2 A Reason for Murder

by Morgana Best

  A Reason for Murder (A Misty Sales Cozy Mystery, Book 2)

  Copyright 2014 by Morgana Best

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  Ancient Hittite Spell using Sympathetic Magic.

  These are the words of Maatigga, the woman from Kizzuwatna: If a father and his son, or a husband and his wife, or a brother and his sister dispute, when I reconcile them, I treat them as follows:

  She takes black wool and wraps it in mutton fat; tissatwa they call it. She presents it to the petitioners and speaks as follows: "Whatever you spoke with your mouth and tongue - see, here is tissatwa! - let it be cut out of your body now!"

  She throws the tongue into the hearth.

  Afterwards the Old Woman takes salt, tissue, fat and wax. She makes the wax into tongues and waves them over the two petitioners. She also waves the salt, the fat, and the tissue over them, and presents it to them. They flatten it with their left hands.

  The Old Woman speaks as follows, "In whatever curses you indulged, now let the Sun God turn those curses and tongues towards the left!"

  She throws them into the hearth.

  The Old Woman removes the red wool and the blue wool that had been placed upon the bodies of the two petitioners, the two figures of dough that had been placed in front of them, and the hands and tongues of dough that had been placed upon their heads. She cuts the string off them. The Old Woman breaks the two hands and the tongues of dough to pieces.

  Then the Old Woman waves them over them and says the following, "Let the tongues of these days be cut off! Let the words of these days be cut off!" She throws them into the hearth.

  Afterwards the Old Woman tales a tray and places seven tongues and seven hands upon it. She waves it over the two petitioners and says the following, "The day at which you satisfied your hunger - see here the tongues and the hands of that day. See. The father Sun has now nailed them down." She puts them into the hearth.

  The old Woman takes water and dough. She sprinkles the water upon them and cleanses them. Then she waves the dough over them and says the following, "Let the mouth and tongue be cleansed!" She puts the dough into the hearth.

  They drive up a white sheep. The Old Woman presents it to the two petitioners and says the following, "Here is a substitute for you, a substitute for your persons. Let that tongue and that curse stay in its mouth!" They spit into its mouth.

  She says the following, "Spit out those evil curses!" They dig a hole in the ground. They cut the sheep up over it, and then put it into it.

  They put one thin sacrificial load down with it. She also pours out an offering of wine, and they level the ground.

  They drive up a black sheep. The Old Woman presents it to the petitioners and says the following, "The black sheep is a substitute for your heads and all parts of your bodies. The tongue of curses is in its mouth and in its tongue." She waves it over them.

  The two petitioners spit into its mouth. They cut up the sheep and dismember it. They set light to the hearth and burn it. They pour honey and olive oil over it.

  She breaks up a sacrificial loaf and throws it into the hearth. She also pours out an offering of wine.

  The Old Woman takes a small pig. She presents it to the petitioners and says the following, "Look! It has been fattened on grass and grain. Just as this one will not see the sky and will not see the other small pigs again, in the same way let the evil curses not see these petitioners also!"

  She waves the small pig over them, and then they kill it. They dig a hole in the ground and put it down into it. They put a sacrificial loaf down with it. She also pours out an offering of wine, and they level the ground.

  The Old Woman makes a kneading pan out of clay. Into it she puts a little dough, into which she throws a little black cumin. She waves it over the two petitioners and says the following, "Just as this clay does not return to the clay pit and this cumin does not turn white and cannot be used for seed a second time, as this dough does not get made into a sacrificial loaf for the gods, in the same way also let the evil tongue not get into the body for the two petitioners!"

  The Old Woman waves water over the two petitioners and cleanses them. She also waves the dough over them. Afterwards she again makes a kneading pan out of clay and pours oil into it. She severs the blue wool and throws the severed end in. The Old Woman hides it under the coat of the two petitioners. She says the following, "This is the kneading pan of Ishtar. May they get away to a good life! May they also hide from evil things."

