Murder Ghost Foul: The Complete Mystic Springs Paranormal Cozy Mystery Series Page 4
“What’s cookin’?” I ask.
“Banana loaf, hopefully.” She says. “I didn’t have all the ingredients, but I needed something to do.”
“Has Lola come to see you yet?”
Connie’s eyes widen and she shakes her head. She’s had a few murder victims over the years but generally she dislikes them. The relatives are always so emotional, and the spirits can be angry and challenging too.
“You don’t want her to?”
“There’s no reason for her to see me, we weren’t close.” Connie says. “And she’s got no family here.”
“Or friends.” I say.
Connie raises an eyebrow. The kitchen begins to fill with the aroma of sweet banana and spicy cinnamon, and Connie pushes herself up to her feet and grabs a damp cloth. She wipes the flour and globs of cake mixture from the table then turns her attention to the counters, all coated with pieces of egg shell and splashes of milk.
I sit back and watch, enjoying the light seeping in the window by the sink. My lack of activity doesn’t go unnoticed, I realise, from the heavy sighs Connie makes as she opens the bin and empties the eggshell in.
“You could help, you know.” She mutters.
“I’ve been very busy today, actually.” I say with a smile and a flick of my hair.
“Oh really? Doing what?”
“I was called to a meeting.”
She’s curious now. She rinses the cloth and then turns to face me.
“The Sheriff’s putting together a team to investigate the murder.” I say with a casual shrug.
“And you’re on it?” Connie asks, then cringes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it to come out like that.”
“Me and Atticus, that’s it.” I say.
“Small team.” She quips as she fills the kettle and sets it to boil, then empties the dishwasher, leaving her favourite cup on the side ready to refill.
“Patton doesn’t want too many people involved, it’s all very hush-hush.”
“And yet you’re telling me.” Connie says with a murmur. “What do you want, Sage?”
I let out a high-pitched giggle and roll my eyes. “I’m just proud to have been asked and I wanted my little sister to know.”
Connie eyes me as she spoons coffee into her cup. “Really?”
“Of course.” I say. “It feels like I’m finally being accepted here.”
“You’ve always been accepted.” Connie says. “Everywhere you go, people love you. It’s always been like that.”
I shrug. “It doesn’t feel like I’m taken seriously sometimes.”
“Well, I’m pleased you’re happy about this. It’ll be nice for you to have something to focus on.”
“Yep.” I say. “It’s going to take up a lot of time, I might not see you as much.”
“That’s fine. You know where I am when you can fit me in your busy schedule.” Connie says with an easy smile.
“You could help me.” I say, my eyes wide as if the idea has just hit me.
“Me?” Connie says with a laugh. “I’ve got enough going on, thanks.”
“Oh… I just thought you might like to have something for us to do together.”
Connie fills her cup with steaming hot water and takes a sip, then curses the hot liquid and returns the cup to the counter. She does the same thing most days. “You’ll be great at this, you don’t need me.”
“I know I don’t need you.” I lie. “I just wanted you to be involved. Patton says we need one living person, and I fought your corner so he’d consider it being you.”
“You fought my corner?”
“You know what he’s like, all that charlatan stuff…” I say, my voice fading away.
“Which is clearly false, since I see him around town avoiding me.”
“I know, I know… men.” I say with raised eyebrows. “But anyway, this would be such a fun thing for us to do together.”
“I don’t think investigating a murder will be fun, Sage. Are you sure you’ve thought this through?”
“Yes mum!” I whine. “I meant us being together, that bit would be fun. “Please?”
Connie shakes her head. “I’m quite happy without that extra stress in my life. It’s sweet that you thought of me, and I agree it would be nice to do more together, but not this, okay?”
“Connie, your town needs you.” I say in mock seriousness.
She laughs and swats at me with her chubby fingers. “My town is in serious trouble if I’m the best hope it’s got. Why don’t you ask Violet, she knows everything.”
“She can’t…”
“Oh, yeah! You can’t ask her.” Connie says with a laugh. She picks up her coffee cup and walks across the kitchen, then pauses in the doorway and looks at me with a pointed expression. “I can see right through you Sage, in more ways than one. You need a person who can speak to you spirits, and I’m the only option. Well, it’s a no. I’m sorry. Lola’s murder has reminded me how much I want a nice quiet life. You’ll have to solve this without me… or leave it to the police.”
“The police aren’t coming.” I say, weakly, as she leaves the room.
5
Connie
The Mystic Springs Town Board have called a meeting and made it clear that no excuse is good enough to not attend.
All across town people are changing work shifts, closing businesses early, and ringing in sick for out-of-town jobs.
When I arrive, just a few minutes before the stroke of seven, and slightly out of breath because I decided to walk over without really having enough time, there’s a queue outside the Town Hall.
The Town Hall is mainly used for community events. Mystic Springs is big on community. We’ve had street parties for celebrity weddings, afternoon tea for the British Royal Wedding, and of course this place goes wild for Hallowe’en.
