A Shade of Murder

by Constance Barker

  “You don’t have to be so surly. Who peed in your cereal this morning?” Moody said after a moment, and Fern couldn’t help rolling her eyes.

  “I feel like you’re either forgetting the time you actually peed in the cereal box, or you’re being very obnoxious,” Fern began, rinsing her body clean. “If you give me just a minute, I’ll be out and we can talk about your sudden desire to be an early bird,” she finished, feeling a bit guilty for dismissing her feline companion when Moody seemed genuinely excited about... whatever it was she was trying to accomplish.

  “Fine, but hurry up. I’m getting bored and this steam is making me feel all congested,” the rotund feline sighed, and Fern could hear the click clacking of her claws as she hopped off of the toilet and strode back into Fern’s bedroom. As much as the detective wanted to cherish her remaining time in the shower, she knew that Moody was mildly impatient at the best of times, and intolerably so at the worst. So, with a heavy heart, she shut off the water and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around herself and resigning herself to an early morning heart to heart with her cat. It wasn’t even that she was dreading the conversation; chattering away with Moody always tended to be entertaining. It was just that she had really been looking forward to enjoying her morning shower. In any case, there was always the morning following, so it wasn’t terribly difficult to be amused by the way Moody batted at a dust bunny that had yet to be cleaned up. With a flick of her wrist, the clump of dust formed into a shape vaguely reminiscent of a rabbit, sending it hopping around. Moody’s eyes widened, and she fled from the creature that she could assume had come to life.

  “Easy, Moody. Just playing a bit of a trick on you,” Fern said soothingly, and with another flick of her wrist, the dust disappeared altogether.

  “I thought I was safe from your pranks! Ever since you stopped using your magic so freely...,” Moody trailed off, recognizing the look in Fern’s eyes. Deciding that changing the subject was the best course of action, the feline hopped up on the detective’s bed, kneading the blankets as her favorite human took a seat next to her. Fern idly stroked along the cat’s spine, from the tips of her ears to the tiny little nub that remained of her tail. Moody purred contently, and for a moment, they both seemed to forget that there was a point to the early morning rendezvous. However, after a moment, the feline straightened up to look at her master. “I need a favor,” Moody said reluctantly, as if it were painful to admit as such. Fern raised a brow, having no idea what the cat could want. There seemed to be no harm in playing along, at least.

  “You already know I’m going to buy you as many liver treats as you can stomach to make up for Mom and George being in town. I can’t imagine what kind of favor you would need,” Fern mused, idly drying herself off. Moody huffed a bit melodramatically, draping herself across the detective’s lap even as the witch tried to towel off. “Moody, come on. You’re being ridiculous. I haven’t even said no yet. I don’t even know what you’re asking of me,” Fern muttered, although it was obvious she did not have the willpower to move the feline from her lap.

  “I need a ride to the Museum,” Moody finally declared, none too pleased by the confusion being turned upon her.

  “Uh. Okay. Why can’t you just... walk? You know you’re free to roam whenever you want,” Fern asked curiously, although the feline looked at her as if she were the most idiotic person on the planet.

  “I can’t walk that far, a fact you should be painfully aware of,” Moody grumped, and Fern could only roll her eyes.

  “Chubby baby. Alright, alright. Given, you probably wouldn’t make it even halfway there, but why don’t you just ride with Mazie like usual?” The witch pressed, receiving an expression that was somehow more sour than before.

  “If I ride with Mazie, those stupid wannabe actors will already be in the field—which is exactly what I’m trying to avoid. I need to check things out, make sure no other cats have been prancing around my turf. The only thing worse than other cats is those damn mice. They think they’ve got it easy from here on out, but they’ve got another thing coming,” Moody declared. Fern leaned back on the bed, considering the feline for a long moment.

  “Alright,” she said plainly, waiting for the cat to move from her lap.

  “I know it’s a pretty big request, but come on Fern, you gotta help your old pal Moody out,” the feline continued to ramble, not seeming to hear the woman.

  “I said alright,” Fern repeated, staring at her strange pet.

