Murder & Macarons

by Amy Casey

  That wasn’t the kind of insight you let your dog in on. If you did, well you’ve got a Planet of the Apes level situation coming right your way, and you’ve nobody to blame but yourself.

  I had a series on Netflix. Dark, it was called. Quite a creepy concept, quite absorbing. But of course I couldn’t concentrate on it completely. Not when I knew the police were probably still out there piecing together their first clues of the Andy Carter murder case. Not when I knew there was so much more I could be doing than sitting here, eating Doritos and watching Netflix.

  But what could I do, really?

  What could I actually do?

  I took a deep breath, tried to calm myself. I couldn’t focus on anything when something like Andy Carter’s murder had happened. Sure, I couldn’t concentrate on anything when cats got stuck up trees (a surprisingly common occurrence in Goosridge) or when men started going for “secret” coffees with women they weren’t married to (fortunately less common), so murder was practically a whole different level of excitement when it came down to it.

  But I thought of Andy Carter. I thought of the rumours of how he mixed with rough crowds. How he had a history of being disliked by pretty much everyone.

  And then I thought about where those myths had come from. Why Andy Carter was so disliked. What had he actually done to anyone, really? Had he really harmed anyone, beyond some generally cruddy, letchy behaviour which, face it, more guys were guilty of than they’d care to admit?

  Or was the dislike towards him all based on reputation?

  Had he even earned his reputation?

  I sighed. There was nothing sitting here and speculating could do to help me. I needed to be out there. I needed to be investigating the case, well and truly. Not sitting here on my sofa with my pets watching Netflix, as nice a setup as it was.

  I gave Rocky the final few Doritos, which he destroyed without any grace at all. Then I moved Beatrice aside and stood up, walked over to the bathroom, looked in the mirror.

  My hair looked thinner than I remembered. I was paler, drier skinned, and generally less attractive than I had been before the incident with Krissy Palmer last year. Still not bad looking, for sure. But I just lacked that… well. Glow.

  And I had to face up to the truth. I’d been stressed. Stressed with life. Stressed with my abilities. Stressed that for some reason, they weren’t as strong as they used to be. And stressed that the only person who really, truly understood what I was capable of and what I must be going through—my dad—didn’t seem to want to hear anything I had to say if it concerned magic.

  I steadied my grip on the sides of the sink and tried to calm myself.

  And in the process, I tried to lift the bar of soap with my mind.

  I knew it was hard magic. But then shit, I’d been trying to use soft magic without real progress for a year now, so what harm could it do?

  I steadied my attention on it. Felt it moving towards me, slowly but surely, piece by piece.

  Then I saw a flash of Mary in my mind.

  Mary dangling in the air.

  Krissy Palmer’s killer grinning down at me.

  I stopped, then. Stepped back. Because Mary was right. I hated her for it, but she was right. Getting involved in this case was putting other people in danger. I’d put her in danger last time, I’d put Annabelle in danger, I’d put Rocky in danger, and I’d put myself in danger.

  I might’ve solved it. I might’ve got to the bottom of it.

  But at what cost?

  I had to face up to reality. I had to accept the truth.

  I didn’t have to involve myself in every case.

  My dad was right. I’d opened the Pandora’s box of magic already. I didn’t want to prise that lid open so far that I couldn’t help but draw attention to myself.

  That was the kind of error of judgement that got witches burned at the stake.

  I went back into the living room. And as I walked, I started to wonder if the reason I couldn’t use my abilities as well as I used to be able to was something to do with guilt, after all. What if I was guilty about what’d nearly happened to Mary and it was holding me back?

  I sighed as I sat down on the sofa. I could speculate all I liked; I wasn’t getting the answers.

  “Budge up, pup.”

  “More Doritos?”

  I frowned, looking at Rocky’s belly. “I think he’s had quite enough, don’t you, Beatrice?”

  Beatrice looked up at me like I was stupid for even trying to communicate with her.

  “That’s right,” I said. “Beatrice agrees with me.”

  “Beatrice thinks you’re simple,” Rocky said, sulking.

  I frowned. “You can communicate with Beatrice?”

  He looked up at me with that expression that made me wonder just how much more intelligent he was than he let on.

  Then he started licking his arsehole and that previous thought disappeared.

  I watched some more of Dark. And my mind started to wander. My thoughts began to drift.

  I thought of Graveson Manor.

  I thought of Andy Carter.

  I thought of the image of his body lying there, eyes wide, mouth—

  A ringing.

  I jolted up out of my seat.

  The phone.

  But who would be calling this late?

  I walked over to it. Thought about ignoring it. Too many memories of that phone call that sparked the Krissy Palmer investigation. Too much deja vu right now for comfort.

  But I ignored that knotting in my stomach and I answered anyway.

  “Hello?”

  Silence initially. Which hardly helped my nerves.

  “Hello? Is anyone—”

  “Stella? It’s me.”

  It took me a second to recognise the voice.

  But when it clicked, it well and truly clicked.

  “Steve?” I said.

  Another pause. Then a crackling on the line.

