Prelude to Poison

by Morgan W. Silver

  I headed over to the reception desk and bumped into the side as I hurried to get behind it. “Pardon me,” I whispered. The ledger was right there and I didn’t waste a second as my nerves started toying with my composure. My fingers trembled as I put the torch in my mouth and flipped through the pages. There were a lot of names, but none that stood out. The rest of the reception desk didn’t reveal anything unusual and the computer was password-protected. When the walkie-talkie crackled, I made my way to the bottom of the stairs in time to hear Nick say: “Nothing down here. Shall we go upstairs?”

  “We’re done here too,” Steve’s voice said.

  A few moments later light shone in my eyes, and I held my hand in front of me.

  “Eddie, don’t make me hurt you.”

  “How did you know it was me?” He lowered his torch.

  “Like I don’t know you well enough?” I grinned.

  “Alright, Maggie. Are you ready for some ghost hunting?” Nick asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Good, you can join our group. We’ll take the second floor.” Then he turned to the others. “You guys will take the first.”

  A few minutes later we were exploring the second floor. Exploring, in this case, meant that we were sneaking through the corridor while Nick occasionally asked if spirits were present as he held out a small voice recorder. Sandra was filming and Eddie had never been this quiet for so long. His eyes darted around eagerly as if he was afraid to miss a single second. He had probably stopped blinking.

  At some point we passed the room where Victor Woodsbury had died. A police constable was guarding it. His eyes forward, his posture straight and unyielding. He didn’t seem fazed by the weird people that passed him as they asked if ghosts were present.

  I was behind them, glancing at the door and imagining what the last moments of that handsome, older man’s life had been like. A shiver crawled up my spine and the sadness swelled up in my chest again. I returned my focus to the corridor. The round light of my torch glided over the dark-red carpet and the off-white walls. My eyes went over every inch, fleeting as it was. Every painting, every lamp, every table with flowers. It all registered in my brain, stored away in the Pembroke Hotel file.

  When we were finished exploring the second floor, we joined the others at the third and final floor to walk through together. This floor was practically identical to the second floor, and probably the first, but it had a ceiling hatch at the end of the corridor. An attic.

  Detective Black stood below it and pointed upwards.

  I glared at him and waved my hand to dismiss him.

  He returned the glare and also waved his hand.

  Then we returned in the direction of the staircase. It was halfway through the dark corridor that a wailing sound, a cry, travelled through the air. It wasn’t that loud, and there was something stifled about it. It stopped abruptly. Brian needed his inhaler when he heard it.

  We were close to one of the rooms where someone had died many years ago. Nick waited for the sound to return, but nothing happened. Then he entered the room, followed by everybody but me. I remained in the corridor, my feet glued to the carpet with invisible glue. They returned after about three minutes.

  “Anything?” I asked.

  “We’ll have to find out tomorrow,” Nick said businesslike. It was strange how normal this was to him.

  Mr Field was waiting downstairs by the time we were done. He sat in an armchair in the corridor with his own torch. He rose to his feet as he saw us coming down.

  “And?” he asked.

  “We won’t know until we listen to the footage, Mr Field,” Nick said. “We did hear some strange noises, though. Like crying or a wail, but it was over too fast.”

  Mr Field swallowed and glanced around as if he was worried a ghost would jump him any second.

  “It sounded a lot like the wind, though,” I added. “Old buildings and such.”

  “Ah, I see. Right. Of course.” Mr Field lowered his shoulders and exhaled. “Well, I guess, I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Thanks for coming.”

  “Not a problem, sir.” Nick stepped forward and shook his hand.

  “Thank you,” Mr Field said again as he held open one of the double doors for us.

  THE ROSE WAS PACKED that Saturday night. A small local band was playing. They consisted of three men who worked at a brewery forty minutes away. They might not look like it, but they knew how to play a Beatles’ song.

  “That was a nice thing you did,” Nick said to me when he handed me my coke.