  Afterwards she makes a hupuwai and fills it with wine, plain olive oil, and honey. She adds figs, raisins, tissue, salt, and mutton-fat.

  She pours the contents of the hupuwai in the hearth, breaks the hupuwai to pieces and says the following, "Let the hupuwai be broken with mouth and tongue!"

  When the Old Woman has broken the hupuwai to pieces, she also breaks a sweet loaf and throws it into the hearth.

  They drive up a sheep and call it "substitute." The Old Woman takes one sweet sacrificial loaf and one jug of wine.

  While offering the sheep to the Sun God, the Old Woman says the following, "Sun God! Here is a substitute in their place, with mouth and tongue." She consecrates the sheep, breaks the loaf and pours out the wine. They do not kill a white sheep again, the Old Woman gets it.

  They light fires on the right and on the left. In between the fires they set seven stone pillars in the ground. The Old Woman presents one sacrificial loaf weighing one tarnas and a cheese to the two petitioners and they touch it with their hands.

  The Old Woman breaks the sacrificial loaf, pours an offering of wine and says the following, "Whoever erected these two pillars in this one place, see, now they sway. Whoever issued from the mouths and the tongues of the two petitioners on that day - let those words say in the same way!"

  The two petitioners overturn the stone pillars with their feet and throw them into the fire. They throw off the fine clothes they are wearing and the old Woman gets them.

  She waves a pot over them, takes the object off their heads and says the following, "Look, I have taken the object off your heads. Let the evil words be taken off in the same way!" The two petitioners break the pot with their feet and she says the following, "Let them break all the words of mouth and tongue in the same way!"

  The Old Woman takes the Sun's [.......], calls it tiwariya, and rubs it on the limbs of the two petitioners. She says the following, "Let the evil words of mouth and tongue be rubbed away from you!"

  The Old Woman tales water with a cup or a container and presents it to the two petitioners. Salt is also put in. The two petitioners pour the water over their heads. They also rinse their hands and their eyes, then they pour it into the horn of an ox. The two petitioners seal it up. The Old Woman says the following, "On the day when the olden kings return and examine the state of the land, then and only then, shall this seal be broken."

  "Cats are a mysterious kind of folk. There is more passing in their minds than we are aware of."

  (Sir Walter Scott)

  Chapter One.

  The voodoo doll was lying on my doorstep. I knew better than to touch it. Its black eyes fixed on me and radiated malice. It was made from black fabric and covered in black pins, and worse still, it was enclosed by a white gauze funeral shroud. A piece of my hair was tied to its hair, and a piece of my scarf was pinned to it.

  Even if I hadn't recognized this as a
death curse, the objects in my driveway were a giveaway. A large pentagram was drawn in chalk on the pavement, and a skull glowed in the middle. Upside-down black candles burned at each point of the pentagram. The stench of sulfur and red peppers reached my doorway.

  To most people, especially Australians, this would appear as nothing more than a prank by teenagers.

  However, I'm a journalist, and I had interviewed an author for an article on New Orleans Hoodoo Voodoo only last year. I had found out then that voodoo dolls were mostly for healing, but it was clear that this doll was made by someone with malevolent intent. The pentagram was a different matter. That was clearly intended simply to frighten me; I doubted it had any spiritual significance.

  "The cat seldom interferes with other people's rights. His intelligence keeps him from doing many of the fool things that complicate life."

  (Carl Van Vechten)

  Chapter Two.

  I should backtrack to where it all started. I remember it well. It was only a few days ago, after all.

  The piercing tones of my Sub Editor's voice reached from her office and penetrated my eardrums. I'm sure she had servants in a former life. "Misty! I want you to do an article on Hunter Valley Ghost Tours." I couldn't hear the rest; I guess she wasn't yelling as loudly as usual, so I walked into her office.

