“Well, that would put him in line with about a dozen other people in town, Moody. You’re worrying too—,” I began, but Fern approached us quickly, dropping into a crouch in front of Moody.
“What did this man look like? You said he was an older man in a business suit. Do you remember anything else about him?” Fern pressed. Moody shifted a bit uncomfortably, seeming to regret having opened her mouth.
“He was a jerk. He kicked me as he was leaving—kicked me hard. As far as appearances, he had platinum blonde hair, and carried a red handkerchief in his pocket,” Moody muttered sourly. I began to immediately press my fingers into the feline’s side, searching for broken bones or injuries. She swiped my hand half halfheartedly, and Fern stared thoughtfully at our house cat for a moment longer before rising to her full height and shuffling towards the door.
“Hey! Where are you going?“ I called out, more than faintly annoyed. “You need to take the night off, Fern, this isn’t healthy,” I continued, crossing my arms resolutely. She spared me half a glance as she strode through the front door, grabbing her keys on the way.
“I need to sort through some case files. There’s something familiar about the man Moody is describing. I just need to confirm a hunch,” she said fleetingly, offering little more before slamming the door shut behind her as she left. I frowned, glancing at Moody with a sympathetic expression.
“Well. I guess you can sleep in her bed tonight. She probably won’t be back, and... you must be pretty sore,” I offered. Moody rumbled thoughtfully for a moment, shaking her head and settling back into her spot on the couch.
“Maybe watching those soaps wouldn’t be so bad after all,” the feline quietly murmured. I smiled a bit, reaching out to gently rub her ears before switching to my favorite channel. Within moments, Moody was dead to the world. I follow suit soon after.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Meeting the other townspeople for breakfast at the Stillwater Cafe was a pretty common practice for my sister and myself. At the present moment, Fern was so absorbed in her work that convincing her to leave the house or even the Sheriff’s office was pretty much a fruitless effort. So, deciding that it was definitely time to introduce our newest resident to the tradition, I phoned Becky and told her to meet all of us at the Cafe. She seemed a little reluctant at first, which I easily dismissed as nervousness—after all, from time to time, we could be a pretty intimidating bunch. Well, maybe not myself personally, but Fang and Jimmy Jack both carried a gun with them... almost everywhere, although even Fang could recognize that carrying his reliable shotgun everywhere he went just wasn’t the most practical option. I was well aware that both of them had concealed nine millimeter pistols on them at all times, although there could have been a big kerfuffle about neither of them having concealed weapons permits. It was just another of those small town law things, where good old boys could get away with just about anything.
Except murder, I suppose.
“Well, look who we have here this fine morning,” Jimmy Jack announced with a grin, scooting over so Becky would have a place to sit. She looked to me as if for permission before returning the smile, settling beside him and picking up a menu. We’d been here on a near daily basis, so it was a wonder she didn’t have the menu memorized by heart, but we’d never really been breakfast people. I guess I couldn’t be too stupefied by the idea of her not having an exact menu item in mind, although breakfast was served all day and I was sure that she had at least tried the waffles before.
“Hey, JJ. How’s business been?” I asked mildly, not needing to look at the menu. I got the same thing every time I came to the Stillwater Cafe for breakfast: two eggs over medium, three thick slices of bacon, and two slices of buttered toast. What could I say, breakfast was my favorite part of the day.
“I don’t suppose you’re asking so you can turn around and tell old Sheriff Bailey on us, are you?” Jimmy Jack grinned, sipping from a remarkably small glass of orange juice. Regulars or otherwise, we didn’t enjoy any particular orange juice benefits. I think you had to be part of some exclusive VIP breakfast club to get anything more than one of those teeny school lunch sized cartons turned up in a small cup. I blinked off the thought, looking at him with a slyly raised brow.
“You know as well as I that if he didn’t have such appearances to keep, the Sheriff would be one of your dad’s top customers. Didn’t he try to buy a quart off of you before he officially got his badge, Fang?” I inquired with a smirk, and Fang seemed vaguely entertained for once.
