“Actually... Jimmy Jack has been showing me around town. At least, he was before all these ridiculous accusations came out. He says the Sheriff seems pretty confident that he had something to do with the murder, whether he actually did the deed or tagged along as an accomplice. I don’t know an awful lot about the people in Stillwater, not yet. I just... I don’t think he would murder someone. Even Fang has a bit of a soft spot—though don’t tell him I said that. They’re genuinely good people,” Becky rambled a bit, wringing her hands as she spoke. I tilted my head, reaching out to rub her shoulder comfortingly.
“You’re pretty much preaching to the choir, honey. I know that neither of those two would hurt a fly, especially not Double J. The Sheriff’s always had a bit of an issue with the moonshiners, but no one is willing to tell him where they distill their shine, so he can’t exactly do much. I think he and Fang had a bit of a falling out when they were kids,” I murmured, temporarily distracted from my task. She nodded quietly, turning to face me with a faint smile.
“It’s obvious how much you care about your town, Mazie. The fact that all of you have this... camaraderie, it’s nice. I just wish there was more I could do. We should really install security cameras,” Becky chuckled, frowning at the ground. As much as I wanted to remain and comfort her, I still had some business to take care of. I’m sure if she knew my reasons for coming to the museum on my day off, she would understand. Not that anyone would understand—perhaps not even Fern. That’s what worried me the most. I couldn’t stand it when the fiery redhead was angry at me. Sure, we had our share of tiffs—it was unavoidable when you thrust two sisters into a tiny cottage whose only occupant, in around twenty years, was a telepathic cat. Moody hadn’t been thrilled to share the rundown little place, but Fern told her she hated cats, so it was a bit of back and forth with those two.
You’d never guess that now. I could picture Moody comfortably settled in my sister’s lap as Fern worked. I always thought it must have been something of a nuisance, but it soon became apparent that they were just lonely. It hurt a bit that my dear sister would feel so alone in my presence. She soon seemed to pick up on my sullen attitude and assured me she would always have time for her favorite sister. Granted, I was her only sister (at least, as far as either of us were aware of). I tried to remind myself that was what this whole trip was for—making things better for Fern. Hopefully, by leading her towards some sort of clue, I hoped as much.
“I’m going to go check out the battlefield again—see if anyone missed any evidence. I know it’s probably too little, too late, but...,” I trailed off, gesturing vaguely. She seemed to buy the lie, and though I might have felt a bit guilty, it made for an excuse to slip out of the exhibit hall.
When I stepped out into the battlefield, Little Timmy was lingering towards the door, pacing back and forth as if waiting for something. I cleared my throat to get his attention, and he looked about as frightened as any spirit could, even after seeing it was me.
“H-hello, Miss Stuart,” he managed to get out, shuffling his feet nervously. I grinned a little, and would have reached out to comfort him if not for the whole... ghost, thing.
“Please. You know you can call me Mazie. I was actually wondering if you knew where Augustus has wandered off to. I need to talk to him about something important regarding the Dickney case. He hesitated a moment, wringing his hands before breathing a sigh of relief that he did not need.
“I can show you. The Colonel has been really,,, out of sorts, but maybe you can talk to him, I can’t... I mean. I can’t really explain, but anything you need, the Colonel is your answer,” he beamed, although I couldn’t help feeling as if his expression were forced.
“Alright, lil guy. Thanks your your help, by the way,” I murmured, He smiled once more, though the expression seemed a bit reserved. I could only hope my other ghostly friends were in a better mood, as unlikely as that seemed. I could even tell Augustus was annoyed to see me, even as Little Timmy stood awkwardly between us.
“Can I help you, Miss Stuart?” The Colonel began pointedly, polishing a musket that was clearly in too poor shape to fire any bullet, ectoplasmic or otherwise.
“Yes, Colonel. I actually think you can. You can stay as well Little Timmy, as I need to speak to both of you,” I began, noting the way the two looked at each other in fear. It wasn’t all that unusual to see Timmy surprised or upset, he was that way about literally everything. To see Augustus visibly fretting about something, though, set off alarm bells in my head.
