Murder Of A Werewolf (A Brimstone Witch Mystery Book 1)

by Fernsby, April

  I lowered the book and continued to stare at Oliver. “But how? A talking cat? That’s impossible.”

  Oliver padded closer to me. “A talking cat is impossible? Really? Think about what you’ve seen and heard over the last few days. You’ve been to a magical land where supernatural creatures walk about free and easy. According to what you told Esther downstairs, you’ve spoken to werewolves today. And you’ve finally realised you’re a witch. You think a talking cat is out of the realms of possibility? Really? Cassia, pull yourself together.”

  Without taking my eyes off Oliver, I slowly put the book back down on Gran’s bed cover. “You can really talk? How long have you been talking?”

  “All my life. Next question.”

  “Does Gran know you can talk?”

  “Of course, we have many conversations. Also, I help her with her investigations in Brimstone. Next question.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’ve lived with Gran for most of my life, and I’ve never heard you talk. Why is that?”

  Oliver gave me a look as if to say it was obvious. He said, “You’ve only just remembered you’re a witch. It would have scared the living daylights out of you if I’d have spoken to you before you came to your witch senses. Esther told me not to anyway. Although, I was tempted to many times when you were growing up. You could have done with some feline advice many times. Have you got any more questions or can we go downstairs and discuss this murder case? I’ve met the werewolves, and I’ve got a thing or two to say about them.” He lifted his tail in the air, turned around and stalked out of the room.

  I nodded my head slowly as I watched him leave. A talking cat. Of course he would be a talking cat. That’s what Blythe must’ve meant when she said Oliver would let her know if anything was wrong with Gran. Of course. I kept nodding to myself as if hoping that would make the information easier to accept.

  I looked over at Gran to see how she was doing. She was still snoring gently, and it looked as if she would be that way for a while yet.

  I tucked the blanket more firmly around her shoulders and muttered, “Well, I suppose I’d better go downstairs and speak to the talking cat. Yep, a talking cat.”

  When I got downstairs, Oliver was settled on the sofa. He looked over at me and said, “Get yourself a strong cup of tea. And a chocolate biscuit for the shock of hearing me talk for the first time. Then we can have a chat.”

  I could only nod. It was beyond weird that he was now talking to me. I took my time as I made myself a cup of tea. It wasn’t that hard to believe, was it? I’d seen a shapeshifter today along with many fairies, and, of course, those werewolves. But, still, a talking cat? That would take some getting used to.

  I took my tea and two biscuits into the living room and sat on the sofa next to Oliver.

  Oliver said, “Before you start stuffing those biscuits into your mouth, tell me what happened when you went back to Brimstone. I want to know everything.”

  I told Oliver every detail starting with my visit to Blythe’s house and how she was having a meeting with the fairies.

  Oliver listened quietly and then said, “Yes, there is something different in the air in Brimstone. I noticed that the last time I went there with Esther. Whatever the problem is, Blythe will sort it out. What happened when you went to see the werewolves?”

  I filled Oliver in about my conversation with Strom, my run-in with Flint, the chat with Tansy, and my talk with Luca. I didn’t tell him I’d been mad at Luca after he kindly offered to help me. I was still embarrassed about that.

  I finished my conversation by telling Oliver about the missing butterflies and the feelings I got from the tree.

  Oliver looked at me for a few moments as if he were studying me. He said, “You’ve done an excellent job today. You went with your gut instincts, especially when it came to touching the butterfly tree. That is very weird about them going missing. I can’t remember a time when they all went missing before, except for that fateful day when you and Luca caused chaos with your prank.”

  “I don’t want to talk about that.” I dunked my biscuit in my tea.

  A little chuckling noise came from Oliver. “It was funny. Anyway, getting back to the werewolves. I’ve spoken to Strom a few times, and I’m surprised he would willingly give up his position as the alpha male. There are rumours he’s killed other werewolves in the past who’ve tried to take that position from him. For Strom to give that up easily to someone like Jonathan Tidewell doesn’t make any sense. Jonathan was still considered an outsider. And as for that nasty Flint, don’t get me started on him! I’ve heard many horror stories about what he gets up to when he changes into a wolf. I won’t give you the details as I’m worried I will frighten you away from Brimstone forever.”

