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

by Mona Marple

  “Nick’s a big guy,” Connie says, but she’s picked the wrong word. He’s not big, he’s tall. “And that costume seems to fit pretty well.”

  “I agree,” Patton says. “We’re looking for someone with a pretty similar build to Nick.”

  “There’s something off when he lifts his arm,” I say.

  “You think?” Taylor asks. We all wait until the video loops back to that point.

  Santa emerges on the stage. Santa walks across the stage. Santa lifts his left arm. It’s definitely at that point that his actions become more awkward.

  “Nerves,” Patton says with a sage nod. “There are few people in the world who could lift a gun, knowing they’re about to kill someone, without it making them nervous.”

  “Or excited,” Taylor adds.

  “Taylor!” Connie scolds from across the settee.

  “It’s true,” Taylor says, “some people are excited by killing. That excitement can look a whole lot like nerves when it comes to body language. What we’ve got here is someone who knows they’re about to take a life. Whether that scares them or pleases them, there’s a shift.”

  “Does that tell us anything about who it might be?”

  Patton and Taylor look at each other, their combined decades of law enforcement experience bonding them together without either of them needing to say a word.

  “It’s probably someone who hasn’t killed before. Not often, anyway,” Patton says.

  “You can tell that from the body language?”

  “If what we’re seeing is nerves, that suggests we have an inexperienced killer on our hands. Probably first timer. If what we’re seeing is adrenaline, a high, again that’s going to suggest the person hasn’t had this particular kick too many times.”

  “One time is too many,” I say, quietly.

  “Sorry, bad choice of words.” Patton apologises.

  “So murder stops being exciting? It’s something you can get used to?” Connie asks. Her nose is crinkled with disgust.

  Taylor takes a deep breath. “It’s awful the things a person can get used to, Con. You see this with serial killers all the time. The things they start off doing, to get their thrill, they stop being enough pretty quick. So their behaviour gets even more depraved. Now, as awful as this killing is, it’s about as hands-off as a murderer can get. An experienced killer, doing this for the thrill, would get very little from this particular killing.”

  “He’s left-handed,” I exclaim suddenly, focusing on the video to try and block out the awful conversation happening around me. I offer a weak smile to the others, happy to have a specific we can use to begin to build a profile of the killer.

  “So we’re looking for a left-handed person around the same build as Nick?” Taylor asks.

  I nod, even though the room is spinning as I realise what I’ve done.

  As I realise who I’ve incriminated.

  8

  Connie

  When Taylor announces that he’s going to head to the station to check the databases and start getting some suspects identified, I’m expecting him to say that he’ll see me later.

  “Coming?” He asks me as I hold open the front door for him.

  “Oh,” I stutter, “you want me to?”

  “I work better with you near,” he says. How can I refuse him anything when he’s such a sweet talker?

  “Sure thing,” I agree, and say goodbye to Sage and Patton. Sage seems a little spaced out. Watching that video was rough on all of us, but her especially. I wonder if it would help her sometimes, if she knew how she’d passed over, but it’s not a conversation I’m going to start. She’ll ask if she wants to know.

  The station is buzzing with activity, police moving from office to office, having impromptu chats, some working on computers. There are occasional signs of the festive season strewn across the station. An artificial tree stands bare in the corridor, a cardboard box overflowing with decorations abandoned next to it. We file past and Taylor closes us in his office, where it could be any month of the year. The place is a tip, as always. I have no idea how he can work in this mess.

  “So, what’s the plan?” I ask.

  “We need to put together a list of people to talk to. Suspects or witnesses, it doesn’t matter at this stage. We’ll start with the actors.”

  “Well, there was Tabitha Reed. She’s a good Christian woman,” I say with a smirk.

  “You don’t like her?”

  “She hates the spirits. It’s hard for me to like a woman who wants to have them all - including my sister - banished,” I explain.

  “Hmm,” Taylor says. He scrambles around on the desk, moving folders and tossing empty soda cans into the trash bin, eventually finding a notebook, then resumes the hunt for a pen. I roll my eyes and pull a Bic out of my handbag. “Thanks.”

  He writes Tabitha’s name on the paper, then writes Antoinette Cross beneath it.

  “We’re just going to say straight away it wasn’t the kid, yeah?” He says.

  Little Jessie. I’d forgotten all about her. I say a silent thank you for the fact that she was off stage when the shooting happened.

  “Maybe her parents should be considered?” I suggest.

  “How so? You know them?”

  “No, not at all. But you hear of these pushy parents. Maybe they were unhappy with the fact she spent most of the show pretending to be asleep.”

  “Is that a thing?” Taylor asks, but he writes Jessie + parents on his list. “I can’t ever imagine caring so much about stuff like that with the twins.”

  “Well, anyway,” I say, wanting to move him back on to the case, “it’s worth a try. And I think that’s it for the cast.”

  “There was that guy protesting outside, what was his name again?” Taylor asks.

  “Oh!” I exclaim, the handsome young man’s name right on the tip of my tongue. We’re already building quite the list of people of interest. It would be fun if we were role-playing, but this is real. A man has lost his life. And who knows what scars Nick will be left with. “Dimitri! Dimitri Matu.”

