“Well, tours are resuming today. A girl has to stay busy, wouldn’t want you to show me up,” she smirked, tucking her dusting cloth in her pocket and watching Moody with vague panic. I glanced down to see the cat swatting a mouse back and forth between her paws, as if it were little more than a toy. I knew Moody was doing it just to make Becky uncomfortable, as she didn’t make a habit of playing with her food.
“Moody, no! Bad kitty,” I hissed, stomping my foot at her. Moody stared at me for a moment, unmoved by my efforts. Then, she almost seemed to smile, holding the squealing mouse in place.
“Moody, yes,” she announced, tearing sloppily into the poor creature. I grimaced, but Becky was in near-hysterics, choking out little sobs as the mouse was devoured. “She makes it so easy, Mazie, goodness. How do you keep from having a little fun at her expense every day?” Moody purred, blood dripping from her whiskers.
“I’m going to have to clean up this mess before the tourists arrive, and someone is getting locked in her carrier since she can’t behave,” I said coolly, patting Becky on the shoulder before swooping in towards Moody and scooping her up. She called me every terrible name she could think of, some I’d never even heard before, but it wasn’t particularly unusual to have such exchanges with the surly feline. I rolled my eyes, not bothering to continue scolding her as I took her to the back office of the museum. Getting locked in her carrier was the worst punishment feasible in Moody’s mind, seemingly worse than getting the death penalty. Not that I’d ever sentenced my pet to the death penalty... well, once, but the dog got acquitted. Nine year old Fern was a hell of a defense attorney.
“You know, you don’t have to be such a sourpuss. I was just having a bit of fun,” Moody hissed, sinking her claws into the bare skin of my arms. I rolled my eyes, resisting the fleeting desire to fling her across the room.
“That’s rich coming from you,” I muttered, finding her carrier in the corner as always—its place of banishment. I opened the wire front, struggling to stuff Moody in the relatively tight space. A part of me felt guilty, but I couldn’t exactly leave her loose to massacre rodents in front of guests, as she seemed to be proving how suitable her name was that day. “I’ll let you out in a few hours, give you time to think about what you’ve done,” I muttered, finally managing to force her into the carrier. She hissed, pressing herself to the back of it and looking at me with an expression that could wilt flowers. Fortunately, I was used to being on the receiving end of those stares.
“And if I don’t care to think about your silly little friend and her fragile sensibilities?” Moody said snidely, and I raised a brow daringly.
“Then I guess you’ll just stay in here all day,” I said dismissively, stepping towards the door.
“Fine!” She snapped back.
“In the dark,” I continued, pausing in the door frame and flicking the light switch off. Moody was silent for a long moment, seeming to consider my words.
“I’ll give it some thought. If you leave the light on. This place is so spooky in the dark,” the feline muttered. I rolled my eyes, laughing a bit.
“I mean. You know it’s haunted. You see the ghosts. They’re friendly, you know,” I chuckled, crossing my arms over my chest and considering her for a moment longer.
“The ones you know of, at least...,” she said under her breath, and I felt a brief chill go down my spine. I frowned, expecting her to laugh it off, but she simply sat at the back of her carrier, licking the blood off her paws.
“Alright. You’re creeping me out. I’ve got work to do, so you sit in here and be a good little kitty,” I sighed, knowing the odds of that happening were about one in a million. Moody was surprisingly silent as I slipped out of the room, closing the door behind me. Guilt settled in my gut once more, but it dissipated as I saw a bawling Becky trying to clean up the mess that the cat had left behind. I cleared my throat, vaguely hoping she would pull herself together. She looked at me through wide and teary eyes, and I offered her what I hoped was a comforting smile.
“C-can we bury it?” She implored weakly, staring at the tattered remains of the creature.
“There’s not... really much left,” I offered, which was the entirely wrong thing to say. She erupted into sobs once more, and I had to swallow a groan as I gathered what was left of the mouse. I grimaced, wishing I was anywhere else as I marched towards the battlefield. “We’ll, uh... bury him back here. I don’t want to go digging up holes in the front sod,” I muttered, crouching in front of the dirt and beginning to dig a whole. A chill went up my spine, and I glanced up in time to see Augustus staring at me and sputtering indignantly.
