by Sam Short
“That’s why you were so concerned about those stupid rare flowers,” said Jill. “That’s why you were on the phone to those DEFRA people! You hoped they’d stop people from digging in the dunes!”
“Only until I could remove your mother’s remains,” said Chester. “But they didn’t seem very concerned. I telephoned them twice, but nobody came out straight away, like I hoped they would. I had to move your mother that night, Jill. I thought the whole place would be dug up by fossil hunters the next day, and my secret would be out.”
Jill nodded. “But the fossil hunters couldn’t dig, could they? Because that poor man was murdered —” Her face whitened, and she stumbled backwards, into the arms of Sergeant Spencer, who helped her to a seat. She took long ragged breaths, her sobs loud in the small room. “You killed him, too, didn’t you, Chester? You murdered that man!”
“I had to!” said Chester, gasping for breath. “He saw me with your mother’s bones! It was an accident!”
Jill placed her head in both hands and let out an anguished cry, her body shaking as she sobbed. “Another accident. I can’t listen to any more of this,” she wept. “I want to leave.”
Judith leapt to her feet. “Let me help you,” she said, offering Jill her hand. “Come on. We’ll get a cup of tea.”
“Jill, wait!” said Chester, as his wife was led from the room, her body shaking and her head low. “Please come back.”
Sergeant Spencer approached the bed, his notebook in hand. “You may as well finish telling us what happened, Chester. Jill would want you to be honest.”
The machine next to the bed beeped a little faster, and Chester nodded. “I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “Any of it. I thought I’d got away with killing Jill’s mother, and I’d even begun to come to terms with what I’d done — to forgive myself, even. I thought she’d stay hidden in those dunes forever, or at least until I was dead. I knew those dunes were a good place to hide her body. Even all those years ago, those dunes were a protected area, because of those flowers. I knew it wouldn’t be long until she’d decomposed in that environment. I thought she’d never be disturbed.”
“You make it sound so clinical,” said Millie, a sadness in her throat.
Chester nodded. “It has to be,” he said. “If you don’t want to be caught.”
“Tell us about Tom,” said Millie. “I was there when you killed him. I heard the shovel hit his head.”
“You weren’t the only person who was there that night,” said Chester. “I couldn’t believe my misfortune. I arrived at the dunes as soon as it got dark and began searching for Jill’s mother. It took a while, but I knew where I’d buried her, and that storm had taken a lot of sand away. I soon found her.”
“Yes,” said Millie. “The shallower sand made it possible for Tom to find Jill’s mother’s ring. It must have slid off her finger over time, as she… decomposed. Tom could never have realised how close he was to discovering the poor woman’s remains.”
“What did you do when you’d found her bones?” said Sergeant Spencer.
“I put them in the big bag I’d brought with me,” said Chester. “Along with my shovel and torch. I was going to bury her somewhere else. Everything was going perfectly to plan.”
“Until some men with metal detectors arrived,” said Millie.
“Yes,” said Chester. “I thought the game was up! I hid in a dip in the sand. I couldn’t see them, and they couldn’t see me, but luckily for me, the closest anybody got to me was a few feet away. It was dark, and they didn’t have torches. Nobody saw me. They were there for an hour… the longest hour of my life. I couldn’t hear what was being said — they were being quiet, but I could tell there was an argument going on by the tones in their voices, and then there was laughter.”
Millie looked at Sergeant Spencer. “They were laughing at Tom,” she said. “Because they’d changed the batteries in his detector so he couldn’t find any gold.”
Sergeant Spencer nodded. “Poor Tom had an awful night,” he said. “Tell us what you did to him, Chester.”
“I waited for them to leave,” said Chester. “And when they were far enough away, I began making my way back through the dunes. I’d parked my car on the main road and crossed the fields to get to the dunes, so I was going in the opposite direction to them. They must have parked in the nature reserve. But then I had an awful feeling. One of those feelings that you can’t ignore.”
“A feeling about what?” said Millie.
