s here to try and help me.” Connie says. “Come in, Violet, let’s go through here. Drink?”
“Tomato juice would be great.” Violet says, and just as Connie opens her mouth to apologise for that not being part of our selection, Violet reaches in her handbag and pulls out a small glass bottle of juice. “Just stick it in a glass for me?”
Connie busies herself in the kitchen while Violet makes herself comfortable in the sitting room. She doesn’t look like a witch, with her mustard-coloured pinafore dress over a
black rollback jumper, but she doesn’t look like an old age pensioner either and she’s definitely one of those.
The moments pass in an awkward silence until Connie returns, tomato juice in one hand, water in the other.
“How are you doing, Violet?” She asks, taking a long sip of the water. She keeps a sheet in the kitchen and ticks off each glass she drinks so she makes sure she gets her required amount each day. My sister is transforming into a healthy person in front of my eyes and I can’t quite believe it.
“Let’s cut to the chase. What do you want?” Violet asks, holding the tomato juice in her hand.
“I want you to help us find the killer.” Connie says, setting her empty glass on the table. I know she’s worked up because she doesn’t use a coaster and that cool glass is going to leave a hell of a ring.
“I don’t know anything about solving murder cases, Connie.” Violet says. She gently scratches the corner of her eye, then moves her finger away, inspecting it as she does.
“But you do have powers.” Connie says, her voice barely audible, as if speaking the words aloud isn’t allowed.
“Oh, piffle.” Violet says, batting Connie away with a bony hand. She takes a slow, deliberate sip of tomato juice, the liquid staining her lips.
“Why’s it so important to you to hide what you are?” Connie asks.
“I never said…”
“But you’ll do anything to avoid people finding out. Why? This town is open-minded. Look how well people have adjusted to the spirits.” Connie urges.
“It’s true.” I say. “People get used to weird things pretty quick around here.”
Violet sighs. “All my childhood, I had to prove myself as being more than a regular kid. Being a normal girl wasn’t enough. I’ve spent my life proving to myself that I’m fine as I am.”
“But you’re a witch, Violet.” Connie says, her tone gentle. “You’re not really being yourself, are you, unless you accept that part of you?”
Violet stares down at the coffee table, her slender legs dancing with nerves. “What are you suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting that magic played a part in starting this case. Maybe it will take magic to solve it.”
Violet glances between me and Connie. “You two always got along?”
I look at my sister and wonder which of us will answer, and how honest we’ll dare to be.
“Because I look at you and I don’t think you can imagine your sister being your enemy. You know, the person most likely in this world to set out to hurt you? For me, that’s my sister.”
“That’s awful.” I say. “Connie and I have had our differences over the years, but I know she’s always in my corner. Even when I don’t really deserve her to be.”
“I know you want to keep out of Vera’s way…” Connie begins.
“It’s not that.” Violet says. “I have to consider the possibility that my sister could be responsible here.”
“For the murder?”
Violet nods, a jerk so fast and short it’s gone in an instant.
“You think she killed Bruce Skipton?” I ask.
“I don’t know what she’s capable of.” Violet says with a shrug. “But I have to wonder why she would pretend to create a curse like that.”
“It’s a cover.” I whisper. “A cover for the poison she’d already somehow got Bruce Skipton to drink?”
Violet rises to her feet. “I have to go.”
“Please, Violet…” Connie urges. “Sit down. We have to get to the bottom of this, one way or another.”
“I can’t send my sister to prison.” Violet says as she obediently returns to the settee, her tiny frame barely taking up any space. “No matter what she’s done to me.”
“It’s not about what she’s done to you.” I say, my voice firm. “If she’s taken a life, you can’t let her get away with that.”
“And what would you do? If it was your sister? You’d call the police? Hand her in?”
I ponder the question for a moment but I can’t answer, because I know my sister would never do such a thing. It’s academic to me, a scenario so far from my reality that I can answer based on my principles.
“I’d do the right thing.” I say, finally.
Violet lets out a groan. “If I help you…”
“Yes?” Connie asks, eager.
“I’m thinking what might work.” Violet says, stroking her chin as she ponders.
“Can’t you just cast a spell?” I suggest, weakly.
“Oh, yes, page 87 of the Witches Guide To Solving Murders.” Violet mutters with an eye roll. “It really isn’t that simple.”
“Help us understand.” Connie implores. “What are the requirements?”
“Okay, let me give you the idiot’s guide to witchcraft.” Violet says, leaning back into the settee and curling her legs under her. I try not to look at the crepe paper skin on her thighs. “The first thing you have to understand is that magic will let you ask a question, but you need to be prepared for the answer.”
