“She... who died, Fern? Good Lord, you should have called me,” I pleaded, looking into my sister’s eyes.
“It... it was Norma. I just thought I could get everything taken care of, at least to some extent, before you came in for work,” Fern answered softly, wringing her hands. I drew her in for another hug, resting my chin on her shoulder.
“It’s obvious that something besides finding the body is upsetting you. Like you said, you've become accustomed to this stuff, especially when we lived in Chicago. So, what’s up?” I asked gently, ignoring a grumbling Moody who was smooshed between us.
“It’s just... I didn’t really have a vision. Not in the conventional sense, anyway. It was more of an overwhelming anguish washing over me, just... it’s obvious she saw the assailant coming. I imagine she started in the battlefield because one of the old cannonballs was... the weapon of choice. She just couldn’t get away quickly enough,” Fern rambled, her eyes glassed over slightly. Her dissociation was obvious, though I was still somewhat confused.
“You usually feel some measure of the feelings though, right? What was so terrible about this?” I continued to press, desperate to decode what was troubling my sister. Fern cleared her throat, shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts. Moody pressed her front paws against my chest, glowering when I didn’t immediately back up. “Sister bond trumps pet bond, sorry but thanks for playing,” I muttered, though I did allow the surly feline enough space to get grounded once more. Fern would have usually been tickled pink by the bickering that Moody and I were wrapped up, in, but she didn’t even seem to realize Moody wasn’t in her arms anymore.
“It’s... strange. Usually when a person is dying, they reach some sort of peace or understanding within themselves. The acceptance is what makes it easier to cross over... Norma never achieved that peace. She was filled with so much pain and anguish, until her heart simply stopped. I could even feel the pain as she left her body, but... to be honest, Mazie, I’m not quite sure she crossed over. At least, not entirely. The Colonel, Mary Jane, Little Timmy... they chose not to go into the light. I don’t think Norma even had that opportunity,” Fern explained, her face growing more and more pallid as she explained what was going through her mind. I hesitated, glancing into the forest beyond the battlefield with a frown.
“If she didn’t cross over... where is she?” I asked cautiously. There were occasions, however rare, that a spirit somehow corrupted. With these corrupted spirits, the emotions always ran higher. They used to be a person. A living breathing person. I wouldn’t wish such spiritual corruption on anyone, not even Norma.
“Even if she’s here, it would make sense that she hasn’t appeared yet... at least, not visibly. It takes time to learn to manifest, and it takes even more time to accept the energy that is required to maintain a human form, No one ever wants to accept that they’re truly dead. That’s one thing I’ve learned more than anything in this gig. The idea of never seeing tomorrow is the worst part. Not saying goodbye is one thing that can make acceptance difficult. Primarily, however it’s what they are being ripped away from,” Fern finished with a sigh.
“So you’re implying that something is keeping her here. What could even have that power?” I asked, trying to control the volume of my voice.
“It’s not a matter of power. It’s a matter of the heart. Her mother and father have been long gone, if that old rumor spreading biddy was right for once. You know how much this whole thing meant to her—because she wanted to impress her brother. As far as that goes, I’d honestly guess she wants to be granted the opportunity to say goodbye. Has the tight ass made his want into Stillwater yet? I imagine even he would be devastated by the loss of his sister, what with how close the two were,” Fern inquired, and I rolled my eyes at the thought of the entire drama with Norma trying to impress her brother.
“He’s been in town for days. At least, nearby. He found the ritziest local place to say, because, why not? Being in boring old Stillwater isn’t worthy of his time. I can probably get his number from Norma’s file. We have emergency contacts listed for just this sort of situation, and... I guess he was all she had left,” I muttered, bustling into the Museum to seek out Norma’s file. Fern trailed behind me, occasionally glancing over her shoulder as if she were afraid that we were being watched.
“Hopefully he hasn’t changed his number since then. It will make things much easier,” Fern laughed, seeming to relax if only slightly. I hummed my acknowledgment, offering her a smile as I dialed the number. I kept an eye on Fern as she rocked back and forth on her heels, seeming lost in thought.
