A Shade of Murder

by Constance Barker

  “Uh... Fern? What were you saying?” I asked gently, the volume of my own voice nearly enough to make my head pound.

  “Hm...?” She grunted, leaning against the outer wall of the museum entrance as I locked up. I had the feeling things like the reenactment would be delayed, if not canceled altogether, and a tipsy Mazie did not necessarily mean an irresponsible Mazie. Welcoming tourists right in the middle of a crime scene didn’t exactly sound professional, no matter how devoted you were to Civil War related history. Testing the door knob, I smiled and turned back to Fern.

  “You were going to say something about Chuck,” I supplied, and she blinked slowly for a moment before recognition dawned.

  “Good Lord above, Mazie, never let me drink this early again,” she muttered, rubbing her temples. “Anyway, if there’s one thing better than the cheeseburgers Chuckwagon can toss together, it’s his buttermilk pancakes,” she laughed, managing a smile. We walked towards our cars, but a quick glance at each other made it obvious that we had the same idea—neither of us was in any shape to drive. I’m sure driving under the influence was a line Fern wasn’t willing to cross, even though her moral stance seemed a bit skewed regarding drinking on the job.

  “You think mom’s awake?” I asked nervously, expecting a surly response. However, Fern looked thrilled by the suggestion. She fumbled with her phone for several moments, dialing our mother’s cell phone and holding her own to her ear.

  “If there’s ever a time to deal with mom and George, it’s when I’m about three sheets to the wind,” she whispered, straightening and forcing the laughter out of her voice when, presumably, our mother answered. “Hey, momma. Mazie and I are at the museum and... in the emotional state we’re in, we don’t feel quite comfortable driving. I was hoping you could swing by the museum, and then we could all go to the cafe for breakfast,” Fern cooed, her voice saccharine sweet. She paused for a moment, offering me a sly grin. “Oh, yes. We’ll tell you all you need to know when you get here. ...George isn’t feeling well? I’m sorry he won’t be able to join us. Yes, yes, of course he needs to get plenty of rest. That’s what vacations are for, isn’t it?” She continued, looking as if she were growing bored with the conversation. She leaned against the outer wall of the museum, her eyes rolling skyward as she listened to our mother jabber on. “Yeah. Yeah, mom. I love you too, but I’m going to see you in like five minutes. ...Seriously? ...Alright, fine, I’ll tell her. See you soon. Yep. ...Yep. Love you too. ...Yep. ...Mom, can we just talk about it when you get here? Alright, alright. Yes, I love you too, you’ve already said that. Okay, okay, we’ll see you soon. Drive safe. Bye,” Fern finished hurriedly, looking as if she wanted nothing more than to fling her phone across the parking lot.

  “Guess you weren’t as ‘shined up as you thought,” I snickered, watching as she stuffed her phone in her pocket and rubbed her temples.

  “Is it too late to sneak a little more? Just for the road?” Fern muttered, though her tone made it obvious she was teasing—albeit, grudgingly.

  “Oh, come on. It’s not like she’s going to ramble on for the whole car ride. If she does, she’ll be just as happy talking Hazel’s ear off once we get to the cafe. It’s okay, Fern, find your zen,” I smiled.

  “My zen is somewhere in the woods around Fang’s place. If I don’t turn my own gun on myself before we make it to the cafe, we’re in business,” she retorted. I giggled a bit, but we soon fell into a relatively comfortable silence. I closed my eyes once more, trying to give the alcohol a chance to get out of my system. I didn’t want to look totally foolish, not even in front of my goofball of a mother. I almost managed to drift off, leaning against that wall, which wasn’t entirely unheard of as far as the time I’d worked at the museum. However, before I could get too comfortable, the squeal of tires in the distant shook me from my reverie. I glanced towards Fern who only shook her head, and the two of us looked towards the road. What felt scarce seconds later, Mom’s minivan chugged into the parking lot, sputtering and spitting as she gave it what I could only assume was a welcome reprieve (that is, if cars could be grateful).

