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 A

Katy Kramer
Cozy Mystery
≈
No. 2:

The Case of the

Haunted House

by A.A. Albright
 This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organisations, places,
events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination,
or are used fictitiously.

Copyright © A.A. Albright 2019

All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval

system, or transmitted by any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express
written permission of the author.

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Website: https://aaalbright.com
Table of Contents
1. A Truly Horrible Job
2. A Very Befuddling Fountain
3. A Ghost of a Chance
4. The House on Hunting Hill
5. Jam on the Brain
6. All the Best Relationships are Highly Dysfunctional
7. Aim Low
8. The Other Door
9. Sexy Vampires and Lager Louts
10. App-cidentally in Love
11. Whiz Bang Blast
12. Skeleton Skies
13. A Thief, a Liar, and a Murderer
14. Normal is Overrated
15. Learning the Ropes
16. A Very Sensible Wizard
17. A Strange and Strong Brew
18. Even Monsters Can Be Charming Sometimes
19. The Ghost of Jim McGinty
20. The Distraction Spell
21. Hunters Do Lots of Things
22. The Secret Space
23. Kissy Wissing
24. The Real Monsters
25. The Hunting Party
26. Deluded Debbie
27. A Leap … and Some Faith
28. The Stubborn Bunch
29. The Familiar Scent of Turnips and Werewolves
30. The Very Strange Society
31. Shield
 1. A Truly Horrible Job

It was the beginning of another eventful day on Samhain Street –

and I knew that because every day was eventful on Samhain Street.
I’d been living here for weeks now, and my PI agency had a steady
stream of customers, each case stranger than the one before.
In preparation for the day, I was sitting in my usual morning
spot – an upturned crate just outside the back entrance to my
office. The entrance was called the Scary Door by my flatmate, Ned,
because it led out onto Strange Lane, her least favourite area in the
enclave.
Ned’s sister (who Ned hated with a passion) was a resident of
Strange Lane. But other than the fact that her sister lived here, I
couldn’t see what Ned’s problem was with the street. It was the
cleanest and least rowdy place in the whole of the enclave. They
had a trickling fountain, a nice little green area, and a plethora of
residents who didn’t break the law five times before breakfast.
Normally, I loved my view of Strange Lane. It was the perfect
place to enjoy my morning meal. Although … calling it a meal might
have been a slight exaggeration, seeing as it entailed a cup of
strong, sugary tea and a chocolate bar.
But this morning, I wasn’t enjoying my time in the fresh, clean
air. Something was making me feel a little bit more jittery than
usual, and it wasn’t the fact that there were four sugars in my tea.
The extra sugar was there because I was feeling out of sorts
(desperate times call for desperate measures and all that).
I also knew that, much as I’d like to, I couldn’t blame my
unusual mood on Cullen Keats, my least favourite barman, cook, and
undercover Wayfarer. Sure, he was sitting just across the road, at
an outdoor table at Angel Cakes café. But I’d been feeling nervous
long before he began to sip irritatingly at a cappuccino.
 Don’t ask me to explain precisely how his cappuccino-drinking
was irritating. I mean, he wasn’t even slurping, so I couldn’t blame
it on that. Somehow, though, he managed to look both smug and
sexy, and the combination was immensely annoying. Even the scar
on his face was looking alluring today.
I wanted to go across there and tell him to leave, before I
started to imagine the heroic and sexy ways in which he might have
received that scar. Just as I was pushing such thoughts firmly from
my mind, he sent a smirk my way.
‘Morning, Katy Cakes,’ he said. ‘Want to join me?’
I met his smirk with a glower. ‘No. I do not want to join you.
I’m perfectly happy on my wooden crate sipping my homemade tea,
thank you very much.’
‘Really?’ He quirked a brow. ‘Because you don’t look happy.
You look kind of irritable. Maybe it’s because that crate was used to
transport jars filled with zombie ash. I hear that stuff can make you
itchy.’
Darn him, anyway. Now that I looked, I could see that this crate
had, in fact, contained supplies for Ned’s necromancy supply store.
But, much as I wanted to, I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction
of a reaction.
‘Yeah?’ I stared him in the eye. ‘Well you look a whole lot more
irritating than a crate full of zombie ash, so I think I’m good here.’
He sipped the last of his cappuccino, closed his newspaper and
stood up. We were experiencing a late-summer heatwave, and he
was dressed in chinos and a casual, short-sleeved shirt. His skin
was tanned, making his blue eyes seem brighter than usual. He
looked as though he’d just been on a holiday. Maybe somewhere
with a beach, where I could towel his dark brown hair dry and …
Fluff! What was wrong with me? I’d never liked bad boys, and
Cullen was certainly that. I could see a motorcycle close by, and I
knew by now that it was his. At least when he put his helmet back
on it might cover up his gorgeous face.
‘Will I see you in the Bank at lunchtime?’ he asked as he was
walking past. ‘I do love to watch you eat. No matter what you say,
I know you really enjoy my cooking.’
 I gave him another glower. ‘I do, as it happens. I like it so
much that I think you should stick to cooking. It’s obviously your
true vocation.’
He let out an airy sigh. ‘But you and I know that’s not true,
don’t we Katy Cakes? You and I know what both of us have as our
true vocation.’ He leaned closer, pulled up a section of my hair, and
whispered in my ear. ‘Don’t hold out on me. Next interesting case
that comes your way, you and I will be working together.’
Now, I suppose, is the time where I ought to explain myself.
Just like the aforementioned Cullen Keats, I too was an undercover
Wayfarer. But don’t judge me too harshly. If you hail from Samhain
Street, you probably hate the Wayfarers’ guts as much as everyone
else in this enclave. I had my reasons for working for them, though
– just like I had my reasons for keeping it a secret from almost
everyone I knew.
‘If you don’t learn to keep your mouth shut in public,’ I told
Cullen, ‘then neither of us will be working in this enclave much
longer, together or apart. Oh, and stop calling me Katy Cakes. It’s
not cute. It’s annoying. What does it even mean? If I was a baker
it might be funny. If I even ate a lot of cake, maybe. But seeing as
neither of those things are true, it’s just dumb. Like you.’
‘Oh, Katy.’ He shook his head. ‘Insults like that make it seem
like I’m really getting under your skin. Now, why would that be, I
wonder?’ He bent down over me and whispered, ‘If you want to
arrange a private meeting to discuss all of this tension between us,
just say the word.’ As he straightened up again, he sniggered. ‘Oh,
don’t worry. I fancy you just as much as you fancy me. Which is
clearly not a lot.’
To my discredit, I did not tell him to go and jump in a lake filled
with disease-ridden monsters. Instead, I watched him saunter away,
put on his helmet and throw a leg over his bike. As the engine
roared to life, the motorbike soared upwards, flying high above
Strange Lane and heading over my building. I craned my neck,
watching him … and watching him …
I’d like to say it was because I was enjoying the fact that he was
leaving, but I think you know that’s not true. Once again, fantasies
of lying next to him on a beach and towelling his hair entered my
mind.
Aargh! What was with me? He was not my type of guy. I
didn’t like to be teased, or irritated, or talked down to by guys.
Behaviour like that did not float my boat. I mean, he’d soaked me
with a watering can during our first meeting, for fluff’s sake!
As for his flying bike? Shudder. The one and only time I’d been
on an airplane, I’d spent most of the three-hour flight retching in the
bathroom. I’d gotten the ferry back.
But there was something about the sight of him flying in the air
– something that made me think that I might just be irritated
enough by his presence to make it all the way to our destination
without throwing up even once.
And when we got there and started to argue all over again, we
could always have a nice dip in the sea together to cool off. And
then …
Just as I thought steam might come out my ears, a lovely sound
arrived to soothe my senses. It was Angelica, the café’s owner,
singing as she cleared Cullen’s table. I sank further down onto my
splintered crate, sighing in happiness as I listened to her voice.

‘No matter what, my dearest

This witch will always love you
Whether you’re far or nearest
This witch will always love you
With or without power
This witch will always love you
Lathered up in the shower …’

‘Let me guess,’ I said. ‘This witch will always love you?’