“Yeah, but I turned him down. Pretty sure he wanted to learn my recipe, but we both know that’s under lock and key,” the older moonshiner said with a sly wink, glancing towards Hazel and smiling a bit more charmingly. “I might be convinced to share the recipe if a certain pretty young lady came my way. What do you say, Hazel? Wanna come set up the still with me one evening?” Fang smiled, giving her a little nudge with his elbow.
“I hardly see how any of you can think of anything besides that poor Dickney fellow. It’s a crying shame,” the older waitress murmured, wiping the counters near our table.
“Hell, as far as I’m concerned, it’s good riddance. That guy was a dirty old pig. Bad enough that he wanted to build that damn water park, but he had no right to treat you the way he did,” Fang directed towards the waitress, who couldn’t help but smile at him before shaking off the expression and souring.
“Don’t nobody deserve to die like ol’ Dickney did,” she said firmly, and Becky solemnly nodded from her place beside Jimmy Jack.
“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve started feeling bad for the old geezer, too?” The younger moonshiner said with a faint smile, idly reaching out to play with one of her curls. If he noticed the effect he had on our little city girl, he didn’t show as much, simply continuing to shower her with attention. My attention was drawn from the potential couple when the door to the diner slammed open, the tiny welcome bell jingling cheerfully. I was pleased to see Fern, but that pleasure quickly dropped when I noticed Sheriff Bailey trailing in behind her. They turned their attention to Fang, and Fern looked vaguely apologetic as she and the Sheriff approached our table.
“Fang Little? Jimmy Jack Little? We’re going to have to take the two of you in for questioning, regarding the death of Charles Dickney. If you’ll come along, and please don’t cause any more ruckus than necessary,” the Sheriff announced, producing two sets of handcuffs. Fern held a hand up, speaking in hushed tones to her superior.
“I really don’t think that will be necessary. The two of you will come without a fight, right?” She asked gently, and Fang drew his lip back in a sneer. He spat a wad of tobacco at Fern’s feet, but she seemed nonplussed by the action. “Fang, come on. You know I’ll take care of the two of you. We just have to cover our bases here,” Fern said soothingly, and although Fang looked prepared to put up a hellacious fit, Jimmy Jack rested a hand on his shoulder and helped his father stand.
“You know you’ve got the wrong guy, right?” The younger Moonshiner asked calmly, and Fern shrugged a bit while the Sheriff ushered them all outside. Well, it seemed that morning that breakfast would have to be cut short. ... I was definitely getting a box for that bacon, though.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Although I didn’t really know what to do with myself for the rest of my day off, heading home and waiting for Fern seemed a better course of action than anything else I could think of. I knew it couldn’t be too terribly long before they realized Fang and Jimmy Jack were entirely innocent, though at the same time, I also couldn’t blame my sister for wanting to ensure everyone’s safety. Moody was still lazed in the corner of the sofa, only leaving her spot for food, and rarely, the liver treats we tossed in front of her. If anything, the feline seemed to be growing more attached to the characters in my soaps than even I was. I sank into the sofa beside Moody, glancing at the television with vague interest. Her little stump of a tail was twitching wildly, and I could imagine if she still had a whole tail, it’d be flick
ing back and forth in agitation.
“So... Fern and Sheriff Bailey came and got Fang from the cafe this morning. Jimmy Jack too. I was surprised they didn’t put up even more of a fight, but I guess that’s a relief. Wouldn’t want Fern to come home with a broken nose, or worse: a bald spot.
“That’s nice,” Moody mumbled a bit dismissively, keeping her eyes focused on the television. I hummed quietly for a moment, tapping a beat out on my thighs while Moody got more and more absorbed in the show.
“You know, Elizabeth woke up just in time to see her child born. The surprise was, she’s an alien from the planet Xorbnag. I don’t know what the poor guy is gonna do,” Moody mused aloud, barely sparing me a glance. I shrugged emphatically, startling a bit when the front door slammed open. Fern stalked inside, several case files tucked under each arm. I thought to greet her, but knew better considering the mood she seemed to be in.
