by Morgana Best
Aunt Agnes poked her head around the kitchen door. “What’s all this commotion? Memorial service, you say?”
Finn nodded. “Moxie Maisie wants to have a memorial service for Priscilla.”
Aunt Agnes made a shooing motion with her hand. “Sure. Tell her to feel free.”
“Aunt Agnes, she wants us to hold the service for her.”
Aunt Agnes’s face drained of all colour. “She does? Why?”
We all looked at Finn.
Finn fidgeted. “I don’t really know why. She hasn’t discussed it with me. She only said that she thinks the funeral might be some time away, and she wants to honour her grandmother now.”
“Well, why not,” Aunt Dorothy said. “So long as no coffins are involved.”
I was perplexed. Apparently, so was Aunt Agnes. “Why would coffins be involved?” she asked her.
“Why, they’re big and cumbersome, of course.”
“When does Moxie Maisie want to hold this memorial service?” I asked Finn.
“In an hour.”
I rubbed my forehead. “That doesn’t give us much time.”
“Moxie Maisie said not to bother doing anything too fancy.”
“That was extremely generous of her,” Aunt Agnes said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
The sarcasm was lost on Finn. “Yes, she’s lovely.”
I wondered if we were thinking of the same person.
Finn was still talking. “She suggested some wine, maybe champagne, and finger food.”
“Did she now!” Aunt Agnes appeared to be growing angrier by the minute.
Finn pulled out his phone and looked at the time. “Okay then, let’s say an hour? And in your living room? Oh, and one more thing. Moxie Maisie wants all the staff of Mugwort Manor to attend. Otherwise, it will be just us, you see.”
“I’m so looking forward to it,” Aunt Agnes said through clenched teeth.
Finn smiled and walked away. Aunt Dorothy and I hurried into the kitchen, and Aunt Agnes slammed the door behind us.
“Why the nerve of that little…” she began and finished with words that made my ears burn.
“I had better get the living room ready,” I said. “Wait a minute, what do I need to do for a memorial service?”
Aunt Maude had joined us. “I expect there should somewhere where the speaker can stand and then rows where other people can sit. Maybe we can put the boarders on one side and us on the other.”
“It might be a good opportunity to spy on them,” I said. “With any luck, the murderer will let something slip.”
“You never know your luck,” Aunt Agnes said. “Oh well, we might as well make the most of it. Dorothy, have you thrown out those stale biscuits yet?”
Aunt Dorothy said that she hadn’t.
“Excellent. We’ll put them on those green plates over there and serve them to the boarders.”
“We can’t feed stale biscuits to the guests,” I protested.
Aunt Agnes’s face fell. “I suppose not,” she said. “All right then, we’ll put the stale biscuits all around the edge of the table, and behind them, we will put the good food like the Tim Tams and the cupcakes.”
“Moxie Maisie wants finger food as well,” I said.
Aunt Agnes’s face turned as black as a thundercloud. “Oh, does she now! Maude, fetch those frozen hash browns. Do we still have them at the bottom of the freezer?”
“I think we do.”
“Good, fetch them, and look at the use-by date.”
Aunt Maude fished the hash browns out of the bottom of the freezer. “Oh gosh, I should have thrown these out ages ago. They are months past their expiry date.”
“Excellent. We’ll heat those up and put them on some green plates as well. We’ll know not to eat any food on the green plates.”
“Maybe I should make some sandwiches,” I ventured.
“Do we have any stale bread?” Aunt Agnes asked.
Aunt Maude nodded. “Possibly.”
“The guests will know if the bread is stale,” I told Aunt Agnes.
She smirked at me. “No, they won’t. I have a little trick. I’ll just pop it in the microwave for a few seconds, and it will be as good as new. I’ll put it on the…”
Aunt Dorothy interrupted her. “The green plates.”
Aunt Agnes’s smirk widened. “Precisely.”
“I’ll make some sandwiches as well,” I said. “For us. I’ll put the sandwiches on the white plates.”