Angelica let out a tinkle of laughter. This morning she was
wearing a lovely yellow sundress. Her blonde hair was, as usual,
scraped into the neatest ponytail possible. ‘You’re right. That is the
gist of the song. It’s from the musical version of Skeleton Skies.
Have you seen it?’
 ‘If it’s not showing in the human world, then no. I haven’t had
much time for entertainment since I moved here.’
Her eyes lit up. ‘Well then, today is your lucky day, because I
just happen to have some spare tickets for tonight’s performance.
Maybe …’ A small, hopeful smile formed. ‘Maybe you and my sister
could come along. A girls’ night out sort of thing. What do you
say?’
‘Oh, I …’ I searched my brain for suitable excuses. ‘It’s em … I
have this … well …’
Angelica gave me a sad smile. ‘It’s okay, Katy. You don’t need
to make excuses. For one thing, it was pretty stupid of me to even
hope my sister would want to come anywhere near me, let alone on
a night out. And as for you, well … I imagine Ned has called dibs on
you.’
Oh dear. She was making me feel ever so bad about this.
‘Actually, I do have an excuse,’ I said quickly. ‘I mean … a reason.
I’ve been promising Hamish a night at the Starlight Restaurant for
weeks now, and I was finally going to take him tonight.’
As if on cue, the dog appeared beside me. Well, I say dog. In
truth, he was a wizard, turned into a dog by a maniacal murderer
who had destroyed the only means to turn Hamish back to his
human form. But if he were a real dog, then he’d be the cutest dog
in existence. He was medium-sized, with shaggy dark grey fur that
was very nearly black. He had huge brown eyes and a wagging tail,
and he always wore a wizard hat atop his head. Oh, and he spoke
with a Scottish accent, too. Basically, it was a constant struggle to
stop myself from rubbing his belly or tickling him behind his ears.
‘It’s true,’ Hamish confirmed. ‘And I’m not letting her off this
time. I already know what I’m having. Some of their game terrine
to start, followed by the chateaubriand, and some chocolate soufflé
for dessert. Oh, and a bowl of Château Toff de Toff to wash it all
down. Katy will have her wine in a glass, I imagine. Although
having slurped from both at one time or another, I have to say that a
bowl is far superior. You can fit so much more in.’
Angelica gave him a sweet smile. ‘Oh, well, you’d better not let
the handsome Hamish down. I can tell you’ve been a little bit down
since Diane went away,’ she told him.
She was right about that. Diane was the love of Hamish’s life.
They’d never been a couple, and now that he was a dog, the odds
weren’t good. But she clearly felt the same way about him as he did
about her. Currently she was in rehab, learning to deal better with
her siren and succubus sides. I’d seen him moon over her photos
each and every night, from the moment she left.
‘I definitely don’t want to take you away from your nice meal
together,’ Angelica continued. You’re lucky to have a friend like Katy.’
Hamish grinned up at me. ‘Ah, she’s not so bad.’
Angelica giggled. ‘I’d say she’s wonderful, personally. Well
listen, why don’t the two of you at least take me up on my open
offer of a free breakfast this morning? I’ve got some blueberry
pancakes ready to go. I’ve seen all of the clients going in and out
since you two opened up shop. You need your strength to cope with
another day of being a private eye around here. And a chocolate
bar and a cup of tea isn’t going to cut it, Katy.’
I was about to argue that the extra sugar I’d added to my tea
could keep me energetic (or at least hyperactive) for quite some
time to come. But somewhere beyond the sugar-addled confusion,
my sensible brain was shouting at me, and it was saying that
Angelica was right.
Woman could not live on sugar alone. And maybe, just maybe,
if I had something other than sugar, I could strike all thoughts of a
wet-headed Cullen from my mind.
My stomach rumbled as I smelled the wonderful aromas from
her café. I could see one customer digging into an omelette, and
another enjoying some fresh-baked pain au chocolat and a bowl of
fruit salad. When had I last even seen a piece of fruit, let alone
eaten one? I’d been avoiding the nearest eatery, because Cullen
worked there. And I had been receiving far more clients than I’d
imagined, which left me very little time to cook.
‘It all looks great,’ I admitted. ‘But …’
There was a loud, ‘Ahem,’ behind me. I turned to see my
flatmate, Ned, scowling in my direction. ‘We em … we’d better go,
Angelica. Nice to see you again.’
 As Hamish and I headed inside, I could see that he looked as
guilty as I felt. His tail was, quite literally, between his legs. ‘We
weren’t going to say yes,’ he told her.
‘No.’ I shook my head emphatically. ‘Definitely not. I mean … I
don’t even like blueberry pancakes. And as for the musical … all
that singing and dancing is just annoying.’
One of these days, lightning was going to strike me down as
punishment for all of my lies. Up until this point, I’d been far more
deceitful than I would have liked to be with my new friends. But
lying about pancakes and musicals? That was a new low, even for
me. I loved musicals. And the thought of blueberry pancakes was
making me wipe away some drool even now.
‘Oh.’ Ned began to play with one of her earrings. It was shaped
like a strawberry, if I wasn’t mistaken. ‘That’s a shame. I think
you’d both really enjoy Skeleton Skies. I hear the musical version is
even better than the original play.’
Hamish and I gawked at her.
‘Woman, have you gone and sniffed some zombie ash or
something?’ said the dog.
Ned bit her lip, looked out the door and then closed it. ‘Guys, I
need to hire your services as private investigators,’ she whispered.
‘I’ll pay you and everything. Name your price.’
‘You need to tell us what the job is, first,’ I said, feeling that
troubled tingle grow ever the stronger.
‘Well, it’s horrible. Possibly the most foul, most frightening job
you’ll ever be asked to do.’
‘What is it Ned?’ asked Hamish impatiently.
Ned took in a deep breath and then said, ‘I want the two of you
to go across the road, and I want you to have some blueberry
pancakes.’
My eyes widened and I struggled to quell the rumbling in my
belly. I could smell them now, sizzling away on the pan. ‘I’m
confused, Ned. You hate Angelica. I’ve stayed away from her café
ever since I moved in here because I don’t want to get in the middle
of whatever fight it is you two are having.’
 ‘Yes, well … Angelica is worthy of hatred, believe me. But she
also happens to be in possession of a document I really, really need.’
My stomach sank. I knew all about that document. It was what
Nedina needed if she were ever going to attempt to bring her
mother back from the dead. ‘You’re talking about the Decree of the
Deceased, aren’t you?’
Ned sank into one of our waiting-room chairs. ‘How did you
guess?’
‘Because,’ said Hamish. ‘You and Angelica have argued about it
every single day this week. And oddly enough, when the two of you
shout at each other across the street, other people can actually hear
you. So let me get this straight. You want Katy and me to go over
for blueberry pancakes, and to get all buddy buddy with Angelica, all
so we can sniff out where your sister’s hiding this document.’
Nedina gave us a hopeful smile. ‘Yes. That’s what I’m asking.
And if I know Angelica, she won’t make it easy. You might have to
have breakfast with her every day this week. And I think it’d be a
good idea if you accepted those free tickets to Skeleton Skies, too.’
I put on my game face. Yes, the pancakes and the play
sounded like they might be perks rather than problems. But
nevertheless, the troubled feeling was multiplying by the moment.
Even the hairs on the back of my neck were standing to attention.
‘What do you think, Hamish?’ I asked.
The dog sucked back some drool. ‘Well, it sounds like a truly
horrible job,’ he said. ‘But someone’s gotta do it.’
 2. A Very Befuddling Fountain

