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

by Mona Marple

  “Ms Salt?” I called.

  Kathi glared at me.

  “I’d like to begin with you.”

  14

  Ellie

  The room had began to smell of death and I breathed it in deep, forcing me to consider the scent as the evidence that it could be. Most witches have detached themselves from this more base style of magic, but a scent can reveal so many things.

  In Sid Snipe’s office, there were many scents. The heavy wood had its own scent of death that came from the moment the tree it came from was felled. That was a subtle smell, though, like incense burning in the background. Time heals all wounds and time removes most smells, but the death scent will never completely disappear.

  I could separate the tree death from the murder, pick apart their different smells as if I was organising peas and carrots on to different plates for two picky toddlers. It was one of the skills my family took for granted. I was taught to read smells before I was taught to read.

  And then I attended Winifred’s, where such unskilled magic was frowned upon and trained out of me. But there are some things that can’t be unlearned, and this was one of them.

  Blood smells of metal, strangely. But hiding behind that, there’s the scent of the emotion attached to the blood.

  Cut your finger to make a blood brothers pact and you’ll give off a whiff of excitement and nerves.

  I’d breathed in the scent of death many times, but never from a human. It had got to the point that I could no longer enter a butcher’s shop, the stench was so overpowering. The scent of fear.

  To my surprise, there in Sid Snipe’s office, it wasn’t fear I could smell.

  It was surprise.

  I took another deep breath and closed my eyes, forced myself to consider the smell and look for any underlying scents that the metal may overpower. But there was no fear. I was sure of it.

  At his desk, I picked up the first sheet of paper and took a moment to grow accustomed to his scrawl. The document was a typed memo, but Sid Snipe had made handwritten notes all over the paper.

  The memo, headed ANNUAL REVIEW, was from Helen Sculley and was brief.

  SS -

  Annual review due on 4/12.

  Yours,

  HWS

  It was clearly some kind of reminder, a typical note from a secretary to the man she had devoted her life to assisting.

  Sid’s own additions were less easy to read, or explain. Ten minutes later, I still stared at the same document and was very aware that I couldn’t spend so much time on each sheet of paper. I’d have to focus my attention on the pages that were typed, and hope they contained a clue.

  I put the sheet of paper aside and picked up a pile that had been discarded, sheet by sheet, across the desk. I gave a quick cast over the hand-written sheets and read the typed ones in full.

  It was clear nobody had filed Sid’s papers for years, and it was equally clear that the tone between him and Helen had cooled dramatically in recent times.

  A memo sent a year before said:

  SS -

  Table for two booked at The Bull - 7p tonight

  Happy anniversary.

  Yours,

  HWS

  While it could be the case that Helen Sculley had made reservations for Sid and Lizette to celebrate their anniversary, I doubted that that was the case. The rumours of Helen and Sid’s affair went beyond childish mutterings. Even the staff took the opportunity to make suggestive remarks, which neither Helen nor Sid took any time arguing.

  Another memo made me roll my eyes.

  SS -

  Have booked us a room at The George for leadership con this weekend

  Your car or mine?

  Yours,

  HWS

  It was clear, as I continued to rifle through the papers, that they’d made little attempt to conceal the affair. I could only assume that their spouses never came to the school, which made Lizette’s presence surprising. She could easily have discovered their secret by picking up a single piece of paper.

  An idea began to form in my head. Lizette had almost begged Violet to interrogate her first. They say that many guilty people want to confess.

  Could she have come in the office and discovered the affair, gone into a violent rage, and killed Sid? The thought made me shudder but she wouldn’t be the first woman to do such a thing. And she was clearly a drinker. Could she be capable of murdering her husband in an act of passion while drunk?

  I filed that suspicion and continued looking through the papers on his desk, which were mainly more of the same, and then turned my attention to the drawer, half open beside me.

  The drawer was full of longer documents. Contracts. Agreements. Formal documents that should surely have been kept somewhere more secure.

  I inspected the first and gasped.

  It was the agreement to have Winifred’s take on Academy status. Signed by Sid Snipe almost three months ago. I read the document in full but didn’t understand much of it. The language was legalese and wasn’t meant to be read and understood but to protect the parties drawing up the contract should they end up battling the terms out in a court room at some point.

  One section, titled Right to Withdraw, caught my eye and I made myself read that point several times until I believed I understood it.

  RIGHT TO WITHDRAW

  Both parties shall have a period of three (3) months to withdraw from the terms of this agreement, beginning from the date of the last signature on this document. Withdrawal will only be legally recognised by the party who wishes to withdraw signing document EX/74B and serving it on the other party or their legal representatives within the three (3) month period following the signature of this document. Service of EX/74B will only be accepted by hand delivery or recorded mail.

  Both parties agree that after the expiry of this period of three (3) months, there will be no right to withdraw and this contract will be legally binding.