But an actual, come and sit down, meeting? Never happens.
In large part, that could be down to the hole that’s been left in the town since the mayor and the sheriff are dead. Whose job is it now to call the meetings, to chair the meetings? We don’t know, so nobody does it.
Petitions were made for their replacements, by the way, but it seems like Mystic Springs is stuck in some strange limbo. Jefferson County across to our East insist we fall under the jurisdiction of Rydell Grove, to our West. And let’s just say that Rydell Grove don’t answer the phone when we ring.
So, we’re stuck like this. And we’ve been managing fine, really.
There was never much crime here anyway, but now the townsfolk know there’s no police, they’ve effectively become the police. Everyone knows everything about everything here. If I leave my house after dark, someone’s going to ask me where I’m going. And if I miss my morning walk, I might open the front door later to find a get well card on my porch.
The line begins to shuffle forward and I adopt the same wiggle as the people in front of me.
The sun is setting over the mountains, casting the sky in a warm salmon shade. It would be a nice evening to sit out on my veranda and read a book, try to ignore any passersby, living or spirit.
Slowly, we all file inside. The Hall is set out with chairs in neat rows, that stop being neat as soon as people walk in. Someone needs more room, someone wishes they were on a different row, someone is saving four chairs for people who absolutely will be here, don’t you worry. I take a seat next to Nettie Frasier, who gives me a small smile. She’s dressed in a navy trouser suit with a huge red flower in her hair, lips crimson as always. I look down at my sandals and tye-dye dress and wonder if I should have dressed up.
I return her smile and then turn my attention to the front of the room.
The last few stragglers find whatever seats are left, and then the door is closed.
To my surprise, Desiree Montag stands up from the front row and walks across to the podium. As the principal of the high school, she must certainly be used to giving speeches, but she’s never appeared to relish the opportunity.
She clear
s her throat.
“Good evening.” She begins. Her tone is clear and calm, her speech slow and steady. She’s a natural leader, even if she doesn’t seem to realise that. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming out here tonight. As you know, our community has suffered a terrible loss. A person, a child really, a young person with their whole life ahead of them, has had that future taken from them. I believe that many of us in this room didn’t get the opportunity to know Lola Anti well enough. I know I didn’t.”
Whispers circulate around the room. I hear someone mention Desmond’s name, then give a laugh. Nettie remains poised by my side.
“Mystic Springs was founded in 1936, when a group of female travellers came across this empty land and set up home. They sent word for their families to join them, and join them they did.” Desiree says. She pauses to take a sip of water. “Thanks to our short history as a town, we know more about our roots than most other places do. We know that, until April 1st, this town had never witnessed a murder. I know we all feel heavily the fact that that is no longer true, and that it has changed on our watch.”
I swallow. A woman sitting behind me cries softly.
“I also know that Mystic Springs will recover from this.” Desiree says. “I know that we are a town of good and kind people, and we will rebuild.”
“We’re not all good and kind!” An anonymous male voice calls from the crowd, followed by several people telling him to be quiet.
“It’s okay.” Desiree says. “We do need to stay safe. We’re proposing a curfew. Nobody should be out after dark.”
The teenagers in the audience all groan at this.
“I hold no power in this town.” Desiree admits. “I can stick some of you in detention, but I can’t pass a law to say we should all be indoors after dark, or anything else. I’m speaking to you as a friend and suggesting what I think will help us. I think the best way we can get through this troubling time together is to look after one another. Look out for each other, even more than we already do.”
“Are the police coming out?” Someone calls from the crowd. I shake my head at their question. Of course the police are coming out.
Desiree lets out a small cough and appears to search through the crowd, looking for a face to reassure her. She smiles suddenly, her face transformed into happiness, as she reaches the eyes of whoever she was searching for. Her son, perhaps.
“We have placed calls with the police department over in Jefferson County and Rydell Grove.” Desiree says. She pauses.
“And?” A voice calls.
“At this time, unfortunately, they have no resources to send to us.” Desiree says.
Silence falls across the room as her words sink in.
Help is not coming.
Save yourselves.
“Do they know a murder happened?” A vaguely familiar voice calls out.
“They know all of the facts that we have available to us.” Desiree says, choosing her words carefully now. “They will send us help, they say, if they can.”
“If?”
“If they can.” Desiree repeats. “I know that this is troubling, and this is why we all need to be vigilant.”
“I’m getting outta here.” One man calls, and then there’s a commotion as he scoops up an armful of small children, who descend into giggles, and carries them out of the Hall.
“If you want to leave, you can.” Desiree says to the remaining crowd. “Nobody will blame you for taking whatever steps you think are needed to protect your family.”
A muttering runs through the Hall and several other people stand and leave, casting last glances back towards Desiree as if they’re sneaking out of assembly and scared of being caught.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I could leave, I guess, but where would I go?
The only relatives I have, apart from Sage, are in England, and I’ve left it far too long without contact to suddenly arrive on their doorsteps.