  “Do you think it’s possible that Strom killed Jonathan?” I picked my other biscuit up, dunked it in my tea, and quickly put half of the sodden, delicious mess in my mouth.

  Oliver nodded his little furry head. “It’s entirely possible. Getting evidence, on the other paw, is going to be a difficult task. I think you should talk to Anju and see how she feels about this matter. She might be able to give you full details of Jonathan’s whereabouts before his murder took place. Also, considering what Anju does tell you, you could ask her about Jonathan’s state of mind before he died. Perhaps he confided in Anju about what was worrying him.”

  I nodded. “For all we know, Jonathan could have received threats from either Strom or Flint. Either one could have been unhappy about the forthcoming marriage.”

  “Good point,” Oliver said. “I’ve met Anju a few times, and she’s one of the nicer werewolves. At least, she never looks at me as if I’m a delicious snack.”

  I put the rest of the biscuit in my mouth and washed it down with a big slurp of tea.

  I said to Oliver, “We don’t know much about the murder itself. I know Jonathan was found hanging from a tree, but if he had been forced onto the tree wouldn’t there be defensive marks somewhere on his body as he tried to protect himself? Wouldn’t a post-mortem show this? That’s what happens on the TV crime shows. Someone will think a person has committed suicide, but then as soon as the doctor gets to work, they’ll soon see it was murder.”

  Oliver shook his head. “If only it were that easy. Werewolves bury their dead immediately, and I suspect that’s what happened with Jonathan. In fact, I’m sure that’s what your Gran told me about him.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  Oliver’s nose twitched. “Not to put too fine a point on it, werewolves start to smell the moment they die. It’s not a pleasant odour and it can be smelled miles away.”

  “Couldn’t Jonathan’s body be dug up again so that a post-mortem can take place?”

  “Good luck with asking the werewolves about that,” Oliver said. “No, once a werewolf is buried, that’s it. I think your best bet is to talk to Anju and take it from there. I can come to Brimstone with you and help if you like?”

  I thought about Luca’s offer of help, and how quick I’d been to dismiss it. I smiled at Oliver and said, “I would love to have your help, thank you.”

  There was a rattle at the front door, and I recognised the sound. It was the cat flap opening.

  Oliver jumped off the sofa and said, “Have we got a visitor? I’m not expecting anyone. Are you?”

  “Not someone who fits through the cat flap.”

  We waited, and a second later we heard the heavy padding of weary paws across the carpet. I knew that sound.

  Stanley came into the room, walked over to the sofa and sat down with a heavy sigh.

  Oliver stared at him and suddenly yelled, “Stanley! What has happened to you? You look awful. You’re so skinny, and what’s happened to your lovely fur? It’s gone all grey.” Oliver turned an accusing stare my way and went on, “What have you done to Stanley? You’ve broken him.”

  I said, “Broken him? What do you mean? I take good care of Stanley, don’t I?” I looked at Stanley as if he would
understand my question.

  Oliver walked closer to Stanley and looked him up and down. “Stanley, brother, tell me everything.”

  Stanley looked in my direction, and then back at Oliver.

  Oliver said to him, “It’s alright, she can hear me talking now. It’s safe for you to talk to her too.”

  Stanley was going to talk to me? My Stanley? I took another big drink of tea and then put my cup down. I wanted to give Stanley my full attention if he was going to talk to me.

  Stanley cleared his throat, looked at me and said shyly, “Hello, Cassia.”

  I don’t know what came over me next. I don’t know whether it was a combination of my lovely Stanley talking to me, or the way his voice was so soft and so sad. Whatever it was, I burst into tears.

  As I tried to compose myself, I heard Oliver say to Stanley, “Give her a minute or two. She’s having a very emotional day.”

  I finally got myself together, gave Stanley a watery smile and said, “Hello, Stanley. It’s lovely to hear you speaking. How did you get here? Our apartment is miles away. What are you doing here?”