“I panicked. I had the awful feeling that perhaps I’d left a bone behind. Maybe just a small one, but one that might be found. I had to go back to check,” said Chester.
“But you didn’t know that Tom had stayed behind in the dunes,” said Millie.
“No,” said Chester. “And he was being very quiet. I was, too. Even though the cottage you live in is a couple of hundred metres from where I was, I could still hear you talking. You were on your patio, and I figured that if I could hear you, you could hear me.”
“I saw torchlight,” said Millie. “Was that you?”
“I was being as careful as I could to hide the light,” said Chester. “But I needed to be sure there were no bones left. I just moved the top layer of the sand I’d put back in the hole I’d dug to retrieve Jill’s remains, and had a good look around. And then I heard breathing, behind me. I looked up and saw him, and then he said something. He sounded shocked.”
“Tom,” said Millie.
“Yes,” said Chester. “I was on my hands and knees in the sand, with the bag next to me. It was unzipped, and Jill’s mother’s skull was on full display. I’d switched my torch off, but the moon was bright enough to give Tom enough light to see what was in my bag. He looked terrified.”
“Go on,” said Sergeant Spencer.
Chester gave a groan of pain. “He shouted something. I don’t know what. So I stood up.”
“I heard,” said Millie. “Me and Judith were already in the dunes, looking for whoever was using a torch.”
“He had a shovel in his hand,” said Chester. “It was easier to grab his, than to turn around and pick mine up.”
“And you hit him with it,” said Sergeant Spencer.
Chester nodded, blood seeping through several parts of his bandages. “I did,” he said. “Then I panicked and threw the shovel aside, grabbed my bag and shovel, and ran.”
“Straight home,” said Millie. “And you buried the remains of Jill’s mother in your garden.”
“Yes, I wasn’t thinking straight, and it was all downhill from there,” said Chester. “I’d murdered a man, and buried the remains of my mother-in-law in my garden. My mind stopped working. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat, and every time I heard a car outside I thought it would be the police.” He looked at Millie, his eyes barely visible through the slit in his bandages. “And when you came today, I listened to what you were saying. I realised the game was up, and panicked.”
“So you slashed my tyres, and ran,” said Millie.
“Yes,” said Chester. “I’m sorry. For everything.”
Sergeant Spencer closed his notebook. “Two murders, the attempted murder of George and Millie, and criminal damage. You’ll be going away for a very long time, Chester Harris,” he said.
Chapter 23
Millie answered her phone. “Hi, Judith,” she said.
“Hey, detective of the year, twenty-eighteen,” said Judith. “The bones have been positively identified as Jill’s mother’s remains, and the fingerprints on Tom Temples’s shovel belong to Chester. How does it feel to have solved two murders at the same time? Well, one murder and one missing person’s case which turned out to be a murder. I bet it feels like a great excuse for a bottle or two of fine wine — which I just happen to have in my possession! What do you say? Shall I come round straight away?”
“I’d love to, Judith, but —”
“Seriously?” said Judith. “You’re turning me down?” She paused
. “Oh, wait. I see… somebody’s got a certain hot vampire coming over, hasn’t she? For wine, food and nibbles on the neck. Make sure you don’t let him nibble you too hard, Millie — those teeth could really hurt, and not the nice pain which makes you beg for more — I mean the bad pain, which makes you cry.”
“You paint a… weird picture, Judith,” said Millie. “But no. George isn’t coming. There’s no nibbling of necks happening in my cottage tonight.”
“Then what are you doing that’s more important than a bottle or two of wine?” asked Judith. “You solved two mysteries, Millie. That deserves a celebration.”
Millie gazed at her familiar. “I’ve still got one more mystery to solve, Judith. A mystery Reuben is helping me with. We need some time alone.”
“Oh,” said Judith. “Well, you make sure you tell me when you solve it. I’m intrigued.”
“I will,” said Millie, ending the call. She smiled at Reuben. “What's wrong?" she asked, staring at the little cockatiel. His head bowed low, and his normally vivid red cheeks appearing duller than usual, he looked nervous as he perched on the table next to the spell book.
