Murder Ghost Foul: The Complete Mystic Springs Paranormal Cozy Mystery Series

by Mona Marple

  “He’s like a God,” Crystal said.

  “I know,” I said. I didn’t want to talk, I wanted to sit quietly and remember the way it had felt when he had spoken to me. I wanted to curse Winifred’s for always having a seating plan for events, because if the night had been free choice, I’d have trampled over my grandparents to get to him.

  “Ladies!” The reedy voice of Sid Snipe, school headmaster, came from a few feet ahead of us. Lacking Kraspian’s understated elegance, he grabbed both of us in full, uncomfortable embraces.

  “Mr Snipe,” I said as I extracted myself from his hug.

  “What a night! What a night!” He said as he looked out across the scene. Hundreds of people, young and old, stood in groups chatting.

  “What’s it all about?” Crystal asked, never one to be shy.

  “Ah, between us…” Mr Snipe said without lowering his voice. “It’s a celebration evening. We’re awarding the Golden Sceptre!”

  “Ooh!” I said, curious. “Can we know who’s getting it?”

  “As long as you don’t let the cat out the bag, so to speak!” Mr Snipe said. He had a deep hatred of cats, which was awkward as the school had a cat mascot, an old weathered creature that was as bitter and twisted as the boat hand.

  “You can trust us,” Crystal said. It was true. She loved to hear gossip but she could keep a secret from anyone except me. I got to hear all of the news, some of it in strictest confidence.

  “This year, we’re awarding the Golden Sceptre to none other than Violet Warren!”

  “Oh!” I said, stunned. I knew Violet. She lived in the same town as me, visited the coffee shop occasionally in her crazy outfits. I’d long since assumed she was a witch, but I had no idea she’d been a Winifred’s pupil.

  “Of course,” Crystal said with a sage nod. “Makes perfect sense.”

  “Now don’t you girls tell her. I think you’re seated by her.”

  “We are?” I asked.

  “I noticed that you live near Violet, so I thought it’d make sense. Is it a problem?”

  “No, not at all,” I said. I had nothing against Violet, except for the fact that she didn’t look like Kraspian Finnelli.

  “That’s that, then. Well I have to finalise my speech so I’ll see you girls later,” Mr Snipe said. He offered a little wave and retreated towards his office, the lights bouncing off the polished bald spot on the back of his head.

  “So I guess I’m sitting next to Kraspian, then,” Crystal teased. I gave a gentle poke towards her ribs.

  “I can make a better coffee than you, I think I’ve got this one in the bag,” I said with a laugh, although I wasn’t entirely joking. If Kraspian was a coffee addict, and hadn’t just been making polite conversation, I knew I’d be able to impress him with a perfectly made shot of caffeine. I shuddered a little at the thought.

  “Just tell me everything,” Crystal said, “I’ll live through you. It’s more than I’ve done for years either way.”

  I held up my little finger and we made a pinkie promise, the way we had ever since we’d first made friends at Winifred’s.

  “You think we’ll get the Golden Sceptre one year?” I asked.

  “You maybe,” Crystal said.

  “I was kidding,” I said.

  “I’m not,” Crystal said. “You’re running your own business. I just sit at home and read magazines.”

  “You do not just do that,” I argued.

  She shrugged. “It’s fine. I’m happy with not being Golden Sceptre material.”

  “I’m a bit surprised that Violet’s been picked, to be honest,” I said, my voice low.

  “Why? The Warren family are ridiculously powerful.”

  “Maybe, but Violet’s an artist. She never uses magic.”

  “What is it with you witches who don’t use magic?” Crystal asked. “I don’t get it. It makes my life so much easier.”

  I gave her a little smile. She’d seen first hand how much the Winifred’s experience had dented my confidence. It was no wonder I’d turned to the coffee business. Coffee grinds mixed with water and a little steamed milk. It was simple. Like me.

  5

  Violet

  I’d discovered within minutes of my arrival at Winifred’s that my classmates had grown old. Where once there had been strapping young men - the finest of their generation - there were now pock-faced men with nicotine stained teeth and receding hair lines. The women had it easier, in a way, thanks to the wealth most of them enjoyed and the endless lists of cosmetic surgery they could invest it in.

