“Those are my sardines!” I insisted, crossing my arms over my chest. Yes, I knew it was one of the more disgusting foods to be addicted to, but I couldn’t exactly help myself. There was something about that perfect amount of salt with that fishy taste.... Mmm.
“Responsibility demands sacrifice, Mazie,” Fern muttered, and I rolled my eyes, slumping back into my easy chair.
“Well that’s all well and good when you’re not the one making the sacrifice. And have you been watching those corny inspirational movies again? Really?” I pressed, trying to distract my sister from nabbing my precious canned fish. She seemed to catch on to my intent, however, rolling her eyes and gesturing for Moody to follow her. “Moody, you’re gonna get fat!” I called after the feline, feeling a bit petty.
“And you’re going to get ugly—oh wait. We’re both already there. Work what you’ve got, doll,” Moody called back, and I couldn’t help but pout slightly. I could hear Fern sigh loudly from the kitchen, sounding extremely put upon. I could also hear the telltale sound of a can of sardines being peeled open. I whined, throwing my forearm over my eyes and trying to ignore the indignity of it all.
“I’m not here to argue with the two of you about liver snacks and sardines. I will get both in spades when I go back to the supermarket. I just happened to run into one of the forensics team members while trying to do a bit of shopping,” she announced, smiling as if she had said something particularly exciting. I frowned a little, crossing my arms over my chest and tilting my head as if to say ‘really?’.
“Oh, don’t give me that look. I got some rather prudent information from him regarding some of the evidence found on the scene,” she continued, dumping the sardines into a bowl and setting it on the floor before returning to sit on the sofa. I couldn’t help feeling a bit sullen—that was my last can! But the idea that this strange mystery may soon be solved called out to me even more.
“I take it from your excitement that you heard something interesting,” I said with a bit of a smile, ignoring the pointedly loud slurping sounds Moody was making. Fern stretched out on the sofa for a moment and folding her hands over her stomach. It was her classic ‘thinking’ pose, and I occasionally found her in the floor of her office in the same position, staring quietly at the ceiling. Sheriff Bailey and the other officers had been a bit put off at first, but then they seemed to realize that it was some sort of meditation type thing.
“According to Steve—” she began, and I quickly interrupted.
“Who is Steve?” I demanded, receiving a sour look for my efforts.
“The guy from the forensics team, would you chill out for like five minutes? Jeez. Maybe I’ll just try to figure this out myself,” Fern muttered, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. A thinking Fern could occasionally be a cranky Fern as well, but I tried very hard not to hold it against her.
“Alright, chilling. Proceed with the story,” I muttered, leering at Moody as she carried a sardine into the living room, curling up in front of my chair and making a point of savoring it. It was terribly distracting, which probably said something about me as a person, or perhaps my priorities. Fern seemed oblivious to our silent battle, closing her eyes and worrying her bottom lip a bit.
“Apparently, Dickney had a cellphone that was found on the scene. It was taken to be checked for clues, but before they left the scene of the crime, it somehow managed to get misplaced. Kinda... convenient, don’t you think?” She said slowly, tapping her fingers against her stomach. I frowned, finally capable of focusing on something besides my maddening feline.
“That is a bit suspicious. They weren’t able to find it... anywhere?” I inquired curiously, the cogs in my brain already turning. The phone disappearing truly could have been attributed to a number of reasons—clumsiness, stupidity, hell, maybe it was just a really nice phone and someone decided to keep it. But if my suspicion was right, none of the forensics team was directly responsible for losing the phone. It’s a bit difficult to keep something safe when the thief was invisible. Or, more specifically, non-corporeal.
“I can see you’re getting the same idea as I am. On the one hand, I’m pretty sure we’re on the right path. On the other hand, I don’t want to lose the friendship of our favorite spirits on a hunch. One way or another, we need to make some kind of decision. The Sheriff is getting antsy about the case, and is ready to just throw someone in jail and be done with it. As much as I’d like to say the video with Becky isn’t enough evidence to have her prosecuted, it could very well be enough of a motive to convince a jury if we go to trial. She has a lot working against her to begin with—most people in the nearby court aren’t going to take kindly to some city girl, and the governor was all in favor of the water park for the potential spike in tourism,” Fern paused, taking a deep breath. “If we don’t find who really did this, I’m almost positive Becky will suffer the consequences,” she said balefully, continuing to stare a bit sadly at the ceiling.