I take a deep breath and am reminded yet again why the one time I held my heart out to a man was foolish. Not only did he smash it, stomp on it, cut it into pieces, but I was silly enough to move across the world for him, and he left me with nothing and nobody.
No, I’ve worked too hard to build a life here for myself. Friends. Work. A life I genuinely love.
I’m not running anywhere.
I rise to my feet slowly, not sure what is coming over me. I fix my gaze on Desiree’s and clear my throat.
“I’m staying.” I call.
“I’m staying.” I repeat, louder. Heads begin to turn towards me, faces break out into smiles.
The Hall becomes deafening with the sound of chairs being pushed back on the uneven wood floor, as people rise to their feet, mimic my actions.
“I’m staying.” They chant in chorus, eyes focused on Desiree, who bites her lip and nods slowly.
“I’m staying.” The spirits say, filling the centre aisle. I catch Sage’s eye and she winks at me.
“I’m staying.” Nettie says, rising to perfect posture by my side. I glance towards her but her focus is on the front of the room.
“I’m staying too.” Desiree says, and the room erupts with a whoop of crazed delight. We have no reason to sound happy or to appear united. A murderer stands amongst us. And yet, if we do not cling together, we will fall apart.
Violet Warren marches through the crowd and stands next to Desiree at the podium.
“This is our town!” She calls, her voice warbled with age. She raises her arm in the air, loose folds of skin hanging from her skinny arm, makes a fist. “This is Mystic Springs! And we will not be beaten!”
The audience gives her a round of applause.
A young woman with long, strawberry-blond hair, moves through the crowd with the grace of a dancer, all long limbs and light footsteps. She is Eleanor Bean, owner of Screamin’ Beans Coffee House, the best place in a 100 mile radius to chill out on a comfortable sofa with a caffeinated slurp of heaven.
“Hello.” She says, timid. “I’m Ellie, from the coffee house. If anyone doesn’t want to be alone, like me…”
She ignores a whooping from the audience, a cry of ‘call me, baby’
“Well, the coffee house will be staying open. And everyone’s welcome.”
The crowd clap, and Desiree raises a hand towards the audience to take control again. Violet and Ellie return to their seats, but nobody sits back down.
“This is the spirit of Mystic Springs that we all know and love. Everyone needs to stay safe. Look out for each other. But life will continue. And yes, that means school stays open.”
A groan works its way around the room, and I spot Mariam Hornblower, the PE teacher, laugh.
“Meeting over.” Desiree says, and with a swift businesslike nod, she leaves the podium and disappears into the audience.
I turn to Nettie, who feels my gaze on her and looks towards me. She smiles.
“You were brave, starting all that.” She says with a smile.
“Starting all… wow, I guess I did, didn’t I?” I ask. My stomach flips as I consider the danger my enthusiasm may have put people in. Had my emotional outburst, my loyalty to this town that owed me nothing but treated me like one of theirs, convinced other people to stay? It must have done.
Nettie shrugs. “It’s a little ironic that she suggested a curfew.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because it’s dark out now.” Nettie says.
“Shall we walk back together?” I ask. The sun was fading when we arrived for the meeting, and as we all filed out of the building, the town was lit by lampposts. The day had ended.
Nettie shook her head. “I drove.”
“Oh.” I say. She doesn’t offer me a lift. “Well, goodnight.”
“Yes, goodnight.” She says, and we part ways as she walks across the car park. She climbs into a huge 4x4, the newest model, and not the car I saw her drive last week when we passed at traffic lights. I watch her speed out of the lot towards her home.
“That was a good meeting, don’t you think? Desiree’s very calming.”
“Oh, she’s excellent.” Mariam says. She looks good. Her skin is clear, her eyes bright. She’s been sober for three years now. “I think she feels guilty too.”
“Why?”
“She tried to get Lola to attend school and it ended up in a huge argument. You know what Des is like, wants to save everyone.”
“I’ve been guilty of that in my time. It never works.” I say.
6
Connie
Atticus is here.
I know that much, and I know I’m not talking to him.
My head feels like the town’s rock band has taken it up as their new rehearsal space, and despite popping a couple of pills as soon as I got back in from the Town Hall meeting, it’s not clearing.
I considered taking a long, hot bath but the thought of being in the bath alone at night while a killer is loose in the town didn’t sit too well with me. So I’m in my living room, drapes closed, doors locked, pretending I haven’t noticed Atticus sitting behind me at the dining table.
I still feel buzzed from the meeting, but as the adrenaline settles down, I’m in disbelief that I stood up and announced I would be staying put. And I’m horrified that my actions convinced other people to stay. People I’ve grown to know and care about over the years. People who’ve come to me for appointments, cried on my sofa, got the closure they’ve craved for years.
I feel sick.
“The meeting went well.” Atticus says finally, breaking the silence.
I nod but don’t turn to him. I don’t need to, he floats across the room and sits down in the chair opposite me. He looks old, I realise suddenly, and since spirits can’t age, it must be the worry that I see etched into his transparent face.