by Mona Marple
“They won’t come out for anything in a storm,” I said. “Even a murder.”
“Murder?” Crystal asked.
“I don’t know,” I said with a shrug. “I just… something bad’s going to happen here tonight. It’s probably already happened! Do you believe me?”
“Of course I do,” Crystal said as we reached the main door. I turned the latch and the door flew open so fast it almost came off its hinges. The storm was even worse than in my premonition. I shuddered at the cold air rushing in.
“Oh no,” I murmured.
“Look, we can’t go out there. If I go out there in that cold, dressed like this, there’s every chance the dead person will be me.” Crystal said, and she pushed the door closed with all her strength. It didn’t quite shut and began to blow open again. The three of us all pushed back on the wooden door until it clicked into place.
“Crystal’s right,” Violet said with a decisive nod. “The safest place for us is together, in plain sight.”
“We need to warn everyone else,” I said.
Violet shook her head. “No. Nobody else finds out about this. They’d only panic. Half the people here are drunk. They’d want to leave, just like we did, without the common sense not to jump in the waters and catch their death of cold. No, we can’t tell anyone else.”
“So what do we do? Just go back to our tables and pretend everything’s okay?”
“For the moment, that’s exactly what we need to do,” Violet said.
I looked at Crystal, who shrugged. She was a great friend but not the person to take charge in an emergency. Not that I wanted that role myself, either.
“Okay,” I agreed, and we filed back towards the dining hall, disturbing a middle-aged couple who were busy investigating the insides of each other’s mouths. “You can get back to the guy at the table now, Crystal.”
She offered a wan smile. “I’m beginning to wonder if it’s ever going to happen. That spark of electric.”
“Electric?” Violet asked. “Nonsense. You need someone who’ll do their share of the housework without being asked.”
I snorted, glad for the distraction from my premonition.
“I’m serious. Everyone worries about chemistry and grand gestures. If I was dating - and I can assure you, I’m not - but if I was, I’d be asking if they were house trained. Tidy up after themselves? Do they rinse the cereal bowl or leave it to get dry and stick to the sides all day? Oh! Do they replace the last toilet roll? And are they able to get ready quietly on the mornings they need to leave before you wake? These are important questions.”
We were back at the table. The man to Crystal’s left gave her a slightly cocky, lopsided smile. Pleased to see her return, but not too pleased.
We all took our seats and he said something to her. She gave her throaty, flirty laugh and then reached across and lightly touched his arm. He raised his eyebrows, smiled, took the gesture as a positive sign, not the test it was, and hitched in closer to her.
Crystal leaned back, towards me, and gave him her usual let-down line. “It’s such a shame my dear husband couldn’t be here tonight.”
“No electricity?” I asked.
“Not one jolt,” she said as she manoeuvred her chair so she had her back to the man.
9
Violet
My rants about the important qualities in a mate appeared to have calmed the girls, distracted them from the apparent danger we were in.
Eleanor Bean, it transpired, was something of a surprise, and it was obvious she had no idea how powerful she really was.
She came from no great lineage, unless she’d been adopted. Bean wasn’t a name I’d heard before in Magick circles, although my knowledge was a little outdated.
A common garden witch, perhaps. In which case, Winifred’s would have been the wrong place for her altogether. The snobbery of the place would have seen her teachers try to beat that kind of witchcraft out of her, instead of using it as a foundation to build upon.
Vulture premonitions, indeed.
The thought made me shudder.
“Girls, I’ll be back in a minute, nature calls,” I said as I pushed myself up from the chair. So much for finding my seat and remaining in it all night. Ellie watched me carefully but I made my expression blank and docile. As I’d aged, I’d found that the world was all too ready to consider me docile, and I could use that to my advantage.
Once out of the dining room, I took a moment to get my bearings. It had been too many decades since I’d wandered the halls and corridors, and while the building hadn’t changed, my mind had. The concerns of my youth had been replaced over the years.
As a student at Winifred’s, I’d been greatly concerned about my family. My mother, who the public either loved or hated, depending on what the headlines about her were that particular week, took up a huge portion of my thoughts. I worried for her as a parent should worry about a child, not a child about a parent. And my sister, with her mean tongue and sly ways, was a constant problem for me. I’d begged our mother to send us to different schools, and had prepared strong arguments with supporting evidence and research studies about how siblings learned best. I’d ignored all of the studies that suggested that siblings benefited from attending the same educational venues, of course. All of that chatter in my head meant that I’d felt at times as if I was sleepwalking through my time at Winifred’s. While I heard other people discuss their school days with a keen fondness and an almost photographic memory, I had a pleasant, but hazy, sense of my own education.
I walked on, past the toilets, and into the library. The door had been left open and the room was empty. A log fire roared at the far end of the room. Leather Chesterfields were scattered around the room and I realised with a start that the room wasn’t empty, after all. Draped prone across one chair was a woman in a red satin dress, her eyes closed, her feet tucked on the floor beside the chair.