“It should be easy enough to get the ghosts to cooperate right? I mean... it’s not like they can be thrown in jail. Maybe if we promise that we won’t banish them from the moral plane, they’ll be a bit more agreeable. I mean... do you really think they did it on purpose?” I asked a bit nervously, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. Fern frowned, shrugging her shoulders a little.
“If it was on purpose, I wouldn’t feel right making any promises to them. I don’t really see how they could have accidentally speared someone on the Colonel’s statue. I don’t know, Mazie. I want to assume the best too, it just... seems a bit far fetched,” she muttered, closing her eyes and breathing a weary sigh. “But we’re not going to figure anything out laying around the living room all day. As much as I’d like to take a nap, Sheriff Bailey is still riding my ass hard about this case, probably because the state government is riding him just as hard. As much as I dislike the guy at times, I’d hate anyone to be stuck in that position,” Fern continued, sitting upright and swinging her legs off of the couch. I watched her with a pensive expression, internally debating how to approach the situation.
“So I guess we don’t really have a choice but to find the cell phone, right? And we can’t do that unless we convince the battlefield trio to part with it. I don’t know what we might find on that phone, but if they’re keeping it... it has to be something, right? Something incriminating? I hate to think that they’d do this to someone, but Augustus was pretty upset about the idea of a water park right on the battlefield. I know better than anyone how angry he was about the whole thing,” I murmured, rubbing my arm nervously. It wasn’t just the crime that had me upset, and I know Fern felt much the same.
It was a matter of allowing one of the living to take the fall for their crime.
I wasn’t quite sure I could forgive that.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The thing about accusing some of your dearest friends of such a horrendous crime is that, if you’re wrong, they may never forgive you. I certainly wouldn’t be thrilled if someone accused me of killing someone for a reason as petty as a water park being built. Just the same, neither Fern nor myself knew how to approach the situation. Step one was easy enough—head to the museum and make our way to the battlefield. The trio may have still been hiding, but we couldn’t just let them run away from what they’d done. So step two was immediately much more complicated, as we had to find the ghosts to discuss the crime with them. It may have seemed as simple as just going to the battlefield and shouting for them to show themselves, but not only would we look completely crazy; if a group of spirits did not want to be found, then they simply would not be found. So, of course, we had to approach things a bit more delicately.
“So it’s not like we can just march into the field and expect them to be willing to talk,” Fern muttered, arms swinging at either side of her as we walked to the museum. I grunted noncommittally, glancing down at Moody as she pranced ahead. I hadn’t expected the cat to have the faintest inkling of concern regarding the case, but apparently sh
e still felt a bit guilty about the whole mouse incident. At least, that’s what she said. Honestly, I just think she found herself getting attached to our little city girl. Then again, who could blame her? Becky had an undeniable charm about her, but even that winning personality wouldn’t be enough to get her out of a murder charge.
“You two aren’t exactly the most subtle in the world,” Moody pointed out, glancing over her shoulder and winking slyly.
“Like you would know subtlety if it bit you on your round behind,” I said dismissively, smiling a bit at how indignant the feline looked. I could see her hair beginning to stand up and realized, belatedly, that I’d made a big mistake. If there was one thing Moody was especially good at, it was arguing. That cat could argue with a brick wall and come out of the situation feeling somehow satisfied with herself. I wasn’t exactly in the mood to bicker with our cat while we were trying to determine some means of approaching the spirits. Fern only looked between Moody and myself with a pensive expression, and I couldn’t quite tell if she was simply annoyed by our arguing, or if maybe I had something in my teeth. Before I could ask my sister what was troubling her, however, Moody launched off on her tirade.
