by Morgana Best
“This is Demelza,” Moxie Maisie said. “My mother.”
Demelza said hello to everyone. Then, “Where are Plum, Peacock, and Green?”
Colonel Mustard, Moxie Maisie, and Demelza all looked around.
It turns out Green got his name on the bus ride over due to an unfortunate case of motion sickness. When Moxie Maisie was explaining this to me, I imagined Green as a fragile old man with pale skin and rumpled clothes, but Green was nothing of the sort. He was tall, and strapping, with black hair and piercing blue eyes.
“I’m not too fond of buses,” he said sheepishly to me. “My name is Finn.”
“Finn, darling,” Moxie Maisie said. “Be a peach and fetch my bags.”
Finn nodded. “Of course.”
The fifth guest, Plum, was a man named Eli Miles. He was Demelza’s ex-husband but told us they were on good terms and excited to be on vacation together.
“What a dreadful place,” said a voice.
“My grandmother,” Moxie Maisie said. “Priscilla Lockhart.”
Priscilla was a tall, willowy woman dressed in a long cape of peacock feathers and platform heels. I figured she was well over ninety.
Aunt Maude checked her clipboard. “It’s lovely to meet you, Priscilla. You are in the conservatory.”
“If I must.”
Priscilla did not bother to introduce herself to anyone, so Aunt Maude cleared her throat before leading Priscilla towards the cottage.
“Well,” Finn said, “I guess I’m taking her suitcases too.”
“Let me help,” Eli said. “Excuse me, ladies.”
“Oh, you are in the ballroom, Finn,” Dorothy said. “And you are in the study, Eli.”
“Sounds lovely,” Finn said. Eli agreed.
“Why can’t I be in the ballroom?” Moxie Maisie said with a frown. “I am rather a good dancer, you know. I was sure to have been a famous ballerina if not for the fact Mother wouldn’t pay for lessons.”
“We didn’t have the money, dear,” Demelza replied.
“Sure.” Moxie took her mother’s arm. “That wasn’t your fault. Shall we go and look at our cottages now?”
While the six guests settled into their cottages, we decided to light a fire in the pit. Well, we decided to ask Lucas to light a fire in the pit. I had no idea where Breena was, but that was probably a good thing. Her cat ways still popped up at the most inopportune moments.
Soon, the guests had all joined us, even Priscilla, who was clearly horribly annoyed by everyone. She had that in common with Aunt Agnes. Agnes did not approve of fire, even fire that was safely contained in a pit. She sat on a beach chair, arms folded, and scowled as Maude opened a packet of marshmallows.
“It’s fun,” Aunt Maude said, “Cheer up.”
“I am having fun,” Aunt Agnes retorted. She continued to scowl.
“I forgot.” Moxie Maisie jumped to her feet.
“What did you forget?” the Colonel asked her.
“I left my hair curler on. I don’t want to burn my cottage down.”
“You had better not,” Aunt Agnes said.
“I’ll go turn it off right away,” Moxie Maisie said.
”I shall accompany you,” the Colonel boomed. Even in the darkness, his white moustache and white eyebrows shone. “It’s not safe for a lady to walk alone in these parts.”
“I shall retire,” Priscilla said. “I have no patience for mindless frivolity.”
“It’s not frivolity. It’s marshmallows,” Aunt Maude said, confused.
“Marshmallows are for children,” Priscilla remarked, “and for very silly old ladies.”
“Don’t mind my mother,” Demelza said as Priscilla stalked off into the darkness. “She was never very kind.”
“Well,” Dorothy said, “you don’t need to convince us of that.”
“I might go to bed also. It was a long way on the bus,” Demelza added.
Eli nodded. “Let me walk you back to the cottages. I need to catch up on some work before bed.”
It seemed all six of our guests would turn in early for the night.
“Goodnight,” I said. “Sleep well.”
Finn surprised me by blowing me a kiss, and I noticed Lucas stiffen.
“You two seem cozy,” Lucas whispered in my ear as we watched the guests return to the cabins.
“We are,” I replied brightly. “The marriage is in June.”
“Can I talk to you for a moment?”
“Sure.”