  “Hold on,” I muttered. “This can’t be a coincidence.”

  Sid Snipe had signed a contract giving him a right to pull out within three months, and been killed right towards the deadline. It sounded like there was a thread in there that I could pull to unravel the truth, but I couldn’t find it.

  What good was he dead? Surely, his death would mean that he couldn’t use that right to withdraw? Was that the point? Could Sid Snipe have been having doubts about the Academy change? Did someone shut him up so that he couldn’t pull out of the deal?

  It seemed far-fetched. Everyone I knew was angry about the Academy deal. Sid Snipe had lost no end of friends because of it.

  Maybe it was a coincidence, after all.

  His wife discovering his affair and killing him in a blind rage was much more realistic. I remembered a statistic I’d heard from a true crime documentary that Crystal and I had separately watched in our own homes, texting each other the whole way through.

  Most people know their killers.

  At the time, I was sure they’d got that piece of information wrong. Back to front. I believed the exact opposite to be true.

  I’d grown up being told to be scared of the bogeyman, the strangers who lurked in dark alleyways, people who would hate me for what I was. It was the unknown that I had to fear.

  Nope, that’s definitely true, Crystal had replied to my stunned text message at the time.

  It had been a defining moment for me, the day that I first considered that it may not be the strangers I should be scared of, but the people I knew. The people who were meant to love and look after me.

  The world had never seemed a more scary place than it did that day.

  Lizette Anderson-Pugh was a drunk, a woman isolated from her husband’s work world and looked down on by his colleagues. He’d built his world around Winifred’s, returning home to give her whatever leftovers he had still in him.

  For her to snap and kill him might seem unreasonable, but I’ll bet she felt differently when she uncovered his very public long-term affair. I coul
d almost feel her humiliation.

  I took a deep breath and turned to leave the room, then had the distinct feeling that I wasn’t alone in there.

  A shadow stood before the wall. Menacing eyes glinted at me in the dark.

  “Who’s there?” I called, but it was no good. The shadow snickered at me, a mean twist of a wide mouth, and began to advance across the room towards me.

  15

  Violet

  The production booth was as grubby as people imagined, and Kathi Salt and I had to pick through cobwebs and kick at pieces of rubbish on the floor as we made our way towards the two chairs usually reserved for the production engineers.

  “We could just go to my office,” Kathi said as I swept a thick layer of dust off both chairs, then collapsed into one with a groan.

  “We’re here now,” I said. “Come on, sit down.”

  “This is all nonsense,” Kathi said. She sat down, though, and I noticed that her hands trembled slightly. She noticed me notice them and wedged her hands between her knees to keep them still.

  “I’d say it’s many things but not nonsense,” I said. “The headmaster’s been killed, Ms Salt.”

  “Parents will be moving their children out by daybreak,” Kathi said. “What we need now is strong leadership to get us through what’s to come.”

  “And you’d say you’re that strong leader, I presume?”

  She shook her head in a way that meant yes, not no. “I want to advance in my career, there’s no shame in that.”

  “Some people might say it’s a little heartless to be thinking of such things while a man lies dead down the corridor,” I said.

  “Look,” she began, “I’m practical. It’s my biggest skill and my greatest weakness. My head sees the world in terms of what needs to be done, and right now, we need a leader. I can do that. I can’t sit out there and cry crocodile tears like a lot of people will.”

  “You disliked Mr Snipe?”

  Kathi frowned. She was, I realised, far more impressive up close, one-to-one. She was no public speaker but I was wrong to underestimate her.

  “As a practical person, I wouldn’t expect you to worry about appearing disloyal.”

  “Oh, I’m not,” she said with a cock of her head, “I’m just considering how to answer.”

  “Was it a hard question?”

  “Yes, in some ways,” she said, “and it’s an important one, too. You’re looking for suspects and anyone bold enough to admit they disliked him will become one, in your head. You see, this is why I should have been investigating, not you.”

  “How so?”

  “You’ve got no experience,” she said.

  “And you have?”

  She smirked. “Not as a murder detective, no. But I’m used to confronting teenagers who’ve done something wrong and are prepared to lie to my face. I know how to question people. I know what to look for.”

  “Answer the question, Kathi,” I said. My use of her first name surprised her a little. I watched as her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed, for only a moment. “Did you dislike him?”

  She chewed the inside of her mouth for a few moments, and I thought I’d have to repeat my question, until she licked her lips and spoke. “No, I didn’t dislike him.”

  “But you want his job?”

  “I’d say that I’m the best placed person to take on his role right now, yes. The school is in grave danger.”

  “Because of the Academy?”

  She nodded. “I’ve seen this happen before. Head teachers can become desperate, when the places aren’t filling and the building needs to be maintained. Wages need to be paid. It’s difficult, and that’s when the Academy people turn up and start offering a helping hand. Donations at first, with no strings attached. But there are always strings attached. You’re old enough to have learned that lesson in life, Violet.”