Angelica had been delighted at our change of heart. She gave us

the best table in Angel Cakes, just outside the door with a view of
the small green and the street’s fountain. As I watched the water
flow, I turned to Hamish. ‘I’ve always been afraid to get this close
to the fountain before. Seeing as it involves getting awfully close to
Angelica’s café. And up until today, that meant that Ned might kill
me as punishment, then bring me back from the dead just so she
could kill me all over again. But now that I’m looking at it close up,
I just can’t figure out… what is it?’
No matter how much I peered, I couldn’t make out what
creature was supposed to be in the centre of the fountain.
Whatever it was, carved figures were staring adoringly its way, while
they stood under the water which spewed from its mouth and
obscured it from view.
‘Maybe it’s a … unicorn?’ Hamish suggested.
‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘It’s a … a rhinoceros. A magical
rhinoceros. No, wait … is that another horn on its head?’
‘Could be. The water makes it too hard to see. It’s a very
befuddling fountain. And is it–?’
At that moment, Angelica placed two large plates in front of us,
cutting off whatever further confused observations we might have
made.
‘I’ve given you both extra pancakes, because I couldn’t help but
notice how busy your business has become. And the busier it gets,
the skinnier the two of you become. You’ll waste away to nothing if
someone doesn’t start fattening you up soon.’ She wiggled her
finger, and a pot of tea appeared in front of me, while a bowl of
coffee was now in front of Hamish.
Hamish took a few leisurely laps from his bowl and then said,
‘We were thinking. About Skeleton Skies. The musical version is
supposed to be even more emotional than the original play, isn’t it?’
Angelica nodded earnestly. ‘It really is. It’s so moving. You’ll
weep. You’ll laugh. You’ll weep some more. I’ve been lucky
enough to see it twice already. I’d watch it every single night if I
could.’
‘That seems to be what everyone says about it,’ I said with a
wistful sigh, leaning closer to her. ‘The problem is, Angelica, we
can’t go,’ I told her. ‘Not with you. No matter how much we want
to. I mean, I’ve looked up the tickets online, and if I book it myself
it’ll be next year before we get to see it. We don’t know the right
people, it seems.’
I shrugged casually, and turned my attention to my pancakes.
‘It’s a pity. We have no problem with you, personally. We’d go with
you if we could, but we don’t want to risk getting in the middle of
two feuding sisters.’
Angelica looked over her shoulder, checking that Ned was
nowhere in sight, before whispering, ‘I won’t tell my sister if you
don’t.’
‘Really?’ Hamish rounded his eyes. ‘You think we ought to go
for a night out together in secret. Oh, I don’t know about that, I
mean … I want to, but … we couldn’t ask you to lie for us. Maybe …
maybe we’d all feel a bit better about it if we went to dinner
together afterwards. Katy and I still have our reservation at that
fancy restaurant. We could easily make it a table for three. Katy’s
paying.’
‘You’d really want to take me out for dinner, Katy?’ Angelica
blushed. ‘That’s so generous.’
I was busy savouring the most delicious pancake I’d ever had,
but I swallowed quickly and said, ‘It’s not generous. It’s necessary.
I don’t like lying, you see. So tonight, when Hamish and I tell Ned
we’re going out to dinner together, at least we’re partially telling the
truth. Plus, it’ll give us a chance to chat with you properly. Get to
the bottom of this feud between you and your sister. We love Ned.
So if we feel like we’re trying to help her fix her relationship with
you, then maybe we won’t feel so bad about going out with you.’
 And, I didn’t add, we might be able to turn the conversation in a
direction that helped us find the Decree of the Deceased.
She smiled tentatively, checking over her shoulder once more
before sitting on the side of the table. ‘That’s what I want, too. To
fix things with Ned. And getting to know the two of you in the
process will be a happy bonus. The truth is, other than the Not-So-
Strange Society, I’ve been having difficulty making friends since I
moved back to the enclave. Most of the residents are still stuck in
their old ways – you know, crime, grime and despicable plumbing.
Listen, the musical starts at six-thirty. What time is your dinner
reservation?’
‘Um, how long is the musical?’
‘Three hours.’
‘How perfect is that? It’s like kismet. I have the meal booked
for ten,’ I said quickly. Or at least it would be booked for that time,
once I’d changed it. ‘We like to eat late.’
Angelica’s face lit up. ‘That is perfect! Tonight’s meeting of the
society ends at six – it starts just after five, though, so if you can
catch even a few minutes of the meeting, that’d be great. If not,
don’t worry. Just come about six, and the three of us will head off
to the musical.’
Hamish nodded enthusiastically, while I did my best to remain
neutral. On the surface of it, Angelica’s Not-So-Strange Society
seemed just as lovely as this entire street. Their goal was to clean
the rest of the enclave up and make it a safer place for everyone to
live. Their pamphlet also said they aimed to create a better
relationship between Samhain Street and the other witch-run
enclaves – something I could definitely get on board with.
The problem, though, was that Angelica was involved. Yes, she
seemed to be made of sweetness and light, but according to Ned,
her sister wasn’t quite as lovely as she appeared. I’d gotten to know
Ned very well over our weeks together. She had good instincts, and
she constantly told me that if her sister was involved in the Not-So-
Strange Society, then the society must be dodgy.
I knew I should check out one of their meetings, just to put my
mind at rest. Tonight, I supposed, was as good a night as ever.
‘Well, we’ll see if we have time for the meeting. We’ll definitely do
dinner and the musical together, though. But remember …’
She mimed locking her lips shut and throwing away the key.
‘Not a word to Ned. I won’t forget.’ She looked searchingly at me.
‘But you know what, Katy? I think my sister is incredibly lucky to
have a friend like you.’
 3. A Ghost of a Chance