Thankfully, Aunt Agnes seemed to think that was a good idea.
I made cheese, ham, and mustard sandwiches, and placed them on the white plates. The aunts and I went into the living room and changed the seating arrangements to suit the memorial service.
“Shouldn’t we have a big photo of Priscilla or something?” Aunt Dorothy said.
“I would think Moxie Maisie would have to provide that,” I told her.
“Speak of the devil,” Aunt Maude whispered.
Moxie Maisie sailed in, with Finn behind her. “Is everything ready?” she asked.
“It will only be a few more minutes. We’re going to bring in the food.”
Moxie Maisie looked horrified. “Don’t bring in the food until after the service. That’s hardly appropriate.”
“All right then, in that case, we’re ready to begin now,” I told her.
Moxie Maisie stood aside for the others to enter. Demelza, Eli, and Colonel Mustard made their way to the front seats. Moxie Maisie stood in front of them. The aunts and I sat in the seats across the back. “Where’s Lucas?” I asked them. “I thought he’d be back by now.”
They all shrugged.
Moxie Maisie fixed us with a withering glare. “I’m calling for silence. This is a memorial service in honour of my dear Grandmama, Priscilla Lockhart.” She shot a scathing look at her mother. “She was the dearest person in the world to me. We had such a wonderful relationship. She was also fond of Frances, although she didn’t really like anybody else.”
Colonel Mustard clapped but stopped when Moxie Maisie glared at him.
“I don’t know what I would have done without Grandmama in my life,” Moxie Maisie continued. “I was living in poverty, but she raised me out of all of that and set me on the path I’m on today. Without her, I would not be in designer clothes. I would still be wearing second-hand clothes.” She paused for breath. “And clothes from discount shops.” With that, she burst into tears.
“What a piece of work,” Aunt Agnes whispered to us.
I had to agree.
When Moxie Maisie had finished her fake crying, she said, “Would anybody else like to say a few words?” She walked to the nearest chair and sat down.
Demelza stood up. She walked over to where Moxie Maisie had been standing. “My mother and I had a difficult relationship,” she began, but Moxie Maisie interrupted her.
“You could say that!” she barked.
Demelza ignored her and pushed on. “Her passing has come as a terrible shock. I wish we had reconciled. I will always regret that.”
“You don’t regret it!” Moxie Maisie screeched. “You killed Grandmama!” With that, she wobbled past us as fast as she possibly could on her heels, sobbing, and made her way out of the room.
Demelza appeared shocked. “Why would she say such a thing?” she said to nobody in particular.
Aunt Agnes stood up and took over the situation. “Priscilla’s passing was a shock to everybody, including Moxie Maisie,” she said. “What a lovely service that was. Now that it’s over, we will fetch the food.” She whispered in my ear, “Bring in the good food, but if you see Moxie Maisie, offer her the food on the green plates.”
Chapter 13
Everyone had agreed to go ahead with the formal dinner.
I wanted to look beautiful for it.
When I was younger, I found any sort of focus on my physical self annoying. Degrading even. Back then, I washed my face with hand soap and never brushed my hair unless my mother told me to
do so. Back then, I could put no effort at all into my appearance, and my appearance would still be fetching.
But now things had changed. Shifted. Filled out. Puckered. I had rolls where I never thought I would have rolls, and wrinkles where I never thought I would have wrinkles. Secretly, I smugly used to suspect I would never age, not like all the poor fools around me, and people would stop me and say, “You are how old? That can’t be true. What is your secret?”
And I, feeling very superior, would lie and say, “I drink lots of water and make sure to sleep eight hours a night.”
Imagine my surprise when I aged just the same as everyone else. I thought about getting Botox, but the thought of paralysing the microscopic muscle nerve endings on my face, even temporarily, seemed a bit too intense for me.
“Why don’t you get a haircut?” Aunt Maude asked me. I was stressing over my appearance because of the formal dinner that night. Lucas was my date. Somehow, he managed to look young and handsome despite the fact he never slept and seemed to live on coffee.