  But time was cruel. Things sagged and drooped. Trim figures grew harder to maintain. Artificial enhancement only improved the fading glory, it couldn’t restore it fully. Between the high-end beauty clinics and the low-end exercise classes (because for some reason it was in vogue to pay enormous chunks of money for basic exercise in spartan warehouses), the women in particular had no time left in a day to keep a job.

  It was dizzying to see familiar faces and imagine that it was the mother or father of a classmate before realising, no, it was the classmate, grown, aged, trampled by life. Even more dizzying to realise that people would be thinking the same about me.

  I’d been a loner at school and ever since, preferring the company of my thoughts and a good sketchpad. I hadn’t disliked my peers but I didn’t feel the need to be with company, and so I was mildly amused and a little flattered by the reception I’d received.

  “Violet!” A leather-faced woman screeched as I took my seat in the grand dining hall. She tugged on the sleeve of the roly-poly man beside her. “Look, dear, it’s darling Violet! Take a photo!”

  “Oh, no, I’m not a fan of photos,” I said. I hoped not to offend her with the refusal - people seemed to take offence quickly whenever I refused their request to take a permanent image of my face, as if it was their right to capture me on film for all eternity and unusual that I wouldn’t want such a thing to happen. But the woman, whoever she was, not even mildly familiar, offered a knowing wink and seemed content with air kisses instead.

  “The old place doesn’t change, does it?”

  “Not at all,” I agreed. I hoped the male companion would drop her name into conversation to give me a clue about her identity, but he appeared relieved to have escaped her attention for a moment and had busied himself with eyeing up younger, slimmer women in slinkier dresses.

  “Doesn’t seem two minutes that we were in here every day for lunch,” the woman reminisced. She turned to the side and I saw the line along her jaw where her orange foundation ended and her real skin tone began. Her skin had taken on the appearance of crepe paper, translucent and wrinkled, so I guessed she must be around my age. I knew well how impossible it was to apply make-up to that kind of skin. “Oh look who it is! Bry - Mr Derby! Cooeeeeeeeeee!”

  I cringed as Mr Derby, the necromancy teacher, warily approached the table like a deer trapped in the headlights.

  “Hello, hello,” he greeted. He struggled to keep eye contact but held out a long, slender hand for each of us to shake in turn. He failed to greet Foundation Face and her beau by name. Bryan Derby had never been one to help me out, though. Necromancy had been the worst subject for me due to an unparalleled fear of the dead, and Bryan Derby took his subject seriously. Any student passing his class would understand the responsibilities of necromancy as well as being proficient with the techniques. Looking back, it made sense. At the time, I swore he saw my pain as his own personal pleasure.

  “How have you been, Mr Derby?” I asked as I shifted myself in the seat. I really would have to see a doctor about this back pain.

  He gave me a thin-lipped smile, and then a glint of recognition appeared in his eyes. “Violet Warren, I believe?”

  “For my sins,” I confessed.

  “How lovely to see you,” he whispered. The trouble with necromancers in my limited experience is that they make everything appear sinister. Bryan’s eyes were bright but they led straight to his soul, and who knew
what lurked there.

  “Oh, and you. It’s been such a long time,” I said.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “Nothing seems that long when you deal with the eternal dead.”

  A shiver ran across my spine. “Quite.”

  “Oh, Bry! You’re such a tease!” Foundation Face cackled.

  Mr Derby looked stunned at the use of his first name - shortened. “The eternal dead are no laughing matter.”

  “Well,” Foundation Face said, reverting back to being a sulky child in receipt of detention.

  “I hear the school’s changing to an Academy?” I asked Mr Derby. His expression darkened and he clasped his hands together.

  “That seems to be the hope,” he murmured.

  “It came as a surprise, I bet?”

  “It’s the biggest mistake the school could make,” Mr Derby said, with a level of conviction that he usually reserved for his subject area only. “I’ve made my concerns known.”

