by Mona Marple
He considers the point for a moment. He’s a man who takes the time to think before he speaks. “I think it would be practically impossible.”
“We could test it if we could find the costume.”
“Test what?” My sister’s voice comes from the staircase behind us. She floats across and joins us.
“Wait here a second,” I say. I go to the closet and find my heaviest coat, the one that keeps me warm on the coldest days. Ankle-length and featuring a heavy false fur around the collars and cuffs, it’s the closest thing I have to match the weight of Nick’s Santa outfit, and it still falls short. “Here, put this on.”
“Me?” Sage asks with a nervous laugh. “I can’t wear that.”
“Sure you can, give it a try.”
She looks at me doubtfully as I hold the coat up, but then obediently pushes an arm into each sleeve.
“And I’m letting go… now,” I say. I release my grip and the coat drops to the floor with a bang, the sleeves forcing themselves through my sister’s arms, the fur of the collar travelling through her shoulders and chest, down past her stomach, through her legs until it finally reaches the floor. Sage looks an unhealthy green colour.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” she says. She can’t be sick, of course. Spirits have no bodily fluids to leak. But she can still feel the sensation of nausea.
“Come and sit down,” I say, pulling a chair out for her. She lays her head on the table and closes her eyes. “Sorry to throw you into that. You proved my point, though.”
“Can you blow that candle out?” Sage asks. Taylor lifts himself off his chair a little and reaches across, puts the lid back on the candle jar and watches the flame gradually retreat and die. “That seriously felt horrible. You guys need to use someone else for your science experiments next time.”
“Sorry, sis,” I say, then turn my attention back to Taylor and Atticus. Sage will be okay, she just needs to rest a little. “Well…”
“Well, I guess unless Dimitri has some kind of super strength, my theory’s out.” Taylor admits.
“Where does that leave you, then? In terms of suspects?” Atticus asks.
“Maybe we need to look at Nick again,” Taylor murmurs.
“No!” I exclaim.
“Connie…”
“It’s not him. Come on, Taylor, you know it isn’t. He could have been killed himself! You think he staged those injuries? And managed to sneak out of the house to kill Tabitha?”
“Connie, you need to be impartial if you’re investigating,” Atticus scolds me.
“I know,” I say. “And I am. I just know it wasn’t Nick.”
“I’m inclined to agree with Connie, there doesn’t seem to be a case there,” Atticus says.
Taylor nods. “We’re down to two suspects, then.”
“Antoinette,” I say. “Although she seemed so genuine in interview. She had motive to kill Lionel. I can’t see why she’d want to hurt Tabitha.”
“The second killing is often not because of motive, but necessity,” Taylor says.
“So whoever the killer was, Tabitha was on to them?” I say.
“I think so,” Taylor says. He drains the last dregs from his mug and stands up, pads across to the kitchen and pours himself another.
“Haven’t you had enough?” I ask, hating the scolding tone I hear in my voice but unable to stop myself. It must be his sixth coffee in the space of an hour or two.
Taylor lets out an awkward laugh. “Just finishing the pot.”
“Who’s the other suspect?” Atticus asks, interrupting our domestic.
“Bernard Shaw,” Taylor says. Sage stiffens at the mention of her husband, but remains silent.
“I’m not familiar with the name.”
“Arrived in town the day before Lionel was killed, so he’s gone down as a person of interest. We haven’t managed to speak to him yet.”
“He’s a spirit,” I explain. “We have no way of contacting him. When he shows his face again, we’ll speak to him.”
“You’re a medium,” Atticus says. “That’s how you can contact him!”
Sage opens her eyes and gives me a warning glare, but what can I do? I am a medium. I can contact the dead. In this case, I just don’t want to.
I feel everyone’s eyes on me. “Well, sure, I can try.”