“Yes!” I exclaimed. A haircut. That would miraculously fix everything I felt self-conscious about; I just knew it.
“Why don’t I cut your hair?” Aunt Dorothy said. “I used to cut everyone’s hair back in the day. We couldn’t afford anything as fancy as a hairdresser.”
I hesitated. “I don’t know.”
“Come on,” Aunt Maude replied. “Dorothy is an absolute pro.”
“And you will not find any hairdresser in town who can fit you in at this late stage,” Aunt Dorothy added wisely.
Five minutes later, I found myself sitting in the kitchen with a towel tied around my shoulders to stop any hair from falling on my skin. Aunt Maude held a spray bottle, and Aunt Dorothy brandished a pair of scissors. I was so desperate to feel better about my appearance that I had suddenly found myself in the hands of two mad women.
“There,” Aunt Dorothy said.
“Already?” I replied.
“I work fast.”
“It’s only been ten minutes.”
“The horses never complained this much.”
My eyebrows practically shot off my head. “The horses?”
“I used to trim the manes of all the horses around town back in the day. Didn’t I tell you that, Valkyrie?”
“You said you cut everyone’s hair.”
“Yes. Everyone who is a horse.”
“You didn’t make that clear at all,” I said, feeling my cheeks burn.
“Hush now,” Aunt Maude said. “Have a look in the mirror.”
She held up a mirror. I screamed. I screamed so much, I thought I would have to be sedated. Thankfully, I wore myself out after a moment and slumped back into my chair.
“I have a mullet!”
“A cute mullet,” Aunt Maude said.
Aunt Dorothy nodded. “You look like a man I dated in the seventies.”
I jumped out of the chair and ran into the living room, where I collapsed onto the sofa. The aunts ran after me. “Aunt Dorothy, do you think I want to look like a man you dated in the seventies?”
“He was a cricket player,” Aunt Dorothy replied. “Very handsome.”
“I am not a cricket player, and I don’t want to be very handsome. I want to be striking,” I whimpered.
“Well, you are striking,” Aunt Maude replied. “Just not in the manner you were expecting.”
“Lucas is going to be at the dinner tonight. He can’t see me like this,” I said. I was almost in tears. “Why would you give me a mullet?”
Aunt Dorothy beamed at me. “All the athletes have mullets these days. I’ve seen them on television. It’s the newest trend.”
“No, it is not,” I said. “Not for women. What if Lucas dumps me?”
“He’s not that shallow,” Aunt Maude said.
“I wouldn’t blame him for not wanting to be seen around town with a cricket player from the seventies.”
“His name was Bruce. He had a moustache,” Aunt Dorothy said.
“There,” Aunt Maude told me, “just don’t shave your moustache tonight, and you’ll look as handsome as Bruce.”
“I have a moustache?” I dug my face into a cushion. “Why did I agree to this?”
“We can’t hear you.”
I sat up and shouted, “Why did I agree to this?”
“Because of your wrinkles, dear,” Aunt Maude said.
“And your fat rolls,” Aunt Dorothy replied.
“Great. So, I have a mullet, a moustache, wrinkles, and fat rolls.”
Aunt Dorothy shrugged. “It’s all part of ageing.”
“Then ageing is stupid,” I said. “I need to go to a real hairdresser at once.”
But I called and I called, and no one in town could fit me in at such short notice.
“You could wear a hat,” Aunt Maude suggested.
“Do we own any hats?”
“I own a hat,” Dorothy replied. She hurried from the room and returned with a hat, which was shaped like a lobster. “I won this hat when I ate the entire buffet from the restaurant on our last holiday.”
So, there I was, a girl wearing a novelty lobster hat with a mullet tucked into the sides. What man could resist such a creature as I?
“Why are you crying?” Aunt Maude asked me.
“Have you seen my hair?”
“Have you tried the new hairdresser in town? He only just opened his salon, so he might not have any bookings.”
My mood improved at once. “What’s his name?”