“Fang was a no go, as we expected. He’s still on our list, though. Apparently, Amber saw Fang and Dickney going to blows over Hazel’s honor outside the diner one evening, so...,” she trailed off, shaking her head a bit. I raised a brow, considering her words for a moment.
“If he did that, why is he off of your list of suspects? Not that I think he did it by any means, but—,” I intended to ramble on a bit, but Fern waved me off with a sigh.
“He’s got a pretty tight alibi. He was reluctant to give up any of his customers’ information, but those that we were able to speak to confirmed his story. He and Jimmy Jack were out delivering hooch all night, from the sounds of it. Not exactly legal, but I convinced the Sheriff that we had bigger and better things on our plate,” she sighed, sagging to the floor and pressing her head back against the door.
“Well, you did mention some kind of hunch, right?” I asked gently, and her eyes briefly lit up.
“Oh! Yes. I almost forgot,” Fern muttered, producing a picture of a rather surly looking gentleman for our cat. “This. This is the man that kicked you, isn’t it?” Fern demanded, receiving a rather sour look in response.
“He’s lucky I didn’t destroy his tiny little d—” Moody began, cut short again.
“Moody. Please. Language,” Fern muttered crossing her arms over her chest.
“I meant his dignity. The fool can keep his actual pieces,but I don’t plan to make it any easier on him in his efforts to reproduce,” Moody muttered, hopping off the couch and striding towards the back door. “I’m assuming it’s a no go on him as well, though,” Moody called back, lingering near her food bowl. I rolled my eyes, making time to fill the cat’s water bowl while Fern seemed entirely too noncommittal in her answer.
“Who is the guy, anyway? What brought him all the way to Stillwater, probably from Hollywood?” I asked, unable to mask my excitement.
“This is Dickney’s business partner. The one I saw him having a bit of a fight with in my vision at the morgue. I’ve been tailing him all day, but he caught on after a little while. He explained that since he pulled out of the business deal with Dickney, Charles had been nothing but drunk. Fitting, I guess. Just the same, we have a lot to continue to try and figure out,” Fern announced firmly, slapping her hands together as if to get rid of the dust that was most certainly not there.
“We could always let a bunch of these busybodies put each other under,” she mused.
“Either way—Fern, you need to take a break. Moody and I have missed you terribly, and you know i hate keeping this place tidy all on my own,” I bemoaned, grabbing my sister by the arm and dragging her to the couch. She put up a bit of a fight, although it was a very short one.
“Why don’t you just charm the vacuum to take care of things for you? You always seem so thrilled to use your magic, regardless of the situation,” she mumbled, stretching out on the couch and flinging her forearm over her eyes. Moody watched her with a pout, and I realized that Fern had taken Moody’s spot. Before I could point it out, however, Moody jumped on Fern’s side and settled just beside her legs. My sister hummed comfortably, closing her eyes and soon drifting off. I knew I should have let her continue her quest for information, but at the rate she was going, she was going to end up killing herself. I couldn’t allow that. Not to my big sister, not to anyone else. I grabbed a blanket off of my nearby easy chair, flinging it over my sleeping sister and the cat snoozing at her feet. It seemed I would have to entertain myself somehow for a little while. Grabbing the remote, I rewound through all the series recordings Moody and I had made of our favorite soaps. After hearing Elizabeth was actually an alien, I wanted to do a bit of looking back into the series. For the sake of continuity and all.
Meanwhile, in spite of how comforting the whole situation seemed—Dickney was dead. There was no bringing him back. And I was running out of ideas on how to solve this mystery.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Fern had long disappeared off of the sofa before I woke up that morning, though I couldn’t really blame her. She had a lot to catch up on down at the station, and as much as I would like to say I had lots to do at the museum that day, it simply wasn’t the case. There were no tours due to the stormy weather we’d been having, and Becky was able to cover most of the shifts when it was just a matter of maintaining the exhibits. Deciding I wasn’t simply going to let my day waste away, I thought it might do a bit of good to clean up around the cottage. As intelligent as Moody was, she still had the occasional accident (though at that point I was sure it was just to spite Fern and myself). What few rooms had carpet were essentially ruined, and there was only so much a mortal could do to clean them. Fern preferred to live relatively magic free whenever possible, as if she longed to be just like everyone else. While I knew Fern would never quite fit in as well as she would like, I entertained the notion of keeping my magic under wraps for the most part. Now, however, Fern was at the Sheriff’s office for God only knew how long, leaving me at home to take care of my own entertainment. I glanced at Moody, and she was for once snoozing on her original spot on the back of the couch. Maybe she had felt safer in the actual cushions, but was now confident Fern and I would keep any boogeymen away.
