Murder & Macarons

by Amy Casey

  “I mean, they’ve framed him. Pure and simple framing, that’s what this is. My Thomas, he would’ve be involved in any of this normie nonsense. He wouldn’t associate with sewer rats like Andy Carter or whatever the hell he’s called. He just wouldn’t.”

  I sat there, silent. I wasn’t sure exactly why I’d come here. But mostly I wanted to hear Aunt Hilda’s side. And I wanted to figure out whether there was a chance—even a slightest chance—that Thomas might actually be somewhat involved after all.

  “What’re you keeping so quiet for, anyway?”

  I looked up. Saw she was glaring at me. “Sorry. I just—”

  “You’re being judgemental, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not—”

  “Sitting there, judging me, judging my family. Well, that’s not how it works, Stella Storm. Your mother would be ashamed. You put us first, that’s how it’s supposed to be. And your mother would’ve taught you that if she was still around. Not like your bloody father, letting you run wild in this awful place like some kind of zoo animal.”

  “Respectfully,” I said, raising my voice. “The detectives at Goosridge wouldn’t arrest someone without good reason.”

  I saw Aunt Hilda’s face turn, then. I swore the air temperature in this room shifted too, just slightly, but enough to notice.

  And when it did, I knew I was in trouble.

  “Are you actually suggesting my Thomas might’ve murdered this pond rat?”

  “Oh, he’s a pond rat now, is he? Is that the same as a sewer rat, or is it a different breed of rat?”

  “Don’t take that tone with me, missy.”

  “And what right do you think you have calling me ‘missy’?”

  “You’re my niece,” she said. “I am your mother’s sister. And I’ll be damned if I don’t have every right calling you whatever the hell I want.”

  I stood up, then. Because I wasn’t taking this. I’d spent much of my life not having to answer to anyone, not being beholden to anyone. And now suddenly this woman—who I’d only met twice—was acting as if she was in charge of my life somehow.

  I wasn’t standing for it. I wasn’t taking it.

  So I walked over to Hilda and squared right up to her.

  “All I know is your son is in jail. And I’ve lived in Goosridge long enough to have reason to believe that he wouldn’t be arrested without reason—even if the reason seems thin, at first. I’m not trying to upset you. I’m not trying to antagonise you. I’m simply asking if there’s a chance that Thomas could, in any way, have ever been involved with Andy Carter—or be linked to him in any way.”

  I saw Aunt Hilda’s mouth open wider, like she was on the verge of exploding all over again.

  But then her lips softened and she sighed. Looked as if she was coming round to my way of seeing things. We were both stubborn mares, clearly. That was our problem.

  “I know Thomas came back to this world sometimes. He was born here, you see. Spent time in this world. I think he liked visiting. But they were only like the holidays you take. They were only brief trips. I can’t see that he got himself involved in something like this, mixed up in something like this. I just can’t see it.”

  I sympathised with Aunt Hilda then. Because none of us wanted to believe that those closest to us could possibly be involved in what her son was being accused of.

  “Sometimes… sometimes people’s actions can surprise us.”

  Her face hardened, so I took the opportunity to jump in before she could lambast me again, break through the progress we’d managed to make.

  “I’m just saying,” I cut in, “that sometimes people don’t exactly do things for the wrong reasons. You’re right about Andy Carter. He’s not a great guy. Never was. And if Thomas—hear me out—if Thomas was involved in his death in any way, I don’t doubt for one minute that it wasn’t with precedence.”

  Aunt Hilda shook her head. But I could tell she heard me. For the first time, she heard me. “He’s an outsider. They’re framing him. That’s… that’s how it is. That’s how it has to be.”

  I heard the sincerity in Aunt Hilda’s voice. I heard the desperation. And whether or not she was right—whether or not Thomas was involved or not—I knew I needed to push Steve. Whether I liked it or not, I was going to have to get the truth from him. Because this investigation. I didn’t like the direction of it. I didn’t like where it was going.

  “I’ll do what I can to help Thomas,” I said.

  Aunt Hilda’s head turned. “What can you do?”

  I did something then. Something that surprised even me.

  I put my hand on her shoulder and I smiled.

  “Just trust me,” I said. “I’ll find a way. I’m family, after all.”

  Her eyes stayed on mine.

  And then something happened.

  For the first time, I saw Aunt Hilda actually smile at me.

  We stood there, bond formed, progress made.

  Then I heard creaking at the bottom of the stairs.

  Dad was poking his head around into the lounge.

  “Well now you lot have made up, who’s for a brew?”

  Chapter 24

  I’d imagined myself going to Steve’s house a few times, I had to admit. Sometimes it was for dinner. Other times it was for drinks. And other times it was just for… well. That’s probably best kept quiet, in all honesty.

  But standing outside Steve’s house, getting ready to scare him into revealing what he knew about the case… yeah, I never expected that would be the circumstance that finally got me to his front door.

  The night was cold and dark. It was clear, and the stars were visible right above. It felt like winter even though it was well into spring. It was typical, really. Why couldn’t the killers of Goosridge show themselves when it was nice and sunny—and light until at least eight p.m.?