“Hang on a moment. I’ll check the free paper.” She retrieved the free paper from the pile of kindling next to the fire and handed it to me. “Here it is.”
Thankfully, after I had explained the situation, the hairdresser told me to drive there at once. I didn’t hold out much hope, but anything had to be better than the mullet.
The man greeted me when I walked in. He was completely bald. I hoped he wasn’t responsible for his own hair. “Hello, I’m Raymond,” he said. “You must be Pepper.”
He took off my hat and stared at the mullet. “You know, mullets are quite fashionable these days. Many of the football players have them.”
“I’m not a man, and I’m not a football player!” I screeched.
Raymond appeared taken aback. “Please, take a seat. I’ll put on some soothing music for you. You obviously need it. Do you like Sade?”
“Yes, please, a large glass of it.”
He appeared confused. “I meant, Sade, the singer from the eighties.”
My face fell. “Oh, I thought you said Chardonnay. Do you have any of that?” I asked hopefully.
“No, but I can offer you a glass of water.”
“Thank you, but no.” Water? Was the man quite mad?
Raymond waved the cape in the air like a matador on steroids before flinging it around my neck and adjusting it too tightly. I wriggled my fingers inside the minuscule space and tried to pull it away from my neck so I could breathe.
“Oh, a bit sensitive, are you?” he asked.
I wondered if he had choked his other clients. He stared at my hair for some time and rubbed his chin.
Meanwhile, I stared at myself in the mirror. The black cape made my complexion look even worse than usual. I supposed the bright lights didn’t help either.
“I could give you a very short spiky haircut,” Raymond said. “Then you’d look just like a Melbourne hipster.”
“I don’t want to look like a Melbourne hipster, I want to look pretty and nice,” I told him. I was beginning to think coming here was a mistake.
“The problem is,” he said slowly and carefully, “I can’t add to your hair. I can only take hair away.”
“Could you do some sort of cut to make it look less like a mullet?” I asked.
“Yes, I could certainly do that. Still, it will be quite short.”
“Exactly how short?” I asked him.
“About so much.” He held his index finger and thumb apart to show me.
&
nbsp; I nodded. “I suppose that will have to do. Please don’t cut off any more than you absolutely have to do, though.” I was well aware of the famous hairdresser’s inch.
Raymond fetched a comb and some scissors and started to chop away at my hair. “Where do you live?”
“At Mugwort Manor.”
He nodded. “Oh yes, I’ve heard of that. Haven’t there been plenty of murders there?”
“Yes.”
“Aren’t you afraid to live there?”
“No.”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“No.” What was it with the fifty questions? I often wondered if hairdressers were working for the CIA.
“What do you do for a living?”
“I manage the Bed and Breakfast at Mugwort Manor.”
He stopped cutting, the scissors hovering in mid-air. “How is business? I mean, after all the murders.”
“It’s not the best,” I said. “But it’s only people known to the guests who are murdering them.” I don’t know why I said that. I fought the hysterical urge to laugh.
Unperturbed, Raymond pressed on. “Have you had a holiday lately?”
“No.”
“See! That would help you. You need to go on a holiday. I’ll book you in somewhere nice right after your appointment.”
“I can’t go on a holiday. I have to work,” I told him.
“Are you married?”
“No.”
“Are you dating anyone?”
“Yes.”
He leant forward and asked in conspiratorial tones, “What’s his name?”
“Lucas.”
“What’s his last name?”
“O’Callaghan.”
“What does he do for a living?”
“He owns a winery.”
And so, the conversation continued. I was certain I had told him my shoe size and my bra size by the time he had finished cutting my hair.
When the cut came to an end, I had to admit, he had done a good job. I looked almost presentable, and very little trace of the mullet remained.
“Come over to the basin, and I’ll wash your hair,” Raymond said. The water was hot, only just bearable. After he washed my hair, he proceeded to massage my head as though he was doing his utter best to crush it. I kept edging down the seat, away from his hands, but he didn’t take the hint.