17
Sage
As it happens, Connie doesn’t need to go into the consultation room and try to make contact with the spirit world, because Bernard Shaw arrives on our doorstep of his own accord. Smelling heavily of the outside, as if he’s been sleeping rough, he sticks his hands in his trouser pockets and rocks back and forth when I open the door.
“I’m going out!” I call to the others, closing the door behind me. Then I grab Bernard by the sleeve of his top and pull him out of sight of the house as quick as I can. Hopefully they’ll assume I’ve been whisked off on a surprise date with Patton instead of realising that I’m fraternising with the prime suspect in their murder case.
That’s the good thing about being predictable, everyone thinks they know you. They’ll hear me disappear and think it’s a case of boy-mad Sage having her head turned. I hope.
This close to Christmas, the best hope we have of finding somewhere quiet to talk is the high school, which has been locked up until the New Year. I lead Bernard across town and through the wire-mesh fencing to the school building, then we each force ourselves through the back doors. Between the experiment with the fur coat and pushing myself through the fence and the door, this is not turning out to be a good day for me.
“Right, you need to tell me what is going on,” I say, turning to face him. He’s older than me in death, because he lived longer than I did, but he hasn’t aged much from the days when we were both alive and living as a couple. His face is pleasant, if instantly forgettable, and the surprise when I gaze at him is that doing so does bring back memories.
The arguments we had. Arguments that were so routine and stereotypical that I could barely raise the enthusiasm to take part in them, even as I was the one raising them. He left the toilet seat up. He’d take a bath and leave his wet towel on our bed. Not once during our marriage did he do laundry. I look at his face and those are the things I remember. Weeks where my resentment would silently build as I noticed the things around the house he didn’t do, until one day he’d arrive home a few minutes late and I’d be waiting, ready to go on the attack. He’d shrug, apologise, tell me it wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate what I did, he just didn’t notice the jobs that needed doing.
Nothing would change, and weeks later the cycle would begin again. He never said the word nag to me, but in my head I knew that’s what I’d become. A housewife who nagged her husband. The cliché made me weep.
Did he learn to do laundry after my passing, I wonder. And if he did, why couldn’t he have learnt when I was alive and needed some of the weight taking off my shoulders?
“Sage, it’s so good to see you,” he says, and he reaches across and takes my hands in his. Without even meaning to, I stiffen. While his face reminds me of long-forgotten resentments, his touch reminds me of nothing at all.
“What are you doing here, Bernie?” I ask. “You know how suspicious it is you turning up right before two people get killed?”
“I know!” he exclaims. “Is it always like that here?”
“No!” I shout, horrified that he’d think such a thing.
“Well, it’s pretty worrying,” he says. “It makes me worry for Connie.”
“Connie?” I ask.
“Well, she’s still alive. Whoever’s done this can’t hurt you, thankfully, but…”
“Is this a threat?” I ask.
“What?” Bernard asks, eyebrows furrowed.
“Are you making a threat against Connie?” I say. “What you said, it sounded like a threat?”
“Of course not. I’ve never hurt anyone in my life, Sage, you should know that. I know I wasn’t always the perfect husband bu
t I never even raised my voice to you and the girls.”
“Shh!” I command as a noise comes from down the hallway. We both look into the darkness, towards the sound, and hear the distinctive click of a door being closed. “There’s someone there. Quick, in here.”
We dash into an open classroom and stash ourselves away in the stationery cupboard. The tiny space is heady with the scent of erasers and board pens. Bernard eyes me with suspicion.
“Are we not supposed to be in here?”
“It’s not that black and white,” I whisper. There’s a very clear rule that says spirits can’t enter a private residence without being invited in, but it’s a little sketchy when it comes to other places. If we get caught in here, sure it’ll be suspicious, but it’ll be worse when word gets back to Patton that I’ve been hanging around an empty building with my husband.
I peer through the crack in the door as the janitor appears with his impressive moustache and stained wife beater. He frowns at the open classroom door that we’re stashed inside, takes out his keys and locks the door, then disappears back down the corridor. A few seconds later, I hear the main entrance door creak open, slam shut and a lock turn.