  Then again, I guess beggars couldn’t be choosers. Andy Carter was a shit. Seemed like whoever had killed him just couldn’t wait any longer to put him in the ground.

  But I’m just saying. If you’re in the Goosridge area and you’re considering any dodgy behaviour, think about leaving it until the summer next time, okay? And preferably a nice, warm summer too. That’d be ideal amateur sleuthing weather.

  I stood outside Steve’s door, biting my cuticles, repeating the mantra Aunt Hilda had taught me in my mind—a spell she insisted would work no matter how weak I might feel. My chest was tight and my heart was racing. There were two things I had to do. First, I had to embody something terrifying to Steve. I didn’t really know what was terrifying to Steve, so I’d chosen something pretty universal—clowns. I mean, everyone was afraid of clowns, right?

  Second… well, I had to make damn sure I found out the truth about why Thomas was in police custody.

  Because Aunt Hilda was right. He was family. And all of this… well, it just didn’t seem to add up.

  It was my job to figure out what was going on here, and end this rubbish once and for all.

  I looked around the quiet, dark street. No people walking by. No signs of life. The streetlight outside Steve’s house glared but flickered. That was okay. It added to the creepiness of the situation—the creepiness I was trying to convey.

  Just had to hope I didn’t catch a look at myself in the mirror. I found clowns bloody creepy as it was. Even seeing myself embodying one wasn’t something I was looking forward to.

  There was another reason I was so anxious, and that was because this spell was advanced. I might be able to embody that clown for a few seconds or a few minutes at a push. But the chances of embodying that persona for any real amount of time? Not good.

  And it felt like I needed time. Steve was a police officer. He was bound to be stubborn, bound to hold his ground.

  I just had to hope the fact that he was still inherently human would be enough to scare him for long enough.

  I muttered the words under my breath. I knew I had to tap into that energy that seemed to emerge when I was least ex
pecting it. The energy that I could only describe as “reactionary”.

  I had to tune into it as well as I could.

  And I had to hold my attention on it for as long as I possibly could.

  Because if I messed this up… well, the consequences could be serious.

  I went to knock on Steve’s door and I caught a glimpse of my arm.

  When I saw the pale white hand, the red and white sleeve, I almost passed out.

  But no. I had to do this. I had to pull myself together.

  It was tough. I could feel how difficult it was going to be to hold this already.

  But I’d turned. I’d managed to find the energy to turn. Must’ve been something to do with the fact that my magic was stronger now the presence of my extra family members had dropped.

  And when I saw Steve coming towards the door, I felt it becoming harder to hold it; harder to sustain it.

  But I had to.

  I just had to.

  Steve opened the door.

  I held my breath.

  And then the door opened and he looked right at me.

  The first thing that threw me?

  He didn’t look at me with fear. He didn’t look at me with terror.

  He just looked at me with… bemused curiosity.

  And to be frank, bemused curiosity wasn’t really the vibe I was going for right now.

  “Um, Stella?”

  I felt my cheeks flush. My face went totally hot. I wanted the ground to open up. Because he’d said my name. He’d recognised me. Which meant…

  I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror in the back of Steve’s hallway.

  When I saw it, I felt like I was bloody-well dying.

  I had a clown costume on.

  I mean, I looked very clown-like. And that was good. That was what I was going for.

  Except there was one problem.

  My face hadn’t changed.

  I was just Stella Storm in a clown outfit.

  Stella bloody Storm in a bloody clown outfit.

  “Um, trick or treat?” I said.

  “It’s spring, Stella.”

  “It is? I must’ve… must’ve got mixed up. Anyway, I’ll be off—”

  “What’s this about?”

  I looked back at Steve. And part of me wanted to run away. Part of me wanted to disappear; to vanish for good.

  But there was another force, too.

  Another voice in my head telling me to do something different. Something different entirely.

  And that voice won.

  “Steve… the man you have in custody is my cousin.”

  There was a pause, then. A pause. A moment of confusion. Sure, a lack of understanding from Steve still as to what me being dressed as a clown had to do with any of this, no doubt.

  But the confusion on his face. “I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t have to,” I said. “All I need to… Steve, I need to know why he’s inside. His mum’s worried sick. She thinks he’s being set up. And I guess I believe her. I have to. Until I know the truth.”

  Steve sighed. I was half-expecting him to invite me in, but it was clear that the clown thing had freaked him out in a different way to the one I’d been intending. “That was why you were at the police station earlier,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I said, nodding. “That’s exactly why I was at the police station earlier.”

  “And it’s… it’s why you’re in a clown outfit right now.”

  I cleared my throat, looked away. “There is a reason for that.”

  “Can I hear it?”

  “It’s… quite complex. And to be honest, I’d rather just talk about my cousin.”

  Steve didn’t look totally convinced.

  “Look, Stella. I don’t like to be ‘arsey’ with you, or whatever it was you said earlier, but there’s a reason I can’t just go singing about matters like this.”

  “And I respect that. But you know I’m not going to interfere.”