  “After all, it’s because of you and Mazie that I don’t have a tail anymore! Do you know how embarrassing it is to stalk your territory without a tail? I had to make up a less pathetic reason than some human slamming it in the pantry door! They think I got in a fight with a pack of rottweilers, Fern, a whole pack,” Moody continued frantically, leaping off of Fern’s lap to pace the floor. Fern watched with an amused expression, allowing the cat to properly work herself up. “Do you know what they’ll say if I can’t even keep some old tomcat out of my yard? I’ll be ruined,” Moody cried out, dramatically flopping on her side.

  “You know, if you were listening, you would know I agreed as soon as you asked. I’ll take you to the museum. Things are pretty quiet in town right now anyway, I doubt I’ll need to get to the station particularly early,” Fern smiled, chuckling at the antics of the dramatic cat. Moody perked up a bit, baring her teeth in the closest approximation to a grin that a cat could manage.

  “Seriously! Great! Come on, then, get dressed, I’ll be filling up on kibble downstairs. Gotta fuel up, you know,” Moody announced, darting out of the room like a bat out of hell—likely before Fern had the chance to change her mind. The witch only smiled, towel drying her hair before getting dressed, opting for her work clothes. Even if she wasn’t needed at the station presently, it always paid to be prepared. She placed her radio in its holster, her gun hanging from the opposite side as she slipped out the door of her bedroom and crept downstairs. Mazie wouldn’t wake for hours, and the detective had no plans to expedite the process—especially considering the ridiculous reason Moody was dragging her out for. She paused at the small dining area, arms crossed over her chest as she watched that cat eat as if she’d not had any sort of sustenance for weeks.

  “Good Lord, Moody. Just how much fueling up are you doing, here?” Fern said in a rather bland tone, watching the feline for a moment longer before retreating to get her keys off their hook. Short moments later, the telltale pitter patter of Moody’s feet signaled her arrival.

  “You always have to be prepared for the worst case scenario, Fern,” the cat explained as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. Granted, it was a good enough excuse for the detective—she was of a like mind, even though she was sure Moody was just looking for an excuse to pig out. She scooped the paunchy cat up in her arms, slipping out the front door and making a point to lock it behind her. One never could be too careful, even in Stillwater. Moody purred contentedly as she was carried to the car, taking her place in the passenger seat with obvious excitement.

  “So, I guess I’ll stick around for a little while, there’s not much else to do this early,” Fern muttered, and Moody had the audacity to look scandalized.

  “No one can know my human drove me here! Do you not understand cat politics, Fern? We’ve been over this more times than I can count,” Moody groaned, flopping against the passenger side door. Fern hummed, but that was all the acknowledgment she was willing to offer for the time being. Moody continued to mope, but when Fern took a hand off the steering wheel to pet her ears, she seemed to forget what she was angry about. “You know, you’re supposed to keep both hands on the wheel at all times,” Moody sighed, and Fern paused in the middle of the petting session.

  “How do you feel about your mother being in town, anyway?” Moody asked idly, and Fern couldn’t help but heave a sigh.

  “As controlling as she can be, I love Mom. It will be nice to see her. It’s just that I don’t know what she sees in that Geor
ge guy. He’s such a... such a jackass,” Fern muttered unhappily.

  “You want me to poop in his shoes?” Moody offered, voice entirely serious.

  “I may take you up on that. He’s always taking his shoes off in our house and making us endure his smelly feet,” Fern sighed. “I just don’t know what she sees in him, is the thing. I mean, I barely even remember dad, but... I mean, surely she has some sort of standards.”

  “Well, loneliness can do strange things to people...,” Moody trailed, off, purring contently as her ears were continuously rubbed. “You know, you’re supposed to keep both hands on the wheel at all times,” Moody murmured, and Fern paused in the middle of the petting session.

  “Are you saying you want me to stop rubbing your ears? Because that’s something I can manage, Moody Booty,” Fern said with a sly lilt to her voice.

  “I wouldn’t go that far. I just expected an officer of the law to... well, obey the law,” Moody purred, pressing into Fern’s hand. Fern hummed once more, contemplating her answer.