  Taylor adds his name to the list, writing ghost in brackets after.

  “You know we have to consider Nick,” Taylor says gently. He must see the shock on my face because he apologises before I can respond. “I’m sorry, I know he’s your friend, but there’s a chance he could have been in on it.”

  “He nearly died himself!” I shout, astonished that Taylor could even suggest such a thing.

  “He’s injured, that’s clear, but there’s no suggestion he nearly died. The head wound was pretty trivial. It’s the burns that are his issue, and I was thinking, surely there’s a chance that the radiator came on with a timer. You know, so the burns were never planned?”

  “I guess that could have happened,” I say, although I’m not convinced. “Nick isn’t home often enough to have his heating on a timer, though. He’ll just switch it on when he needs it. I’m sure of it.”

  Taylor shrugs. I see him struggle with whether to add Nick to the list or not, before deciding he has to. “Well, either way, we need to speak to him and see what he knows. How was he this morning?”

  When Taylor had screeched into the hospital parking lot this morning, Patton already in the passenger seat, they’d been too amped up about the discovery of the video recording to ask after Nick.

  “He’s better,” I say. “Better than last night.”

  “Talking?”

  “A little.” I confirm. “The pain seems to have eased a bit.”

  “That’s good,” Taylor says, then sighs. “I mean it, Connie. I know he means a lot to you. And if you pushed me, I’d say I don’t think he was involved. But we can’t exclude him as a possibility.”

  “I get that,” I say firmly. “I just know for sure that Nick’s innocent.”

  “Well, we’re not even at the stage of needing to say that. There’s no allegation against him at this stage. Maybe we could stop by the hospital again later?”

  �
��Sure.” I say. I want to speak to Nick as much as Taylor does, so he can tell us what he knows about the person who attacked him.

  “Next?”

  “I don’t have anyone else to suggest,” I admit. “I don’t know enough about Lionel to know who else might have a grudge against him.”

  “How about left-handed people around the same size as Nick?” Taylor prompts. “You’ve been here longer than I have to notice things like that.”

  “Is that all I am to you?” I tease. “A source of info for your case?”

  Taylor gives a deep belly-laugh, rocking back precariously in the office chair. “Darn it, you’ve blown my cover!”

  “Well, since you’re pumping me for information, I can’t really think of anyone.” I say. I think of the men I know in town, try to visualise each of them writing their name. I must not be observant, because I don’t know which hand most of them would use.

  “You’re holding out on me,” Taylor says, leaning across towards me. He’s so close I can feel his breath on my neck, smell the remnants of talcum powder on his skin. I shiver a little. “Let me guess. You’ll only talk if I promise to be yours forever?”

  The sudden heaviness of the conversation startles me and I grasp for equilibrium. This isn’t about us. If there’s a talk to have about our future, and I guess there is at some point, it’s not going to happen here. I pull back in my chair and cast him my best light-hearted expression. “Actually, lunch would have done it.”

  **

  We head to Screamin’ Beans Coffee House for lunch, mainly because Taylor comes here most days he’s on duty and Ellie slips him a secret discount as a thank you for his work in keeping the town safe. Not that he’s doing a very good job of it lately, you could argue.

  “I used to go home and see the babies,” he says as we join the queue. “Ethel asked me not to. It was disrupting their schedule.”

  “That’s harsh,” I say, bristling.

  “Not really,” he says in her defence. “Lunch is always at different times when I’m on the job. I just grab it when I can. That meant Ethel trying to leave the whole day open in case I showed up at some point. It made it hard for her to structure the days.”

  “I’m still not sure how necessary structure is for a baby’s day,” I say, “it’s not like we’re talking about busy CEOs with a dozen meetings to schedule.”

  “You know, Connie, I value your opinion. If you think Ethel’s doing things wrong, we should sit down with her. Together.”

  “Oh no,” I say, flustered. I need to stop sticking my nose into this topic. It’s not my business. “She’s a professional, I’m sure she’s forgot more about looking after babies than I’ve known in my lifetime.”

  “I don’t know about that. You’re a natural.” Taylor says.

  This is true. I am. Or, at least, I’ve heard the same comment from enough people. I was always going to be a mum. Everyone could have told you that. I’ve been trusted with so many people’s babies and children over the years and yet somehow never ended up with any of my own. It’s the cruellest thing; to give a woman the desire to be a mother without ever providing her with a child.

  I love everything about children and it took me a long time to build my tolerance for people who moan about the children they’ve been blessed with. I understand, on a logical level, that to hear the constant cries of mom-mom-mom-mom-mom all day long must be draining. But on a primitive, emotional level? How could you ever tire of hearing that word? That word that I will never – never – hear directed at me?

  I love the idea of a little human being so dependent on me, and so in love with my presence, that they have to wake up several times a night just to try and get enough of me. Sure, the reality must be hard, I get that. But the world’s full of people who really aren’t that interested in me. To have just one person who couldn’t stand to be apart from me, even in sleep, what a feeling that must be.