“Alone.” Lucas led me towards the beach, although he made sure not to travel too far from the fire or the lights from the cottages. He pulled me tightly into his arms. I expected he would kiss me, but instead, he spoke. “This murder thing you’re doing at the cottages is a bad idea. That’s what I wanted to tell you earlier, but I didn’t want to say it in front of the aunts.”
“We’re booked out for weeks, Lucas. This is brilliant for the Bed and Breakfast.”
“It’s going to attract the wrong kind of people.”
“Like paying customers?” I said with a chuckle.
A scream punctuated my words.
Lucas released me and stepped in front of me, scanning the darkness. “That came from one of the cottages. Pepper, go back to your aunts.”
“No way,” I said. “What if someone needs my help?”
Lucas turned and stared at me. “Pepper,” he said gently. “You’re going to go back to your aunts, or I will set fire to each and every one of these cottages.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I said, but I didn’t feel so sure. He looked far too protective. “All right. Just go and see if everyone’s okay. Hurry.”
I returned to the fire pit where Agnes, Maude, and Dorothy were gathered.
“Did you hear that?” Aunt Maude asked, her teeth chattering.
“Lucas is investigating,” I said. “I’m sure everyone is fine.”
“This,” Aunt Agnes said, “is Mugwort Manor. No one is ever fine here.”
“If somebody is dead,” Dorothy said, “does that mean our bookings will increase or decrease?”
“Increase,” I muttered. “Probably.”
Lucas returned five minutes later. “A guest has been murdered,” he said. “Priscilla.”
I went cold all over. “Not another murder!”
“What?” Aunt Dorothy cried. “Who murdered her?”
“And where?” Aunt Agnes said.
“And how?” Aunt Maude added.
“It’s too early to say, really,” Lucas replied. “However…”
“However?” I bit my lip.
Lucas looked at me. “It does appear as though the murderer was Colonel Mustard, in the conservatory, with the candlestick.”
Chapter 2
“Is that your final guess?” Aunt Dorothy asked him. ‘Because if it is, and you’re wrong, you won’t be able to keep playing.”
“Is this a joke?” Aunt Agnes snapped. “Because if it is, it’s in poor taste. Very poor taste.”
Lucas’s expression was stern. “I’m afraid not. We’ll have to call the police.” With that, he strode back in the direction of the conservatory with the rest of us hard on his heels.
When I arrived at the cottage, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Colonel Mustard was sitting, sobbing, in a blue velvet Victorian Grandfather chair next to Aunt Agnes’s old piano. His bright yellow striped pyjamas were in stark contrast to the faded blue of the chair. Demelza was standing next to him, patting his back. Her cotton nightgown looked ancient: voluminous, yellowed, and worn.
Yet it was the body that drew my attention. Priscilla was lying on the floor, her peacock feathers fanned out around her. She was sporting a nasty head wound. A candlestick lay on the floor next to her.
“I checked that she was dead,” Lucas said. “We won’t need to call for an ambulance.”
Demelza burst into tears. “What was all that screaming?” said a voice from behind us.
We spun around to see Moxie Maisie, resplendent in a
crimson nightgown which left very little to the imagination, with Finn, who was wearing tight boxer shorts—the same could be said for his attire—and a grim expression.
Lucas moved to block her view. If only he had blocked mine. “I’m afraid it’s your grandmother. She’s been murdered.”
Moxie Maisie ducked around Lucas and threw herself on top of Priscilla, sobbing even more loudly than Colonel Mustard.
“Where is Eli?” I asked them.
Demelza pointed to the door. “He came here when we heard the scream. He’s gone back to fetch his phone to call the police.”
Eli appeared moments later. He, at least, had dressed. “I’ve called the police,” he said. “I simply told them it was at Mugwort Manor, and they didn’t need an address. They said they knew where it was.” His tone was somewhat accusatory.
“Yes, it’s a small town, and everybody knows everyone,” I hurried to say.
Lucas took over. “We’ll all have to stay together because the police will want to question all of us.”
“One of us didn’t do it!” Moxie Maisie said, her voice rising to a high whine. “It must’ve been an intruder! A burglar!”
