October has been quite a month. Der Mann and I moved (during a pandemic, with Mercury in retrograde, can you believe it? No wonder it felt like the never-ending Move from Hell). Anyway, in the midst of moving, the country going to hell, and a very contested election, I had October blog.
Writing that blog was difficult. More than difficult, actually. Being physically, emotionally, and mentally exhausted makes finding the words difficult. So imagine my surprise when I realized that I had over 3,000 words on this blog – but it’s only about halfway done.
I talked it over with the other PCAuthors and they suggested a two-part post for this one. Because I am totally exhausted, I agreed that this is a good idea. So, following is Part One of Marigold Mayhem, a Grey Feather Investigation. This is a short story in our cozy mystery series, set in PCEarth, but in a different town and with all new characters. I hope you like getting to know Victoria and Webster as much as I enjoy writing them.
Marigold Mayhem, Part One
A Grey Feather Investigation
I read the email again. And again. It still said the same thing. “There is no way we can make this work,” I said to the other people in the room – my familiar, an African Grey parrot named Webster, my granddaughter Banshee, and her familiar, a Siamese cat named George. Webster clacked his beak and rustled his wings in an avian shrug, before returning his attention to his book. At least he pretended to listen, I thought, unlike Richard.
As though my thoughts had summoned him – which I knew was impossible as Richard was a Fire Elemental, not a Psi – my beloved husband of a lot of years stalked into the kitchen, went to the cupboard to retrieve a glass, then to the refrigerator where he filled the glass with sweet tea, and then stalked back out of the kitchen, all without making eye contact or saying one word to anyone present.
Banshee frowned. “Granpa is really mad, isn’t he?”
I sighed. “You noticed, too?”
Banshee grinned and nodded her head. The motion caused her brown, wavy hair, currently caught up in a ponytail, to dance. George eyed the bouncing ponytail. She didn’t look at her familiar when she said, “Don’t even think about it, George.”
The cat huffed and managed to look indignant at the reprimand, not a difficult task for a Siamese, actually. He closed his sapphire eyes and pretended to snooze, though the twitching tail and rustling wings gave him away.
“I just don’t understand. Why, after nearly forty years, has Hugo decided to attend the family Samhain working?”
My dear granddaughter didn’t respond, but her fingers tapped on the tabletop. She knew something; the tapping was a tell.
“What is it, Banshee?”
My granddaughter squirmed, but didn’t respond. The fingers tapped faster.
“Banshee?”
“It’s Colin, Grandmum. Colin is the reason.” After her confession, Banshee slumped in her seat as though the tension of keeping the secret was all that had kept her upright.
I sipped my tea. I knew if I stayed silent, Banshee would volunteer more information. Which she did after a few minutes of silence.
“Hugo is a professor at Colin’s school,” Banshee explained. Her voice dropped. “At first, Colin didn’t even know he was our great-uncle. You know he doesn’t use the O’Meara name?” Her voice ticked up in a question.
“Of course he doesn’t!” Richard roared from behind me. I hadn’t known he was standing there and I wondered how much he’d heard. He had such a fondness for Colin, our eldest grandson, and I didn’t want to see anything tarnish that relationship. Especially not Hugo and my darling Richard’s forty-year-old grudge.
Richard advanced into the kitchen, brandishing his empty glass like a sword. Banshee grabbed her glass and took a huge gulp of her own tea.
“Richard, really,” I began, but he plowed on.
“Hugo doesn’t deserve the O’Meara name, after what he did!”
Banshee cocked her head. I sighed; my granddaughter loved a good story, and I knew she’d sensed that there were unplumbed depths here.
“What did he do, Granpa?”
I elected to stay quiet. Webster ruffled his feathers, but surprisingly, he also held his peace. My husband rubbed his temples and turned to put his empty glass in the sink.
With his back to us, Richard said, “Hugo stole my mother’s engagement ring. The one that was supposed to come to me, the one that should have been yours, Victoria. Why do you persist in defending him?”
I sighed. This was an old, old argument, and it would never be resolved. I said, “Because for forty years, Hugo has maintained his innocence. He’s lost his family’s respect and his best friend and cousin over it.”
Richard stiffened. “I’ve always said I would forgive him, if he’d just own up to it. It’s his own fault that we don’t talk anymore.