Needless to stay, I was startled as the door to the museum pushed open once more, the sound of a loud and annoying ring tone filling the room. I glanced up, surprised to see a particularly handsome young man lingering at the door, a rather strange expression on his face. He cleared his throat, obviously trying to catch our attention.
“I... heard about my sister. Is it alright if I see her and say goodbye one last time? I know it’s not exactly professional, but...I was hoping you could give me a break. You’re Mazie, right? Norma said you run most of the tours here, and I remember her mentioning that you were in charge of things this year. And... your sister, right? She talked about you two all the time, always gushing about the fun you three had together. All good things, of course. I was always concerned that Norma would have the slightest difficulty making friends in town. She’s pretty stubborn, you know. Stubborn until the end, I’d guess,” he mused aloud, glancing back towards the battlefield exit. I could feel his pain, especially considering my close relationship with Fern. I couldn’t imagine losing her in such a terrible and sudden way. Fern was contemplating the man’s presence, seeming equally troubled by her thoughts. I could only assume she felt much the same as myself.
“I can take you to say your goodbyes, though I must warn you that you won’t like what you see...,” Fern paused, looking apologetic. “It’s pretty grisly,” she muttered.
“That’s quite alright. Thank you. I never really got the chance to say goodbye, My sister could be a pain sometimes, but I loved her dearly. Norma has been all I’ve had for some time, you see. I suppose you can understand—the two of you seem very close,” he smiled weakly, glancing around the museum with a weary expression.
“If something like this happened to Mazie, I’m not quite sure I could go on, honestly,” Fern said earnestly, resting a hand on the man’s shoulder. “What’s your name, by the way?” She pressed, her smile friendly although it seemed difficult for her to maintain her air of calmness.
“Todd. Todd Pratt, though... I’m sure that goes without saying.” he chuckled softly. I glanced to Fern, who seemed to be debating whether or not she wanted to subject the young man to the grotesque state his sister had been left in.
“Alright, Todd. My name is Fern Stuart. I’ll be doing most of the investigation regarding your sister’s murder. I assure you that I will do my best to see that she receives some sort of justice,” she said, squeezing his shoulder before leading the two of us outside. I trailed behind him, guilt eating away at my insides. Who could have done this? Billie Jean was the most obvious suspect, but in all the years I’d known the older woman, she’d never seemed capable of doing something this grim. Then again, the entire Dickney situation had turned out to be a complete surprise, so nothing could be dismissed... at least, not yet.
There I was, again, putting on my detective cap. I wanted so desperately to help my sister, especially considering how much the scene seemed to have gotten to her. As she walked, she seemed somewhat unsteady, and I made the executive decision to fall into place beside her, taking her by the hand. She offered me a warm smile, squeezing my hand as we walked along the battlefield. As we approached the crime scene, Todd seemed to grow less confident in the idea of seeing what had happened to his sister.
“It’s not too late to turn back,” I offered quietly, and he hesitated for a moment before shaking his head.
“No. I have
to say my goodbyes. I’ll never get another chance,” he sighed. I glanced to Fern, who quietly nodded and lifted the crime tape so Todd and I could slip underneath.
“Sorry, kid, this is a crime scene. You can’t just go around disturbing the evidence willy nilly,” an officer I didn’t immediately recognize said plainly, and I rolled my eyes a bit, waiting for Fern to back us up. I could hear her irritation as she addressed the younger officer, trying to keep from smirking.
“It’s fine, Keith. He’s the brother, and he just wants to say goodbye. I’ll keep an eye on things,” Fern said firmly, leveling a glare at the officer. His eyes widened, and he coughed before walking away, apparently realizing that it was a losing situation. Once he was out of the way, Fern stepped forward, resting a hand on Todd’s shoulder.