  Stanley heaved himself to his feet and climbed slowly on to the sofa. He settled down next to me and said, “I had a feeling I was needed here. I walked here following the scent of you and your car. I hope I’m not troubling you.” He moved a bit closer, sniffed my sleeve and added, “You’ve been to Brimstone again. I can smell it on you. I could smell it yesterday too.”

  I could only nod. I was finding it hard to speak. My lovely, beautiful, skinny cat was talking to me. His voice was so soft and apologetic.

  Oliver began to pace up and down in front of the sofa. He said to Stanley, “Yes, she’s been to Brimstone. Let me get you up to date with everything.”

  Oliver quickly filled Stanley in on what had been happening. Stanley moved even closer to me and put his little paw on my knee as if comforting me.

  When Oliver had finished, he said, “So, you see Stanley, Cassia will have to go back to Brimstone. I’ll go with her and help her.”

  Stanley said, “I can help her. I am her familiar after all” He looked up at me and added, “If you want me to? I’ll try not to get in the way.”

  Oliver cried out, “No! You’re not going anywhere with Cassia. Look at what she’s done to you since you’ve been living together. She’s almost killed you.”

  “I haven’t!” I defended myself. “I take good care of Stanley. I look after him, and I talk to him every day.”

  Stanley nodded, and said, “Cassia tells me about her day every evening when she comes home from work. She has many troubles, and she shares them all with me. She also tells me about her health problems. She’s going through a very stressful time.”

  “Stressful time?” Oliver said. “That’s her fault. If she’d remembered she was a witch years ago, then she wouldn’t be going through stressful times. And as for telling you all her troubles every evening, no wonder you’re looking so unhappy, Stanley. She’s passed all her troubles on to you.”

  I felt a lump of guilt in my throat. I looked down at Stanley and said, “Is that true? Have I made you depressed? Is that why you go to so many funerals? Are you feeling suicidal?”

  Oliver stopped pacing and shouted, “Funerals! Yes, we’ve heard about the funerals. Stanley, explain yourself.”

  Stanley lowered his head. “It’s all my fault that Cassia hadn’t remembered she’s a witch. If I was a proper witch’s familiar, I would have made her realise it years ago. But I’m a failure. I’ve been having suicidal thoughts. I thought if I ended my life, Cassia could get a better cat, one who’s up to the job.”

  “Oh, Stanley.” My voice caught in my throat.

  He continued, “ I thought that by hanging around funerals, I might catch whatever had killed that person.” He turned his little face towards me and mumbled, “I’m sorry Cassia, I’ve let you down.”

  I pulled Stanley onto my knee, and fresh tears trickled down my cheeks. “Oh, Stanley, it’s not your fault at all. It’s my fault.”

  Stanley said, “No, it’s my fault.”

  Oliver said in exasperated tones, “You’re both at fault! You idiots!”

  I stroked the top of Stanley’s head and said to him, “Oliver’s right, we have been idiots. But we can put all that behind us now. I’ve remembered I’m a witch, and I’d love for you to keep being my familiar. We’ll go back to Brimstone together and deal with this murder investigation. What do you say?”

  Stanley lifted his chin and said, “I think that’s a marvellous idea. Are we going to stay here in Esther’s house now? I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but I don’t like our apartment.”

  “I don’t like it either. Yes, we’ll stay here for a little while. I’ll tell you what, Stanley, I’ll go back to the apartment now and collect some of our things.”

  “That’s an excellent idea,” Stanley said.

  I tickled him behind his ears and said, “It certainly is.”

  I had a spring in my step as I returned to my apartment a short while later. But all the joy ran out of me as I stepped into my apartment and found someone sitting on my sofa. It wasn’t a talking cat this time.

  Chapter 17

  Alistair was sitting on my sofa drinking from a bottle of water. His jacket was flung over the back of the sofa, and his feet were propped up on the table in front of him. He was watching something on the television. He’d made himself very much at home. Anger flared in my stomach. Alastair was really annoying me today.