  We sat by the window, away from the bar and the loud music, lovely as it was. The others stood by the bar. Eddie was talking animatedly. He was probably sharing that story where he tried to fish for the first time and fell into the water. He loved telling that story because he ended up with a fish on his head.

  “What nice thing?”

  “Reassuring Mr Field by telling him it might have been the wind.”

  “Oh, that. Yes, well, he looked so worried. I was afraid he’d have to sleep with a nightlight on otherwise.”

  Nick chuckled. “You were afraid too, weren’t you?” He didn’t say it in a mocking way, he was simply asking.

  “Not because of ghosts, but because of the crime scene and the thought that Victor died there. I knew him and liked him. Other than that, I don’t really like the dark that much. Everything seems scarier then. And though I’m sure that dangerous ghosts exist, I don’t think they’re here. Whoever hurt Victor is a real person, and that’s what we should be afraid of.” I hated the fact that someone here could have done that to Victor, but it was very likely. It was too random otherwise.

  Nick sighed. “Yes, I’m sorry about that. We didn’t come here to step on any toes, just to do some investigating.”

  “I know. You don’t have to apologise. This is what you do, you find evidence of ghosts.”

  “Yes, well, there’s a death tied to this investigation. Could it have been suicide?”

  “No, it wasn’t suicide.” I took a sip from my drink.

  “How do you know?” Nick asked.

  “He was meeting someone. You don’t kill yourself when you’re about to meet up.”

  “True. What do the police think?” he asked.

  “I’m pretty sure they don’t have much to go on yet. Rumours spread fast and if there was anything new to go on, we would know.” I smiled sadly.

  Nick shifted in his seat. “So how long have you lived here?”

  “Since I was about eleven or twelve.”

  “You and your parents moved here?”

  “No. I did. My parents divorced, and I came to live with my aunt Nancy, who then took care of me.” I took another sip, hoping he’d stop the questions there.

  “Why didn’t you stay with your mum?”

  Part of my coke went down the wrong pipe, and I spent about a minute coughing it up.

  “Are you okay?” Nick asked. He leaned forward and patted me on the back.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine. Sorry.” I pressed the back of my hand against my lips and then flashed him a smile. “I’m okay now.”

  “Good.”

  “So how are you enjoying this cosy village of Castlefield?” I hurriedly asked, feeling it was too soon to tell this bloke about my mother’s mental issues.

  “It’s nice, but you forgot to tell me why—”

  From the corner of my eye I saw the familiar shape that belonged to Alistair. My hand went up in the air and my mouth pushed out his name.

  He turned around and I waved. He held up his hand and looked at Nick, then back at me. He scratched his chin before he made his way over.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hey, Maggie.” His eyes scanned my face, then went over to Nick’s.

  “I’m Alistair Ashworth.” He shook Nick’s hand.

  “Nick Cavanaugh.”

  “Are you enjoying your evening?” Alistair asked me.

  “Yes, actually. I just visited the Pembroke Hotel.”

/>   Alistair’s eyes narrowed for a second. “Why?”

  “Oh, we just went hunting for ghosts as one does on a Saturday evening.” I casually took a sip of my coke. When I looked up, Alistair’s mouth was open.

  “Yes, me and my gang.” Nick pointed at the bar. “We’re ghost hunters. We came when we heard about this incident at the hotel.”

  “Right,” Alistair said. “There was a constable at the crime scene, wasn’t there?”

  “Yes,” Nick and I said simultaneously.

  “He didn’t let yo—”

  “No, no, we did our ghost hunting in the corridors and on the ground floor.” Nick gave Alistair an innocent smile.

  Alistair looked at me and I gave him my most innocent smile as well.

  “Fine, well, as long as you’re—yes, I’ll see you around then. Enjoy your evening.”

  “You too.”

  He left and sat down at a table further back. Wooden beams prevented me from spying on him.

  “He’s a detective, right?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “And you’re friends?” he asked.