I gasped and approached her. She lay perfectly still and while her body appeared unharmed, I watched enough daytime TV to know that there were ways to die - or to kill - that left no bruises or marks. I crouched down and leaned in close to her, listening for a breath, watching for a rise and fall of her chest.
Suddenly, she opened her eyes and screamed. I did the same, then returned to my senses.
“Goodness, it’s okay, child, I thought you were ill,” I said.
“Violet! Congratulations!” The woman said, her olive skin and exotic accent suggesting European heritage. An exchange student perhaps. English not her first language, for there was no reason to congratulate me.
“I apologise,” I said, as I returned to my feet with some struggle. “I’d suggest you don’t lie around on your own tonight. The school frown on it. Go on, run back into the hall.”
To my surprise, she obeyed me as if she were a small child and I a figure of authority. The chair where she had lain stunk of alcohol.
I patted down my dress and took a moment to calm my nerves. My thumping heartbeat was deafening.
Next to the library were toilets, a modern addition that included a unisex disabled toilet. I peered inside each, even the men’s, and disturbed a group of three men sharing a sneaky cigarette. Nothing changes.
“Sorry, wrong door,” I mumbled and made a hasty retreat out of the gents.
“Special occasion getting you all confused?” The largest man asked, then sucked in a drag.
“Well done, lass,” another said with a tip of his imaginary hat. I gave a polite smile and picked up the pace. Nobody was making sense.
Past the toilets, the noise from the dining hall reduced as I entered the inner realms of the school. If I’d ventured this far away from the classrooms during my time as a pupil, I couldn’t remember.
Every shadow lurking in the darkness appeared to be a vulture from Ellie’s premonition, then turned out to be an elaborate candlestick or an old vase when I got closer. My stomach clenched and my palms grew damp with sweat.
I peered inside a do
or on the right and was surprised to see that it was Helen Sculley’s office. The walls were covered with photographs of her and who I had to assume was her husband, a man I’d never heard her mention before tonight. He seemed pleasant, if instantly forgettable, and it was clear from the images that he adored her. In most of them, he wasn’t looking at the camera but instead gazed at her adoringly.
I frowned. Helen Sculley had always worked from within Sid Snipe’s office. The door was often locked and they were usually the earliest to arrive and the last to leave. She certainly hadn’t had any photos of her husband on display then.
I gave the room a quick inspection, but it was empty.
A brass sign on the next door announced that it was Sid Snipe’s office. I pushed the heavy door open warily. The school had a policy of no doors being locked but this door in particular was old and stiff. It creaked as it opened.
I realised instantly that I had been in the room before. Not surprising, really. Sid was involved with pupils as a head master, but he certainly expected everyone to go to him. He was rarely seen wandering the halls and never taught a class to my knowledge.
The room had a feel of old, faded grandeur. A large open fire burned day and night and an oil painting of the school took pride of place above the mantelpiece. Sid’s HQ was an antique oak desk, covered in scratches and graffiti that he insisted made it more unique and valuable. It had been the only point he’d ever disagreed with Helen Sculley about in my time. She’d hated the desk and would often order impressive new replacements, only for him to stand his ground and make her return the new desks or give them to other teachers. It had got to the point that almost every member of staff had a better desk than Sid Snipe, to Helen’s annoyance.
“Mr Snipe?” I called out, aware that my voice sounded strange and warbled. Nerves. Ellie’s premonition had spooked me more than I wanted them to realise.
I moved beyond the desk, to the living quarters of his office, where two battered settees sat facing each other, a coffee table in between them.
I was about to breathe a sigh of relief when I saw a hand poking out from in between the settees.
“Mr Snipe?” I repeated, as I ducked to the floor by his side. His eyes were wide, fixed on some point in the distance, and I would have believed he was merely in deep concentration if it weren’t for the dark pool that had spread around him.
I wanted to scream but managed to clamp a hand over my mouth in time to suppress the noise. I couldn’t be found with the body or I’d be the prime suspect. The time for panic was over. I forced myself to lean in closer, and saw the murder weapon. A silver letter opener, protruding from his back. I shuddered. It was Mr Snipe’s own tool, no doubt. He’d loved pompous tools like that, things that suggested he was too important to use one of his own fingers for such a task.
“Okay, Violet,” I whispered. “One last look.”
I stepped back and took in the scene, but my eyes refused to focus and I felt the room begin to spin.
10
Ellie
I caught her just in time. Right before she staggered and fell on top of the corpse.
“What are you…” she asked, panicked.
“A toilet break? Yeah, right,” I said. I hadn’t believed her for a moment. “I made my excuses to Crystal and followed you.”
“Is she…”
“She was in the middle of flicking her hair around while chatting to some guy, so she’ll be fine,” I said with a grin, then turned my gaze to Mr Snipe and frowned. “So, the vultures were right.”
“They always are,” Violet said, her tone suggesting she knew more about vulture premonitions than she cared to admit.
“Stabbed to death,” I murmured. “And that’s his own letter opener, I’m guessing.”
“I thought the same,” Violet said, then eyed me. “We need to get out of here. We can’t be found with him.”
“There’s nobody around,” I said. “Let’s just take a -”
“What?”