  He didn’t look over in my direction as he said, “At last. I’ve been waiting ages for you. Where’ve you been?”

  “I see you’ve let yourself in.”

  Still with his eyes on the television screen, he said, “Of course I’ve let myself in. What’s the point of having a spare key if I don’t use it?” He pointed the remote control at the TV and paused the programme he was watching. He turned his head in my direction and continued, “Well? Where have you been and what have you been doing? I’ve been leaving messages on your phone all day. I could see from the app on my phone that you’ve been at your gran’s house all day. What’s so important there? Why haven’t you returned any of my calls or replied to my messages? This won’t do, Cassia, this won’t do at all.”

  I walked further into the apartment and tried to get rid of the anger which was simmering away in my stomach like a small fire. Calmly, I said, “I’ve been at Gran’s house looking after her. I left work abruptly because it was an emergency.”

  Alistair snorted. “Emergency or not, you should have kept me up to date on what you were doing. You should have returned my messages. Don’t I mean anything to you? And it was so unprofessional of you to leave the office so abruptly without telling me. I had to find out from Cheryl. It’s not good enough.”

  I didn’t reply as I walked over to the fridge and opened the door. I reached for a bottle of water and immediately noticed my last yoghurt had been taken. I knew it wasn’t Stanley, so that could only leave one culprit.

  Alistair carried on, “What exactly is wrong with your gran this time? Did she need help with a knitting pattern or something?” This was followed by a snort of derision.

  I unscrewed the top of the water bottle and turned around to face Alistair. “She’d had a fall and was hurt. She needed me to look after her. In fact, I’m going to take time off work so I can look after her properly.”

  “Seriously? Why? You can hire someone to do that sort of thing. You have to get back to work. You’ve already taken time off for personal reasons, and you know that is frowned upon. Remember Cassia, your work reflects on me. Speaking of which, you didn’t show me the appraisals before they were handed in. I only found out later that Cheryl had brought them up to the top floor on your behalf.”

  “I didn’t have time to tell you about them. Like I said, Gran was hurt and I wanted to get to her quickly. I don’t see what the problem is. The appraisals were finished and delivered on time.”

  Alistair retorted,
“But I needed to see them before they went to the top floor to make sure you hadn’t made any stupid mistakes. I did get to look at them later, even though it was too late to make any changes. You’d done an okay job, but you used some expressions that I wouldn’t have used. Next time, make sure I get see them first. We can discuss it fully tomorrow when you come back to work.”

  The rage inside me increased, and I was afraid I was going to erupt like some human volcano. My hand tightened around the bottle of water, and I said, “Alistair, I won’t be coming into work tomorrow. I’m going to look after Gran, and that’s that.” I was almost tempted to add that I would be dealing with the murder of a werewolf too.

  “You can’t take time off work for personal reasons, Cassia. How would that look?”

  I shrugged. “I’ll use some of my holidays. I’ve got plenty of holiday time left.”

  Anger flickered in Alistair’s eyes. “We always take our holidays together. I’ve already got plans for our next holiday. If you use some of your days up now, that will spoil my plans. Look, we’ll discuss this over dinner. I’ve booked a table at my favourite restaurant, and we need to be there in an hour’s time. That’s enough time for you to clean yourself up and to do something with your make-up and hair.” He turned his back on me and pointed the remote control at the TV. “That gives me time to finish watching this documentary I’ve recorded. Stop differing, Cassia, I don’t want to lose our reservation.”

  I put the bottle of water down as I was afraid I was going to fling it at Alistair. A sudden, painful throbbing came into my head, and that was accompanied by the familiar acidic twinges in my stomach. My ulcers had decided to say hello. They’d been quiet all day. What had triggered them?

  I looked towards the sofa. Had Alistair always spoken to me in such a dismissive manner? If so, I only had myself to blame by allowing him to do so. Well, that couldn’t go on any longer. Things had to change. An image of Gran’s face came into my mind, and I thought about her secret life. She’d been dealing with it all on her own. The image of Stanley’s little furry face followed Gran’s. What had I done to that poor cat?