  I force myself to look at the boards behind the counter, as if I’ve never ordered a coffee before. Taylor’s eyes bore into me from beside me but I ignore him, I will him not to ask me what’s wrong. Where could I start? How could I explain a longing so powerful it feels like I’ve been punched in the stomach sometimes when I see him holding a beautiful baby that’s his and not mine?

  Get closer to those babies, Sage urges me, as if that will solve the problem. Those babies are a bomb waiting to go off. Every time I hold them, each time I whisper sweet nothings in their tiny ears, I allow myself to dream a little more of a future that isn’t meant for me. And one day, when Taylor grows bored of me, or has his head turned by someone else, or moves across State for another job, I’ll be left with empty hands and a broken heart. Alone, except for the silent reminder that whatever role I played in the twins’ life, it was temporary. Replaceable. Forgettable.

  “We should have a date night,” he says, his voice low. “Just me and you. Would you like that?”

  “I’d love that,” I say, happy to be on safe ground again after the steep cliffs of pondering motherhood, “but I’m pretty sure you’re time’s going to be taken up on the murder case for a while.”

  At the mention of murder, the woman in front of me in the queue snaps her head around to look at me. It’s Violet Warren, town witch and occasional babysitter for the twins before Ethel was hired.

  “I thought it was your voice,” she says, offering a nod in greeting to us both, “any leads yet?”

  Taylor gives a small shake of his head. “We’re putting together a picture of people we need to talk to. If you have any information…”

  “How’d I have information?” Violet asks, her bushy eyebrows jumping up towards her hairline. “I wasn’t even there. Can’t think of anything worse. Am-dram! Full of drama queens and gossips. No thank you.”

  I stifle a smile. Not for the first time, I think to myself that Violet may be the smartest person in town.

  “Well, if you do hear anything, let us know,” Taylor encourages.

  “Us?” Violet asks, looking pointedly at me. “Joined the force, have you Connie?”

  **

  “Maybe Violet’s right,” I say as we grab a table near the window.

  “About am-dram being full of drama queens? I don’t doubt it for a second,” he says, inhaling his black coffee. The man has a serious caffeine addiction going on.

  “No, not that,” I say, holding my hot chocolate to warm my hands. The coffee shop smells of peppermint and roasted coffee beans, and the first flakes of a fresh snow are falling outside. “Did you see how surprised she looked that you’re involving me in the investigation?”

  “Well, that’s understandable,” Taylor says. He’s almost drained his large mug dry. No wonder Ellie Bean gives him a discount. He must be one of her best customers. “But I don’t get your point?”

  “Maybe you should investigate on your own,” I say, trying to make my voice light, as if it’s no big deal to me whether I help him or not. Why are you pushing him away? A voice inside me asks. I ignore it. “I’m just guessing at everything, I’ll probably get you convinced to go down the wrong road.”

  He frowns at me. “Connie, this ain’t your first rodeo.”

  I blink at him, not following.

  “You’ve got more natural detective in you than most of the cops back at the station. Trust me, I’m not working on this with you to flatter you. I’m a professional. I know how important it is that we get this right, and as soon as possible. You’ve solved murders before and you can do it again.”

  I nod slowly. Yes, I’ve found myself stumbling into the role of amateur sleuth, but the police have always been doing their own investigation separately. I’ve managed to get to the killers quicker than they have so far, but there’s no guarantee that my run of luck will continue. While it’s been me and Sage hatching our plans to try and solve a case or two, there’s never been any outside expectation that we’ll actually be successful. The whole town weren’t pinning their hopes on us or looking to us for answers,
the way people do with the police department after any crime’s committed.

  “You’re scared,” Taylor says. He can read me like a book. Sometimes. He doesn’t seem to have noticed that I’m distancing myself from the babies, though.

  I nod and take a slow sip of my hot chocolate. “It’s a lot of pressure.”

  “Sure is,” Taylor says. I like his honesty. He won’t kid me that the stakes here are anything other than enormous. “But you can handle it.”

  “I don’t think I can,” I admit.

  He scoffs. “Connie, what was your last job?”

  “Medium, you know that.” I say, and it’s still my job, really. There just isn’t much demand for my services since everyone in town can see spirits now. I’m enjoying the break, to be honest. Treating it as a bit of a sabbatical. Contacting the dead, and more to the point, managing the emotions and expectations of the living who come to see them, is tiring work. And work I never wanted to do. For many years I kept my ability to see the dead a secret.

  And then my sister died. And I did everything I could to strengthen my connection with the dead, hoping against hope that Sage would come to me.

  “Talk about pressure,” Taylor says, blowing out a long breath. “These people coming to you, desperately hoping you can get a connection with their loved one. And, I’ll bet, being pretty particular about the things they want to hear from them if you can connect?”

  “You have no idea,” I laugh. “I had a woman come in once. Her husband had been killed in a car crash, but the strange thing was, there was a woman in the passenger seat who’d died as well. The wife had no idea who the woman was.”

  “Uh-oh,” Taylor murmurs.

  I nod. “Her question for the husband was who that woman was.”

  “And was it…”

  “The mistress? Of course it was. He’d told the wife he was going on a business trip for the weekend and the crash was on his way home. Except there’d been no business trip. He’d gone away with this other woman.”