“Not subtle? Try telling that to all the mice I’ve snuck up on and so kindly disposed of for your little museum job. At least I didn’t tell my boyfriend during dinner that I was wearing my ‘getting down’ panties,” Moody said lightly, and I felt my face heat up immediately. Fern quirked a brow, and I tried an innocent smile.
“Getting down panties, huh?” She prompted, and I breathed a weary sigh, glaring down at the feline.
“You said you would never tell, you brat of a cat,” I hissed, sounding hilariously like a feline myself. I turned my attention to Fern, hoping to defuse the situation before she decided to make fun of her poor sister’s love life. “I was just... it had been a really long time, and—,” I began, frowning as Fern quirked her lips in a sly smile.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Mazie. Believe me. I have a pair of my own, if I’m being honest. But we can discuss our dating technique later, because I have an idea,” she grinned, leaning down to scoop Moody up before she could get too far ahead. The cat mewled pleasantly, and I sourly stared at the pair, wondering what I’d done to deserve the short end of the stick. “So, Moody has a point, as much as I’d like to argue the point. Subtlety isn’t really our specialty. You’d think I’d be better at it, but... y’know, I tend to take the barge right in and take care of business approach,” she paused, looking me up and down. “And you’re just... we’ll say awkwardly proportioned?” She tried, and though I tried not to get offended, I couldn’t help narrowing my eyes.
“Awkwardly proportioned? How so?” I asked a bit blandly, crossing my arms over my chest.
“You just have a very large presence, is all. A big personality,” Fern said carefully, and Moody began to cackle in my sister’s arms.
“Not only have you packed on the pounds, but your personality is even fat too,” the feline exclaimed, looking as if she were near tears from laughing so hard. Fern rolled her eyes, holding Moody out and forcing the cat to look at her. “What? It’s true. She’s getting a little pudgy, everyone can see that muffin top. Heck, it’s not just a muffin—it’s a pound cake,” Moody continued, grinning toothily at me. As much as I wanted to be angry, as angry as I should have been, I couldn’t help but cackle at the metaphor.
“A pound cake top? Really? That’s kinda clever. Maybe your brain isn’t made of cat treats,” I teased, adjusting the way my jeans sat on my hips. “Alright, alright. Fern, you said you have a plan, right? Let’s hear it,” I suggested, accepting the bit of pudge on my hips.
“Okay. Moody is much sneakier than you and I. Such is the nature of the beast. Yes, the beast being you, Moody,” she paused, kissing the top of the feline’s head. Moody purred happily, kneading the air in front of her even as Fern continued speaking. “So if Mazie and I were to just trounce into the battlefield, we’d be noticed immediately, right? But you’re small, and fast. You can stay really close to the ground, and no one would even notice you were there. All you have to do is run in, find the ghosts, and see where they’re keeping the phone. If we’re lucky, they’re not keeping the phone on them at all times. It’s probably stashed in one of the tents, or tucked in the pocket of one of those soldier... mannequin things. Have I told you how creepy those are, sis?” Fern turned to raise a brow at me, playing oblivious to the suddenly sullen look Moody had turned upon her.
“You only flatter me when you want something,” the cat mewled unhappily, trying to push out of Fern’s arms. The redhead held tight, nuzzling into the top of our pouty pet’s head.
“I don’t just want your help, Moody. Mazie and I need you. Isn’t that right, May?” Fern pressed, staring encouragingly at me. I sighed, nodding my head obligingly.
“We need your help. If we can find the camera, we can finally move forward with this case. Fern can finally sleep at home at night, instead of working all hours of the day. Becky would owe you her freedom, and by association I’d owe you my free time... with only a few workers, the museum tends to get really hard to handle...,” I trailed off, wondering if my words were even remotely winning the feline over. She seemed to be considering our words, her ears twitching adorably. “You’d be a hero, Moody!” I tried again, smiling broadly. The cat laughed, hopping out of Fern’s arms and trotting in the direction of the museum.
“I don’t care about heroics. I’d be happy to have my cuddle buddy back at night,” Moody said decisively, glancing over her shoulder at us with a sly grin. “Mazie kicks and squirms too much. I can’t get a wink of sleep,” she teased. I rolled my eyes, but smiled good naturedly as the three of us came to a stop in front of the Museum. It was locked up, but fortunately enough, I had a key.
