by Mona Marple
“Come on over.” Finian suggests.
“Erm…” Connie says. “I’m not feeling too great right now.”
“She had a heavy night.” I say with an eye roll. “I’d love to come and see it.”
“Well, great. How about you go and rest your head, and come across this afternoon?” He offers. There’s something mischievous about him, and I find myself intrigued by him. Maybe I am man mad. It seems every time Patton’s back is turned, I’m chatting to a new man. Or an old man, in many cases. But I’m single, I remind myself. Patton might be sniffing around, but he hasn’t asked me out.
“We’d love to.” I say impulsively, ignoring the glare I can feel Connie directing at me.
10
Connie
Why we need to go and see a rich eccentric’s imitation castle, I have no idea. It’s not as if Sage has ever been a history buff. That’s me, and I like the real thing, not the flashy fakes that money can buy.
“What’s wrong with you?” She asks as she follows me back home. All I want to do is lie in a darkened room. In silence.
“You very nearly got banished, Sage, don’t you understand that?”
“Well, of course I do. I was right there with you. But we didn’t get banished. We won. Let’s celebrate.”
“There’s nothing to celebrate, Sage.” I say as we reach the veranda. “I’m going to get some rest, don’t wake me up. My head’s banging.”
“Fine.” She says, and while I come into the house, she stays out on the veranda to sulk.
When I wake up a few hours later, my head’s clear and my heart is heavy.
I’ve been such a grouch.
I get out of bed and make it, tossing all of the pillows on the floor and then smoothing my comforter across the whole of the surface, before arranging the pillows neatly. Something about a freshly made bed is so soothing for the soul. I stand back and admire my work. A job well done.
“For God’s sake.” I say aloud. Have I really become a woman who prides herself on a neat bed? I purposely untuck one of the corners and ruffle it so it looks messy, then nod with satisfaction.
I sigh.
I know what I need to do.
I find Sage out on the veranda still, gliding back and forth on the rocker. She doesn’t look at me, and I can’t blame her.
“I’m sorry.” I say, and that gets her attention. “I know I’ve been a real grump lately.”
“Mm-hmm.” She agrees. Gotta love the brutal honesty only a sister can give you.
“I don’t think all this free time is good for me.” I say, plopping myself down on the decking beside her.
“Oh, really?” She asks sarcastically, raising an eyebrow in my direction. “Let me guess, you need a new hobby.”
“Well.” I say, taking a breath. “I was thinking, if you’d have me, I’ll help you investigate Emelza’s murder.”
Sage smiles at me and nods. “Of course I’ll have you.”
“You’re sure I won’t cramp your style with Patton?”
“No chance.” She says quickly. Who says that death can’t change a person? I’d never have got that answer out of her when she was alive and chasing a different boy every week.
“So, you wanna go see this castle?”
She grins and claps her hands together with glee, like a small child. “Yes!”
“Come on then.” I say. “I think we should be careful of this guy, though, I’ve heard some weird things about him.”
“Oh, that’s strange. I thought someone who had their own castle built would just be a regular joe.”
“Oh, ha ha.” I say, but the mood is good-natured and we fall into a comfortable chatter as we walk through town. Nettie Frasier is out in her garden, a large straw hat protecting her head from the heat. She gives us a small wave then returns her attention to her borders, secateurs in hand.
“She’s so darn beautiful.” Sage says wistfully as we pass.
“So are you.” I say, the compliment slipping out with none of the sarcasm we usually reserve for each other. She turns to me and smiles.
Wilson Bruiser sits on a bench across the street, and without saying a word, we both speed up to get past him without him noticing. He doesn’t even look up, his attention focused on the ground. He may even be asleep.
“What’s the deal with him?” I ask. “You like him?”
“No!” She exclaims, a little too strongly.
“But he sent you flowers.”
“I think that implies he likes me, not the other way around.” She says, which is a good point. “And I’m pretty sure that guy has a regular order at the florist for a different girl each week.”
“Hmm.” I say, thoughtfully.
“What?”
“I know you, Sage. I know when someone’s got your attention.”
“He’s a suspect, you said.” She says. “I try not to date murderers.”
“Don’t we all.” I quip, as we approach the bluff. Mystic Castle stands proudly atop the crest, a gothic design headed with needle spires. Despite being only a few years old, it’s finished to appear as if it’s sat, like a guardian, on the bluff for centuries. It gives me the spooks.
“How do you get in a castle, anyway?” I ask, chatting to try and hide my nerves. “Is there a doorbell?”
Sage is so busy gazing up at the structure that she doesn’t answer me, if she even hears me.
The door is enormous, big enough to get an Army out of, which I guess may be the intention although it’s hard to imagine that Mystic Springs would ever need defending. Within the huge door, though, is a regular sized door, and as we approach, that smaller door opens.
Finian Archbold greets us with drinks of cranberry juice served in goblets, and I decide to relax and enjoy the theatre of it all. Sage, of course, can’t drink hers, but she carries the goblet with her, apparently reaching the same decision as me. It’s not every day you get to go inside a gothic castle, even if it is an imitation.
“This place is incredible.” Sage breathes as she gazes at the flying buttresses above our heads.
