Witches' Diaries

by Morgana Best

  Aunt Maude nodded and disappeared.

  We saw her again moments later on the screen, introducing the detectives and Demelza, who had returned with the detectives, to Oskar Winstanley. “Would you like tea or coffee?” Aunt Maude asked them.

  The lawyer looked down his nose at her. “We don’t usually serve refreshments at the reading of wills,” he said.

  Demelza shook her head. “Not for me, thanks.” Her face was white and drawn.

  “I’d like coffee,” Detective Oakes said. “Strong and black. Thank you.”

  “I’ll have mine white with two sugars, please,” Mason said.

  “And would you like some Tim Tams or cakes?” Aunt Maude asked them.

  Both detectives nodded. “Yes, please,” they said in unison. Demelza shook her head and clutched her stomach.

  Aunt Maude scurried out of the room. “I’ll go and help her,” I said to Aunt Dorothy.

  Aunt Maude and I had only just returned to the living room with coffee for the detectives and a tray of Tim Tams and cupcakes when Aunt Agnes returned with the other boarders.

  “Would anybody like tea or coffee?” Aunt Maude asked them.

  They all declined, but Colonel Mustard said, “Isn’t there something stronger?” His eyes strayed to the antique tantalus.

  “You polished that off the other day,” Aunt Agnes said. “I could find you some more.”

  “I might need it,” he muttered.

  Mr Winstanley addressed Aunt Agnes, his tone stern. “I won’t be able to commence proceedings until you have left the room.”

  “I’ll just fetch Colonel Mustard, um, I mean Frances, some brandy. I’ll be right back.”

  Aunt Maude and I walked into the secret room. “Did the detectives and the lawyer say anything interesting to each other while we were away?” I asked Aunt Dorothy.

  She shook her head. “No, not really. They only asked the lawyer if Priscilla had told the law firm that she felt she was in danger, but he said she hadn’t. He said everything would be in the reading of the will.”

  “That’s not much help,” I said.

  The door opened and Aunt Agnes pushed in. “And now it can all begin,” she said in dramatic tones.

  However, the beginning was exceptionally boring. The lawyer read out a whole bunch of mind-numbing information, all legalese, in a monotone. I wished I had a chair, because I thought I would nod off to sleep.

  I could see all the boarders’ faces quite clearly. I could also see the detectives’ faces as they had seated themselves at right angles to the boarders, no doubt so they could see their faces as well.

  The lawyer read from the will. “I, Priscilla Fiona Elspeth Lockhart, declare that I am of sound mind and health, of the age of majority, am legally empowered to make a will, and am under no due constraint or influence.”

  I zoned out, until the lawyer read something interesting.

  He adjusted his glasses, and read, “If I have been done in by foul means, I suspect somebody who is likely in this room. That is to say, I believe the murderer is known to me. If my death appears to be an accident, I can confidently state that it would not be an accident, and I request that my legal representation, namely, Asquith, Answorth, and Angus Law, engage the police to investigate.”

  Mr Winstanley looked up from reading the will. “That, of course, will not be necessary since Mrs Lockhart’s death has been ruled as murder, and these detectives are already investigating.”

  “Most extraordinary that she would put that in her will,” Colonel Mustard said. “She never told me of her suspicions.”

  “She never told me either,” Demelza said.

  “Maybe because she suspected one of you,” Moxie Maisie’s tone was snide.

  The lawyer slapped his hand on the table. “I will ask for silence. This is the reading of the will, not an opportune occasion for general conversation. You can chat amongst yourselves after I have left.”

  Moxie Maisie made a zipping motion across her mouth, but the others did not react.

  “To my”—the lawyer cleared his throat—“ahem, toyboy, Frances Wiggenbottom-Higgenhouse the Ninth, I bequest my leather bound collection of the entire works of Shakespeare, my entire collection of the works of Aristotle, of Plato, Cicero, and Seneca.”

  Colonel Mustard’s face lit up. “How kind, how kind,” he muttered, but suddenly stopped speaking. I expect the lawyer had shot him a quelling look.