  “That’s exactly the problem,” he said. “I don’t know that at all. In fact, I’d go as far as saying I expect the exact opposite.”

  Touché.

  “I’ll turn around,” I said. “I’ll walk away right now. I just… All I want to know is why he’s inside. And if I can’t find out from you directly… I’ll find out anyway, Steve. You know I always do.”

  He looked at me, then. And although he didn’t understand, he looked like he got just a fraction of it.

  “Please, Steve,” I said, preparing to have to delve into his thoughts—even though I knew I had barely any strength left to do so. “Just do me a favour here. Just… just help me out. Give me some peace of mind.”

  He sighed. Looked around. And I expected him to tell me to go away. To tell me that it wasn’t mine to hear.

  But then he looked right at me again, and he said the words that changed everything.

  And boy did they change everything…

  Chapter 25

  So I managed to arrange a visit with Thomas.

  Well. When I say “managed to arrange a visit,” I mean I stood here in the corridor of the police station, invisibility activated—which I’d just about managed to conjure up, my magic getting a little stronger by the day now—and I was heading right towards the holding cell to see him.

  And it was all because what Steve had told me on his doorstep.

  It was late at night. The lights in the police station corridors were dim. It didn’t seem like there was anybody in here besides the guy on the desk, who I’d got past pretty easily.

  It was creepy, being in a place like this at night, though. The thought of something going wrong. The thought of someone coming in.

  Or even worse, the thought of being locked up in here…

  The thought of it made me shiver. Probably a deep-rooted fear, in all honesty. I’d got locked in a wardrobe when I was a kid.

  I was playing with a few friends who weren’t really friends, in all truth. They bullied me. Terrorised me. Not in any sort of obvious way that I could report to my parents or anything. Just little digs at me, which could wear away at a kid’s confidence, more so than people realised in all truth.

  But it all culminated in me being locked in that wardrobe.

  The chief offender—Betty—she’d told me to get in the wardrobe because there was some kind of CS Lewis shit going on in there. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. She said she’d seen something in the back of the wardrobe. A doorway to another dimension.

  And although I wasn’t stupid and I didn’t in my right mind believe her, it was that childhood thing of wanting to believe something was true.

  So as worried as I felt about it, as bad as I felt about it… I got in that wardrobe.

  I wasn’t in there long before I realised what’d happened.

  I tried to push the door, but nothing happened. I heard sniggering outside, and it dawned on me.

  But that darkness…

  That pure, unwavering darkness…

  I banged on the door. Cried out for someone to let me out. For them to get me out, to get the joke to end.

  But then I heard an even worse sound than sniggering kids.

  I heard silence.

  My “friends”. They’d left the room. They’d left me in there.

  I felt the fear of abandonment kicking in. I felt that fear, and I wanted my mum. I wanted her to be with me; to hold my hand and tell me everything was going to be okay.

  But she couldn’t.

  She couldn’t because she was gone.

  I felt a tear slip down my cheek and I felt my pain turn into something else.

  I felt my pain turn into anger.

  Anger at Betty.

  Anger at all of my so-called “friends.”

  And anger at Mum for going away.

  Because why did she have to go away?

  Why did she have to do that to me?

  I tensed my knuckles, gritted my teeth.

  And then I screamed out at the top o
f my lungs.

  Looking back, I should’ve known there was something different about me, right then.

  Because the wardrobe door had swung open.

  And although all of the kids insisted they hadn’t locked me in in the first place… well, I knew the truth. They all knew the truth.

  I was jolted from my reminiscing when I heard footsteps behind me.

  I looked over my shoulder—or where my shoulder would’ve been if I wasn’t invisible.

  I’d sworn I was alone. But I’d heard someone. Someone in the darkness.

  I kept still. I didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to risk anything.

  I listened for that movement again. Listened to those footsteps.

  But there was nothing.

  I took a deep breath and went to turn around.

  And then I saw them.

  A figure. A shadowy figure.

  A dark coat.

  Hooded.

  But there was something about it. Something I could see, right beyond that hood.

  A face.

  A blank face.

  I blinked, and it was gone.

  I looked around for it. Heart pounding.

  And as I searched for it—without avail—I remembered something from the Krissy Palmer case a whole year ago. Something she’d apparently said.

  The thing she’d seen watching her. The thing without a face.

  Could this be it?

  What did it have to do with anything?

  I remembered what Dad said soon after the Krissy Palmer case. The warning he’d given me about opening Pandora’s box and the impact it could have.

  “You’ve looked one of those forces in the eye, and yes, you have defeated them once. But they aren’t the only ones, Stella. And now you’ve opened the box, it won’t be the final time you encounter them, either. You’ve won a battle. But you’re a soldier in the war, now.”

  But I couldn’t beat myself up about that right now.

  I walked further down the corridor. I had to admit, I was pretty rattled.

  I got closer to the holding cell. But I couldn’t stop myself looking over my shoulder. I couldn’t stop looking around. Because there was something wrong about that figure I’d seen. Something distinctly creepy.