Moody probably would have argued the point, but she was asleep and I was content to allow myself the simple little fantasy. The thing about cats is you never really had a pet—they were more of a master than most of their owners. I liked to think we kept Moody in line, sometimes it felt like she was toying with us, giving us a false sense of security before she struck. Alright, maybe that was a little paranoid, but ever since I’d locked her in the carrier, I had the feeling that my feline companion was furious at me. Although there wasn’t an awful lot to be done about it, I could at least clean up her domain so she could... mess it back up, I guess.
It would take a little bleach and a lot of scrubbing, and if I didn’t have my magic to help, I definitely would have pinned the task on someone else. However, since all I had to do was levitate the bleach into all the right spots, and set the brushes up to automatically scrub back and forth, it seemed easy enough to fit into the afternoon. I received a text from Fern while I was in the midst of scrubbing, groaning as I read over the message.
“What’s your problem?” Moody groaned from the living room, and I glanced over my shoulder with a bit of a pout.
“Fern’s stuck at the station again. She won’t be home for lunch... or dinner, or probably even breakfast tomorrow, knowing her luck,” I muttered, trying to focus my attention on cleaning up the den.
“That’s... awful. Really. I’m shedding a tear over here,” Moody hummed, and I resisted the desire to fling one of my magic scrubbing brushes at her. “You could always take a little something for her to eat, you know. She’s not the only one in this house who knows how to cook, as much as you’d like to deny otherwise. Not that I can blame you. I can’t imagine how anyone would get much pleasure out of cooking or...,” she paused, staring at me for a a moment. “Cooking or cleaning, I suppose,” she laughed.
“I’m certainly not cooking. Whether you choos
e to believe it or not, my cooking is total garbage. Though, there is a little soup place just down the road from the station. It’s pretty new, but Fern has been wanting to give it a go. I usually have a pretty good idea of what Fern likes, so...,” I trailed off, finishing up the deep cleaning before levitating everything back into its proper place.
“Soup...,” Moody repeated, sounding none too thrilled.
“With the weather we’ve been having, I’m sure she’ll love it. Now behave yourself until I get back and don’t you dare skip to the next episode. I’m serious, Moody. If I miss another episode, I’m going to flip. I’m already so lost since the alien invasion...,” I trailed off, the strangeness of an alien invasion in a soap opera no longer even a consideration. I don’t know how the writers did it, but they always managed to pull the show off perfectly.
“Alright, alright. Well, what am I supposed to do? It’s not like I can chase my tail, you know. Not since... well,” she paused, giving me what I assumed was supposed to be a meaningful look. I rolled my eyes, grabbing my keys and heading out the door before doubling back for my umbrella.
“I don’t know. You can go chase mice or something. Cat things,” I said dismissively, though I still didn’t quite know what ‘cat things’ entailed. Just the same, Moody seemed happy enough with the suggestion, however, darting out the door into the rain. I expected her to complain about the downpour, but she simply pranced along, dashing through puddles and making a general spectacle of herself. I chuckled, sliding into my car and turning the ignition. The trip to the restaurant was a short one, though it took me around fifteen minutes to choose from the many soups available on the menu. Around twelve out of the twenty selections sounded like something Fern would really enjoy, it was just a matter of narrowing them down. Sighing, I covered my eyes and raised my hand, pointing my finger at the menu board. I swung my hand around a few times before opening my eyes and seeing what Fern’s fate would be. Potato soup, huh? Not bad, I guess.
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