The plan, apparently, was that Fern and I would linger in the museum towards the back exit. Moody would slip out, through her secret escape route that she refused to reveal to any of the museum workers, myself included. I could only suspect there was some sort of small hole in the wall somewhere, the same way the mice got in the museum to begin with. Once she was outside, she would scope out the spirits, and then begin searching for the phone. I couldn’t help wishing, briefly, that we had a dog who could catch Dickney’s scent or something—I felt like that would be a hell of a lot easier...
Not that I would ever tell our feline companion as much.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The feline skulked through the back of the museum, seeking that tiny hole that she could just barely squeeze through—at least, could squeeze through when she’d seen it last. She could acknowledge that she’d put on a few pounds, but she was certain she was still svelte enough to sneak outside. When she found the hole, she noted that it looked much smaller than when she’d last seen it, but was sure Fern would mention something about perspective, or ‘comparatively this, blah blah blah’. In any case, this cat was on a mission, and she had no plans of letting her friends down.
You thought she would call them her masters? Honestly.
Squeezing through the tight fit was one of the more embarrassing moments of the cat’s life, and she swore she saw a mouse laughing at her struggle. When she popped out of the other side of the museum wall, she was briefly tempted to chase the mouse. However, she reminded herself to focus, keeping herself low to the ground as she scampered closer to the battleground. The ghosts were nowhere to be seen, at least, not at first. However, the fantastic thing about felines is that they had something of a sixth sense when it came to the paranormal. Moody herself was especially in tune with her sixth sense, after all, she’d unlocked telepathy when she was a kitten. Though she’d never intended to use her gift as what boiled down to a ghost... radar, essentially, she wasn’t terribly concerned with her pride for the time being.
She could sense a load of paranormal energy towards the center of the field, where she knew from experience she would find Mary Jane’s medical tent. It wasn’t a
matter of being swift, it was a matter of being quiet, so she took her time crossing the battlefield, darting between mannequins and ducking into tents when they entered her path. She kept her senses sharp, whiskers twitching as she realized that the paranormal energy was emanating from the next tent over. She peered outside of the flap of the tent she was currently using to remain hidden, folding her ears back as she saw the appointed leader of the trio gesturing wildly with a long sword, reminiscent of the one portrayed in his statue. The statue. She could just scarcely make out his words, surprised to hear him in a state of near-panic. She knew she should make a grab for the phone and split, killing two birds with one stone—after all, if the ghosts decided to take the phone with them, they’d be up a creek without a paddle. As it stood, she knew it was best to bide her time and wait for an opening in their defenses.
Augustus, as she believed his name was, flourished the blade as he spoke, shifting between anger and anguish as he spoke.
“I can’t believe I came up with such a foolish plot! I can’t believe the buffoon went and got himself killed! If it comes down to it, I want the two of you to blame the entirety of the act on me. It was my idea, and I am responsible for the two of you whether you like it or not,” he announced, sheathing his sword and crossing his arms. The female ghost—Mary Jane? Rose from her place at the tent, resting a hand on the elder spirit’s arm. He glanced at her with unrestrained affection, and Moody found herself briefly reminded of the soaps she had watched with Mazie for what seemed an eternity ago now.
Cats weren’t like humans, as much as the stories may have had you believe. Of course, they could love, as could any creature with a soul and a beating heart. Yet, at the same time, the attachments formed with their own kind were generally shallow at best—at least, that seemed to be the case for Moody. She’d never pursued a mate, and had never seen the need. She could not bear kittens due to the lingering effects of her long-term malnourishment as a kitten. Her mother had abandoned her, as was nature’s course. She was sickly, after all, and had a very small chance of survival. The humans had tossed her in a box and thrown her on the side of the road. She liked to believe they thought she was already dead—it was a thought she comforted herself with at least.
Hoodoo and Just Desserts (The Witch Sisters of Stillwater Cozy Series Book 1) Page 11