“We don’t have burglars in these parts,” Aunt Agnes told her. “Or random killers, for that matter.”
Colonel Mustard stopped crying and looked up. “But the newspaper article said there have been plenty of murders here at Mugwort Manor.”
I nodded. “Yes, but they were not random murders, as Aunt Agnes told you. The perpetrators were all close associates of the victims.” Just like this murder clearly is too, I silently added.
Lucas turned his attention to Colonel Mustard. “I found you standing over the body, holding the candlestick.”
Colonel Mustard stood up. I could see his hands were trembling. “I was coming over to visit Priscilla, and I found her like this.” He dabbed at his eyes. “I saw the candlestick and picked it up without thinking. I was in shock.”
“What was the purpose of your visit?” Lucas asked him.
Moxie Maisie made a horrible sound that sounded halfway between a laugh and a choke. “Don’t you know? Frances Wiggenbottom-Higgenhouse the Ninth was Grandmama’s toyboy.”
“Toyboy?” the aunts asked in unison.
“Yes!” Moxie Maisie spat. “It’s disgusting, isn’t it! He must be a good thirty years younger.”
“Good for her!” Aunt Maude said.
Aunt Dorothy agreed. “Most admirable!”
Lucas addressed Colonel Mustard. It was easier for me to think of him as Colonel Mustard rather than Frances Wiggenbottom-Higgenhouse the Ninth. “Did you see anybody else? Anybody at all?”
Colonel Mustard shook his head. “No, I didn’t see a soul. I was coming here to see Priscilla, and now she’s, she’s… dead!” He sat down in the chair and covered his face with both hands.
“He’s an old fool!” Moxie Maisie said.
Demelza walked over and took her daughter by the arm. “Don’t let your personal feelings get in the way, dear.”
I scratched my head. “Which cottage had the candlestick?”
“The library,” Aunt Maude supplied.
“But that’s Colonel Mustard’s cottage.”
“I didn’t do it, I tell you!” Colonel Mustard said. “If I was going to murder somebody, I certainly wouldn’t be caught standing over the body at the time, and I certainly wouldn’t use a weapon from my own cottage. Only a first-rate idiot would do that.”
Moxie Maisie opened her mouth to say something, I assume nothing polite, but Demelza gave her arm a little shake.
“All of you, come with me now to the manor, and do not touch anything.” Agnes’s tone was firm. “We will await the police in our living room.”
“But we can’t just leave Grandmama here!” Moxie Maisie wailed.
“Well, we’re not bringing her with us,” Aunt Agnes said crisply. “And too many of us are in this cottage, contaminating the crime scene. Come on, all of you! Follow me!”
We skirted our way around the side of Mugwort Manor, Aunt Agnes striding in front of us.
Lucas put a restraining hand on my arm, and the two of us fell back to bring up the rear. I expected he didn’t want the suspects creeping up behind us.
I was in disbelief. It was all so surreal. Who could possibly have murdered Priscilla? I mean, Colonel Mustard had been standing over the body and holding the candlestick. It seemed he was the prime suspect, although as he said, who would be silly enough to be caught with the murder weapon?
And surely it wasn’t the victim’s own daughter or her granddaughter. That only left the two men, the victim’s son-in-law and the younger man, Finn.
Nobody stood out as a likely murderer, but then again, somebody had murdered Priscilla.
Aunt Agnes opened the wide oak doors and stood aside to let everybody enter. I heard a gasp and pushed past the guests into the living room. Breena was asleep on the floor in front of the fireplace, curled up like a cat. To my relief, she was fully clothed. She awoke suddenly and yawned and stretched before jumping into the closest chair. She was sitting like a cat would, and everybody was staring at her.
“This is my niece, Breena,” Aunt Agnes explained. “She doesn’t speak much English.”
“What language does she speak?” Moxie Maisie asked.
“Not English,” Aunt Agnes said dismissively. “Everybody, please take a seat, and my sisters will fetch you cups of tea. Tea is good for the shock.”
“Don’t you have something stronger?” Colonel Mustard asked. He made his way over to a tantalus perched on a burr walnut table. “Does anybody mind if I help myself to a drop?” He nodded to the brandy bottle.