  “Academies seem to get a lot of extra funding,” I said with a shrug. Mr Derby was an educator, not a gossip. He wouldn’t discuss rumours but he would correct wrong assumptions.

  “Not true,” he said, as I’d hoped. “The statistics show that four years after being an Academy, the average school receives just 16% of the funding they were promised. Sixteen percent!”

  “That’s concerning,” I said.

  “That’s not all,” he said. “If they’d remained independent, future calculations show that they would have received around 30% - they’re actually less funded if they become Academies.”

  “That’s awful,” I murmured. “Surely you can share the information, Mr Derby, help Mr Snipe see the real numbers?”

  Mr Derby rolled his eyes. Sid Snipe had never had a head for numbers. As soon as a conversation turned mathematical, you could see him switch off and begin to consider what he might be having for dinner that night.

  “I know he isn’t as… as gifted as you are numerically, Sir, but with your help, maybe he could see the way things really are?” I pushed. I’d read enough concerning articles about the Academy status and the impact it had on schools, how struggling schools in expensive old buildings like Winifred’s mansion tended to jump at Academy status as if it were a life raft, only to find that the darn thing was an extra weight that would drown them.

  “I might just do that,” Mr Derby said, with a decisive little nod. His nostrils flared in his excitement. “Yes, yes. You’re right, Violet. If only you’d committed your mind so well in class.”

  And with that little insult, he was off, heading out towards Mr Snipe’s office.

  I braved a glance at Foundation Face, but she was busy - staring into a mirror compact. She seemed not to notice that her skin was as orange as Sunny Delight and I wondered, unkindly, if she was visually impaired.

  How on Earth I would pass a whole evening with her by my side, I had no clue. I regretted not bringing a plus one, although my magic roots were so well hidden, I’d been unable to think of a single person to invite.

  “Excuse me,” a voice came from behind. “You’re in my seat.”

  I turned, my brow furrowed. I’d checked my place marker before I’d lowered myself into the high-back chair. The base of my spine had been making twinges for a few weeks, and while I’d ignored it and planned on ignoring it a while longer, I didn’t want to move between sitting and standing any more than was necessary.

  To my surprise, it was Ellie Bean who was my saviour, rescuing me from the company of the orange-faced delight.

  “Ellie!” I said as my face transformed into a smile.

  “Violet, oh, hello,” she said. She was a beauty, Ellie Bean, all wild red hair and freckles. She looked as though she belonged in a Scottish castle where she could enjoy walks along a rugged cliff face. “Do you mind? They’re pretty strict on us staying where we should be tonight.”

  Foundation Face shrugged and pulled herself up, then skulked away with a scowl and without so much as a goodbye. The dining hall was packed to the rafters, overflowing with dickie bows and sequins, tousled hair and exclamations of how missed and loved people were. Not missed and loved enough to keep in touch, though.

  “Well, this is a wonderful surprise,” I said as Ellie lowered herself into the seat beside me. I noticed a small stain on her dress and quickly averted my gaze. The friend beside her had clearly misread the invitation and believed she were attending the Oscars. Her eyes took in everything, everyone. “Looking for someone in particular?”

  The girl gave me a glorious wink, leaned across and grabbed both of my hands in hers. “My future husband!”

  I laughed with her.

  Oh, this was going to be fun.

  6

  Ellie

  Separation anxiety kicked in quickly after we parted ways with Kraspian. When I closed my eyes, I saw the outline of him, and when I opened my eyes, I searched the room for him. It was bad.

  My mother had always told me that when I was ready for marriage, and set eyes on my true love, it would be like a bolt of lightning. I’d rolled my eyes at her. And yet she told me that was exactly how it had been for her and my father, and they’d enjoyed the most settled marriage of anyone I’d ever known. While friends’ parents were busy having affairs and getting their second and third divorces, my parents were building a life on weekly family meetings, housework rotas and at least one evening a week where they would retire to their bedroom at 6pm and leave me to warm up dinner for myself alone.

  They were reading, okay.