  “Well, we went to middle school together, but we never hung out or anything. He lived in London for a while. Apparently he’s back.”

  “He’s handsome.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s always had a certain charm. Oh, wait, do you like—”

  Nick nearly choked on his drink. “No, no. That’s not what I meant.”

  “I mean, it’s okay if you do.”

  “No, trust me. If I like anyone, it’s you, and I’m pretty sure you’re a woman.” His eyes twinkled as he said this.

  A feeling of discomfort rose from my stomach and settled on my cheeks in the form of warmth. “Err, I’m...I mean, yeah. I am a woman. That I am.” I cleared my throat.

  Nick laughed. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

  I muttered something incoherent and held my cool glass against my cheek. If only I didn’t have the flirting skills of a lamp post.

  TWO HOURS LATER I SAID goodbye to the ghost hunters, as well as to Eddie and Brian, who were still enjoying the riveting stories from their new Welsh friends. Both were hanging onto their every word like kids listening to their favourite fairy tale.

  The air was chilly, and I zipped up my red leather jacket. Laughter arose from the pub as I started on my way to the bookshop. I’d only moved a few feet when someone called my name.

  It was Alistair.

  I waited for him as he made his way towards me, his shoes clicking on the pavement.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, his eyes fixed on mine. He sounded angry, though I didn’t know why that would be.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Didn’t I tell you to be careful? What are you doing hanging out with these ghost hunters?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with what they do.”

  “Except that people might think a curse killed Victor, and they’ll dismiss anything they might have seen or heard that could lead to actual clues.”

  “Or,” I said as I folded my arms, “the killer might think he’s in the clear and lower his guard. Besides, I only went along to get some inspiration for my novel.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m just being—I don’t know.” He smiled apologetically and scratched the back of his head.

  I forgive you so much. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Let me walk you home.”

  “Sure.”

  He matched my casual tempo and occasionally glanced at me. “Do you remember that book fair that Eleanor arranged when I guess you must have been sixteen or something, and you read out that poem?”

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “I don’t recall the words exactly, but it moved me. You wore a red dress and you were so happy reading it out, even though you were nervous. And now you’re an author. Funny how life works out. We had no clue back then, did we?”

  “You remember that I wore a red dress?”

  He smiled. “You were the most beautiful girl there.”

  My heart warmed.

  “Gag,” Detective Black said behind me.

  “Shut up,” I said.

  Alistair laughed. “Sorry.”

  Damn it. “No, I like compliments. Forget I said that.” I looked ahead of me and froze. “Oh, oh.”

  Alistair followed my gaze. “Where did that chicken come from?”

  “Listen, I don’t know if your mum ever told you about Pandora, but she’s an evil chicken.”

  “Evil?” He grinned.

  “She’s a harbinger of death. She’s doom and destruction incarnate.”

  Pandora stood a few feet away from us, assessing us with her black beady eyes.

  At this Alistair laughed, startling both me and Pandora. Not a good move.

  “She’s about to attack us, stop laughing,” I said, unable to look away from the demonic poultry.

  “It’s just a chicken,” he said. “Some people literally eat those for breakfast. Granted, not a whole chicken and only in countries where they eat warm meals for breakfast. Probably. Although—”

  The chicken made a screeching sound from the back of her throat and came at us. I grabbed Alistair’s hand and ran in a random direction. For a chicken she was quite fast and our only hope was to get up high somewhere. She had pecked people’s ankles to the point of bleeding and didn’t stop. I had nightmares of her sometimes.

  “Why are we running?” Alistair asked, forced to keep up with me.

  “Because she will kill us and feast on our remains.”

  He laughed again.

  I pulled him along past a narrow street with cottages while Pandora made another screeching sound. She sounded close, but we were still ahead of her. The white fence of the last house on the left came into view, and that would be our salvation. “Do you see that white fence over there?” I said to Alistair, out of breath already. Damn, I was running.

  “Yeah,” he said, not panting at all. Bastard.