“I don’t want to discuss Hugo any longer. He may well show up to the Samhain celebration, but don’t expect me to welcome him with open arms.” With that pronouncement, Richard left the kitchen, leaving me alone with my granddaughter and our familiars.
“Did he really do that, Grandmum?” Banshee asked.
I shook my head. “He says he didn’t, and has never changed his story. But the facts are that the ring vanished from its box and he was in the house with your great-grandmother when it did.” I paused. “And well, Hugo was not in a good place at the time. He’d been having troubles and Richard always said that he thought Hugo had been, ah…self-medicating.”
Banshee nodded, lips pursed. “So Granpa thinks Hugo took the ring and sold it for drug money or something. But…what if he didn’t?”
“I don’t know, Banshee. I’ve often wondered, but the facts are that the ring disappeared that day and it’s never been found.” I noticed that my granddaughter wasn’t actually looking at me. I followed her line of sight to Webster’s book.
A mystery.
He and Banshee exchanged a look. Webster ruffled his feathers and declared, “The game is afoot!”
I sighed and wished I had something a bit stronger than sweet tea in my glass.
###
My son arrived the next day, with Eileen and Brandon. Colin and his girlfriend, Maggie, would be arriving later in the day, as they had a rather longer drive.
“You and Eileen are in the largest guest room,” I told Donal. He grinned. When he was a boy, that had been his bedroom. Before I could say anything else, Banshee said, “I have the attic right now, but I promised Colin to move when he and Maggie get here. So I’m taking the yellow room.”
Brandon rolled his eyes. “You know I really don’t care that the other room is pink, don’t you?”
I bristled. The maligned room was my reading room, my personal sanctuary. “It’s rose, not pink. Pink is entirely too mundane.”
Brandon laughed and kissed my cheek. “Of course, Grandmum.” He lowered his voice to whisper in my ear, “Besides, I like that room best. It has all the good books. But don’t tell Banshee that.”
I repressed my smile and gestured them all inside. “Put your things away and come back down to the kitchen for some snacks.”
Everyone assembled a bit later, refreshed and hungry from the drive. I put out the cakes, cookies and sandwiches, and everyone knew there was tea, water, and soft drinks in the refrigerator. When plates were made, we gathered around the kitchen table to eat and talk.
Donal looked around. “Where’s Dad?”
“Sulking,” Webster said. “Might I have a petit-four, please?”
“Sulking?” Donal inquired. “Mother, what is going on?”
I sighed. Nothing for it now, thanks to Webster. Why had I ever thought a talking familiar was a good thing?
“Your Uncle Hugo is coming to Samhain,” I said, trying for a casual tone. I’m not altogether sure I succeeded, considering. “He’s riding in with Colin and Maggie. They’re going to get him settled at his hotel before they come here.”
Donal and Eileen both froze and stared. I noticed that both Brandon and Banshee continued munching away, unfazed. They both knew already, I thought, but didn’t tell their parents. Interesting.
Eileen folded her hands and glanced at Donal as though to say, ‘your family, you respond’. I can’t say I blamed her.
“Hugo is coming for Samhain,” Donal repeated. I noticed that he didn’t stumble over the name and my suspicions were aroused. “Colin’s doing, I take it?”
I frowned. “How did you figure that out?”
“Yes, how did you?” Richard said. He’d apparently been skulking in the doorway again.
Donal met his father’s eyes without a hint of guilt. “Hugo is one of Colin’s professors, and has been a mentor to him for, well, a while now. He’s done well by Colin, and Colin is very fond of him.”
Richard grabbed a plate and filled it, then joined us at the table. I was glad he’d stopped sulking enough for that, at least. But then, I’d gotten his favorite – petit-fours – from Badd’s Breads over in Anderston. I hadn’t told him that I’d also gotten a take-and-bake frozen pie from them as well (I hid it in the freezer), but the pie was Donal’s favorite, Dutch apple. Brad sneaked slices of pear in with the apple in his apple pies and added fruit liqueurs to his crusts, for a pie experience to be found nowhere else.
“If Hugo would just admit that he took the ring, we could put all this behind us,” Richard repeated what he’d said to Banshee and me earlier.
Webster sidled up and pushed a saucer toward me. “Another petit-four, please. Richard, what actually happened that day?”
My familiar exchanged a glance with my granddaughter. She seconded his plea. “Yes, Granpa, tell us what happened.”