As Hamish and I walked back across the road to our office, I thought
about what Angelica said.
Was I a good friend? I wasn’t so sure. As much as I wished
otherwise, I feared that I was just as bad as the irritating Cullen
Keats. Nay, I was worse, because at least part of what Cullen told
people was true.
Yes, he was now working undercover to infiltrate the Warlock
Society, but at one stage he had really been a warlock. He was also
honest when he told people he had been a broom thief and a love-
potion dealer in the past. His backstory was one hundred percent
true.
My own backstory, on the other hand, was a load of utter
codswallop. I’d told my new friends that I was an unempowered
witch who grew up in the human world with no idea that the
supernatural world even existed. I further fleshed things out by
saying that a long-lost relative had written to me, telling me the
truth about my origins and sending me the necklace I wore today –
a necklace which enabled me to access the supernatural enclaves.
But the truth about me was far, far different. I wasn’t any kind
of witch, unempowered or otherwise. Instead, I was something
witches hated – I was a witch hunter.
Hunting was a family profession, almost always done by the
men. I knew of only one female hunter before me – my great-aunt
Jude – and no one knew where she was right now. But studying her
notebooks and using her Toolkit had taught me that I had more in
common with Jude than a set of ovaries.
Like my great aunt, I wasn’t interested in tracking down and
killing people just because they happened to be witches. I was
determined to use my hunter instincts for the better. When I
tracked down a witch, I wanted it to be because they’d committed
some actual crimes.
That was how I wound up living with Ned, in fact. My uncle – a
hunter who did like to kill witches just for the crime of existing – had
sent me to find Ned’s former flatmate, Diane Carey. He was
convinced Diane was the one responsible for a string of murders, in
which every guy she’d ever been on a date with wound up dead.
But instead of killing her, or sending her to the Dimension of the
Damned, as my uncle would have preferred, I’d kept Diane and her
friends safe, and caught the real killer instead.
Yes, I’d saved all of their lives. But I wasn’t dumb enough to
think it would be enough of a reason for them to forgive my lie. As
you might imagine, witch hunters – even well-intentioned ones like
me – weren’t exactly popular in the magical enclaves. Especially
seeing as a hunter was responsible for the murder of Ned’s mother.
I was terrified of what might happen once my friends discovered the
truth. Was there any way I could make them believe I wasn’t a
typical hunter?
The Wayfarers knew the risks just as well as I did, which was
why they were keeping my true nature a secret. Unbeknownst to
my friends, I was working with the Wayfarers now – to make sure
my uncle never found his way into the supernatural enclaves, and to
make sure the people of Samhain Street got the help they didn’t
know they needed. Whenever a case came my way which seemed
like it needed some police involvement, it was my job to keep the
Wayfarers in the loop.
As a person who hated lying as much as I hated Turkish Delight,
I was not enjoying the subterfuge. But I was nothing if not stupidly
hopeful. One day soon, when Ned and Hamish knew me well
enough, when they fully trusted that I was truly their friend, then I
could tell them the truth. Because if I had to lie for much longer,
well … the stress might kill me before my friends could.
‘I think that might have been the best breakfast I ever had,’
Hamish said as he took a seat at his reception desk. The buckle on
his hat began to shine. The buckle was an OAP (an object of
awesome power) and was his main source for channelling magic,
now that he was stuck as a dog. With a twirl of his paw to direct
the magic, his appointments book opened up, flicking straight to
today’s page. ‘I vote we go to Angel Cakes for breakfast tomorrow
morning, too.’
‘We’ll see how tonight goes first,’ I cautioned. ‘Angelica might
smile and sing a lot, but that doesn’t make her a fool. We need to
play it cool.’
‘Sure.’ Hamish gave me an unconvincing nod. ‘I can do that.
But I mean … how cool exactly? Because I saw someone eating her
eggs Benedict, and it looked amazing.’
Rolling my eyes, I turned my attention to our appointments.
Our entire afternoon was filled with call-backs regarding cheating
partners. And yes, we were going to have to give every single client
some bad news.
‘I’m not looking forward to telling the guy who owns the Rusty
Warlock that his girlfriend has been cheating with the leader of the
Sobriety Society, are you?’
Hamish shrugged. ‘They’re mortal enemies. Once we break
that news, someone is probably going to wind up dead.’
I’d been here long enough to know that he was probably right –
which was why I’d already given the Wayfarers the heads-up. Extra
officers were going to be posted in the area for the next few days,
just in case.
‘Oh, I think it might be all right,’ I said, trying to look innocent.
‘Fingers crossed, anyway. At least we have a few hours to go before
we have to break the news.’
For now, we had our walk-in morning. We’d discovered that a
lot of people on Samhain Street felt better about things that they
could do on the spur of the moment. After all, who knew when an
illegal spell might go wrong? Or when the Wayfarers might suddenly
arrive to question you? Because a large portion of our clients had to
worry about such things, we reserved a couple of mornings a week
when they could simply drop by without an appointment.
‘Do you want a drink?’ I asked. ‘The pancakes were amazing,
but the tea wasn’t strong enough for me. I might as well have one
now, before our first shady customer of the day arrives.’
 ‘Sure. I’ll have a coffee. Maybe I’ll have one of those muffins
we picked up yesterday as well. Angelica was right, you know. You
and I really need to put on some weight. When Diane gets back
from rehab she’s going to think I’ve wasted away.’
I was just about to ask him for the timeframe on that (I was
living in Diane’s old bedroom, after all) when I heard the distinctive
sound of a cat licking herself.
I looked over at the false shelf that connected us to Ned’s shop.
Cleo, Ned’s familiar, was sitting on the ground in front of it, washing
her paws. She was a beautiful cat, with unusual blue eyes, and
mostly-cream fur with brownish colouring on her face and ears. But
her beauty, unfortunately, was only fur-deep. Inside, she was filled
with nothing but sarcasm.
The shelf was firmly shut, but I’d long since learned that magical
animals had their own ways of getting around. I decided to send a
smile her way. My breakfast had been fortifying enough to help me
deal with even the most sarcastic of cats.
‘You two are deluded,’ she said. ‘You definitely shouldn’t eat
those muffins. Not unless they’re laced with a poop-potion. You
both need to shed the pounds, not put any more on.’
‘That’s not nice,’ I said, dropping my smile. ‘And neither is
washing yourself with your tongue.’
She sniggered. ‘You could use my help when you’re washing
your hair. It might be less frizzy, then.’
With my good mood well and truly vanishing, I added an extra
sugar to my tea, fixing Hamish’s bowl of coffee while I was at it,
doing my best to ignore the cat all the while.
‘There’ll be a customer through in a minute,’ she said. ‘Shall I
tell you about her?’
Well, fluff her, anyway. She certainly wasn’t easy to ignore.
‘Listen, if you’re trying to make me believe you can see the
future again, then give over,’ said Hamish. ‘I didnae believe you
before, and I dinnae believe you now.’
Yes, he did say didnae and dinnae. That’s because when he was
angry, he got more Scottish than usual. And if anyone could
provoke such a level of anger, it was Ned’s familiar.
 ‘Oh, stick a sock up your kilt,’ said Cleo. ‘I’m not psychic, just
observant. Ned’s got someone in there who she’s really trying to
send your way. But she doesn’t have a ghost of a chance of palming
that woman off on you two idiots. Hah! A ghost of a chance. You’ll
find out why that’s funny in one, two, three …’
As she spoke, the shelf-door opened, and Ned walked in, leading
a woman behind her. It was difficult to tell with witches, as so many
of them used glamour spells to keep themselves looking young, but
I put this witch in her late forties or early fifties. She had curled
blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and her suit was about the pinkest
thing I’d ever seen.
‘I don’t know about this, Nedina,’ she said.
‘It’s Ned. Never use my full name. And I’ve told you before,
Mrs McGinty. I will not banish a ghost for you, not until I know more
about him. This situation needs more investigation, and Katy and
Hamish are excellent PIs.’
Taking that as my cue, I approached Mrs McGinty. She was
quivering from her head to her toes.
‘Mrs McGinty? Are you all right? We have plenty of comfortable
seats available if you’d like to have a rest.’
Her eyes darted around the room. ‘I’m not sure if I want to get
comfortable. For all I know, he’s followed me here.’
‘He?’
She shivered, hugging herself with her arms. ‘My gh-gh-ghost.’
Ned looked decidedly tense. I’d never seen her like that with
one of her customers. ‘Mrs McGinty believes she’s being haunted by
her deceased husband,’ she informed me through gritted teeth.
‘Cleo and I can’t see him at the moment, though, so he’s probably
still bound to the house. It takes a while for ghosts to be able to
move about normally.’
‘Ah,’ I said. ‘That makes sense. Hamish, get Mrs McGinty
something nice and soothing to drink, will you? I think Ned and I
need to have a chat.’
I pulled Ned over to my desk. We had arranged the shelving
around the desk to give me a private area when talking with clients.
Right now, I wanted to shield us from the latest client.
 ‘Obviously I lied just a moment ago,’ I whispered. ‘This doesn’t
make sense to me. Why do you want Hamish and me to work with
this woman? I don’t know anything about ghosts. I mean, Hamish
said you and Cleo can communicate with the dead but … can her
husband really be haunting her? I thought there was a rule that
ghosts only came back at Halloween.’
Ned sat on the desk, holding her head and groaning in
exasperation. ‘It’s complicated. Yes, technically what you’re saying
is true – ghosts walk the earth on Halloween, visiting their relatives.
It’s a lovely event, and even though not everyone can see them,
most people are happy with the arrangement. But some dead
people … well, they don’t play by the rules. Sometimes it’s because
they’re stubborn, and sometimes it’s because they’re just plain
stuck. Where those ghosts are concerned there are only a few
people who can see them. And I’m one of those unlucky few. So is
Cleo.’
She pulled hard at her earring, looking like she might be about
to scream. ‘I don’t like it, but where my job is concerned, it’s
useful. It means that the person is eager to return, so I can at least
perform some sort of medium-service between the dead and the
living, even if full return to life isn’t possible. But sometimes …
sometimes it’s not so useful. Sometimes it’s just plain bad.’
I looked closely at her. ‘And this is bad, isn’t it? I can see that
you’re tense around this woman, Ned. Don’t you like her?’
She peeped out at the reception area, and I followed her eyes.
Mrs McGinty was nervously accepting the tea that Hamish had
magicked her way. ‘I don’t know if I like her, dislike her, or feel sorry
for her,’ Ned admitted in a whisper. ‘Either way, Mrs McGinty doesn’t
want her husband back. He’s been dead three months. At first I
thought she was just dragging her heels, but now she’s admitted
that she has no intention of honouring his Decree of the Deceased.
She doesn’t want to bring him back from the dead. She wants me
to get rid of him altogether. To banish his ghost or even destroy it if
that’s all I can do. But …’
‘But what?’
 She took a deep breath before replying. ‘For one thing, getting
rid of a stubborn ghost is no easy task. And for another thing, well
… according to Mrs McGinty, the ghost of her husband is saying he
was murdered.’
 4. The House on Hunting Hill