  “We’re going to jump over the fence, and in their garden is like this play house with a slide and swings and stuff. We get up on the platform and we’ll be safe. You run up the slide, I’ll use the stairs at the side. Got it?”

  “This is so weird and unnecessary, but okay, I’ve got it.”

  We reached the fence as the fluttering of wings and loud cackling sounded closer to us. We’d soon be there. A few more steps. We were still holding hands when we jumped over the fence and both made it without falling. I glanced back in time to see Pandora make it over the fence, though she hit the ground and was slowed down because of it. We let go of each other as Alistair made it up the plastic slide and I dashed up the wooden stairs. There wasn’t a lot of room on the platform but we were high off the ground and I hoped Pandora wouldn’t be able to get up here. Alistair put his arm around me as we were squished together. I was panting heavily and felt a bit dizzy.

  Pandora made it up to the slide and tilted her head. She seemed to be weighing her options but decided it wasn’t worth it and sauntered over to the rose bushes where she pecked at the grass.

  “Thank goodness,” I said.

  When Alistair laughed, his breath tickled my ear. “Not that I don’t dislike a good workout, but what is so dangerous about that chicken?”

  “She pecks people until they bleed, she’s a monster. The only person she likes is Nancy.” I groaned. “I can’t believe I was forced to run. Although, does this mean I’ve lost a few pounds?”

  He frowned. “You don’t need to lose any weight, you’re perfect.”

  My stomach did a little flip. “I appreciate that,” I said with a smile. We stared at each other and I realised our bodies were touching. Our faces were already close, and I noticed the light-brown spots in his eyes. We both started moving forward so that our lips were almost touching. Just as I thought my heart was going to explode, a door slammed. We both looked up to see that the owner of the cottage had kicked out his Golden Retriever. The dog wag
ged his tail and sniffed a few plants before spotting Pandora.

  Pandora didn’t see him yet, but she would and it would mean she’d be distracted.

  “This will be our chance,” I said and tapped Alistair’s arm. “Let’s go.” I carefully made my way down the slide while the dog approached Pandora with misplaced enthusiasm. She screeched and flapped her wings, making the dog jump back. He wagged his tail and barked excitedly as he moved around her. He wanted to play while she wanted to kill. Probably. Who knew what went on in the mind of a deranged, psychopathic chicken?

  I jumped off the slide and Alistair followed. We ran through the garden and jumped the fence again while the dog was still playfully running around Pandora. “Will he be okay, you think?” I asked Alistair.

  “Of course. It’s just a chicken.”

  “Milo,” a voice called from the back of the house.

  “See, that’s his owner calling him already,” Alistair nudged me along, and we went off in the direction of my bookshop.

  In the distance we heard the owner call: “Honey, how attached are we to Milo?”

  Alistair walked me to the entrance to my flat. “Goodnight,” he said, then seemed to hesitate before he bent down and kissed me on my cheek.

  “Goodnight,” I said and went up with a smile that was rudely wiped off my face the next morning.

  Chapter 10

  It was a quiet Sunday morning that I was spending reading in my pyjamas when the doorbell rang. My heart fluttered with the hope that it could be Alistair, though there was no reason for him to be here. Apart from my crazy animal magnetism. I went downstairs and opened the door.

  “Eleanor, how nice to see you,” I said and eyed the box with baked goods she carried.

  She grinned. “These are not for you, sweetheart. I thought that perhaps we could go over to Patricia and express our condolences. I know you were fond of Victor as well.”

  But not Patricia. “Come on in and let me get changed.”

  She followed me up the stairs and sat down in the reception area while I changed in my bedroom. Even though she knew I’d always liked Victor, I didn’t think she brought me along for that reason. Perhaps part of her was suspicious of Patricia and that’s why she wanted me there. Or perhaps she simply didn’t want to face her on her own. Either way, this was the perfect opportunity to find out more about her relationship with Victor. She must have suspected he was a cheater. Patricia was a shrewd woman and usually found at the top of the rumour mill.