I noticed her fiddling with her tablet and repressed my sigh. She and Webster were up to something, and I didn’t want to know what. I added more tea to my cup and wished I could turn it into wine. Unfortunately, my witchery didn’t run that way.
Richard recounted the story I’d heard so many times before – the ring, the cousin in the house alone with the ailing mother, the cousin’s dire circumstances, then the ring going missing, the fight, and forty years of two men who’d loved each other like brothers avoiding even the mention of the other’s name. Though I suspected that last bit applied more to Richard than to Hugo.
When Richard finally wound down, Brandon shook his head. “Well, Granpa, I hope you and Hugo can manage to be civil at least, because it’ll break Colin’s heart if you can’t.”
My darling husband sighed. I wondered if telling the story twice in one day had made him start to rethink his position on grudge-holding. Then Richard dashed all my hopes. “Civility depends on Hugo,” he said, and took his plate to the sink. He left the kitchen without another word.
“Ouch,” Brandon said. Eileen reached over and rubbed his arm. “At least you tried, son.”
Meanwhile, Webster had somehow maneuvered himself onto the back of Banshee’s chair. “Did you get it all?” he whispered.
Banshee nodded. “Let’s go review it all and talk,” she whispered back. Then, “I’m going to go make sure I’ve moved everything into the yellow room.” She made her escape from the table.
Webster stretched his wings. “I’m going for a quick flight. I’ll be back before Colin arrives,” he said, and swooped out the open window. I got up to do the dishes, but Eileen and Donal cut me off. “Let us, Mom,” Donal said. “If Dad’s been like that all day, you need a break. Go out to the garden and refresh.”
I thought I should probably object, but really, I needed to see if I could corner Banshee and Webster. Those two were up to something, and I wanted to head off any trouble I could.
So I smiled, thanked my son and daughter-in-law, and went out the back door into my garden. I did pause for a moment to revel in my marigolds, so I think that counts as “refreshing”. Richard’s mother, Harriet, had been particularly fond of marigolds; she and I had planted the bed together when I was dating Richard. I hadn’t known until much later that she’d worked the plot and the plants so that they reseeded each year, and the colors, well, they weren’t all typical of marigolds. The bed was a riot of jewel-toned colors, and it did calm me a bit.
Then, mind composed, I slipped around the house and back in the front door, sneaked upstairs – sneaking! in my own house! – and stopped outside the yellow room. The door was closed, but I could hear Banshee and Webster talking.
“Play that bit again,” Webster said. “Where Richard talks about Harriet’s health.”
“Did you know her?” Banshee asked. “My great-grandmother?”
“A bit. She died just after Victoria and Richard got married.”
I opened the door and stepped inside. Both my familiar and my granddaughter froze. Webster clacked his beak in annoyance; Banshee, at least, had the grace to look guilty.
I crossed my arms and braced my feet, blocking the doorway. “So? Are you two going to tell me what you’re doing?”
George picked that moment to fly in through the open window. He landed on the bed and curled up for a nap, supremely unconcerned with what was happening. If not for the wings, one might wonder if he was just an ordinary cat. Webster extended a talon toward the cat until George hissed without even opening his eyes.
I shook my head. “You’re not distracting me, Webster. Tell me what you two are doing.”
“Solving the mystery of the ring,” Banshee said.
“Yes, that,” Webster seconded. I noticed that he’d piled a stack of his favorite mystery books by the bed, I assumed for Banshee to read.
“What mystery? Hugo stole the ring, probably pawned it.”
Webster waved his wings as Banshee shook her head. “We’re not so sure, Grandmum. The only evidence is that Hugo was supposedly in the house at the time.”
“And that’s barely circumstantial,” Webster added.
“Also, you said yourself that Uncle Hugo has maintained his innocence for forty years without wavering. That doesn’t sound like a guilty man to me.”
I noticed the “uncle” that had slipped in. It appears that all of my grandchildren were fond of my cousin-in-law, not just Colin. To be fair, I had quite adored Hugo as well, before the Ring Incident.
I uncrossed my arms and took a seat beside my granddaughter on the bed. “Okay. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Banshee and Webster both began talking, expounding on their theory, discussing areas of investigation. I, however, was thinking about Banshee’s use of the word “evidence” and wondering if perhaps we could dig something up.