Ned pulled once more at her strawberry-shaped earring. ‘I probably

shouldn’t be nearly as shocked as I am. I mean, everyone knew the
details of her husband’s death. As if Jim McGinty tripped over some
carpet and fell down the stairs. Stupid Wayfarers!’
My nose was feeling itchy, all of a sudden. It was because I was
about to be dishonest again, I knew it was. ‘Stupid Wayfarers,’ I
scoffed in agreement, scratching my nose. ‘So em …. are you going
to tell them what Jim’s ghost is saying?’
‘What?’ She let out a snort of laughter. ‘Why would I tell them?
I mean, if this doesn’t prove that they’re idiots, then I don’t know
what does. I’ll bet Wanda was on the original case. She always
struck me as being absentminded. More concerned with where her
next vegan burrito is coming from than solving murders.’
Oh dear. The itch just wouldn’t go away. Now probably wasn’t
a good time to tell her that I’d enjoyed a (secret) breakfast-meeting
with Wanda Wayfair just the week before. A meeting during which
we’d eaten burritos cooked by Wanda herself – they were filled with
tofu scramble, baked beans, fried mushrooms and tomatoes, and
they tasted like heaven on earth. Sure, the girl liked her food, but
she was also an amazing detective.
‘Well, yes … now that you mention it, Wanda does seem a little
on the ditzy side,’ I said. ‘And I’m guessing Mrs McGinty doesn’t
want to get the law involved, either.’
‘Obviously not. I mean, this is Samhain Street. Debbie McGinty
might live in a bigger house than most, but she feels the same about
the Wayfarers as the rest of us do. Even if I told them what she
said, she’d deny it. Anyway, until I see the ghost for myself, it’s all
just a load of who shot John. Or a load of who threw Jim down the
stairs, I guess.’
 She laughed darkly. ‘But even so, I’m feeling on edge about it.
And so is Debbie, as it happens. She wants to get rid of her
husband’s ghost, but she’s also afraid that whoever murdered him
might kill her next. That’s why I want you to get involved. Just …
have a look around the house. Question the staff. Find out if there’s
anything more going on that dopey Wanda and her Wayfarer
buddies might have overlooked.’
I balled my fists, willing myself to stop scratching. Now my head
was itchy, too, and I could feel a tickle on my right ankle. ‘Total
dimwits, that lot,’ I said. ‘And em … if I do find evidence that Jim
McGinty was murdered? What then?’
Ned stood up, shrugging. ‘Well, I dunno. We’ll sort it out
ourselves, I suppose.’
‘Oh, of course.’ I followed her back to the reception area.
‘That’s a totally sensible suggestion. Sure what else would we do?’
By the time we returned, Debbie McGinty was giggling happily
and sipping her tea. ‘Oh, you!’ she said to Hamish. ‘If you weren’t
stuck as a dog, I might just make you husband number two!’
Hamish gave her a cheeky wink. ‘And I might just let you.’ He
turned to us. ‘So? I don’t think I’m speaking out of turn to say that
Debbie would like to have you and I on the case, Katy. But what do
you think?’
I took a deep breath. ‘I would love to work on this case,
Debbie,’ I said. ‘So how about we all go to your house?’