  “Hi, mom,” I called out, cringing at the beehive style she seemed to have adopted since the last time I saw her. It absolutely screamed small town Virginia, but that wasn’t always a good thing. I watched it bob along, entranced as she circled around the car. As soon as she lay eyes on my own, a giggle of delight erupted from her lips, and she rushed forward to draw me in close. I nearly suffocated from the force, though I should have expected our mother to feel more free to show her affection with George absent. Once I was thoroughly squeezed, my mom drew away and looked over to my sister. Fern smiled awkwardly, looking entirely unprepared for a full force mom squeeze. Just the same, Lila Stuart was never known for her merciful nature, and she lurched towards her fiery haired daughter and pulled her in for a tight hug. Fern managed a slight choking sound, and I watched with concern until mom released her and went about her usual assessment. She gripped Fern by the chin, turning her head from side to side. Fern obligingly opened her mouth, and I could hear my mother quietly counting under her breath.

  “Oh, Fern, dear, you must make time for proper dental hygiene,” our mother scolded, whispering a soft incantation under her voice. Fern’s mouth glowed for a moment, and she startled a bit, but the only result was a glimmering smile. “Momma’s not always gonna be around to fix those chompers, honey. And our little detective needs to keep her energy up!” Mom cooed, patting Fern on the cheek before drawing away. She took one final moment to size both of us up before nodding her approval. “Now tell me what in creation is going on to have you two so out of sorts,” Lila pressed. Fern’s stomach gave an unhappy rumble, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Take us to the cafe first. Case details that I should not be sharing with the general public will be revealed after I’ve had my first stack of pancakes.”

  Neither my mother nor myself could argue with that logic, and like old times, we all piled into the car. This time, I refrained from poking Fern in the ear for the duration of the trip. Well, for most of the duration...

  CHAPTER SIX

  Mom and I kept an easy pace even as Fern bolted into the cafe, all too eager to get her morning munch on. I glanced at the older witch from the corner of my eye, noting that she seemed a bit troubled by something.

  “What’s on your mind, momma?” I asked gently, reaching out to give her a little nudge. She initially moved to wave me off, but seemed to reconsider, heaving an unhappy sigh.

  “Ever since George got in that little spat with your coworker, he’s not been himself. I worry he’s not getting enough rest, he always seems so tired and agitated,” Mom admitted, and I resisted the desire to roll my eyes. Tired and agitated were one of the first two words I would think to associate with George, so I wasn’t terribly concerned.

  “Norma isn’t a coworker. And... well, George won’t be having anymore issues with her,” I drawled, pushing into the cafe and allowing mom to step inside before releasing my hold on the door. Fern was at her usual place in the corner, already hungrily gobbling at her first stack of pancakes. Though I’d never personally had them, I had to give ol’ Chuckwagon points for his speed.

  “Oh, don’t tell me she got fired over the incident, poor dear...,” Mom murmured, wringing her hands as she moved to join Fern at the table.

  “Bludgeoned, more like,” I muttered as I lingered behind, taking stock of everyone in the cafe that morning. The usual suspects, as it were, though I would never actually suspect any of Stillwater’s finest of murdering someone—especially one of their own. Dickney was easier to explain, that is to say... his name was all too appropriate in light of his personality. In addition to his terrible attitude, he was an outsider through and through. Norma at least tried to make her own place in town, for what good that did her. “Hey, Hazel. Fern and I were hoping to have a word with you,” I announced, watching as the waitress paused in cleaning one of the tables.

  “W
ell, if your sister has something to say, tell her to go ahead and spit it out. It can’t be too urgent, she was too excited about digging into those pancakes to even say hi,” the older woman said, and if it was anyone else, I would have been worried that she was upset. However, Hazel’s kind and gentle smile never faltered, and she chuckled a bit as she glanced in my sister’s direction.

  “Don’t mind her, it’s been a long morning,” I sighed, slinking over to the corner table as well.