I stood up. “I have an idea. Come up to the attic with me, you two.” I would have included George, but he was sound asleep, ignoring us all.
Our house was old, an American Foursquare built probably between 1910-1925, so the attic was an actual story. There was a door at the bottom of the narrow staircase, and another door at the top, as houses used to be built in order to aid in cooling or heating. Of course, I was unsurprised when George flew up the attic stairs, buzzing Webster. When we made it to the top of the rather steep steps, George was sitting on the landing, calmly washing his paws. He meeped and waited for us to open the door, whereupon he sailed through, tail erect, the tip waving. I swear, if Webster had teeth, he’d have been gritting them.
“Stop it,” I said to both familiars.
“We have work to do,” Webster added, in his most lofty tone.
George crouched and leaped to the top of a closed cabinet, dislodging a cloud of dust with his landing. Banshee coughed and waved her hand in front of her face to clear the air. I put my hands on my hips and looked around. I hadn’t been up here in years; if I was going to be honest, I probably hadn’t been up here since Donal was in high school. I used to keep the holiday decorations up here, but it was a pain navigating the staircase with boxes, so Richard had moved everything to the garage many years ago. Truthfully, I didn’t really remember what was up here, but I had a vague recollection of helping Hugo and Richard move things up here when Harriet was ill – well before the ring was discovered to be missing, of course.
We’d moved in after our marriage, as Richard was already living here to take care of his mother during her illness. Hugo had been around a lot, helping, as he’d loved Harriet like his mother, and she’d loved him just as much. When she passed away, everything passed to Richard, her sole heir, with a few provisions for Hugo and keepsakes for other family members. We’d decided to keep the house, though we’d redecorated and updated over the years.
I was looking for Harriet’s furniture. I knew we’d put it up here, because I’d talked to Richard about getting the bedroom furniture down a few years ago – okay, probably longer than that. I think Colin might have been in middle school when we updated Donal’s room into a guest room and added a small bath for the grandkids. I thought the guest room would be fantastic with the antique furniture, so we’d brought down and refinished the bed, a dresser, and a night table. There were several cabinets of Harriet’s that weren’t part of the bedroom suite, including a wardrobe that I loved, but was just too bulky to move. We’d put all of her furniture together up here somewhere…there. The cabinet George was sitting atop, of course.
The wardrobe loomed behind the cabinet, and there was a chest, a couple of bookcases with glass doors clouded with dust, and a marble-topped vanity table. I noticed Banshee eyeing the vanity and thought that I knew what she’d be getting for Yule this year.
“So what are we looking for?” Banshee asked. She reached out and ran her hand across the marble vanity top, clearing the dust.
“Evidence,” I said. “There were some photo albums of Harriet’s in these bookcases. Maybe there is something in there that might help.”
Webster hopped to the top of one of the bookcases. “This one first.”
I went over and tried to open the door. It was locked, of course. Banshee asked, “Is there a key?”
I shrugged. “Probably. But I have no idea where it might be.”
At that moment, George leaped from the cabinet to the vanity. He settled, wrapped his tail around his paws and surveyed us. My granddaughter smiled. “Okay, George, let’s see if you’re right.”
She went to the vanity and opened the drawers, rummaging through whatever was in there. She came up holding a carved box. The motif was roses, another of Harriet’s favorites (and mine – we’d bonded over rose-growing before she became too ill to enjoy her garden. In fact, my best rosebush – the one Henri desperately wanted a cutting from – was planted by Harriet.). I smiled when I saw the box. Banshee opened it and it was full of keys, hopefully for the wardrobe and the bookcases, and probably other things that were long gone.
~To Be Continued…
James says: This is a great start. I’m excited to see more of our world’s expansion. I’ve just finished the first draft of my first Perfect Coven Earth cozy mystery novel, and I love the fact that Sid is doing this cozy mystery short. These stories are linked together very closely. The bakery and baker that provide dessert in this story are an important place and character in my novel. For me, at least, this makes our world more vibrant and alive. The only problem is that now I really want to read the rest of the story!
Mickie says: Ooh, I already know these characters. Specifically, I know the cat that George is based on and I can state he truly honors Screaming Black Eagle. Cozies are fun and this is definitely a fun read. I’m definitely looking forward to more of Victoria and Webster. And much like James, I am ready for the 2nd half.
Perfect Coven 