  “Can you meet me outside Graveson Manor in half an hour?”

  “Wait. What…”

  “Can you?”

  “Well I… I guess I—”

  “Good. Then I’ll see you there.”

  “But Steve—”

  The line went dead.

  I stood there in my living room, the buzz of the phone cutting through the silence.

  And as I stood there, my heart began to race again, as the wind rattled harder against the windows.

  Why was Steve calling me so late?

  Why did Steve want to meet me so late?

  And why the hell did he want to meet me outside the scene of a murder?

  Chapter 7

  I knew going to the crime scene was madness. I knew it went against everything my body and my mind were telling me were normal behaviour. I knew I was being potentially stupid to put it very, very mildly.

  But here I was. Standing outside Graveson Manor. Waiting for DI Steve Burke to show his face.

  Who, by the way, I didn’t remotely fancy or have any interest in whatsoever.

  Honest.

  No, seriously. Believe me, okay?

  It was night. Obviously. I mean, when else would DI Steve Burke decide to invite me along to the crime scene at Graveson Manor other than late at night when it was at its creepiest? Couldn’t invite me during the day when it was actually quite a scenic location, nice surroundings. It would have to be at night, which brought back all kinds of traumatic memories of last year, when I went wandering towards that construction site where the new shopping centre was being built in the dead of night.

  Only to be honest, aside from the similarity of night, this felt… different somewhat. Steve’s offer. I wasn’t sure where it had come from. I wasn’t sure why he’d levelled it at me. I could just tell from his tone of voice that he was pretty desperate.

  And yet here I was. Alone.

  Was something wrong?

  Was this some kind of trick?

  Could the dark forces my father warned me of be rearing their
heads in a way they knew they could get to me?

  I didn’t know. I couldn’t be sure.

  I just knew that I was feeling less and less comfortable about being here the longer the night dragged on.

  I looked at my watch. Half midnight. Which was a whole ten minutes later than Steve had said to meet.

  I felt like there was movement around me. Like there were eyes watching me. Like I wasn’t alone here at all.

  And the more I stood here, the more I got the urge to just get away from here. To flee this place and get away from here, once and for all.

  Because I didn’t need to involve myself in this case.

  Mary was right. My dad was right. Everyone was right.

  This wasn’t my profession.

  I was better off back at Witchy Delights.

  I was better off making stupid bloody cakes and macarons.

  Yes. They are called macarons, not macaroons. Different desserts. Do your research before you judge.

  And, sure, although they were stupid compared to working on solving a murder, they were also delicious. Stupid and delicious weren’t mutually exclusive concepts. Try ninety percent of good-looking men, and you know that’s true.

  Oh, that’s good. That’s one to remember.

  I had to get out of here. I had to leave. I had to—

  “Stella.”

  Steve’s voice made me almost jump out of my skin. I wasn’t comfortable being so edgy and nervy in his presence. I didn’t like him seeing me worn down. I didn’t like him seeing me weak.

  Because by the nature of displaying weakness, I was making him appear stronger.

  I couldn’t do that.

  Especially not when I was trying to convince myself I was better at solving his cases than the bloody police themselves were.

  “Well,” I said, zipping up my coat and trying to fight through my nervous demeanour as quickly as I could. “What brings us out here at this hour?” It sounded hammy and a little cheesy and not even nearly confident, but at least it was something.

  Steve sighed. “To be honest, I don’t know.”

  “That’s not a great conversation starter,” I said.

  He rubbed the back of his head, looked out over Goosridge. The moon reflected against him. It might be a perfect setting for a romantic movie.

  No. Get that thought out of your head. That’s not happening. There was nothing romantic about this. Not even remotely.

  “I guess I…”

  “You’re mincing your words a lot, Steve. If you’re not careful I might start to suspect you of Andy Carter’s murder.”

  “I know things about you, Stella. Things I… things I don’t truly understand.”

  Those words. They made me freeze. They made me regret even coming here in the first place.

  I tried to stay calm. I tried to stay as composed as I possibly could. But my heart was racing. I was losing my grip on my composure. “What do you—”

  “I don’t know how you do what you do, but you… you can do things. I’m not blind, Stella. I saw how you handled the Krissy Palmer case. I saw things that I don’t understand and I’m not sure I ever will.”

  “You’re speaking out of your arse.”

  “I’m speaking about what I know. About what I’ve seen.”

  He lifted a hand. Pointed to my bracelet. And I knew what he was inferring. I knew what he was implying. What he was trying to remind me of. Pedro’s death. The way I’d lost my bracelet at the scene. The way I’d even got to that crime scene without leaving any other trace of myself.

  Steve looked me in the eyes, his gaze deep and focused. “I don’t understand how you do whatever it is you do. But… but you are good at what you do.”

  He lifted the police tape. Pointed towards the Graveson Manor entrance.

  “This is madness, but screw it. CCTV is down temporarily. Not that’s it’s all that effective anyway. Looks like we had a bloody blackout during the murder, convenient enough. But anyway. It’s up and running again soon, but you’ve only got five minutes. So you’d better be as quick as you goddamned can be. All we know is that it looks like there was a struggle. And it looks like Andy may have been poisoned.”