  “I’d believe so, if that busybody that owns the occult shop were worth her weight in dirt,” Fang said a bit sourly, and Hazel smiled, patting him on the back of the hand as she passed. The surly older man’s cheeks reddened, and I averted my eyes to avoid any such crises. Crises such as cooing at the old moonshiner who would have no problem mounting me on his wall.

  “Oh, Fang, honey. We all know your bark is worse than your bite,” Hazel tittered gently, and if anything, the man’s cheeked flushed a deeper shade of red. He made no move to argue the claim, then again, the day the elder moonshiner actually got in a snit with Hazel would be the day pigs grew wings and flew. “Anyway, Mazie honey, Amber has been sharing... hm. What she seems to know about the situation,” the older waitress continued, approaching our table to grab Fern’s empty plate. I couldn’t help but snort as Fern began licking the plate in the most unladylike manner possible before placing it in Hazel’s waiting hand.

  “Fang has the right idea, at least. Amber telling the truth is about as likely as an alien abduction,” Fern muttered, inciting a loud and booming laugh from the kitchen.

  “Hey there, girl, I’ll have you know that I know a fella that got abducted,” Chuck called out, and Fern looked as if she were debating continuing the conversation.

  “Shelve it,” I muttered, and my sister sighed a little, calling out to the cook.

  “You be sure to tell me about it next time I come in for some of your world class pancakes. Right now, we’re working under the assumption that aliens aren’t real and Amber is a liar,” she said loudly, just as the bell above the door jingled, indicating a new customer had stepped into the shop.

  “Oh, Fern. You know, green is usually such a lovely color on redheads. Envy isn’t very flattering on you though, hon. It’s not my fault that the people in this town trust me with their secrets,” Amber announced extravagantly as she stepped into the cafe, and the whole atmosphere seemed to grow significantly less cheerful.

  She approached our table, bumping her hip against Fern’s side until my sister scooted over on the bench to get away. Apparently, taking this as an invitation, Amber settled into place beside her, propping her chin up in her palm. Fern frowned, but I met her gaze and tried to wordlessly implore her to keep her cool. A sharp exhale, and my saint of a sister turned to the window and seemed to zone out of the conversation altogether. Granted, the distant act was just for Amber’s benefit; Fern would be listening to every word of our conversation and carefully dissecting it piece by piece.

  “So, you know what happened at the museum this morning?” I pressed carefully, meeting Amber’s gaze and trying to appear open and understanding. She laughed, brushing me off.

  “From what that cute officer Keith tells me, it happened sometime last night. Makes you wonder what good old Norma was doing in the battlefield at night, doesn’t it? Probably out stirring up trouble, and ended up getting her comeuppance,” Amber said airily, examining her nails as if her hand were the most interesting thing God had bestowed upon mankind. I considered mentioning the fact that she was married, and thereby had no business talking to cute policemen, but I managed to swallow the comment before it could escape.

  “I don’t think anyone deserves what happened to Norma,” Fern said quietly, and Amber glanced at her as if she had grown a second head. I knew that what my sister was referring to went much deeper than the brutality of the murder, but it wasn’t as if that was something that could be easily explained away.

  “Well, I’m not saying the old biddy deserved to die. She just ought to have kept her nose in her own business,” Amber said coolly, looking as if she were taking some pleasure in pressing Fern’s buttons. However, my sister was paying her little mind, seeming to consider the words of the notorious gossip. I couldn’t help thinking a bit about them myself; as much as I disliked Amber (hate is a strong word), I had to admit she had a point. There had to have been some reason Norma was out at the field in the middle of the night. Maybe she had been out sabotaging the nurse’s tent, and got caught. It painted Billie Jean in a rather incriminating light, though I couldn’t imagine what she would have been doing out at that time of night either. Unless the murder was premeditated, which was what Fern had seemed to imply.

  “There have to be some rumors about who did it,” I said casually, and Amber barked out a harsh laugh.

  “Of course. Seems like Norma got in her fair share of fights on her last days,” she smirked. “I heard she wasn’t just goading at Billie Jean. One of the other volunteers mentioned Norma going on a tirade about some tired old man trying to put down everything the reenactment stood for,” Amber leaned in, whispering just loudly enough for me to hear her; being that my mother was preoccupied with idle chit chat with Fern.