“That makes sense.” I say, thinking of the questions I’ve asked throughout my life without being prepared for the answers. Does my bum look big in this? Am I going to be okay, doc?
“It makes sense on a practical level.” Violet says. “But witchcraft goes beyond practical. It’s an unfair advantage. And so, the next point has to be, is it fair and necessary?”
“What, killing Bruce Skipton?”
“No.” Violet says, annoyed. “Using magic.”
“Surely solving a murder case makes it fair and necessary.” Connie says.
“Perhaps.” Violet says. “It’s a little like playing God, though, isn’t it? That’s why I don’t do it. I try to live a normal life.”
“I saw your house cleaning itself…” Connie says, and I snap my head towards her quizzically.
“Oh fine.” Violet says, returning to her feet. “I’ll help you gals out. But don’t come crying to me if it goes wrong, okay?”
“We won’t.” Connie says. “Thank you Violet, you won’t regret this.”
Violet gives her a stern look.
“What… what are you going to do?” I ask as Violet stomps her way towards the front door.
“Poison started this. Poison will end it.” she mutters, and then she’s gone.
18
Connie
Mystic Castle sits atop a bluff on the edge of town, overseeing the town it would once have been designed to protect from attack… if it was a genuine, historic castle. In actual fact, it’s a replica. A modern building, as authentic as any replica could be while offering underfloor heating and all mod cons. It’s a plaything of the rich owner, Finian Archbold, who has invited the town in for the Hallowe’en Grand Ball.
Sheriff Morton has agreed to let Vera and the Vamps perform, free of charge, as some kind of PR stunt to allow Vera to win over the town again. I’ve spoken to Taylor about this decision at length, and seen how it has weighed on his mind. Ultimately, he decided to let the Ball proceed. Security’s high, though, and as we enter, there’s none of the informal nature of the original gig, where myself and Vera had checked people’s tickets. Oh, no. A full security checkpoint has been erected by the main door, and tickets are checked by police officers before security staff direct each person through an airport-style scanner while checking all bags.
I stand in the queue, feeling antsy. Sheriff Morton will join me for the sit down meal, he hopes, but apart from that, he’ll be on duty and I’ll be tagging along with Sage and her daughters.
The castle stands, impressive, lit by dozens of lights hidden in the grounds, the colours changing from eerie greens to spooky reds. A soundtrack of female screams, banging chains and lightning strikes plays out from hidden speakers until Taylor finds Finian and tells him to change the music. A collection of Hallowe’en themed songs begins playing out instead.
We shuffle forward, the line behind us sloping all the way down the bluff.
“This is insane.” I whisper to
nobody in particular. The girls will be leaving soon, and I don’t want to interfere with their time with Sage.
“I know!” Coral exclaims with a grin. She bought the tickets, including one for me and Taylor, and I’m grateful for that, but she also bought a ticket for Patton Davey, and Sage seemed reluctant to invite him. When he told her he’d be working, offering support for the police and security, I swear she was relieved.
“This castle’s amazing.” Sandy says. “I thought we’d get up close and see that it’s not real, you know? But it’s so authentic. It must have taken so much work.”
“So much money.” I say. “Finian didn’t allow any corners to be cut, I’ve got to give him that.”
“Amazing.” Sandy repeats, and we shuffle closer to the front of the line. I spot Taylor up ahead and feel myself blush, not realising that Sandy’s eyes are on me. “Oh, look at you, all loved up.”
I let out a small laugh, then glance towards Sage, but she’s smiling. Maybe this is the way it’s meant to be, I think, the four of us here together. No men, even if I am crimson whenever I spot my new… what? What should I call him? I’m certainly too old to have a boyfriend, and partner sounds like I’ve gone into business with him. My new beau, I think, silently repeating the word a few times. I like it.
“It’s us.” Sandy says, and we scoot forward, showing our tickets and walking through the scanner. Sage sets it off and it’s Liz, the hot-as-hell police woman, who gets to pat her down amid eye rolls.
“Every spirit’s setting the darn thing off.” she says as she finishes.
“She’s always had a thing for me.” Sage whispers to me as she stands by my side while a burly security officer in a vampire costume checks my handbag. He’s thorough. He pulls out my diary, my pen, a pack of gum, painkillers and a bottle of water.
“Can’t take the water in, ma’am.” he says, and I realise what a silly mistake it was to bring the bottle with me. A man has just been poisoned to death. Of course I can’t bring my own water in with me.
“Sorry.” I say, flustered. “Of course, just dispose of it.”