  "Sit." The Sub Editor, known to her employees as Skinny Troll, barked out the command and pointed to a chair opposite her desk. I expect she thought she was Cesar Millan. "Some guys used to run Hunter Valley Ghost Tours and the newspapers say that something that happened at Morpeth made them shut down. It's been a feature in a few of the local newspapers. Write one thousand words on it and source some photos. Get it right."

  I liked the olde worlde town of Morpeth; I had passed through it several times. Morpeth was Australia's first river port and at the navigable head of the Hunter River. It was as far from Newcastle in the state of New South Wales in Australia as its namesake, Morpeth, was from the Newcastle in England. That, and the fact that it sold wonderful pumpkin soup and good coffee, was about all I knew of the town. I was thinking I'd like to visit again when Skinny's high pitched voice dashed my hopes.

  "No need to go there. Phone one of the tour guides and interview him, and just get the rest off the net. Make sure it's well written. Take it to the next level."

  Skinny pointed to the door, so I dutifully got up and left, passing Melissa on her way in. We raised our eyebrows. Skinny Troll, or Daisy to her friends, not that she had any, was the Sub Editor of the paranormal magazine for which I was a journalist and blogger. Daisy had taken a dislike both to me and my fellow journalist, Melissa, and as she was our Sub Editor, this made our workplace difficult. Our boss, Keith, was a reasonable man, but Daisy had his ear.

  Daisy constantly complained that she couldn't put on weight no matter what she ate, and remarked that it was a shame that the other female journalists at the magazine didn't share her problem. She often met us in the morning with, "Have you put on a little weight?" or, "When are you going back to the gym?" while looking us up and down.

  I sighed and walked back to my desk. Despite the business having shut down, the Hunter Valley Ghost Tours website was still live and had links to the newspaper articles about its closure, which I figured would make my life easier. If only I'd known.

  I was still googling an hour later when Melissa carefully positioned a black coffee with a double shot of caramel between the files of paper on my desk.

  "Oh Melissa, thank you; you're a godsend."

  Melissa noisily slurped her coffee before speaking. "I have some bad news. I don't know how to break it to you gently, so I'm going to come straight out and say it. Skinny wants Keith to fire you."

  I nearly spat out my coffee. "What? Why? How did you find out?" I was horrified. Jobs were hard to find in this economic climate, and I was flat out making my mortgage payments each month as it was.

  "Pillow talk." I knew this was a reference to Melissa dating Keith, the owner of the magazine. No one else at the paper knew, least of all Skinny. "Don't worry; he has no intention of firing you, but you know what Skinny's like. She actually doesn't care which one of us gets fired, but of course Keith won't fire me." She winked. "The magazine's figures have been down a little over the last three months, so Skinny suggested getting rid of one of us. Keith didn't seriously consider it, but I'm just giving you the heads up. Forewarned is forearmed and all that."

  I groaned. "Well, I'm in real trouble with this assignment she's just given me. Some guys ran Hunter Valley Ghost Tours which their website says was a huge hit and brought a lot of business to the local towns. Something happened in Morpeth that made them shut down the business. The newspapers barely mention it." I took a couple of gulps of my coffee which was lukewarm but nevertheless welcome.

  Melissa made a face. "How are you going to make a story out of that?"

  I held up my hands. "Dunno. It would've been a great story if the tour was still going, but now that it's shut down, I can't see the point. Plus Skinny wants one thousand words."

  "She'll want something sensational too."

  "Tell me about it." I let out a long sigh. "The problem is, I called one of the guys. He said he'd sue me if I mentioned his name or what happened and he said he's already refused interviews with newspapers." I sighed again. "At least I've contacted him, so I hope that's enough to shut Skinny up."

  Melissa removed herself from the corner of my desk. "The only thing that will make Skinny happy is one thousand words. You need to go to Morpeth if you're going to make any sort of story out of this."

  "Melissa!" Skinny's voice summoned Melissa back to her office.