"I'm scared," he said. "I'm scared of what will happen if the spell doesn't work. I’m scared of what will happen to you."
Millie approached the table, and offered Reuben her hand. The little bird leapt onto her index finger and looked up at her face as she spoke in soft tones. "If the spell doesn't work, Reuben, I'll be disappointed. I'll be very disappointed, but I'll get over it with time — like everybody gets over disappointments in time. There's nothing to fear."
"And you won't be… angry, with me?" said Reuben.
Millie brought her finger close to her face, and gave the bird a gentle kiss on the crown of his head. "Reuben, you can be the most annoying… bird, in the world. You’re sometimes rude, you’re sometimes brash, but I could never be angry with you. Not really angry, anyway." Millie placed her hand on the spell book, and Reuben hopped off her finger. "Come on. Let's cast the spell — it will either work, or it won't work."
Reuben puffed out his chest, his eyes gaining brightness. "Okay," he said. "I'll read from the book and you do as I say, how does that sound?"
"It sounds like a plan," said Millie. She glanced down at the clothes she’d chosen to wear. A knee length burgundy skirt with a little gold detailing around the hem, a flower print button up blouse, and her smart black heels over a pair of tights. She looked at her familiar. "How do I look?" she said.
"You look amazing, Millie," said Reuben. "If your mother does appear when we cast the spell, she’ll be proud of her daughter."
Millie turned away as she wiped a tear from beneath her eye. "What’s first?" she said.
Reuben studied the book. "As with every spell, you must introduce some of your own magic to the cauldron before you begin.”
Approaching the cauldron, and peering into the green fluid which swirled and shimmered within it, Millie nodded. She gazed into the stone-rimmed pool as she inserted a hand in the warm liquid, her fingers tingling as she focused on allowing a little of her magic to trickle from her fingertips. "There," she said, removing her hand, her fingers already dry. "That part’s done."
"Okay," said Reuben. "Now we need the unspoken words and a tear shed for the person who said them."
Millie reached for the table, butterflies in her stomach as she picked up the envelope. "Are you sure the dry tear on the envelope counts?" she asked.
"As sure as I can be," said Reuben. "As long as the ingredients are there, it shouldn't matter in what form they are presented to the cauldron." He looked up at Millie. "This is the hard part," he said. "You must burn the envelope, and allow the ashes to fall into the cauldron, being sure to picture your mother's face in your mind’s eye as you do it. Remember, when the letter has been burned — there's no going back. If the spell doesn't work, you'll never know what was written by your mother."
"And the pearl of wisdom," said Millie, moistening her lips with her tongue, and taking a lit candle from one of the shelves set in the cavern wall. "When do I use that?"
"That goes in last," said Reuben, reading from the page before him. "You should hold it over your heart while the letter burns, and when the last of the ashes from the envelope fall into the cauldron, you should drop the pearl in and say the words 'I choose to not hear your last words. I demand that you come forth and speak them from your mouth.'"
"And then?" said Millie.
"We'll see," said Reuben.
Taking a deep breath, and fighting the rising anxiety in her throat, Millie stared at the envelope. Placing one of the worn corners against the edge of the candle's flame, she swallowed hard as a curling finger of smoke rose to the rough rock of the cavern ceiling.
As the envelope began to burn, Millie placed the candleholder on the edge of the cauldron and placed her left hand flat against her chest, the pearl of wisdom pressing into the flesh of her breast.
As black ash fluttered from the envelope and spiralled into the glowing contents of the cauldron, Millie pictured the smiling face of her mother. She pictured her gentle brown eyes and her long dark hair. She pictured the small mole on her forehead above her left eye, and she pictured the slight bend in her nose — not as prominent as Millie's, but a family feature all the same.
As the flames ate the final piece of the envelope, beginning to burn Millie's fingers, she began to imagine she could even smell her mother. The sweet cinnamon scent of her favourite shampoo, and the fruity tang on her breath from the pear drops she’d always seemed to have a bag of in her handbag.