“Go ahead and tell her goodbye, Mr. Pratt. I know how hard this must be for you, I’ll be over here speaking with my sister if you need anything,” she said solemnly, gesturing ahead before falling into place beside me. She seemed to have regained her composure at the very least, for which I was grateful. She glanced at me from the corner of her eye, breathing a sigh. “I can’t imagine what this kid is going through,” she muttered.
“I know. When I first got here, and couldn’t find you... I panicked. I thought something terrible had happened and...,” I trailed off a bit, startled to be pulled into my sister’s warm embrace. I sighed, regretting that Todd and Norma would never have this opportunity again.
“I’m sorry, sis. I didn’t mean to worry you. I just... wanted to get things taken care of, you know? This whole thing is just... crazy,” she breathed. I nodded, watching as the young man took in the form of his deceased sister. Tears spilled down his cheeks, and I allowed Fern to step away as she moved to comfort him.
“Has the cannonball been dusted for fingerprints?” He asked quietly, though it was obvious how much he wanted justice for his sister.
“There weren’t any to be found, unfortunately. Whoever did this had a plan in mind... But we’re going to exhaust every possible option, and we will find who killed her. I can promise you that much,” Fern said assertively. Todd was quiet for a moment before turning away from the scene.
“Thank you. I think I’m going to go back to the Inn, now. I need some time to... process everything,” he mumbled. Fern nodded, her eyes falling upon Norma’s body once more. She frowned, seeming perplexed by the whole situation.
“Do you have any ideas?” I implored, trying not to stare at the grisly sight before me.
“I mean... no one in town was particularly fond of Norma,” Fern muttered.
“Well, she even had a way with visitors. She and George got in a vicious spat, and...” I trailed off, eyes widening slightly. Fern seemed to read my mind, drawing me from my thoughts.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. George is a jerk, but a murderer? I don’t think he’s capable of something like that, as much as I hate the guy,” Fern said, though she didn’t sound entirely sure of herself.
“Well, the only other person she’s had any serious arguments with has been Billie Jean. Do you really think she’s a more likely suspect?” I asked, genuinely curious. Fern shrugged a little, turning away from the scene and striding back towards the museum.
“Who knows at this point. All I know is that if something happened to you, I’d want justice for you by whatever means necessary...,” she paused, glancing towards me. “What do you say we take another hit from your hooch stash? This situation is important, but... I just want to spend a little time with my sister,” she muttered. I smiled a bit, taking her by the hand and guiding her back towards the museum.
“I think that sounds fantastic.”
CHAPTER FIVE
I almost wouldn’t have believed that Fern had actually found my stash, that is, until I watched her walk straight to the file cabinet in which the museum kept various files, namely a roster of the yearly volunteer count for the Civil War Reenactment. She tugged at the bottom drawer, and I could do little but watch with a bemused expression as she slid the drawer completely out of the cabinet and reached in. Of course, I should have expected Fern to notice something was off about the drawer-—it didn’t jut out terribly, but for my sister’s keen eye, it would have been easy to see. She smiled over at me, looking all too pleased with herself, though I couldn’t really blame her.
“Alright, alright. I’m not even going to ask how you knew I had a stash in the museum,” I said in a deadpan tone, receiving a chuckle in reply.
“I don’t think there’s a building in the whole town of Stillwater without a stash of hooch hidden somewhere. Anyway, you are my sister, after all. I know that if anyone needs to take the edge off from time to time, it’s the two of us,” Fern murmured, sipping straight from the mason jar. I might have been annoyed if it were anyone else, but there were worse things than drinking after your sister. She handed it over with a sly smile, somehow managing to gracefully plop down on the floor. I took a long swig from the jar as well, twisting the top back on before struggling a bit to sit beside her. I sat the mason jar down between us, determined to forget about its presence for the time being. Getting absolutely plastered wasn’t going to do either of us any good, even if things seemed especially awful lately. I allowed my head to rest against the wall behind me, closing my eyes and breathing a sigh.
“So, George and Norma got into it, huh?” Fern asked abruptly, and I peeked an eye open to see her in much the same position as myself. I nodded, belatedly realizing that she would not see the gesture through closed eyes.