Debbie McGinty lived in a house on Hunting Hill, a row of expensive

mansions on the east side of the Hanging Green. Debbie clicked her
fingers at the same time as Ned, so we all arrived at the front gate
together.
‘I wanted you to get a full view of the house,’ she said, looking
towards the property, a dark expression on her face. ‘It was my
husband’s pride and joy. He liked to stand here and look at the
place. As for me …’ She shuddered. ‘I’ve always hated this place.
I’ll be glad to see the back of it all.’
 The grounds were enormous, as was the house itself. There
were numerous greenhouses and outbuildings, and also what
appeared to be an enormous swimming pool. A few metres away
from us, to the left of the gates, there was a smaller residence. It
probably belonged to a gardener, I supposed. There was a large
forest behind the house, too. It looked like it adjoined the Hanging
Green.
As we all looked on in amazement, Ned frowned.
‘Are you sensing him already, Nedina?’ Debbie clutched at Ned’s
arm.
‘No. And once again, it’s Ned, not Nedina. It’s just that I
recognise your house, Debbie. I didn’t put two and two together at
the time of Jim’s death, but … didn’t this place used to belong to the
Lodge?’
Debbie’s expression turned even darker. ‘Yes. It did.’ She
sucked in some air. ‘My husband was a member of the Lodge, as a
matter of fact. The club lost most of their members and donations
after they changed the hunting laws. So Jim took the house off their
hands, and he did up the old gate house and gave that to the Lodge
for their little meetings.’ She nodded to the house I’d assumed had
been the gardener’s residence. ‘They didn’t have as many members
anymore, so they hardly needed an entire mansion at their disposal.’
As she threw open the gate and led us up a long, winding
driveway, Hamish and I lagged behind. ‘Hunting laws?’ I
questioned. ‘What kind of club is this Lodge or whatever it’s called?’
He moved closer to me and lowered his voice. ‘This side of the
Hanging Green is called Hunting Hill for a reason. These days, the
Lodge is just a club for rich old witches who drink too much brandy
and talk about the “good old days”. But those days weren’t so good
for anyone who didn’t happen to be a witch. The Lodge members
used to get their kicks hunting weredogs and werewolves. Some
say they hunted wizards, unempowered witches and goblins, too.’
Debbie had wiggled her fingers, her magic opening the imposing
front door of the mansion, so Hamish and I scurried to keep up. As
soon as we entered the hall, I heard her call out, ‘Larson! Larson!’
 A second later, a slim young woman appeared. She had dark
brown hair, neatly scraped off her forehead, and she wore jeans and
a T-shirt. There was a gold chain around her neck, one of those
ones which spelled out the wearer’s name in scrawling letters. This
one said ‘Sophie.’
‘Sophie, what are you doing here? I told you that you could
have the day off. Larson’s supposed to be working today.’ She
shivered. ‘Not that I wanted him to. You know how he is.’
‘Believe it or not,’ Sophie said. ‘Larson finally quit about an hour
ago. I’m the only servant left now, so I figured I’d better cover his
shift.’
Debbie sighed. ‘Oh, you don’t need to do that, Sophie. I mean,
I might not have liked Larson, but it’s not as though I can blame him
– or any of the others – for quitting. I do owe all of you an awful lot
of money. One of these days I’ll find out where my husband hid it
all.’
Sophie grinned. ‘I’ve been working on it today, in fact.’ She
glanced at the three of us. ‘I’ll tell you about it later, though.’
‘It’s all right, Sophie. You can speak freely.’ She turned to us.
‘My husband pulled all of his money out of our bank account a while
before he died. He said he didn’t trust the manager of Mutual Magic
anymore. He hid it somewhere in the house, but he obviously didn’t
tell me where. Sophie and I have been hunting for it ever since.’
She gave us a gloomy look. ‘It’s a darned sight more pleasant than
the hunts that used to take place here, that’s for sure.’
‘Well, I’ll get back to the money hunt in a few minutes,’ said
Sophie with a wink at her employer. ‘But first, I’m sure you’d all like
some refreshments. How about some of those pink macaroons you
like so much, Debbie? And a nice pot of tea to go along with them?’
Mrs McGinty gave the maid a grateful smile. ‘You’re an absolute
wonder, Sophie, do you know that? As soon as I can, I’m going to
give you an enormous bonus.’
As Sophie walked away, Debbie led us to the staircase. Like
everything inside this hallway, it looked like it had seen better days.
The handrail was handsome, but now the paint was chipping off, and
the red carpet which ran down the centre of the stairs was faded
and frayed.
‘That,’ she said, pointing to a rug at the bottom of the stairs, ‘is
where we found my husband’s body.’
I stared at the rug. It was an enormous werewolf skin,
complete with its head and its teeth.
‘He cracked his head on that wolf’s tooth when he hit the
bottom,’ Debbie continued. ‘It was … unpleasant. Anyway, I’ll take
you up to where the Wayfarers said he tripped, and then you can
see if you sense him at either location, Nedina.’
This time, Ned didn’t bother to correct Debbie McGinty. She was
visibly shivering, though the hallway was uncomfortably warm. Was
she sensing something, I wondered?
As we followed them up the stairs, Hamish nodded back towards
the rug. ‘Smacking his head against a werewolf tooth? Some might
say that was poetic justice.’
I breathed in and out slowly, trying to stop myself from throwing
up. ‘I thought werewolves became human again when they died,’ I
managed to say. ‘How can there be a pelt?’
Hamish winced. ‘Well, there’s two ways. I won’t make you even
sicker than you already look by detailing the first. The second
method is a spell. Illegal, of course, just like everything involving
hunting werewolves is these days. They’re forced to remain in their
wolf form, even when they die. Werewolves are bigger than the
average wolf, so there’s a lot of fur to be had for those who want it.’
The house was still far too warm, but now I was shivering just
as much as Ned was. As we climbed further up the staircase, I
discovered more and more reasons to continue feeling ill. There
were heads mounted all along the wall, their dead eyes still and
staring. I recognised most as werewolves and weredogs. And even
though I’d never seen a goblin before, I also recognised their
leathery heads, thanks to my aunt’s notebooks.
When we finally reached the landing, Debbie pointed to the
carpet. It had come away completely up there, and no one had
bothered to stick it back down. ‘This is where he tripped and fell to
his death,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘I know I should have fixed it,
but you know how it is – when your husband’s haunting you, you
get a little bit afraid to pull up the ugly old carpet and replace it with
something pink. So what about here, Nedina? Is he communicating
with you now?’
Ned shook her head and said no, but I wondered if she was
telling the truth or just playing for time. ‘Nothing just yet. But now
that we’re here, at the place where he died, I think it’s time we
started going over the details. Is this where he appears to you,
Debbie?’
She shook her head, her blonde curls swaying. ‘The place he
appears to me most is in the drawing room. Upstairs, the only place
he ever appears is the attic. Although I haven’t actually seen him up
there. That’s where his office is, so I avoid it like there’s an
outbreak of Peader’s Plague up there. I just hear him, thrashing
about the place. That’s usually around midnight, and it can go on for
a good hour or two.’
She pointed to the end of a long hallway. ‘There’s stairs behind
that door, leading up to the office. He spent half his time up there,
so I’m not surprised he still haunts the place.’ She looked at Ned.
‘Do you want to see it?’
‘Not just yet. Maybe we ought to head to the drawing room
next, seeing as that’s where he openly communicates with you.’
We followed her downstairs, and down a long hallway, finally
entering one of the rooms. It was as spacious as all of the other
rooms we passed along the way, but spaciousness was the only
thing this room had in common with the rest of the house. The
drawing room was most definitely Debbie’s.
Yes, there were a few boxes filled with what looked like yet more
goblin heads and werewolf pelts, but other than that, the room was
devoid of death. There was pink wallpaper, pink carpeting, pink
curtains, pink cushions … basically, it was all very, very pink. The
coffee table was laid with a large plate filled with pink macaroons,
and a pot of tea.
Sophie was nowhere to be seen. Presumably she’d returned to
her money hunt.
 ‘I must say, this room is rather different to the rest of the house,’
said Ned, as Debbie began to pour the tea.
She smiled. ‘It’s my refuge. Jim wouldn’t let me have anything
the way I liked it when he was alive – not even my own bedroom or
drawing room. I know it makes me sounds heartless, but he was
barely in the ground before I started redecorating.’ Her smile fell
away. ‘Of course, I didn’t get any further than this.’
Hamish nodded gravely. ‘You said he appears to you here. Is
this where he first appeared, by any chance?’
‘It is,’ she confirmed. ‘I had the whole room done in a day –
that was before I knew he’d hidden the money, of course. I now
owe the decorators a fortune. Anyway, as soon as they were gone
home, and I was sitting on this couch admiring it all, he appeared.
He was incredibly gauzy, but it was Jim all right. Cut me right down
to size, so he did.’
‘Well, he sounds like a right piece of work,’ Hamish remarked. ‘I
mean, how dare he? It’s your house. You can paint it and decorate
it any way you want.’
‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But even if I did have the money,
I’m far too scared of Jim to carry on. That’s why I want to get to
the bottom of this. Yes, I want to find out who murdered him so I
can be sure they don’t come after me. But mostly … mostly I want
to get rid of his ghost so I can sell this place. I’ve given up on it
now. I shouldn’t have bothered trying to make this house mine.
And I doubt I’ll ever find where he hid the money either, so selling
up is the only way I can pay off the staff and the decorators.’
She picked up one of the macaroons. I was still full after my
pancakes, which was lucky, since I doubted I could have stomached
something so pink at the moment. Debbie seemed to feel the
same. She didn’t eat the macaroon, just held it limply in her hand.
Every other second she’d stare at a corner of the room, as though
afraid her husband might suddenly appear.
‘Well, hopefully Ned, Hamish and I can sort him out for you,’ I
said. ‘But … what does he say and do, exactly? When he visits you,
I mean.’
 In her hand, the macaroon crumbled to dust. ‘I’d rather not
say.’
Hamish approached her, sitting at her feet and looking up at her
with big brown eyes. ‘We understand this is hard, Debbie. But if
you want to keep the Wayfarers out of this, then you need to trust
Katy and me. We can get to the bottom of your husband’s death –
and we can make sure the same thing doesn’t happen to you. But
only if you’re honest with us.’
She looked adoringly at him. ‘You are a tonic, Hamish. Oh, yes,
I suppose you’re right. But it’s hard, you see. Because the truth is,
when my husband’s ghost visits me, he says exactly the same things
to me as he did when he was alive. He criticizes my hair, my
clothes, my choices in décor. He’s told me that if I continue to turn
the house pink, he’ll make me suffer in unimaginable ways.’
Good gravy, he sounded like a horrible man. No wonder she
was refusing to honour the Decree of the Deceased. If I were her,
I’d ask Ned to get rid of him, too.
She sniffed back a tear. Although he was trying very hard to
keep a steady face, her chin began to tremble. ‘I know you need to
know more details about the fact that he says he was murdered, but
honestly, I don’t have them. All he’ll say is he was pushed down the
stairs. No more, no less. I’ve asked him if he knows who pushed
him, of course. But he says that it’s for him to know and me to find
out. He says that when Nedina brings him back from the dead, the
first thing he’s going to do is strangle his murderer.’ She sniffed
again. ‘He’s also told me that if I continue to date Denton, he’ll hurt
us both.’
‘That sounds frightening,’ I said softly. ‘But you’re safe right
now, Debbie. He can’t hurt you. Or this Denton you’ve started to
date. We won’t let him. Who is Denton, by the way?’
A small smile began to form. ‘Denton Montrose. He was my
husband’s friend. A fellow Lodge member. He lives in the gatehouse
and runs the club from there. He’s been my rock since Jim died. I
don’t know what I would have done without him. He’s even trying
to help me find a buyer for the house, so I can pay my staff the
money I owe them. You see, Denton is the bank manager at Mutual
Magic. He’s the one my husband no longer trusted. It’s all
nonsense, of course. Denton’s a wonderful man. He–’
She looked towards the door, as all of us heard Sophie call out,
‘Debbie! Debbie I found something in the attic. You won’t believe
this until you see it!’
Debbie’s eyes lit up, and she rose from her chair, the rest of us
following her out into the hallway. Sophie’s voice was coming from
somewhere upstairs, by the sound of things. As we headed to the
staircase, I saw her standing at the top.
As soon as I spied her, my stomach began to churn. Because
Sophie was no longer shouting about whatever she’d found.
Instead, Sophie was tumbling down the stairs, her eyes wide with
fright. ‘Debbie!’ she screamed. ‘It’s time to stop being pink!’
There was no time to ask what that meant. While Hamish and I
rushed towards the staircase, Ned sent a freezing spell the maid’s
way, in an effort to halt her fall and move her to safety. But all of
our attempts came too late. Hamish and I skidded to a stop as
Sophie crashed to the hallway floor, smashing her head on the very
same wolf tooth that killed Jim McGinty.
 5. Jam on the Brain