  The lawyer continued to read. “To my daughter, Demelza Miles, I leave nothing but my disgust for the life that she has chosen and as a statement on the way she was led astray by the useless men in her life.”

  I noticed Moxie Maisie was delighted. The lawyer tapped his gold pen on the desk before continuing. “To Moxie Maisie’s father, whoever he is, I obviously leave nothing, and to Demelza’s ex-husband, Eli, I leave nothing as well. To my much loved granddaughter, Moxie Maisie, I leave my entire fortune.”

  Moxie Maisie was doing her best not to look excited. The same could be said for Finn.

  Demelza and Eli exchanged glances.

  The lawyer cleared his throat before continuing. “Six million dollars in cash, my house in Double Bay, my investment apartments in Bondi, my investment house in Terrey Hills, and all my investments in the stock market. There are no conditions attached to this inheritance apart from one.”

  Moxie Maisie’s expression turned a horrible, pasty shade of grey.

  “In the event that Moxie Maisie should be arrested as my murderer, then her mother, Demelza Miles, will inherit everything as a nice little payback for the crime.”

  Moxie Maisie fanned herself with the strap of her Chanel handbag. “What a relief,” she breathed.

  The lawyer continued to read, but it was simply small, precise, and trivial details about bank accounts and investments.

  “What do you all think?” Aunt Agnes asked us.

  “I don’t think Moxie Maisie did it,” Aunt Maude said. “She seemed relieved that the only condition on her inheritance would be if she proved to be the murderer.”

  “Maybe she is the murderer and is confident she won’t get caught. And why was Finn at the reading of the will?” I asked Aunt Agnes.

  She shrugged. “I have no idea, to be honest. The lawyer did ask me to fetch everybody associated with Priscilla.”

  “Colonial Mustard seemed thrilled with all those books,” Aunt Maude said.

  “He wouldn’t murder Priscilla over them,” I said. “If he did murder Priscilla, it wasn’t so he could inherit those books.”

  The aunts readily agreed. “If the motive was to inherit, then Moxie Maisie has to be the killer.”

  I waved my finger at her. “Not so fast. Remember that Moxie Maisie has an alibi, and she said Demelza thought she would give her some of the inheritance money.”

  “That’s right,” Aunt Agnes said. “And maybe Eli thought he could get some of that money. Maybe that’s why he stayed friends with Demelza.”

  Aunt Dorothy frowned. “But what about what was written in the diaries? Demelza looks like the culprit.”

  “They all look like culprits,” I said with a sigh.

  Chapter 11

  The aunts, Breena, and I were sitting in the living room, eating the leftovers. We were also drinking Witches’ Brew.

  “Well, that was a complete waste of time,” I said, after I had downed my fifth cupcake.

  “What do you mean?” Aunt Agnes asked me.

  “We had to sit through that long and boring reading of the will, and we’re no closer to knowing who the murderer is.”

  “Maybe they’re not vampires or shifters after all, and so we can leave it to the police to decide,” Aunt Maude said.

  Aunt Agnes tapped her chin. “We can’t take that chance. Let’s see what we have found out so far. Moxie Maisie will inherit everything. She has the motive. Colonel Mustard had the opportunity.”

  “But he didn’t have a motive,” Aunt Dorothy protested.

  Aunt Agnes waved her in
dex finger at her. “Just because we don’t know his motive, doesn’t mean he didn’t have one,” she said.

  Aunt Dorothy nodded. “And speaking of motives, Demelza also had a motive. Her motive was revenge.”

  “And also financial,” I reminded her. “That is, if Moxie Maisie is correct in thinking that Demelza expects her to hand over some of the inheritance money.”

  “Does anybody think Eli could have done it?” Aunt Maude asked.

  There was silence for a moment. “We really need to check into his background,” I said. “It would be interesting to know whether he married Demelza after he knew that Priscilla was taking such an interest in Moxie Maisie.”

  “I believe that was the timeline,” Aunt Agnes said.

  I shook my head. “Upon reflection, it seems a bit far-fetched that he would marry someone simply because he thought that person’s daughter would inherit a fortune.”

  Aunt Maude piped up. “Still, you might be onto something there, Valkyrie. What if he married Demelza, thinking she was the one who would inherit?”