“A rodent? A rat? In my battlefield? Have you lost your mind, girl?” He harrumphed, watching me with disdain in his eyes. I hummed, barely acknowledging him as Becky crouched beside me and watched with eyes that were still teary.
“I guess it’s only fair that he be buried here. After all, he was killed on the premises,” I said idly, half talking to Augustus and half to Becky. The ghostly colonel looked no happier with the situation, but Becky managed a smile as I tucked the remains in the hole and covered it back up.
“With that logic, they could bury Dickney here. Could you imagine?” Becky began, seeming to pull herself together a bit. She checked her watch, squeaking in surprise and pulling me to my full height. “You’re supposed to lead the first tour in ten minutes. Get washed up, and I’ll go wow them with my knowledge of civil war... utensils,” she announced, doing a little jazz hands motion. In any other circumstances, I would have laughed, but my mind was too wrapped up in what she’d said before.
“You know, it’s still so weird. The way Dickney died, I mean,” I murmured, glancing towards Augustus and tilting my head a bit. He stared back at me for a long moment, seeming a bit uncomfortable, before huffing and turning his head away from me.
“I can’t believe they’re letting those scandalously dressed women back on the battlefield. Hasn’t this generation heard of something called decency? If you expect me to hang around and watch you flaunt the harlots all across my haunting grounds, you are sadly mistaken,” he said, and there was a definite edge to his voice. “Now carry on with your little friend and see that those exhibits are pristine. Maybe those... those... terriers may learn something about decency,” he announced.
“Terriers,” I repeated under my breath, not entirely sure what he was going on about. Oh. Tourists, maybe? I glanced towards Becky, offering her a broad smile. “You go on in, I’m going to use the hose pipe to clean up a bit and you can lead the group out here,” I ordered, though my tone was as sweet as sugar. Not that Becky would have complained either way.
“Of course. You go ahead and pay your respects to the little Colonel,” Becky said with a watery smile, turning to retreat into the museum. I fought the desire to cackle as the actual colonel’s head looked as if it would explode. I didn’t think spirits could turn red, but you learn more every day.
“The little Colonel! That rat... that ... how dare she,” he all but roared.
“Just chill out. She didn’t mean anything by it. But now that I have you alone, I have a few questions to ask you—,” I began, only for him to throw his arms up and continue on his tirade.
“As if it weren’t enough disrespect to let any floozy walk my battlefield, something I’m forced to deal with on a near daily basis—the reprieve was a welcome one, I assure you. Now, I’m forced to deal with some half-eaten rodent being buried here, on sacred grounds, and referred to as a little colonel. Why, I’m starting to think I should give that Becky girl a bit of a...,” the Colonel trailed, off glancing towards the museum with a strange expression. “A bit of a fright. But I suppose I can give her another chance. I scarcely see her anyway. It’d be more welcome than those obese men in flit flutes—,” he was quaking in anger, and there was still a vaguely red tint to his ectoplasmic outline.
“Flip flops, Colonel. I was going to ask you—,” I began, interrupted by a rush of people coming out of the back doors of
the museum. I rolled my eyes as Augustus huffed a final time before disappearing from sight. Sheesh, all I wanted to do was ask him about Dickney, but it seemed I wouldn’t get my chance that day. I had tours to conduct, after all. I put on my most welcoming smile, cheerfully greeting the tourists and allowing them to follow me around the battlefield. I felt a bit queasy stopping at the very statue that had speared Dickney, though the tourists only seemed all the more excited. I discreetly checked my phone, surprised to see that I had received a message from Fern. Apparently she was going to Fang’s house to ask him a few questions later that evening.
...Sorry, Becky. It seemed I was going to have to take another early night.
CHAPTER TEN
“I didn’t expect you to be so understanding when I asked for the rest of the night off... again,” I said with a chagrined smile, but Becky didn’t seem terribly concerned. She swept the floors, staring at the spot where the mouse had been massacred with a vaguely queasy expression.