  “I don’t know. I just think it’s awfully convenient that your mother and her boyfriend... what’s his name? Jim? Jose?,” she paused, looking to me with a raised brow.

  “George,” I corrected a bit reluctantly.

  “As I was saying... the timing seems awfully convenient, don’t you think? And in a few days, your mom and Georgie boy will be long gone,” she smiled, looking much like the cat who caught the canary. She seemed to be under some delusion that I gave a rat’s furry behind about my mother’s boyfriend, and I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of seeing me upset. Hell, I had my suspicions about him as well.

  “Fern will have the case solved long before George and I leave,” my mother interrupted casually, and Amber’s eyes widened almost comically. I’d forgotten about my mother’s impeccable sense of hearing. “As far as your theory about my honey bear going as far as killing someone, well... the girls did say you were a bit dense,” Mom continued with a sweet smile, as if she were talking to a child. Amber hesitated a moment, exhaling a sharp huff and sliding out of the booth.

  “Well, believe what you want. Billie Jean seems distraught about the whole thing, although...,” the gossip monger paused, grinning and leaning in a bit. “She is rather experienced in acting, isn’t she?” She added with a wink. Then, without another glance at any of us, she strode out of the restaurant. Fern stared after her, worrying her lip in agitation.

  “If that girl doesn’t start ordering food when she comes in, I’m gonna start charging her for the stupidity she spews,” Chuck loudly announced from the kitchen. It seemed to ease the tension in the cafe, and even I chuckled a bit at the thought.

  “She’d be bankrupt in thirty minutes,” Fang muttered.

  As laughter erupted around us, I met Fern’s gaze only to see that she seemed just as troubled as I felt. It seemed like we’d just gone in one giant circle. Two suspects, both with motives, which hadn’t brought us any closer to a decision one way or the other.

  “Becky was closing the night Norma was killed, right?” Fern asked, seeming to tune out our mother’s fussing about the accusations against her ‘honey bear’. Bleugh.

  “You don’t think...?” I blurted, and Fern could only laugh.

  “Of course not. But maybe she has some insight on why Norma was in the field so late. Even if she doesn’t, I’d like to see if our high-spirited friends have returned,” she explained. I nodded to myself, although I wasn’t sure it would help.

  Any plan was a step forward at that point, however.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  One by one, the spirits that haunted the battlefield flickered back onto the mortal plane. The Colonel examined his spirit form, determined to make sure that his uniform was as clean and flawless as always. Not a wrinkle to be found, a
s he had hoped. He glanced towards Mary Jane as she flickered back into ‘existence’, that is, existence as the more spiritual in society knows it. The three spirits had more than their share of tells to tale, though attempting to pry some explanation of the spirit world out of any of the three was generally a lost cause. Just the same, the trio was as shaken as ever upon their return, and scarce seconds after Mary Jane appeared, along came Little Timmy. The three exchanged looks, seeming thrilled to have survived another of their private adventures. As the Colonel took a moment to observe the battlefield around him, he raised a brow at his companions.

  “You’ll have to pardon me if this seems daft, but... where are those ridiculous actors? Certainly we couldn’t have been gone long enough to miss the entire spectacle—as much as I’d like to think so,” he drawled, seemingly torn between pleasure and disdain. Mary Jane cast a glance across the field, spotting a dark shape darting between the tents strewn throughout. Smiling, the former nurse whistled sharply. The shape paused before approaching the three with an obvious sense of trepidation.

  “Hello, Moody. We’ve been... away, as you can probably guess. It seems that we’ve missed something in our absence. Why isn’t anyone practicing for the reenactment?” She asked gently, waiting patiently as the feline took a moment to groom herself.

  “Jeez, I’d say you missed something. One of the actors was murdered, and the whole shebang has been put on pause. There was a question of whether or not the whole thing was even going to happen—,” Moody paused as the Colonel cheered.