Great. Now I need to force myself through the classroom door and the main entrance. I’ll be exhausted after all this.
I push open the stationery cupboard door and take a deep breath of air, forcing some distance between me and Bernard, who follows me out of the cupboard and takes a seat at one of the classroom desks, his lanky frame comical in the small space.
“You promise you weren’t threatening Connie just then?” I ask, arms folded.
He shakes his head. “Why would I do such a thing? I’m just here to talk to you, Sage. That’s the only reason I came here.”
“Go on then. Talk.” I command.
He smiles his smile, so only the right-hand side of his mouth rises at the edge, and picks up a ruler that’s been left on the lid of the desk. He begins to tap it rhythmically on the leg of the chair.
“What’s going on?” I ask, sensing his nerves.
“Well, Sage, I need you to know first that you made me very happy when we were alive,” he begins, “and I loved you and the girls very much. I respected your decision for us to part, when I passed.”
“It was our decision, Bernie, we made it together,” I say, although I remember enough to know that I went to that post-death meeting with an agenda. I wanted no part of the marriage. Bernie agreed, but that’s exactly what it was on his part – an agreement, not a suggestion. My stomach flips as I wonder for the first time what his true preference might have been. The status quo, that’s my guess. Not an afterlife with me out of any passion he felt for our marriage, but because it was easy. Expected.
“Sure, sure,” he says, “and I hope you’re happy?”
“Of course I am,” I say, my voice a little more harsh than intended. It’s a silly question, though. Like asking if the sky is blue. As an afterthought, I add, “are you?”
The smile reaches both sides of his mouth then, revealing the gap tooth that I used to find to be one of his most redeeming features. “I’m potentially very happy, depending on what you say. I’ve come to ask you something, Sage.”
My stomach churns. Please don’t let him be here hoping we can reconcile, is my first thought. Because that boat sank a long time ago.
“Oh?” I ask, attempting nonchalance.
“I don’t know how to do this, so please do forgive me if this is a shock or a little insensitive. But… well…”
“Come on Bernie, hurry it along,” I say, “or Connie’s going to have a search party looking for me.”
“Oh! Of course, silly me. It’s the week before Christmas, you must have so much to do. Parties to attend and things. You were always so popular, Sage.”
Until I devoted my life to marriage and motherhood, maybe. It’s funny how many BFFs disappear when your days are focused around potty training and your money’s going on diapers.
“Well, anyway, I’m here to ask your blessing.”
“My blessing? For what?” I ask, entirely confused.
“I’ve met a lady spirit,” he says, the smile well and truly stuck on his stupid face now. He never smiled like that because of me. “She’s just a friend, please believe me on that. She’s wonderful Sage, and I’m enjoying spending time with her. She likes to read. She’s always telling me interesting things she’s read about. I could listen to her all day.”
“That sounds nice,” I say. “I still don’t follow, though?”
“I’d like us to be more than friends,” he says, “but I was quite adamant that we couldn’t make that kind of commitment without your blessing.”
“Oh,” I say, stunned. I think of Patton and how it never occurred to me to check with Bernard before committing to that relationship. “Well, sure thing Bernie, you’ve got my blessing. That’s really the only reason you came across here?”
He nods. “I felt like it was the right thing to do.”
“Well, erm, thanks,” I say.
“And please, if you ever get a chance to move on with someone, don’t feel like you need to find me and get my blessing just because I did this. You have my blessing for whatever makes you happy, Sage. I know I didn’t do that and I’m sorry.”
“You…” I begin, then stop. He didn’t make me unhappy, but he also didn’t make me happy and I can’t pretend that he did.
“I wasn’t the man for you,” he says quietly. “I’m too quiet, too shy, too dull I think. You needed a big character. Someone as fabulous as you are. I hope you find him.”