  By early afternoon I hadn't made any ground into the story despite working through my lunch hour, and was frantically searching the net when a ghoul appeared beside me. I exaggerate; it was Skinny, although the description is apt. "Misty, I've just read your email about the ghost tour closing. Forget the tour; just write about the ghosts in Morpeth. I need the story by 9 a.m. Tuesday. Try to do a competent job, Misty. I have to go out to an appointment now; my plastic surgeon has suggested I try snake venom instead of botox."

  I bit back the obvious retort with some difficulty, and instead texted Melissa: Feel like a day in Morpeth this weekend? Then I spent a good hour on Facebook.

  "Even overweight, cats instinctively know the cardinal rule: when fat, arrange yourself in slim poses."

  (John Weitz)

  Chapter Three.

  I was glad it was Friday, my favorite day of the week. As I lived in a small country town, it was only a short drive home from work. Diva was sitting on my front doorstep waiting for me to let her in. I had hoped there would be a parcel for me. Only a week earlier, I’d ordered some bikinis online. There was no way I was going into a store to buy bikinis and flaunt myself in front of over zealous shop assistants. Even if they didn’t harass me outside the fitting room door, they would always offer me a size or two bigger than I really was.

  I opened the door for Diva, but she just sat there and looked me. "Are you coming in or out?" I asked her. She continued to look at me. I shrugged and shut the door. I was only a step away when there was a scratching sound on the door. I opened the door, and Diva was scowling at me. I held the door open for her. "Are you coming in?" She just sat there and with a blank expression on her face.

  I sighed, and after a while, shut the door. I turned to leave, but then Diva scratched on the door again. I rolled my eyes, and opened the door once more. Diva just sat there. I reached for her, but she swiped at me and moved away.

  I left the door open, went into the kitchen, got her packet of Furball Control dried cat food out of the cupboard, and rattled the packet loudly. Diva ran in, and I topped up her already full bowl with more food, and then sprinted down the hallway for the front door. I made it just before she did. With a sigh of satisfaction, I pushed the door shut just in time.

  Diva returned to her food after giving me a glare over her shoulder. I went into
one of the front rooms which was my office. The other was the living room. I booted up my laptop, and went to the Australia Post Tracking website. I retrieved my tracking number from my email and entered it. It came up that the parcel was due for delivery today.

  Damn. That meant only one thing. The postal lady wanted to chat with me, so was going to deliver the parcel to me at a time when she knew I would be home. In my town, there is a man, Craig, who delivers letters and small envelopes straight into letterboxes on his motor cycle, and his wife, Julie, who delivers the parcels from her van onto people's doorsteps. I apparently have one of those faces that encourages people to speak to me, and for months now, Julie has told me all her marital problems as well as told me all the town gossip.

  In summer, I like to sit at my desk with my curtains open and look out over my rose garden, but of an afternoon, if Julie catches me at home, she will talk for at least half an hour about her problems. I always make sure I select, "Authority to leave without signature," if I buy something online, but that doesn't stop Julie knocking and knocking until I appear at the door. Of course, I'm a sitting duck when at my desk in the front room or even in the living room.

  Today, however, I figured I would have Julie fooled. The previous day I had bought what I thought was a one way, mirrored window film that would block out anyone looking in. I hastily read the instructions and applied it to my office window with some difficulty. The man at the store had assured me that it was easy to do, but it wasn't. Finally, after quite a struggle with the adhesive film and after spilling water from the requisite spray bottle water everywhere, I had stuck the film to the inside of the window, although there were still some rather large bubbles.

  I was going to go outside to test whether if I could, in fact, see in, but then figured the film would probably have to dry first. Instead, I walked back to my tiny kitchen and fetched a bottle of cheap bubbly Moscato out of the refrigerator. After all, it was Friday, the end of a working week. The cork popped with such force that it flew out of hand and across the room. Diva was delighted, and at once pounced on it.