“Oh, it’s no problem. I mean, not a lot of people would have humored me with the mouse funeral thing... people tell me I’m a bit of a bleeding heart,” she chuckled, brushing a hand through her hair. “And the tour schedule is a bit restricted right now, anyway. You should be done for the day, right?” She continued lightly. I thought for a moment, checking the list on the wall beside the door just to ensure I had everything covered. Fortunately, the last tour of the day had ended around thirty minutes ago—I was going to miss the restricted schedule when things went back to normal.
“Things usually get a bit slow after the morning rush, anyway,” I muttered. I glanced over my shoulder at her, unsure of how to reply to the bleeding heart comment.
“Caring about people isn’t necessarily a weakness, Becky. Your compassion is one of the great things about you. Even if he was just a mouse... he was still a life. He still had value,” I finally decided on, stepping towards her and pulling her in for a quick hug. She startled a bit before throwing her arms around me, giggling airily.
“You seem to care more about the value of a mouse’s life than Dickney's,” she mused, though there was no real judgment in the words. I suppose she had come to understand our perspective a bit, whether or not she liked it.
“Well, the mouse wasn’t threatening to turn our entire town upside down. He was just making a bit of a mess, living his mousy life. Speaking of, I guess it’s time to let Moody out of her carrier. She’s going to be giving me the cold shoulder for a while, I’m sure of it,” I chuckled. Becky laughed as well, giving me a rather strange look.
“How can a cat give you the cold shoulder? Are you one of those crazy cat ladies I hear so much about in these rural towns?” The other woman teased, and I stiffened a bit before laughing off the comment. I would have to be more careful about what I said, though I was certain Becky wouldn’t even begin to be suspicious of any nefarious acts.
“Oh, you know how it is. Animals can be very expressive. Especially Moody. But I’ll be back to fetch her before you lock up the place. In the meantime, just try to avoid her. She can be a bit gruesome when it comes to her kills,” I said quietly, walking alongside Becky to the back office of the museum and pushing through the door. Moody mewled pathetically as soon as I stepped through the door, and Becky looked as if she would absolutely melt.
“Poor baby,” she whispered, her voice hushed.
“Yeah, yeah. Poor baby is right. C’mon Moody, stop moping and go do... cat things, I guess,” I urged, reaching my hand into the carrier. The very same hand came out a nanosecond later, featuring several shallow scratches.
“I resent that. Cat things. Honestly, Mazie,” Moody grumbled, slipping out of the carrier and languidly stretching. She considered Becky for a moment, her eyes intense as she stared at the other tour guide...well, tour guide in training. “I’ll leave your friend alone for now. After all I could use a snack after being locked away for so long,” she continued, darting out the door before I could even argue the point.
“It was only a few hours,” I muttered under my breath, and Becky tilted her head as if she wanted me to repeat myself. “You know, it wasn’t that long she was in there. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I’m doing what’s best for her. She’s just a cat, after all,” I said awkwardly, though the words only rang about half true. “Anyway, she shouldn’t wander too far off the grounds. I’ll be back in a few hours. My sister and I have some investigating to do.”
Becky nodded, slipping out of the back office and resting her hip against the desk where the sign in sheet lay. She seemed to occupy herself with the sheet of paper, but I didn’t have any more time to waste. I repeated a quiet “Goodbye” before moving about getting in my car. It took several tries to start, and I was beginning to realize I’d need a new car sooner or later. Later, hopefully. Much later.
The trip to the location of Fang’s home wasn’t a short one by any means. He and Jimmy Jack lived on the absolute outskirts of town, which theoretically made it all the easier for them to break the law. By the time I parked a few yards away, I could see Fern a short distance from my car, arguing with Jimmy Jack about something. I got out of my car just in time to hear the tail end of their conversation.
“Of course I don’t think your dad did it, but I have to check out all possible leads. Just let me speak to him,” Fern said calmly, although the twitching of her eye made it rather obvious that she was growing annoyed.