I picture Patton and his fiery determination to solve cases, his passionate jealousy when Bernie rocked up. I smile. “Me too.”
18
Connie
When I imagined myself as a mother, it was always as a mother of an infant. A baby who could perhaps gurgle a little and give a milky smile, but definitely a baby. I played babies endlessly as a child and, embarrassingly, even as I grew into a young teenager. My favourite routine was bedtime. I had the whole thing down so well I might as well have been Gina Ford.
First, a bath with a little lavender oil in the water. Don’t even ask how I knew about lavender’s relaxing properties as a kid. I suspect I read about it in an aged magazine in a doctor’s waiting room once; I can’t imagine how else that information would have come into my mind. Of course, growing up, there was no money to waste on lavender oil for baby dolls to bathe in, so I had to improvise. I’d pour a splash of water into the lid of the bubble bath, and add that water to the bath, then take a deep inhale. I’d pretty much got myself convinced I could really smell the herbal blend.
After the bath, I’d scoop the baby up into a scratchy towel, pretending it was a lot softer than our store-brand washing powder allowed, and swaddle it up, carrying it carefully across the landing into my bedroom. I’d hum lullabies as I massaged the baby doll dry, then take the greatest pleasure in dressing the doll into fresh pyjamas.
Clean, dry and dressed, I’d pull the baby into my arms and give her the bedtime bottle, enjoying the weight of a baby in the crook of my arm. As the bottle emptied, I’d set the doll down into her crib, still humming lullabies until I was sure that the baby was asleep. Then, and only then, would I feel the relief of a mother who has successfully survived another day with an infant. I’d tiptoe out of my bedroom – because my baby doll always shared my room – and creep downstairs, where I’d usually find my sister reading teenage magazines or painting her nails. She’d give me an eye roll, not even having to ask what I’d been up to, and we’d get on with our evenings.
It’s the part of motherhood I most looked forward to, and it’s a routine I’ve never done with a real baby.
If I’m protecting myself from Taylor’s babies, this is the step I most hide from. Knowing that Taylor will bathe the babies and put them to bed before we go out for the Christmas Meal Extravaganza, I suggest he pick me up from my house. If I go to his, it would be too easy fo
r him to suggest we do the routine together, and I’d have to refuse.
I dress in a sparkly evening gown that I’ve bought especially for the occasion, and when I emerge from my bedroom Sage actually gasps at my appearance. It’s the kind of thing she would love to wear, I think, and immediately feel guilty that she never had an occasion to during her short life.
“You’re a knock out, sis,” she says, and the lightness of her voice tells me she shares none of my conflicted feelings about the dress. I’m just too emotional. My imagining Taylor on bedtime duty wasn’t the best thing to do before a celebratory night out.
“Thanks,” I say, “and thanks for suggesting this. It should be fun.”
Sage grins. “I’m in the Christmas spirit this year.”
“Good!” I say.
“Are you hosting us all for Christmas day?” Sage asks.
“Erm, well, I guess Taylor will want to stay home with the babies,” I say lightly. “But you and Patton will be around, won’t you?”
Sage rolls her eyes and laughs. “Of course we will. You’re wrong about Taylor, though. He’s going to want to be with you, you dork!”
My cheeks flush as I consider her words. Christmas Day is just two days away and I’ve assumed we’ll each spend the day at home. Should I have invited him? But then, he hasn’t invited me to his. Ugh. “Well, it’s too late now. I’ll just grab some extra veg in case he turns up.”
“I wonder what Bernard’s new woman’s like,” Sage ponders as I transfer my everyday things from my handbag into a small, glitzy clutch that matches my dress.
“Jealous?” I tease.
“Not exactly,” Sage says, then stops herself. “No, actually, that’s not it. I guess I’m curious what his type of woman is, since it so clearly wasn’t me.”
“Oh come on, plenty of couples stay together when their marriage isn’t all passion and fireworks. There’s nothing wrong with being settled.”