  “Do you really think any of my coworkers would pull me over at all, let alone give me a ticket? They’re terrified of me, because I know how to keep a presence in the office. Maybe one day you’ll grow up and be a kitty police officer who can put me in my place,” Fern said sarcastically, and Moody chuckled a bit, curling up in the seat she had claimed.

  “Why would I ever want a job? I live with you and Mazie rent free, and I get all the liver treats I could ever ask for,” Moody replied, sounding a bit drowsy.

  “Oh, don’t you dare fall asleep after dragging me out of the house. I better see you take out some mice or I will be very disappointed in you,” Fern snapped. Moody yawned, exposing her sharp teeth in the process.

  “Join the club, Fern. Life is a series of disappointments,” Moody said quietly, not seeming particularly invested in the conversation. Fern exhaled a sigh, shaking her head in exasperation.

  “You need an attitude check, do you know that?” Fern pointed out, but received no response. She looked over to see the feline snoozing peacefully in the passenger seat. In most cases, Fern would be inclined to drive over one of Stillwater’s many potholes just to wake the cat up. She supposed she felt generous, however, and Moody did seem to have eaten herself into a short food coma. The remainder of the ride passed in silence, and although Fern knew the most logical step was to turn around and head home, something kept her in the direction of the museum. Boredom was the only explanation she could come up with, although the drama during the reenactments could occasionally be entertaining.

  Pulling into the museum parking lot, the witch cast a light sleeping spell on the feline, as not to disturb her as she came to a stop and pushed out of the car. The museum was oddly creepy in the shadow of the early morning, although she wasn’t sure exactly what she was afraid of. She was aware of the spirits haunting the battlefield, and had little concern with being bothered by the three of them. Prior experiences aside, the ghosts were usually pretty darn harmless. It wasn’t the idea of spirits, or the world beyond her own that scared Fern. It was the cruelty that existed in her own world, on the mortal plane. The crimes she devoted her life to preventing, or in a worst case scenario, solving. She shook off these thoughts as she strode towards the back of the museum, intent on seeing what had been accomplished the day before.

  The tents were lined up in tidy rows, and she could see the old cannons set up in their proper place. She’d seen the reenactment so many times that she could recite every line from memory alone, though that was part of living in Stillwater. Something about roaming the battlefield at night was somewhat comforting, although the spirits were nowhere to be seen. There were times when the Colonel, Mary Jane and Little Timmy would disappear, and it could be a number of days before they returned. They never clarified on where they went, but Fern had the suspicion that it had something to do with the energy required to keep their forms. It was a strange idea, the thought of ghosts getting sick, but it seemed to be the case on occasion. They would appear sickly, more like the grotesque and decaying forms they had long since left behind. It tended to happen suddenly, and they would often disappear without a trace. She could only assume that was the case on that particular night, as she strode confidently across the battlefield.

  The sounds of growling alerted her to another presence towards the back most edge of the field, but on closer look it was easily identified as a coyote. Probably scavenging for something to eat—though it seemed the battlefield was the last place it would find something to munch on. Dread settled like a hard lump in the pit of Fern’s stomach, and she grabbed her gun as she approached the animal. There was an almost unrecognizable shape on the ground, and she used her phone’s flashlight to get a better look. She immediately regretted it. On the ground lay Norma Pratt, the side of her head caved in by a cannonball from the reenactment. Her face was still vaguely recognizable—although quite vaguely. Shooing off the coyote and making a mental note to call animal control later, Fern considered Norma’s battered corpse for a moment longer before grabbing her radio.