  “You could be right for once, Maude,” Aunt Agnes said. “But how can we investigate that?”

  “And how can we find out if they’re vampires or shifters?” I asked. “They’ve declined every offer of Witches’ Brew.”

  “Maybe they brought their own,” Aunt Agnes said, “or maybe they’re shifters. Maybe they’re even working for The Other.”

  “Then why murder Priscilla?”

  Aunt Agnes pursed her lips. “Maybe they were multitasking. Maybe they were working for The Other but wanted to murder her for personal reasons. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

  “I suppose not.” I rubbed my temples with both hands. “There are too many suspects.”

  “What does Lucas think?” Aunt Agnes asked me.

  I sighed long and hard. “Lucas! He’s been conspicuous by his absence lately. I think he’s up to something.”

  “Of course, he isn’t!” Aunt Maude said. “I didn’t know you had such a suspicious mind, Valkyrie.”

  “I don’t have a suspicious mind,” I protested. “I don’t think he has a secret girlfriend or anything like that.”

  “Lucas doesn’t have a secret girlfriend,” Aunt Dorothy said firmly.

  “Clean out your ears, Dorothy. Valkyrie knows he doesn’t.”

  “There’s no need to snap at me, Agnes,” Aunt Dorothy said.

  “I did not!”

  I hurried to speak. “So, nobody thinks Lucas has been acting a little strange lately?”

  “No,” Aunt Dorothy and Aunt Maude said in unison.

  “I haven’t noticed, to be honest,” Aunt Agnes said. “I’ve been too busy trying to solve the murder.”

  A knock on the door made us all jump. “That can’t be the detectives back, surely?” Agnes muttered to herself. She crossed to the huge windows at the front of the dining room and peeked around them. “Oh no, it’s Horace Smythe. I’ll go and get rid of him.”

  She hurried to the front door. I couldn’t quite hear what they were saying, but then I heard Aunt Agnes say loudly, “I’ll just check.” She slammed the door and came back into the living room. “Horace wants a tour of the mansion and the cottages,” she said.

  Aunt Maude’s face turned a terrible shade of red. I had never seen her so angry. “We’re not even entertaining the idea of selling the manor, Agnes! Let me make that very clear.”

  “You already have made it clear,” Aunt Agnes said calmly. “But I think we need to keep an eye on him.”

  “Why is that?” I asked her.

  “I find it very strange that a high-powered real estate agent like him moved from the Gold Coast to a small town like Lighthouse Bay, where the only expensive houses are those along the canal, and even then, they are a fraction of the price of the upper end houses at the Gold Coast, and he moved here at the very time that the council rezoned the land around Mugwort Manor.”

  “So, you think he’s working for The Other?” I asked her.

  “That’s what I’ve been thinking,” she said.

  “You weren’t considering selling Mugwort Manor?” Aunt Maude asked her.

  “Of course not!” Aunt Agnes said. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”

  Aunt Maude opened her mouth to respond. I took the opportunity to interrupt her before she said something she might regret. “If you think he could be working for The Other, why do you want to give him a tour of Mugwort Manor?”

  “Because then he would think I didn’t suspect him at all,” Aunt Agnes said.

  I thought it over and then nodded slowly. “That makes sense. You want to lull him into a false sense of security.”

  “Precisely! I’ll give him a tour of the manor and the cottages.”

  “But most of the cottages are occupied,” Aunt Dorothy pointed out.

  “I’ll show him the outside of the cottages,” Aunt Agnes countered. “You can all come with me, if you like.”

  “Won’t it be suspicious if we don’t show him all the rooms, such as the altar room and our private rooms?”

  “Maude, I’ll just tell him they’re messy or private. I’ll make it up on the spot,” Aunt Agnes said. “I had better go and fetch him. He’ll wonder why I’m taking so long.”

  Presently, she showed Horace Smythe into the living room and introduced us all. His sickly sweet aftershave preceded him in waves. It smelt like bathroom cleaner. I wondered if he’d got his bottles mixed up.

  I forced a smile.

  “I’ve agreed to give you a tour of the place, but my sisters refuse to sell,” Aunt Agnes told him.