Ned moved quickly, pulling out healing wands and telling Debbie to
call the Wayfarers.
Debbie was just as surprised about Ned’s instructions as I was.
‘No need to get the Wayfarers involved. I’ll just call the family
healer.’
Ned narrowed her eyes. ‘Dead girls don’t need healers, Debbie.’
Debbie’s face fell. ‘But … she can’t be dead. She’s so young.
And why would you be trying to heal her if she’s dead?’
A tear streaked down Ned’s face. ‘Because I don’t want to
believe it’s true, even though I know it is.’
She looked at me and, as our eyes met, I saw the conflict within
Ned. She was a healer at heart. I was sure of it. The only thing
keeping her running that shop was her guilt over her mother’s
death. ‘Katy, call the Wayfarers,’ she ordered. ‘And Debbie, what
did she mean by that? What Sophie said as she was falling? She
told you it was time to stop being pink.’
Relieved that Ned was doing the right thing, I made the call,
eyeing Debbie all the while. Even though she answered Ned’s
question with, ‘I have no idea,’ I wasn’t quite buying her words.

The Wayfarers arrived mere seconds after I’d made the call. As they
streamed into the house, I groaned at the sight of Todge. He’d been
getting more and more jobs in Samhain Street, and honestly, he was
rubbish. He walked towards the staircase, chewing what I knew was
a jam sandwich. The reason I knew it was a jam sandwich was
because it was all he ever ate.
‘So,’ he said. ‘We meet again.’
 I looked over his shoulder. ‘Is Finn here with you, maybe? Or
Wanda?’
Ned shuddered. ‘Wanda is an idiot. But … is she coming? Or is
anyone else coming to help you, Todge? Because – no offence – but
weren’t you in charge of the last investigation at this house? Maybe
Finn ought to help you this time around.’
He puffed his chest out, then polished off his sandwich before
saying, ‘Captain Plimpton will be here in a few minutes. And as for
Wanda, she’s doing a summer course in Defensive Magic, so she
won’t be working on this case. But I’m perfectly capable of running
an investigation. If there is one.’ He directed Shane to the body.
Shane was the Wayfarer equivalent of a medical examiner. While he
got to work on Sophie, Todge followed us to the top of the stairs.
He looked around, not really focusing on anything, before he
finally began to poke about at the loose carpet. ‘Mrs McGinty, was
this carpet always loose?’
She gave him an angry stare. ‘You know it was. It was exactly
this way when my husband died. You saw it with your own eyes.’
Todge nodded knowingly – which was strange, seeing as I had
the feeling he didn’t know anything. ‘Of course, of course. I
remember now. Well, I’d say that the carpet is your culprit. Just a
tragic accident rather than a murder – although I would get my
finances in order, Mrs McGinty. Just in case your maid’s family
decide to sue you. This could be seen as negligence on your part.’
Bright hives broke out on her neck and face. ‘Sophie didn’t have
any family. And I don’t have any finances.’ She clasped her hands
tightly, muttering to herself. ‘She said she’d found something just
before she fell. Maybe she discovered where my horrible husband
hid his money.’
If she did, she certainly couldn’t tell us now. And there was
nothing on her that I could see. If she had discovered something, it
was still in the place where she found it.
Nevertheless, Todge ran down the stairs, while Debbie looked
worriedly on. I got the impression she hadn’t meant Todge to hear
her mutterings about the money.
‘Anything on her, Shane?’ Todge asked. ‘Money? Paperwork?’
 Shane shook his head, his blue eyes filled with sadness. ‘She
had two silver sickles in her pocket. Nothing else. But take a look at
this …’ He beckoned Todge closer, and I saw him point at Sophie’s
hand while he whispered. Although I couldn’t make out his words, I
had an idea what he might be saying.
There was a deep cut on Sophie’s palm, almost like a paper cut.
Had something been ripped from her hand before she was pushed?
Because I was in no doubt that she was pushed. And there was one
glaringly obvious reason why I thought so.
‘Her necklace is missing.’ I pointed to her neck. ‘It was gold,
and it said “Sophie”.’
Todge looked completely disinterested. ‘It’ll turn up. Either
that, or it was already missing when she fell.’
‘Fell?’ I glared at him. ‘Todge, have you got jam on the brain?
You don’t actually think she fell, do you? Less than a second after
she said she had something for Debbie to look at – something which
is also mysteriously missing.’
He lifted his chin. ‘You don’t know what it was, so you can’t
know if it’s missing, can you? No, there’s nothing to worry about
here, Miss Kramer. Although even if there was, it wouldn’t be any of
your business.’
‘I agree,’ said a deep voice. I turned to watch Captain Finn
Plimpton striding into the hallway. His fair hair was messy, his blue
eyes were ringed with dark circles, and he was slugging from a mug
of coffee like his life depended on it. ‘So let me guess, Todge – it’s
your opinion that this was another accidental death, most likely
cause by some shoddy carpeting?’
Todge nodded. ‘Y-yes, Captain Plimpton.’
‘Just as I thought. Miss Kramer, you always seem to be around
whenever there’s trouble, don’t you? Maybe you and I could have a
word about why in Hecate’s name that might be. In private.’