“It was pretty vicious, not that I can say it’s surprising. Norma’s had a chip on her shoulder since she moved into town, and George... well, he’s just George. I’ve come to accept that he lacks any semblance of tact,” I muttered.
Fern hummed her acknowledgment, and for a moment we were both silent. My mind drifted a bit, wondering what direction to go with this case. Sure, I wasn’t technically a detective, but I liked to think of myself as something of a... freelancer. You know, just getting my foot in the door. Billie Jean and George were the two suspects, at least, the two most obvious suspects. As Fern and I had discussed, Norma wasn’t on particularly good terms with anyone in town. The fact that she spoke fondly of the two of us to her brother was startling, and honestly, a bit sad. I scarcely even saw her outside of the preliminary meetings for the reenactment, and of course, when she was out causing a fuss on the battlefield. If anything, I would have expected her to despise me. I was usually the one who had to knock the wind out of her sails.
“So, what’s your read on the situation?” Fern asked idly, drawing me from my thoughts. I chuckled a bit, tilting my head back and staring up at the ceiling.
“It’s not my job to get a read on it, now is it?” I teased, receiving a scoff for my efforts. “Alright, you win. I’m already trying to figure out our potential suspects. I’m sure you’ve been in much the same vein of thought. There are two glaringly obvious people to consider, but... I don’t know. I don’t think Billie Jean has it in her to do something like this, and George... well, I’d like to think mom has better taste in men,” I mused.
“I wouldn’t put much past that dirt bag. He doesn’t even like Moody. What kind of sociopath doesn’t like cats?” Fern muttered, sounding as if the moonshine was beginning to hit her system a bit.
“Are you sure it’s not just a Moody thing? She can be... difficult at times,” I teased, winking as Fern leveled me with an exaggerated glare. “I’m kidding of course. Our cat is the best cat, ten out of nine cat lovers agree. Still, not liking cats doesn’t exactly make someone murderer material,” I continued. Fern scoffed once more, and gave my shoulder a slight shove.
“I know that, you dingbat. Still, we don’t exactly have much to go on right now. There were no prints on the cannon ball, although it does lead me to think it’s someone involved in the reenactment. Which, of course, leads back in the direction of Billie Jean. Then again, just about anyone involved could have had th
eir fill of that old nuisance, decided enough was enough, and...,” Fern trailed off, looking troubled for a moment.
“We’re not going to figure out much of anything just sitting here sipping ‘shine. I suggest we go to the Stillwater Cafe and start looking for leads. Hazel usually knows what’s going on around town, and she’s not as much of a gossiper as Amber,” I muttered, and we simultaneously cringed as the annoying woman’s name left my mouth. For a long moment, neither of us a made an effort to move. Then, with a sigh, Fern pushed herself to her feet and offered me her hand.
“I could use lunch, anyway,” she mumbled, pulling me up as I gripped her hand. I glanced at my watch, raising a brow curiously.
“Lunch...? Fern, it’s barely 9 am. Hazel’s usually pretty generous, but you know how ol’ Chuck can be when it comes to what comes out of his kitchen,” I said gently, rolling my eyes in exasperation as Fern groaned melodramatically. A moment later, she jolted upright once more, looking at me with a big grin.
“You have a point about good old Chuckwagon, Mazie. But I have a counterpoint that you will find difficult to refute,” she said airily, walking a bit unsteadily towards the exit of the museum. I knew I couldn’t look much better, staggering along behind her with a headache forming already. Drinking before noon was never a good idea, and was an experiment I was one hundred percent sure I would never try again. Of course, there was a small margin for error—considering the few times I’d made the mistake before. But I wasn’t a mathematician and had better things to do than sulk over my little mistake. It belatedly occurred to me that Fern had yet to present whatever counterpoint she was going on about, and judging from the distant look in her eye, it had likely slipped her mind as well.
A Shade of Murder Page 4