“Help yourself, it’s unlocked,” Aunt Agnes said. “Now, Maude will take your orders. Tea? Coffee?”
“Why do I have to get it?” Aunt Maude complained. “Why don’t you take the orders, Agnes?
Aunt Agnes dismissed her with a wave of her hand. “Dorothy can help you.”
“Why should I help her?” Dorothy said. “I’m on Maude’s side, Agnes. Why should we do everything?” She was addressing her remarks to a marble statue of Aphrodite, which she obviously had mistaken for Agnes.
“Honestly, Dorothy. Go and find your glasses,” Agnes snapped.
Both her sisters sighed and took orders. Everybody opted for a cup of tea. I really wanted some Witches’ Brew but felt I shouldn’t ask for wine in front of the boarders.
“Are you all right?” Lucas whispered in my ear.
I nodded.
He pushed on. “I think maybe they’re all vampires. Or maybe they are some type of shifters.”
I was surprised, and I said so. “Why do you think that?”
His face turned a strange shade of red. “Because, um, err,” he began.
It dawned on me. “Because Moxie Maisie isn’t throwing herself at you? Or Demelza?” I knew Lucas possessed a type of vampire allure that was overpoweringly attractive to mundane women.
Lucas nodded.
I had no chance to ponder the implications when there was a knock at the door. “The police,” Aunt Agnes announced dramatically. She swept from the room.
Moments later, she showed in two men. To my dismay, they were Detective Mason and Detective Oakes. “Good evening. I’m Detective Mason and this is Detective Oakes,” Detective Mason said to the boarders. To us, he said, “I believe somebody else is deceased?”
Everybody nodded. “It was my Grandmama!” Moxie Maisie dabbed at her eyes.
“Would somebody show me to the scene?”
Lucas stepped forward. “Come with me.” Moments after the three of them disappeared through the door, Dorothy and Maude entered the room, each carrying a tray, on top of which were teacups.
“We brought Tim Tams and cakes too,” Aunt Maude said. “The sugar will be good for the shock.”
“I couldn’t possibly eat a thing.” Moxie Maisie laid the back of her hand across her forehead in a rather theatrical gesture and then proceeded to
consume a Tim Tam in double quick time.
I rubbed my eyes and looked around the room. Breena was lapping from the top of her cup of tea. To my horror, Colonel Mustard had consumed a rather unseemly portion of brandy. He had slumped back on the antique chaise and was looking much the worse for wear.
I wondered—had he killed Priscilla? I had no idea of his motive, but then again, I had no idea of anybody’s motive. One thing was certain, the murderer did indeed have a motive, and we just had to figure out what it was.
The knock on the door startled me. “Why would Lucas knock?” Aunt Dorothy said.
Aunt Maude shook her head. “It obviously isn’t Lucas. I had better see who it is.”
I followed her to the door.
Standing there was a man. Unpleasant vibes emanated from him. I had no idea if it was my imagination as he looked pleasant enough—dark hair, broad shoulders, a smile on his face. “I’m sorry to call by so late,” he said, “but I happened to hear something on the police radio.”
“Are you a police officer?” I asked him.
“No, I’m a real estate agent.”
“A real estate agent listening to the police radio?” I frowned hard before remembering that frowning causes wrinkles.
“I heard there was yet another murder here at Mugwort Manor, so I thought I should repeat my offer as this is an opportune time.”
“A murder is an opportune time?” My first impressions were right—this man was certainly creepy.
“An opportune time for you,” he said in oily tones. “You won’t be able to continue running Mugwort Manor as a Bed and Breakfast, not with another murder. Surely not.”
“And what did you mean by repeating your offer?” Aunt Maude asked him.
The shock on his face appeared genuine. “Didn’t you know? I’ve already made an offer to your sister, Agnes, and she said she’s considering it.”
Chapter 3
“We’ll be in touch.” With that, Aunt Maude slammed the door in his face.
“Surely, that can’t be true?” I asked Maude.
“We’ll find out now.” Aunt Maude nodded to Aunt Agnes, who was striding towards us.