No longer able to bear the pain of the flames on her flesh, Millie released the tiny portion of blackened paper which remained between her finger and thumb, watching as it landed gently in the cauldron, and was sucked beneath the surface.
"The pearl," whispered Reuben. "Drop the pearl in, and say the words."
Moving her hand from her chest, Millie gazed at the tiny blue pearl which shone in her hand. Her fingers trembling, she held it above the cauldron, and said the words slowly and clearly as she allowed the pearl to drop from her hand, watching it land with a gentle splash in the magical fluid. "I choose not to hear your last words. I demand that you come forth and speak them from your mouth."
Her mouth as dry as the stone which her right hand gripped, Millie steadied herself against the edge of the cauldron, her heartbeat filling her head, and her legs no longer hers.
The green liquid in the cauldron shimmered and shone, and a bright light darted from left to right in the very depths of the magic. She bit her lip, and looked at Reuben for support.
"I don't know, Millie," said the little bird. "I don't know how long it should take. The book doesn't say."
Taking a step back from the cauldron, Millie spun slowly on the spot, searching the shadows of the cavern for the familiar shape of her mother. There was nothing there. There was nobody there — only she and Reuben, and the lingering stench of the smoke caused by the fire which had destroyed her mother's final letter to her.
She closed her eyes, and waited. She waited for longer than she knew was sensible. If the magic was going to work, it would have worked by now. She closed her eyes tighter, and waited some more, the warm trickle of tears on her cheeks. She flinched as something touched her shoulder, but took a deep breath when she realised it was Reuben, landing.
"I'm sorry," said the cockatiel. "I'm really sorry, Millie. I don't think it worked."
Millie opened her eyes, and nodded. "Not to worry," she said, turning her back on the cauldron and climbing the stairs, a sickness rolling in her stomach. "Come on, Reuben. I'm tired. I want to go to bed. And tomorrow morning I’m going to go and see Henry. He knows who my father is. He can tell me. I need to know.”
Halfway up the steps, Millie stalled for a moment, lifting a hand to her face and touching her cheek.
“What’s wrong?” said Reuben.
Looking to the left, Millie gave her head a gentle shake. “Nothing,” she said. �
�I thought I felt something on my cheek. That’s all.”
Chapter 24
The entrance hall of Spellbinder Hall was the busiest Millie had ever seen it. A crowd of young children laughed and jostled with one another as they were ushered up the stairs by Florence – the first ghost Millie had met when she’d moved to the bay, and Timothy, the short man who Millie had seen turn into a giant of a werewolf, during a fight on the beach, hurried across the floor, carrying a pile of thick books.
He gave Millie a smile. “Hello,” he said. “I’m sorry I can’t stop to chat. It’s lesson change over time, and if the kids see the teachers talking in the hallway…”
“It sets a bad example,” finished Millie.
“It does, indeed,” said Timothy, heading for an open doorway next to a suit of armour.
Millie jumped as a hand brushed her shoulder. “Miss Thorn?” said a soft voice from behind her. “May I speak with you?”
“Peter? Graham?” said Millie, turning to find the two men standing behind her.
“Erm, hello,” said Graham Spalding. “I’m sorry about all that Mister Anon stuff, and the way in which I spoke to you on several occasions.”
“I’m also sorry,” said Peter Simmons, dressed in a long white lab coat. “And I’m absolutely horrified about what I did to you while under the influence of that demon. I tried to stop myself, but I had no control. I can remember everything that terrible creature forced me to do, though. Including attempting to murder you. How is your poor throat, Miss Thorn?”
“Oh, it’s fine,” said Millie. “A little blob of a special balm, and it soon stopped hurting.” She looked Peter up and down. “You seem… different than the last time I saw you, Peter — before you were possessed, I mean.”
“You mean I no longer give people the impression that Graham had recruited a village simpleton to be his sidekick?” said Peter, glancing at Graham, who looked away. “The demon may have been evil, Miss Thorn, but its presence amongst the neurons of my brain seems to have fixed the damage done to me by a simple kitchen accessory used to transform bread into toast.”