  I grimaced at her mention of my age, but couldn’t argue with what she said. I certainly had learned that lesson. As a child, daughter of an infamous witch who was loved and hated depending on the mood of the press, the journalists would send my mother dresses, buy her meals, invite her to celebrity events as their plus one. It was all no strings attached, until a favour was needed, and she was reminded subtly of how very good they had been to her. Yes, I knew how the world worked.

  “I hear what you’re saying,” I said.

  “Sid Snipe was a perfectly pleasant man, to be honest. Very loyal, to certain things. I disliked his decision, not him as a man.”

  “Did you speak up about it?”

  “Constantly,” Kathi said. “It got to the point that he was avoiding me. Well, not just me. Everyone, I guess. He knew he was making an unpopular decision, he just didn’t see that he had another choice. It was a hand shake with the devil, he did at least realise that, to give him some credit.”

  “It sounds as though he became an unpopular man,” I said.

  “Of course,” Kathi scoffed. “He could barely walk down a corridor without some member of staff accosting him. Students too. The parents would demand meetings with him, and Helen would just let them turn up whenever they wanted. He’d arrive some mornings and there’d be a crowd of twenty parents in his office waiting for him.”

  “I always got the impression that Helen was very loyal to him?”

  “So did I,” Kathi said. “It would seem that she’s recently remembered she has a husband at home.”

  “The two of them had a falling out? Sid and Helen?”

  Kathi shrugged. “I don’t know and I really don’t care. I turned a blind eye to that whole sorry business. It happens in all schools, of course, the affairs. It’s to be expected. Long hours, working so close to each other. You learn the language, talk in a secret code that you’re spouse back home doesn’t understand.”

  “You’re talking from experience?”

  Kathi’s cheeks flamed red. “Absolutely not.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I…”

  “I have no spouse at home and I’d never consider extra curricular activity with a colleague,” she spat. I’d touched a nerve. “It’s not something I’m interested in.”

  I steeled myself and looked across at her. It was time to show Kathi Salt who was in charge. “Where is your spouse?”

  “What?” She asked, aghast. Her hands had escaped from her knees and jittered in her lap.

  “You said you don’t have a spouse at home, so where is he?”

  If I expected her to cry, I was wrong. She set her mouth, firm, and narrowed her eyes at me. “I’d say this interview is over.”

  “And I’d say you want to co-operate with me while you’ve got the chance,” I said. “You’ve been in Lizette’s position, haven’t you? As much as you say you don’t care about Sid and Helen, you do, because you know the heartache their affair was causing other people. I’m right, aren’t I?”

  She swallowed, then looked out through the glass to the main dining hall. “He was a surgeon. If we think it’s long hours in education, they really know about long hours. It started innocently, of course. He lost a patient on the operating table. Wouldn’t talk to me about it. Found a colleague who understood.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice sincere. “You didn’t deserve that.”

  She shrugged. “Who does? Does Lizette deserve it, just because she’s a bit common? Because she likes a drink? She probably likes a drink because he never went home.”

  “Kathi, you’re one of the most obvious suspects,” I said. I chose my words carefully, sensing I had her trust but could lose it in an instant. “I get why you’ve thrown yourself into your career, but to other people, you’re going to look like a woman who would stop at nothing. I need your help.”

  “Me? Help you? How?”

  “Somebody will have seen something,” I said. “Every place has that one person who knows it all, sees everything. I need to know who that person is here, now.”

  She gulped. “Are you saying you don’t think I did it?”

 
; “Did you?” I asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Then, help me,” I urged.

  She nodded. “You should speak to George.”

  “George?” I repeated. I had not idea who George might be, couldn’t even remember a George from my own time at the school.

  “George Tattlestick, the porter,” Kathi said. “He’s been here about ten years. He remembers things.”

  “Anything in particular I should ask him about?” I asked.

  She let out a long, sad breath and shook her head as she looked back towards the dining hall. A low chatter emitted from the room but people had remained in their seats. Many sat in silence.

  Crystal sat, attentive, her gaze focused on Lizette Anderson-Pugh.

  16

  Ellie

  “Who are you?” I asked, panicked, as the shadow closed in towards me.

  I took a step back as the office door opened wide. In walked Bryan Derby, who took one look at me and one look at the shadow.

  “Prohibere!” He called out, and the shadow vanished.

  “What was that?” I asked, my breathing ragged.

  “A protector,” he said, his voice silky smooth and not to be trusted. I felt my whole body tense as he moved closer towards me. “What are you doing in here?”

  “Violet asked me to…” I stammered, then stopped. “I can’t tell you.”

  He shrugged. He was dressed in a long black cloak and held a slim wand in his slender fingers.