  “Maybe I can work my charm on them.” Horace shot them both a sickly smile.

  Aunt Dorothy and Aunt Maude looked furious, until Aunt Agnes glared at them.

  “Now this is the living room, obviously,” Aunt Agnes said.

  “I must say, your foyer is incredibly impressive,” Horace gushed. “And it seems the manor has been maintained in good condition.”

  “I’ll show you the dining hall and the kitchen next,” Aunt Agnes said. “I can’t show you upstairs because that is private.”

  Horace looked most put out but simply said, “I understand. Oh, what a cute little dog.” He walked over and raised his hand to pat Carey, but Carey snapped at him.

  Horace snatched his fingers away just in time and emitted a nervous laugh.

  Aunt Agnes beckoned to him. “Come along, I’ll show you the dining room.”

  On the way there, Horace gestured to his left. “What’s down that way?”

  “Rooms,” Aunt Agnes said.

  Horace appeared perplexed but didn’t push the matter. Aunt Agnes flung open the door with a flourish. “And this is the formal dining room.”

  “Magnificent!” Horace’s admiration appeared genuine. He walked around the room examining and exclaiming over the wood panelling and looking up at the chandeliers. “The ceiling roses! The cornices!”

  “And come and see the kitchen,” Aunt Agnes said.

  “This is impressive too, although it’s a less grand room,” Horace said.

  “I’ll show you the cottages next,” Aunt Agnes said. “They are all booked, so I can only give you a tour of the outside. Plus, one of the boarders is a murderer.”

  Horace’s jaw fell open. “A, a murderer?” he sputtered.

  Aunt Agnes shot him a cheery smile. “Yes. The detectives were here earlier. Didn’t you hear that one of the guests was murdered?”

  He nodded, but said, “I thought that was just a nasty rumour. I thought she died of natural causes.”

  “No, murdered by a candlestick,” Aunt Dorothy said. “And one of the boarders did it.”

  Horace gasped. “Which one did it?”

  “Well, that’s the question, isn’t it!” Aunt Agnes said. “That’s what we all want to know, and the detectives haven’t figured it out yet. Earlier today, they took one of the boarders away for questioning. It’s not safe to be at the manor at the moment, not with a murde
rer staying here.”

  “Maybe I’ll leave a tour of the cottages to a later time,” Horace said hurriedly. “I’ve just remembered I have another appointment.”

  “Sure,” Aunt Agnes said.

  “Would you walk me to my car?”

  I bit back a smile. As we escorted Horace to his car, I thought about Lucas. Where was he? He hadn’t been around much lately, considering there was a murderer on the loose, and he was the protective type. Plus, he was acting strangely. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but it made me uneasy.

  Chapter 12

  I was with Dorothy, inspecting her tomatoes, when Moxie Maisie appeared. She was wearing impossibly high heels, a scarlet coat, a Hermes scarf, and a pinched expression.

  “I want a memorial service!” she said firmly.

  “A memorial service?” I repeated.

  “Are you deaf? Yes, that’s exactly what I said. We must hold a memorial service for Grandmama.”

  “Sure, you can do whatever you like,” I said. I turned my back on her and bent over the tomato vines.

  “They’re starting to die off at this time of year,” Aunt Dorothy said.

  “What!” Moxie Maisie shrieked so loudly that Carey jumped and snuggled into Aunt Dorothy. “How distasteful of you to mention death at a time like this.”

  Aunt Dorothy and I exchanged glances. “Where are you going to hold this memorial service?” I asked her.

  “You’re obviously going to host it,” she said.

  “I am?”

  “Why do you always keep asking me questions?”

  “You are the one who asked the last question,” Aunt Dorothy pointed out.

  Moxie Maisie looked as though she might explode. She stomped her foot. “I’m going off to fetch Finn!” With that, she stomped away, and considering she was wearing stilettos, stomping looked rather difficult.

  Aunt Dorothy gave me a tour of the vegetable garden, and we were almost back at the manor when Finn appeared. He was clearly embarrassed. “Um, err,” he stammered. “Moxie Maisie would like to have a memorial service for her Grandmama.”