“I’ll aid to the best of my abilities, you know that,” he said a bit coolly, setting his musket aside, only for it to dissolve into ectoplasm.
“Do either of you know what actually happened to Dickney, last night? I know you were both here, so don’t try to lie about that part,” I said boldly, although the insides of my mind were screaming for me to pack up and leave well enough alone.
“If I am to understand, you seem to believe that I killed your friend. However, I can assure you that neither myself nor Little Timmy have anything to do with is. Mary Jane and myself—” he began seeming ready to go off on a tangent.
“Well, he wasn't my friend first off. And if it's going to get your knickers in a twist, that’s all I need to hear,” I muttered.
“Now if that’s all of your womanly nonsense, I’m afraid I have other means of occupying my time,” Augustus announced a bit rudely, gesturing for Little Timmy to follow him. In spite of the reassurances, something about the guilt on the younger ghost’s face resonated within me. I wasn’t done here. Not quite yet.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
If I wasn’t already sure that the spirits had something to hide, I was damn sure after leaving the museum battlefield. I wasn’t exactly sure how to approach the subject with Fern, although I knew she deserved to know that this lead seemed to have some sort of payoff. Humming to myself, I nearly barreled into Becky as she shot towards the exit of the museum right as I did. I stared in confusion, noting she was extremely pale—to the point she looked like a ghost, herself. She was also clutching her cell phone as if it were the only thing giving her life. Before I could part my lips to ask what on God’s green earth was wrong with her, she began to speak almost unintelligibly.
“I have... I have to go. Emergency. At home,” she managed to get out, looking at me with an expression that was nothing short of pleading. I couldn’t imagine what kind of emergency she might be having at her apartment—I didn’t even think she had pets, honestly. Had there been a break in? A thousand thoughts entered my mind, and I tried to get her to explain a bit further, but she was gone before I could get the first words out. She hurriedly leaped into her car, turning the ignition and literally screaming out of the parking lot. I’d never seen a car move so fast. Was that a city thing? I couldn’t think of any other explanation. Just the same, it seemed I’d been left to tend to the museum for the rest of the day, which threw a neat little wrench right into my plans. I’d intended to go talk to Fern, try to figure out a plan of action, but it seemed instead of doing anything productive, I was stuck there. Frowning. I cursed Becky under my breath though I had no remote clue what she may have been going through.
Oh well. I could only hope she was okay as I meandered through the museum and took a moment to clean the glass on several of our prize items. No one seemed particularly thrilled about the inside of the museum lately, too excited over exploring the place where a man had lost his life. I was under no delusions that Dickney was a good guy, not by any means. I could only wonder if all of his indiscretions were worthy of the fate he had suffered—I mean, there were worse ways to die, I suppose. Still, having your heart pierced straight through and bleeding out with every pump of blood? That was brutal. I was sure some people in town would think it was too kind of a fate. And considering Fang’s potential involvement was beginning to make me more and more nervous. Hadn’t Becky mentioned that Jimmy Jack was on their radar now, too? I couldn’t even begin to fathom what was going through the
Sheriff’s mind.
But, even if I couldn’t poke around in the Sheriff’s brain, I arguably had the next best thing. If anyone could explain the whole messed up situation, it had to be Fern. I felt a bit guilty—maybe I was expecting too much of her? It wasn’t as if she had any say in who the Sheriff set his eyes on for this strange case. Still, I hoped I could at least convince her to make some kind of effort to talk some sense into him. If not me, then who could convince my occasionally bullheaded sister? If not Fern, who would talk some sense into our train wreck of a town Sheriff? I wasn't positive I could even convince her of how wrong Sheriff Bailey was being. As much as she resented the man, when it came down to questioning him, she never quite seemed to have the nerve.