“It’s so authentic.” I admit, somewhat reluctantly. “Is it based on one place?”
“I took inspiration from several places.” Finian says as he leads us into a large banquet hall, slipping comfortably into the role of tour guide. “Prague Castle is perhaps the closest, with a touch of the Papal Palace. You say you want to build a gothic castle and people imagine it’s going to be an imitation of Hunyad - Dracula’s castle, you know? - so I steered away from that. And it was important to me that it be very modern.”
“Modern?” I repeat.
“Oh, yes. Watch this.” He says, and an infectious grin appears on his face. “Lights, on!”
Hidden in the recesses of the ceilings are dozens of tiny circular lights, which all flutter on at his command.
“Wow.” I exclaim.
“Pretty cool, isn’t it?”
“This must have cost an insane amount of money. Am I allowed to ask what you do?” Sage asks.
She’s obsessed with knowing how wealthy people have earnt their money, and normally I’d tell her not to be so rude, but I’m desperate to know myself, so I stand back and hope he answers.
He chuckles. “I was an oil baron.”
“Oh.” Sage says.
“Were you hoping I made my money playing online poker, or something?” He asks with a good-natured laugh. “I’m far too dull for that. My grandparents made money in oil and the men of the family have stayed in the industry. I made a ridiculous amount of money and got out before I was 50.”
“Did you always want to have your own castle?”
“Since I was a boy.” He says. “We were fairly well-travelled and I have great memories of Prague Castle in particular. I’d explore the grounds alone, I was always much more interested in the outside. I used to gaze up at the castle and try to imagine what it would be like to see that sight and call it home.”
“And is it as good as you imagined?” I
ask.
He grins, and I can see the boy he must have been then. “It’s even better!”
A cold blast shoots through us then and I feel myself shiver.
“Dolores, come and say hi.” He says, glancing around. “She’s awfully shy.”
He gives the spirit a moment to show herself but the warmth has returned, she’s clearly long gone.
He shrugs. “She keeps herself to herself. It’s Tobias you need to watch, he’s a bit of an attention seeker with guests. He’d be all over you.”
“Oh, they all are.” Sage says with a high laugh.
“So, you were always going to vote to keep the spirits, since you let some live with you?” I ask.
“Absolutely.”
“Then how did you get invited?”
“Oh, I wasn’t invited.” He says. “I was just passing, on my way to see Lavinia. I saw that old woman - the one with the twitch - sneaking people into the town hall and thought it didn’t seem right, so invited myself along. I think she looked at my age and assumed I’d agree with the rest of them.”
“You know Lavinia?”
“Oh yes. Doesn’t everyone know Lavinia?”
“What do you think to these rumours that the town was founded by a man?” I ask.
He takes a deep breath. “It’s a dreadful business, really. Makes me glad I’m up here out of the way. You want dinner? The chef’s here.”
“You have a chef?” I ask in disbelief.
“Of course!” He grins. “I never took a wife and I never learnt to cook, so I didn’t have much of a choice there.”
I shake my head. This is too surreal. “We have time?”
“I do.” Sage says. Her eyes are everywhere.
“Come on, follow me.” He leads us into a second banquet hall, this one more intimate. The table is laid for six, as if company is always expected, and Sage and I take seats next to each other.
“You eat everything?” He asks me, and I choose to not take the comment as a commentary of my size.
“I do.” I admit.
“Let me speak to the chef. Chat among yourselves, I won’t be long.”
He leaves us alone and Sage and I turn to each other, both too stunned to know where to begin. As I look at her, my attention is drawn to a huge oil painting that hangs above the fireplace.
“Oh my God, is that -?” I begin, pointing to the art piece. On it, a naked woman lies across a chaise lounge, and although she isn’t looking towards us, I’m sure I recognise her.
“It’s Lavinia.” Sage confirms, and we both get up from our seats and move closer. “Well, isn’t she a dark horse.”
“The artist has flattered her.” I say and immediately regret the words. Lavinia’s had a good figure for as long as I’ve known her, but this portrait takes years off her. Either that, or Lavinia and Finian go way back.
“Ah, you found my muse.” Finian says as he reappears in the room. He joins us and admires the artwork, and I suddenly feel uncomfortable that we’re all here admiring Lavinia’s naked form without her knowing.
“I’m sorry.” I stutter. “We shouldn’t have -”
“You should have! It’s out here to be admired. Isn’t it beautiful?”
“It’s, erm, nice.” I say. “I didn’t realise the two of you were -”
“Were what?” He asks.
I stare at him, unable to finish the sentence.
“She means, she didn’t know the two of you were bonking.”
“Bonking? Ha! You English are adorable.” He says and descends into a fit of laughter. “No way! None of that!”
“Oh.” I say, confused. I can’t imagine any of my friends wanting a naked painting of me above their dining table, unless it was to put them off eating.
“Just friends.” He says. “Although there may have been a bit of slap and tickle here and there. Anyway, the chef’s preparing a gothic speciality. Sheep’s brains!”
The colour drains from my face. I’d imagined, with all of the modern touches throughout this castle, that the food would be modern too.