I crouched down and inspected Mr Snipe’s face. A single, black hair sat on his cheek. “Did you see this?”
Violet shook her head. “I didn’t get close enough.”
“Wait,” I said, as a glint of silver caught my eye. I reached under the settee and picked up the object. “Lipstick?”
Violet gasped. “Put it back! Your prints will be on it!”
I let out a small laugh. “Violet, nobody’s coming to inspect this case.”
“What?”
“The school’s invisible to mortals so no regular police are going to get involved. And the Magick Squad won’t come out here anytime quick. They’ll ask for a report to be filed and then they’ll take 28 days to look at it.”
“Ugh, you’re right,” she said.
“We might as well leave him here, go and get help,” I said, but as I moved to replace the lipstick under the settee my hands touched something else. I picked it up. “Oh, wow.”
“What is it?” Violet asked.
I held the object up. An ornate fountain pen, heavy and detailed with dozens of tiny skulls.
“Goodness,” Violet said. “That’s not your every day pen. Let’s take it. The lipstick too.”
“And the hair?” I asked. She nodded and I steeled myself, then reached across and gently removed the single hair from the dead man’s cheek. “Where shall I put it?”
“Here,” Violet said. She reached into her clutch bag and pulled out a sticky note. I placed the hair on the adhesive and she folded the note in half to secure the hair in place, then zipped it inside a small pocket in the bag.
“Who brings sticky notes to a black tie ball?” I asked.
“I never leave home without them,” Violet said with a shrug. “I’ve got a pen too if you need one. Not as impressive as that one, mind.”
I laughed and shook my head. She was a game old bird, that was for sure.
“Now let’s get out of here,” Violet urged. “There might not be an investigation, but there’s a murderer around and I’d rather not get in their way.”
My stomach clenched as I realised she was right. Sid Snipe had been killed. That meant that somebody among us tonight was a killer.
“Crystal,” I murmured, suddenly regretting leaving her alone.
“She’ll be fine,” Violet reassured me as we got to our feet and made a quick exit towards the office door. “There’s no reason to imagine anyone else will get hurt.”
We paused by the doorway to make sure that the corridor was clear, then sprinted out of the room and back towards the grand dining hall.
Crystal was exactly where I’d left her, alone and filing her nails, an empty wine glass in front of her.
“Hey,” I said. “No electricity with that one either?”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s time I just bought a hundred cats and accepted my fate. I’m just not meant to fall in love. And I can’t even occupy myself online. The signal here’s awful.”
“Listen,” I said. I glanced at Violet, who gave me a nod. I leaned in close to Crystal and lowered my voice. “I need you to stay quiet when I tell you this, okay? Don’t panic.”
“What’s happened? You’re worrying me. You didn’t really go to the toilets, did you?”
“No,” I admitted. Crystal was sharper than she looked. I forgot that sometimes.
“Well?”
“The vultures were right,” I whispered, then moved back a notch. Her eyes were wide with understanding.
“Who?”
“Sid Snipe,” I said. “We found his body in his office. He’s been stabbed.”
“He’s -” she asked.
I turned to Violet with urgency. “Oh my, did you check his pulse?”
She blinked at me. “Ellie, did you see the blood? There’s no chance he survived that.”
I nodded slowly. Somehow, I’d blanked out the blood from my mind, as if he’d happened to lie down right on top of an awful, mucky brown stain.
“Wait, he’s in his office?�
�� Crystal asked, her brow furrowed. I nodded. “Then where have the search party gone? Surely that’s the first place they’d look for him?”
I cocked my head to the side. “You’re right. There’s something really strange going on here.”
“Who went to look for him?” Violet asked.
“I don’t know,” Crystal said. “Just some teachers, I didn’t pay attention.”
“If they’ve started at the other side of school, his office will be one of the last places they’ll look.”
“Look,” Violet said. “Things have changed since we were students. Maybe he spends - spent - more time out of his office then he used to. Either way, we need to focus. There’s a killer among us.”
“We have to leave,” Crystal said.
“How? Nothing’s changed. The storm’s raging out there.”
“If I call mummy, I’m sure she’ll be able to send help,” Crystal said. She pulled her cell phone from her bag, then glanced at it and groaned. “No signal.”
“You won’t get service out here,” Violet said. “The invisibility spell plays havoc with the phone signals.”
“So, we’re trapped here with a killer?” Crystal asked. I shot her a warning glare. Her voice had attracted attention from a drunk man on the next table, who luckily appeared far too inebriated to have heard specific words, or remembered them.
“You look like Barbie,” he slurred across to Crystal with a leer.
She shot him a smile as artificial as her manicured nails and turned her back on him. “Knowing my luck, I’d touch him and feel something.”
I laughed in the madness of it all. Only Crystal could go from worrying about a murderer, to who her future husband might be, without missing a beat.
The screech of the microphone interrupted us and we turned our attention to the stage, where Kathi Salt stood, waiting for silence. Her expression was sombre, but a glint of something else was unmistakeable in her eyes. The glint of opportunity.
One man’s murder could be one woman’s big chance.