  “You look marvellous, dear,” Violet said as I patted my dress down. I gave her a smile but felt lost for words. I’m about as awkward as they come and I was terrified to say a word in case I gave away the big surprise. I wished Sid Snipe hadn’t told us about the Golden Sceptre. It would be just my style to ask Violet if she wanted wine and blow the whole thing. Do you prefer red or Golden Sceptre?

  Luckily, Crystal had none of my awkwardness and stepped in, regaling Violet with her lengthy wish list for a man.

  “Do you have any dating tips?” Crystal asked. She’d leaned right over towards Violet, who had warmed to her immediately. Crystal had that effect on people. From her looks alone, every woman wanted to hate her. Then she opened her mouth and worked her magic. No pun intended.

  Violet let out a deep, throaty laugh. “Don’t bother! That’d be my only tip! I’ve always been single - and very happy, too!”

  “Really?” Crystal asked, blue eyes agog. “Sometimes I wonder if I really want to get married and have all that responsibility, or if I just like the idea of it.”

  I blinked at her. She’d never told me that before.

  “Well, half the world apparently like the idea of it better than the reality,” Violet said. She was an occasional customer in my coffee shop, and I saw her around town now and then, but pretty much everything I knew about Violet I’d heard from other people. A spinster, a rich artist, she had zany fashion sense and a good sense of humour, but she was private. She seemed to shun the magical realm as much as I did, but why?

  Rumour had it she came from one of the most infamous magic families of modern times, and I doubted that her reluctance to grasp the magic world was for the same reason as my own. I was a mediocre witch, that was the bottom line. But Violet had a presence about her. As much as she tried to disown her powers, the magic was there, right at her fingertip. I could feel it, just from being seated next to her.

  I tried to zone back in to the conversation. It was no surprise that the two of them were getting along so well.

  “Which teachers were still here, then? Obviously the Head was still here…” Violet said as I tuned back in.

  “And Helen Sculley, of course. Right there in his office!” Crystal said with a raised eyebrow.

  “I’d forgotten all about her! Still wearing mini skirts?” Violet asked.

  Crystal nodded and laughed. “I haven’t seen her here tonight, though.”

  “Have you seen Snipe? She’ll be righ
t by his side, won’t she?” Violet asked.

  “We saw him briefly,” I stammered as I repeated to myself silently: don’t say Golden Sceptre, don’t say Golden Sceptre. “She wasn’t with him, though.”

  “Lovers’ tiff, perhaps?” Violet asked with a stage wink. The relationship between Sid Snipe and his secretary, Helen Sculley, had been the talk of every generation of students. Helen with her long dark hair, heavy eye make-up, and inappropriate clothes, was rarely seen away from his side and many people believed she made most of the important decisions behind closed doors.

  “Maybe she got tired of waiting for him to make an honest woman out of her,” Crystal said with a shrug. Marriage really was heavy on her mind.

  “She was married,” Violet revealed. I gasped. Although I’d heard the rumours of their affair, it had seemed to be so out in the open that I always imagined they were both single.

  “Is he?” I asked.

  Violet shook her head. “Not as far as I know.”

  “Well, what a turn up for the books. Maybe her husband found out? Maybe she’s had to leave the school in a blaze of shame and outrage?” Crystal exclaimed hopefully.

  “Doesn’t look like it,” I said as none other than Helen Sculley approached us. Her hair was longer than ever, down to her thighs, and for once she was in a floor length gown. The gown was backless and virtually frontless as well, and I tried to conceal a sharp intake as she came closer.

  “Violet, my darling,” Helen breathed as if the two were close friends. Violet, to her credit, managed not to look surprised and instead flashed Helen a smile.

  “Ms Sculley! You’re a sight for sore eyes! That dress is rather magnificent.” Violet said.

  Helen batted away the compliments. “Oh, this? An old rag! Just an old rag, dear! Terrance was friends with Gianni, you know? I only keep it to keep his memory alive, you understand.”

  “Of course,” Violet said, with a demure hang of her head.

  “Gianni Versace?” Crystal whispered so close to my ear that I felt the stick of her lip gloss on my skin. I gave a discrete shrug.