Shaking off those thoughts and realizing that being sour about the situation wouldn’t solve anything, I yanked my cell phone out of my pocket, only to see it had a tiny sliver of battery life left. I groaned, hurriedly dialing Fern’s number from memory instead of going through the fuss of finding her contact in my phone. I held my phone to my ear, fidgeting nervously as I listened to the ringing. I could almost feel my screen darkening just before it prepared to give up on life altogether. Fortunately, after a little while longer, Fern answered. I opened my mouth to greet her, but she was quick to interrupt.
“Hey, sorry if I can’t talk much right now. The Sheriff has already chosen someone else to burden with the guilt of the crime, as if convincing his eldest child hadn’t already been a decision that blew up in his face. The point is, Bailey is going after just about anyone who peeks their head into the station, and I’m desperately trying to pull off some form of damage control. Is whatever you’re calling about really important?” She blurted hurriedly, and I could hear the sound of her frantically sorting through stacks and stacks of papers.
“I think the ghosts know something. Obviously, I can’t be one hundred percent sure yet, but—,” I paused as the sounds of her shuffling abruptly stopped, and all I could hear was her heavy breathing. She sounded like she’d just run a marathon, but God knows what the Sheriff had her running around town doing.
“Are you kidding?” She asked quietly, and though I tried to ignore it, a sliver of unease coiled in my stomach.
“No, I mean. They won’t talk to me, but something about this whole thing seems off, to me,” I muttered, curling my hair around my finger. She hummed thoughtfully, and the line went so silent I might have thought she’d hung up on me if I didn’t pull the phone away to confirm I was still in the call.
“How much do you think they know? Obviously, they’re trying to protect whoever is doing it, which makes me feel even worse about our latest suspect,” Fern muttered, and though she wasn’t swearing aloud, I could read between the lines.
“You know Augustus doesn’t really much care for anyone in Stillwater, ‘cept for us and the other museum staff,” I muttered. Fern only hummed again, sounding much less certain than I was.
“I’ll be down there in thirty. I’ll have to come up with some kind of excuse, as you can guess, things are pretty hectic at the station,” she finally seemed to decide upon, and this time when the line went silent, she actually had hung up on me. I frowned, tucking my phone into my pocket and deciding to meet Fern out front. I was briefly grateful that the tour services didn’t seem to be the museum’s greatest hit, at least, not right now. The higher ups had gotten a bit annoyed by the dangerous behavior that kept taking place around the already sullied statue, and had shut tours back down until further notice. I was torn—on the one hand, at least they had morals. On other hand, it meant I was once again spending most of my time home alone-—well, with Moody, but as far as that goes, she could even be out hunting mice. It was a nice theory, never having to work again. In the first brief moments where it had seemed that I would never have to lift a finger again, I ended up getting bored and turning my attention back to the television in the employee lounge. I had decided that the last bits I saw in the first soap opera I watched were just too weird, and I’d been watching My Mother’s Yacht for the last little while.
Almost right on time, I spotted a pristine sports car winding down the road to the parking lot. I wished I had taken Fern’s advice to start keeping a flask on me, all of a sudden. There was no telling how this meeting would end, and I wasn’t terribly excited about the idea of potentially getting my head ripped off... literally. Ripped. Fern was an enigma, even to me, and although the spirits that haunted the grounds were friendly, I was almost a bit worried they would do something drastic. I wasn’t sure what might constitute drastic for a ghost, but I was positive I didn’t want to find out. Fern was in my usual parking spot before I could even process that she’d made it the final stretch to the museum, and I smiled a bit timidly at her as she pushed out of her car, striding across the parking lot to look me up and down.
“I believe you said you had some ghostly encounters to discuss with me?” She prompted, and I nodded frantically, gripping her by the wrist and dragging her inside the museum. For once, she didn’t put up a fight, but I could only guess that she was just exhausted—tired of fighting.
“I think it would be better if you had a word with them. I don’t know if they realize how serious this situation is, although... well, they are already dead,” I muttered, allowing Fern to fall into step beside me as we made our way through the main display for our most prized exhibits.