  “Yeah, sheriff? We’ve got a problem.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It was always great fun to arrive at work with a whole squad of police cars scattered across the parking lot. Totally my idea of a good time, trying to park in the whole mess. Maybe it was a bit cold for me to be annoyed by the situation, but I had a job to do and the reenactment actors would be arriving in short order. I hadn’t even been alerted that anything had happened, although it was admittedly strange to wake up to find both Fern and Moody missing in action. A brief surge of fear jolted through me as I began to mentally parse through scenarios that would require so many police cars jammed into the front lot and... oh Lord. An ambulance was parked crookedly in the back lot, its lights still flashing but no siren to be heard. Obviously, that didn’t seem like a good sign. Concerned for the well-being of my sister, and yes, Moody too, I darted towards the battlefield to see what on earth was going on. I would've expected Fern to call me, unless something had happened to her. My heart raced with anxiety as I scanned the crowd for that fiery red hair, praying that my sister hadn’t gotten into a situation she couldn’t handle.

  When something brushed across the side of my leg, I screamed, attracting the attention of everyone in the field. I glanced down with trepidation, relief washing over me as I realized it was Moody. Our cat looked slightly troubled, but clearly not troubled enough to indicate something had happened to Fern—at least, as far as she was aware.

  “Everyone is so jumpy, lately,” Moody mused, leaning against the side of my leg and watching as the police began to tape off the wooded area just beyond the field.

  “Don’t act like you don’t get any pleasure out of scaring people, Moody. Remember when you begged me to turn your fur black so you could creep people out even more?” I drawled, internally pleading for Fern to show up so I could stop panicking. I didn’t realize anyone was inside the museum until I heard the back door open, which was strange considering that I was scheduled to open that day. Fear washed over me once more, and I turned to face my assailant head on.

  “The coffee machine is broken,” Fern said blandly, with dark rings around her eyes as well as an expression of general discontent. Her hair was frizzier than usual, which I only noticed because my sister took immaculate care of her hair. She sipped from a small cup, though I wasn’t quite sure what it contained if the coffee machine was down. “I did find your stash of hooch, though,” she added, almost as an afterthought as she abruptly tossed back the contents of the cup. I stared at her, a part of me ashamed that she’d found my stash though that likely should have been the least of my worries. I was also well aware that drinking on the job was extremely out of character for my sister. She tended to keep to the moral high ground, while the rest of us folks in Stillwater lived in a life of debauchery and sin. That may be a bit of an exaggeration, but to simplify; my sister was usually a saint. Seeing the slight swaying of her posture as sh
e glanced between Moody and myself made me realize that something was distinctly wrong.

  “Fern... honey, sis, what happened?” I asked gently, taking a step towards her and resting my hands on her shoulders.

  “You’d think after so long, I’d be used to seeing corpses in my line of work,” Fern muttered, though she sounded distant and detached from the situation. I glanced at Moody who, for once, looked worried. She left my side to weave around my sister’s legs, mewling and purring like a normal cat would upon seeing a frantic master. Fern picked her up and the usually surly and sarcastic cat continued to purr, rubbing her face against Fern’s cheek.

  “Someone... someone died on the battlefield?” I asked haltingly, not sure what to do with the information. Fern let out a sigh and Moody and I locked eyes. The feline looked perturbed, but not particularly surprised by the way her sister was acting.

  “Hundreds of people died on this battlefield, I’m sure. I mean, come on, Mazie. It is a battlefield,” Fern said with a smile that looked forced. I tilted my head, carefully drawing my sister and our cat in for a gentle hug. Fern stiffened in my grip, quickly swiping the back of her hand across her eyes. “I found a body earlier this morning. Around four. Moody asked me to bring her to the battlefield—,” Fern began, only for Moody to interrupt a bit morosely.

  “I’m sorry...,” the typically surly cat muttered. Fern chuckled, brushing her hand along Moody’s spine.

  “If you hadn’t asked me to bring you, I’m pretty sure Mazie would have been the one to find her. I’m glad it was me instead,” Fern assured the feline, and the pit of dread in my stomach seemed to grow impossibly larger. “In any case, Moody asked me to bring her before sunrise so that she could catch up on her hunting... cat politics, or something,” Fern chuckled weakly, and Moody looked a bit smug. “When we got here, she had fallen back asleep, so I used a low grade sleeping charm to keep her relaxed while I checked out what had been done in the fields. Technically, she didn’t die on the battlefield, if that’s of any comfort. More so in the wooded area behind it,” Fern finished, seeming drained by having to relay the story.