“He’s not in the mood, Fern—,” Jimmy Jack paused, rolling his eyes. “I mean, Detective Stuart. My dad ain’t in his right mind to be talking to any cops right now. So I’m gonna have to ask you to leave—,” the young man said firmly, and it seemed as if Fern wanted nothing more than to ring his jaws.
“What the hell are you doing on my property! You... Both of you,” Fang shouted, lumbering down the hill with his trusty shotgun. I hid behind Fern a bit, not really looking forward to taking a bullet for some information. Fang leveled the gun at Fern, but my sister only kept a serious expression, raising a brow and glancing towards Jimmy Jack.
“I’m going to have to ask you to lower your gun Fang, or I’ll have no choice but to book you. You can make this easier on the two of us, and just tell me your alibi for the night Dickney died,” Fern said calmly, seeming unbothered by the gun being pointed in her face.
“I... well, Hell, Fern. You know where dad was. We were out delivering hooch all night,” Jimmy Jack grumbled, reaching out a hand to point the gun towards the ground.
“I believe your father is innocent just as much as the next person, but I’m going to need some references. People who can confirm you were where you were, when you say you were,” Fern said smoothly. Jimmy Jack looked ready to break, parting his lips to speak before being smacked in the gut by his father’s gun.
“We ain’t ratting out our customers, you hear me? If you girls want to come back when you have any proof, you can arrest me then. I won’t fight you. But I ain’t the kind of dealer who sells out his clients,” Fang said coldly, glancing towards Jimmy Jack and jerking his head back towards the cabin at the top of the hill. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, some of us have real work to do. You ladies have a blessed day,” Fang called out before he and Jimmy Jack disappeared altogether, over the hill and through the woods.
“Are you going to accept that as an answer?” I asked gingerly, walking alongside Fern back to our cars.
“For now. He’s right. I have no proof. Hell, I hope I don’t even find any proof,” Fern muttered, offering me a smile before slipping into the driver’s seat of her car. “Go finish up at the museum, I guess. We’re not going to learn anything more here,” she sighed. I nodded, hesitating a moment as I watched her back out of the winding road that made up Fang’s driveway. Sighing, I got in my car as well.
That was that, then. At least for now.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Upon returning home that evening, I wasn’t terribly surprised to see Fern hunched over her desk, frantically scribbling notes on every bit of
open space available. I frowned a bit, tossing my bag on the couch. Moody came scampering inside alongside me, but even she didn’t seem to be her usual sarcastic self. Fern immersing herself in her job wasn’t anything new, but Moody was usually quick to lighten the mood with some sort of snide comment or another.
“Come on, you two. Let’s just relax for a little while. Watch some TV, paint each other’s nails,” I suggested in a sing song voice, and Fern glanced up only briefly before returning her attention to her work. I frowned, scooping Moody up and carrying her over to the couch. Surprisingly, she put up very little fight, seeming too preoccupied to fuss at the clumsy hands holding her. “Not you too, Moody. Come on, at least watch my soaps with me. Chad and Elizabeth are having their first child, but Liz is in a coma! She won’t even get to see her child being born. Come on, we have to watch that, right?” I pressed, tossing the feline on the couch. My commentary seemed to catch Moody’s attention, as she looked up nearly immediately to hiss at me.
“As hilarious as that sounds, I’m not in the mood for watching your stupid human show,” she said sourly, beginning to groom herself as if i would simply disappear if she ignored me long enough. It might have been a solid plan, but I valued myself a rather obnoxious person in the best of times, so I didn’t plan to make it an easy task for her.
“What are you in the mood for, then? You seem so... moody,” I pointed out, giggling under my breath. She rolled her eyes, pressing into the back right corner of the sofa.
“I’m in the mood for sitting in silence and being left alone,” she grumbled, resting her head on her paws and closing her eyes. I couldn’t help but raise a brow, watching her rather inquisitively as she seemed to fidget beneath my gaze.
“I would have thought you’d have gotten enough solitude and silence while at the Museum today. If you’re still mad about the carrier, I’m sorry, but you know how Becky can be—,” I began awkwardly.
Hoodoo and Just Desserts (The Witch Sisters of Stillwater Cozy Series Book 1) Page 7