“I don’t think much of anyone in the whole town of Stillwater realizes how serious this is. Not yet, at least. I don’t even want to know who could end up in the slammer over this,” she muttered, rubbing her arms as if she were cold. “Before I left, the Sheriff decided it was best he bring Becky in for... well, questioning,” she added almost too quietly to hear. My eyes nearly bulged from my head, and I turned to face her with a frantic expression.
“But there’s no way in hell Becky had anything to do with this! She’s just... she’s just a kid, pretty much, doesn’t even know a hell of a lot of anything about our town. She would have no reason to kill Dickney,” I pointed out angrily, though Fern could do little but sigh and shake her head.
“Apparently, there's video of a drunk Dickney putting the moves on her the night of the death. The camera was just up the way here at the convenience store. The Sheriff just got the video from the store. Looks like Dickney was all over her and she was furious. Angry enough to kill? I don’t know. I doubt it, but just the same, we have to investigate. It’d be nice if Augustus and the others could put this whole thing to rest, but somehow I have my doubts,” she muttered, following me out onto the battlefield. I looked around, calling out to Augustus though I had no clue if he would show his face after the last incident. I continued to walk through the muddy grounds, glancing over my shoulder when I realized Fern was no longer at my side. Her eyes were slightly glazed over, and she had a strange expression of terror on her face. I rushed back to her side, trying to bring her back to the present. I had no idea what she was seeing in her vision, but it couldn’t have been good.
“Fern... Come on, Earth to Fern,” I said gently, gripping her by the hand. She shook her head after a moment, grimacing a bit.
“I hate when I get those foggy visions that I can’t make heads or tails of. I got... something, but it’s a bit unclear. I saw Dickney, and... I think I saw Mary Jane rushing towards him? He was afraid, and the thing is... he seemed to be able to see her. I was under the impression it took a lot of metaphysical energy for a ghost to appear corporeal to the ungifted, and... Dickney didn’t strike me as gifted,” she paused, glancing in the direction of the statue. She frowned a bit, turning her attention to me once more. “Little Timmy was there too. At the edge of the field, with a musket. He was screaming, shouting. The last thing I remember seeing is... what I thought was the statue, but it looked... off. It was moving. I think... I think maybe it was actually Augustus?” She trailed off, looking none too pleased with what her vision had presented to her.
“I’ve studied ghosts and... you’re right. For t
hem to become visible to any old human, they would have to really want it, and it would drain them of a lot of energy. The fact that they did it to Dickney, assuming... assuming what you see is right... it gives me a bad feeling. I’m pretty sure they had something to do with his death,” I muttered, straining to see if any of the spirits were present nearby. I saw a flash that could have been Augustus, but in a moment, it was gone.
“So... say they did have something to do with the murder? How exactly are we supposed to explain that a trio of ghosts killed Dickney? You can’t exactly arrest them, can you?” I muttered.
“Well, the equivalent would be banishing them from this realm. Not that I would... even if.... We need to think about this a bit more. Continue to explore all the avenues that we can,” Fern said, her voice quaking. I nodded, and taking my sister by the arm, guided her back to the museum. As I looked back, I swore I saw the trio gathered around the statue, looking at it with a sense of melancholy. Before I could call out, however, they were gone. Maybe I hadn’t seen them at all.
Or maybe Fern’s vision wasn’t as off base as we might have hoped.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
When Fern burst through the front door as I was taking my afternoon snooze the following day, I nearly jolted out of my seat. There was a serious expression on her face, but she seemed to be almost shaking with excitement. I raised a brow, preparing to ask what had her in such good spirits. Before I had the chance, however, Moody began to plaintively meow.
“Fern,” she called, drawing out the name. “Did you get me the liver treats you promised?” The feline demanded, looping around Fern’s legs and purring. My sister rolled her eyes a bit, scooping up the chunky feline and placing her on the couch.
“Later Moody, later. I had to leave the store rather quickly, and it just slipped my mind. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Will a can of sardines make it better?” Fern said hurriedly, yet soothingly. I blanched, making a face at the two of them.
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