“Ooh!” He exclaims with a grin. “I got you good! You should have seen your face! Hilarious!”
Sage begins to laugh as well, but my stomach is still churning.
“She’s making steak and salad.” He says between his laughter.
Sage grins. “He got you good.”
I shake my head and cast a warning look at her. Her head’s turned more often than my mattress.
“I wish I could still eat.” Sage says. “What I wouldn’t do for steak and salad.”
“Sheep’s brains! You really believed me, didn’t you!” Finian chokes, as the chef appears with two plates of rare steaks and exotic looking salads. I can see the blood under the meat before she places them on the table. I’ve lost my appetite.
I can see him on the bench as we approach, still slumped in the same position as earlier.
Sage instinctively moves to cross the road again, but I don’t follow her.
“I’m going to talk to him.” I say. “You go home, find Patton. Hmm, probably get Sheriff Morton too. We’ll have a meeting when I get back.”
“You’ll be okay?” Sage asks, gazing towards Wilson. I need to keep the two of them apart. Whether or not he’s a murderer, he’s not the spirit for her.
“Absolutely. I won’t be long.”
I approach Wilson slowly, trying to plan what I’m going to say to him, and then decide that the natural, unrehearsed way is better.
He’s asleep. I can hear snoring from thirty feet away.
I plop myself down on the bench next to him. Across the road is Nettie’s house, so it doesn’t take three guesses to work out why he’s parked himself here. As Sage herself said, Nettie is beautiful. She’s also way out of Wilson’s league.
“Wake up.” I say quietly, knowing as I do it that startling a suspected murderer is perhaps not my best idea.
He wakes slowly, groggily, and emits a loud noise from his rear end before he notices me.
“Better out than in!” He says in an English accent. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“It’s not a pleasure, I’m afraid.” I say. “There are some dreadful rumours going around town about you, Wilson. I thought you should know.”
“Do tell, dear girl.” He says, eyes wide with mock interest. The man is infuriating.
“Rumour has it that you killed Emelza Shabley.” I say, and wait. He gives no reaction at all for ten seconds, and then lets out a long yawn, his open mouth revealing his bright pearly whites and foul breath.
“All for that tatty old diary?”
I shrug. “It makes sense in a way. You turned up when the diary was discovered. Why wouldn’t you want to have it back, it is yours. It’s understandable.”
“No.” He says with a quick shake of his head. “You have it all wrong. I’m the person who wants that darn thing least. I know what it says because I wrote it! It means nothing to me now.”
“You could sell it.”
“I don’t need money.”
“Those flowers don’t pay for themselves.” I say with raised eyebrows.
He grins. “No money needed.”
“Oh, Wilson. You didn’t steal them?”
“I’d call it creative licensing. Sneak into the florist after dark, grab one of the pre-arranged selections, write out the card and add it to the pile going on the van the next morning.”
“Wow.” I say. “You really are unbelievable.”
“Thanks, darlin’.” He says, transforming his accent again. “So, as you can see, I got no reason to want that diary. And certainly not enough reason to go killin’ anyone.”
“Well, that doesn’t matter much.” I say, attempting my best pitiful voice. “The Sheriff needs a person to blame and he’s picked you.”
“Ha! Is that the way justice works here now? It wasn’t like that in my day.”
“In your day there were no murders.” I retort.
He shrugs. “I got nothin’
to tell ya, sweet cheeks. Why don’t ya stop pretending, anyways?”
“Excuse me?”
“Ya obviously want a piece of old Bruiser. Coming across here pretending you’re looking out for me… ha! It’s okay, you just wanted to be close to me. I get it. Shall we take this back to yours?”
I roll my eyes and jump to my feet, and to my horror he copies me.
“Result!” He cries.
“Sit back down.” I order, my cheeks flushed. “I’m done with you.”
I’m aware of his eyes watching me as I cross the street and head towards home, and as much as I don’t want to, I wonder how I look to him, and whether my bum looks big in the jeans I’m wearing. The fact that that thought even crosses my mind makes me furious with myself.
Wilson Bruiser is intolerable. A sexist pig. A thief!
But, for some reason, I’m not convinced that he’s a murderer.
11
Sage
The three of us sit in an awkward silence until Connie bursts into the house, fury written all over her face.
“It went well, then?” I joke, but her look shoots me down and she goes straight to the kitchen and fills the kettle.
“I’ll get a black coffee, please.” Taylor says with a shy smile. Adele’s transformed their home into a natural hell, banning caffeine and anything else that sounds like fun. Like the addict he is, he sniffs out his next hit of coffee whenever he can when he’s not home.
Connie makes the two of them a drink without saying a word, and then joins us in the living room, where she cups her drink in her hands and folds her legs underneath her on the couch.
“So, Connie?” Taylor asks, glancing at his watch. He’s on duty and we had to plead to get him to agree to come over, so my sister really needs to get with it and start talking. “You wanted this meeting? Do you have information?”
She lets out a deep sigh. “I spoke to Wilson Bruiser, and I know he’s a suspect and he should be, but I don’t think it’s him.”
“Did you call me over here to tell me that?” Taylor asks, friendliness gone now he’s got his coffee.