  I was stunned by what Steve was revealing to me, what he was proposing to me. After all, it breached police procedure completely and utterly. He was putting his own job on the line even doing this.

  But for some reason, he trusted me. He’d seen something in me.

  And as far as I saw it, it was my duty to make sure I repaid that faith he’d shown in me—for whatever reason it was.

  I took a deep breath and I nodded. Then I walked towards the entrance of Graveson Manor.

  I saw the disappointment on Steve’s face, just briefly. Like he was expecting me to explain things to him. To satiate his curiosity for whatever was unknown.

  But I didn’t. So I walked inside the manor.

  I had my five minutes.

  It was time to take them.

  Chapter 8

  I knew I only had five minutes—six because I was going to be extra smiley and nice with Steve—but I spent at least the first minute gawping and fretting about the fact that I’d actually got into this place at all.

  I was just going to have to make sure I kept it quiet to Steve that my powers were waning and weren’t as strong as they were when I’d solved the Krissy Palmer murder.

  Although… well, although he knew something was amiss with me, he didn’t totally understand what it was. So it was probably better to just keep quiet.

  Graveson Manor was a large, imposing structure that was even more so once inside. It was all big overblown staircases, expensive ornaments, that sort of thing. I kind of wanted to trash it just for fun. I’d always had that appetite for destruction deep inside. But this was my moment, so I’d be a fool to ruin it all for a case of satisfying my urge for screwing shit up.

  I was in the room now. The room being the room where it happened, apparently. It was one of the spare bedrooms. And when I say “spare bedroom,” I don’t mean the kind most people have in their house. I’m talking a seven by nine metre luxury with a bed bigger and softer than any I’d encountered; one I just wanted to throw myself onto in all its spongy, delightful glory.

  But now wasn’t the time for bouncing around on a spongy bed. Now was a time for solving a crime.

  And I didn’t know where the bloody hell to start.

  I looked at the evidence markers. I looked at the upturned rug where it looked like Andy had tripped up. I looked at the signs of a struggle on the bedsheets. I tried to add up why it would be like this.

  But I was hitting a dead end.

  The longer I spent in here, looking around at this room, the more I started to realise it wasn’t the crime scene I needed to be looking around at all. It was the people. The people close to Andy Carter. Because as much of a tyrant as he no doubt was, he was still a person. A person with a family. A person who no doubt had friends.

  He might have enemies, sure. But those close to him were where I had to start.

  But all that said, I had three minutes left. And I had to make those three minutes count as much as I possibly could.

  So I steadied my breathing. Eased my focus.

  Because if there was one thing I could try to do, it was find Andy Carter’s ghost.

  Finding his ghost could end this case before it even became a case, so to speak.

  He could answer the clues. He could tell me about what’d happened to him. He could lead me in the right direction, which would end up bringing his killer to justice.

  But then again, I’d learned from Krissy Palmer that finding ghosts wasn’t exactly key to solving a crime. Especially when their memories were as muddy as Krissy’s. God bless her.

  But I steadied my focus. Honed my attention. And as I relaxed, I found myself easing into that flow state where I found it easier to direct my attention. Where I could locate Andy Carter’s ghost if it were still on this plane of existence at all.


  And knowing Andy Carter and all his friends and enemies, there was no doubt there’d be someone still on this earth that he’d find good reason to haunt. I found it hard to believe that he’d just be gone, completely, already.

  But the more I focused, the more my mind started to blur. It was like white noise. The closer I seemed to be getting to any kind of progress, the further I got away. Best way I can explain it? It was like listening to a great track then realising it’s the censored version. I was seeing something close to the truth, close to the way things were, but I wasn’t seeing the complete, total truth.

  And that was highly frustrating.

  The watch on my wrist buzzed and I opened my eyes.

  I sighed. My six minutes were up. I knew spending any longer here was dangerous. Not just because Steve wasn’t happy with me spending too long here, but simply because I was drawing attention to myself. Besides, the CCTV was only going to be inactive for so long.

  Even if I might’ve found the strength to make myself invisible, sure. But Steve didn’t know about that, so going invisible and staying in here for ages would just draw unwanted attention from Steve, too.

  My invisibility was weak so wasn’t going to last forever, either. So that was another thing I had to take into consideration here.

  I looked around the room once more and sighed. I’d wanted so much to get in here, so much to investigate the crime scene, like a proper detective. But I was beginning to realise there was more to detective work than just looking at the crime scene. There were the people. And if anything was my speciality, it was people.

  I had to get out of here. I had to figure out who Andy Carter was close to, and who he wasn’t close to. I had to find out who was at that wedding. And more importantly, I had to speak to them, and I had to find out the truth.

  I went to turn away when I saw something.

  It was only noticeable for a second. Just a split second. But there was a mark. I wasn’t sure how I saw it, but I could only guess it was because of those moments of heightened focus I’d managed to invoke. It wasn’t something that was visible to the naked eye. It didn’t have an evidence tag beside it.