I stood outside, next to a sleek carriage. I knew it was one of the

Wayfarer vehicles. Even though the creatures in harnesses looked
like stunning black horses, they were actually Púca shifters. It was
because of them that the carriages could travel at lightning speed.
Having met one Púca – Ned’s criminal ex-boyfriend – I was baffled
as to why these ones would act as horses for Finn and his team. I
stared at the Púca now, wondering if my new life would ever feel
normal.
Finn was gesticulating wildly, and anyone looking at us would
have thought he was reading me the riot act. Instead, he was
saying, ‘Good to see you, Katy. How’ve you been?’
‘Fine, thanks. So do you think the same as Todge then? That
Sophie just fell?’
‘Because you don’t?’ He suppressed a grin. ‘No, Katy. Even
Todge doesn’t think the same as Todge. We never believed the
husband’s death was an accident, which might mean Sophie’s death
wasn’t an accident, either.’
‘Oh. So how come you’re saying it was an accident?’
He performed some wonderfully angry arm waves as he said,
‘Because this is the Samhain Street enclave. No one’s going to help
us with our inquiries here, are they? It’s best if they all think we’re
as thick as two planks. That way, they won’t be quite as careful as
they might otherwise be. And while they’re busy thinking we’re
stupid, we’ll be waiting for them to slip up.’
I was relieved to hear that – and also quite impressed. ‘Todge
does a really good job of playing dumb. I completely believed he
was nothing but a jam-munching moron.’
Finn cleared his throat. ‘Yes, well … that’s why we chose him.
So, you met Sophie. What did you think of her? Because when we
questioned the staff last time, she didn’t seem like the type to have
enemies.’
‘No, I didn’t think so either. She seemed absolutely lovely. And
one hundred percent dedicated to Mrs McGinty, even though she
probably hadn’t been paid for a while. She was helping Debbie find
the money Jim hid, as a matter of fact. And it seemed like she
might have found it – or at least she said she found something in
the attic.’
 Finn chugged back the last of his coffee. ‘Did she now? That’s
interesting. Last time around, Todge suspected another servant
might have killed Jim. A man called Larson. He still works here,
doesn’t he? So maybe he was watching Sophie and, when she
found the money, he killed her to keep it quiet and nicked it himself.’
‘According to Sophie, Larson quit today. I didn’t hear anyone
else in the house, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t there. So did he
seem shady to you when you last questioned him?’
Finn cleared his throat once more. ‘If I’m honest, Todge has
always had it out for him based on nothing more than his name.
Larson … larceny … okay, so maybe we chose Todge to act thick
because he is a bit thick. But having said that … Larson’s coven
name is Grand.’
‘Larson Grand.’ I whistled. ‘Wow. He’s just pointing an arrow at
his head, isn’t he? But actually, there was a weird exchange about
him when we arrived. It sounded like he’d quit, but Debbie and
Sophie were both kind of relieved. I don’t think they liked him.’
‘I got that impression after Jim’s death, too. There were one or
two inconsistencies between what Larson said and what Sophie said
at the time.’
‘Such as?’
‘Sophie said a ring was missing from Jim’s body. A Lodge ring.
It had an inlay of a beheaded werewolf and a sword dripping in
blood, so it’s not like it’d be something a person makes a mistake
about. But Larson said he’d not seen Jim wear the ring for days.
Seeing as he’s a convicted thief, we searched him, and his flat. But
we never found it.’
My eyes widened, and I quickly told him about the missing
necklace, as well as the reason we were at the house in the first
place.
‘Well,’ he said when I’d finished. ‘That is interesting. It seems
like someone is collecting souvenirs. And you won’t be surprised to
hear that Debbie’s not told us a word about her husband’s
hauntings. Or that his ghost is insisting his death was murder.’
He looked longingly into his empty mug. ‘What’s the best way
to play this, I wonder? Officially, we know nothing about Jim’s ghost
saying he was murdered, so we can still pretend to be ignorant on
that score. But we are going to have to do some legwork on
Sophie. Because even a Samhain Street woman like Debbie isn’t
going to believe we’re stupid enough to just dismiss it off the bat.
Sophie announcing she’d found something and then falling to her
death? No, we have to be seen to investigate this one. Please tell
me Debbie mentioned this missing money in front of Todge so we
can use that as an excuse to poke about.’
‘She did,’ I confirmed. ‘She kind of muttered it and seemed to
regret it as soon as she said it, though. Listen, what do you know
about this boyfriend of hers? Denton Montrose?’
Finn raised a brow. ‘Boyfriend? That was fast. And as for what
I know about Denton, well … you’re better off asking Cullen about
that. He knows him pretty well. A lot of the Lodge members are
also members of the Warlock Society – Denton included – so Cullen’s
been using his time there to see if they know more than they’re
saying about Jim McGinty’s supposed accident.’
He looked at the house. Hamish was staring our way, so Finn
set his empty mug aside and flapped his arms about a bit more,
while I narrowed my eyes and put my hands on my hips in my most
stubborn of stances.
‘We need to cut this little exchange of ours short, I’m afraid,’ he
said. ‘And Katy, I don’t think the Wayfarers are going to have any
joy here. Debbie and everyone else involved … they’ll all close ranks
against us. It’s what people round here do. I think that if we’re
ever going to find out who killed Jim and Debbie, then you and
Cullen will have to work together on this.’
I didn’t need to pretend to look stubborn anymore. ‘Cullen?
Seriously?’
Finn shrugged, then waved his arms and shouted, ‘Katy Kramer!
I want you to get the heck off my crime scene, do you hear me? Or
I will find a way to shut your business down!’ He lowered his voice.
‘And yes. You’ll be partnering with Cullen on this case, and that’s an
order. See you at Müd’s tomorrow night to discuss this further?’
‘I guess,’ I said as I walked away. ‘But if you really want me to
work with Cullen, you might have another murder investigation on
your hands by then.’
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
benne, könyekké olvadt és két kezét édesapja nyaka köré csapva,
úgy zokogta:
– Kis apám, kis apám, a te leányodnak vége.
– Mi történt? rebegte a szegény öreg – az istenért mondd meg,
hiszen végre is apád vagyok.
– Megcsalt, meggyalázott! – kiáltott kétségbeesetten – az én
uram gazember!
A báró himbálta fejét, mintha a foga fájna. Aztán gyöngéden
megfogta Olga kezét, egypárszor végigsimogatta és mondhatatlanul
lágy hangon szólt:
– Meg kell bocsátani, kis anyám, nekünk gyöngéknek mindig
csak meg kell bocsátani.
– Meg kell bocsátani – ismételte Olga, majd hirtelen eszébe jutott
valami.
– Mondd csak, kis apám, te is megcsaltad a mamát?
Az öreg ember elpirult.
– Miket beszélsz – dadogta zavartan – hát minek nézel?
– Úgy-e? – kiáltott föl szinte diadalmasan Olga – ugy-e, hogy
téged sért már a gondolata is? Mert te jó, te becsületes vagy, hanem
az enyém – gazember.
– Nincs igazad, édes leányom – szólt a báró – Deméndy derék,
tökéletes ember. Én sem vagyok jobb nálánál, csak gyöngébb. A
gyönge emberek mind becsületesek, mert a bűnhöz erő kell. Ha
megcsalt, ballépés volt, amilyet valamennyien elkövetnek. A férfiak
nem tulajdonítanak oly nagy fontosságot az ilyesminek. Nem több
az, mint egy üveg pezsgőt inni meg, jó társaságban. Ez a konvenció
s ha csak azt tartod becsületes embernek, aki nem csalja meg a
feleségét, a mi társaságunkban bizony hiába kutatsz ilyen ember
után.
 – Milyen világban éltem akkor? – kiált föl Olga.
– Olyan világban – felelt szeliden az öreg, – melyet senkisem
hagy el boldogan, aki megismerte. Te, édes kis anyám, a legtovább
kerülhetted ki a megismerését, ne zúgolódjál, hogy későbben ért el a
sors, melyet mások abban a pillanatban ismernek meg, melyben azt
hiszik, hogy övék a mennyország.
Olga csak rázta szegény fejét. Ez a bölcsesség nem fért beléje.
Majd hirtelen megfogta édes apja kezét, ellökte magától és
hátrahanyatlott.
– Aludni akarok, – szólt fás hangon és behunyta szemét.
Nyomban aludt is.
Kömley báró ott ült az ágyánál és nem mert megmozdulni. Vagy
egy óra mulva a beteg fölriadt és minden átmenet nélkül kérdezte:
– Mondd csak, mielőtt mamát ismerted, voltál-e szerelmes?
A báró elpirult.
– Kis anyám – szólt zavartan, – különös dolgokat kérdezel.
A beteg szeme lázban csillogott.
– Minden különös – szólt – és azt akarják, hogy mindent
természetesnek találjak. Felelj! – kiáltott durcás akaratossággal –
akarom, hogy felelj. Meg akarom tudni, hogy az én uram mennyiben
hasonlít másokhoz.
Az öreg úr most már értette leányát és elhatározta magát. Ha így
áll a dolog, majd mond olyanokat, hogy hozzá képest Deméndy
arkangyal lesz.
– Felelek, kis anyám, de aztán ne nagyon vesd meg a te szegény
apádat. Ami gyarlóságot felőle megtudsz, az általános emberi
gyarlóság. Hát tudd meg, édes kis anyám, hogy más a szerelem és
más a szeretkezés. Anyádnak jó szívvel mondhatom, hogy előtte
soha senkit nem szerettem s ha Deméndy ugyanazt mondta neked,
el is hiheted. Az ember csak egyszer szeret igazán, de sokszor
vétkezik. Ez, – hogy is mondjam? – hozzátartozik a férfi
természetrajzához. Bocsáss meg, kedves gyermekem, hogy ilyen
dolgokat beszél neked a te szegény öreg apád, nem is igen megy
ajkamról a szó, mert lásd, a trágárság most is pirulásra készt, de
meg kell tudnod, hogy hogyan itéld meg uradat. Nem lettem
rosszabb ember, az egészség kérdése ez, mint a fürdő, mint a
táplálkozás, mint a mozgás, a torna, vagy mi egyéb. Se a szívnek,
se az erkölcsnek nincs hozzá köze, legfölebb az ifjonti
könnyelműségnek és életkedvnek. Értesz engem, kis anyám?
Olga tágra meresztett szemmel hallgatta atyját, a kérdésére
pedig különös jelentősen igent bólintott. Aztán beletemette arcát a
párnába és hang nélkül zokogott. A könye se folyt, csak testét rázta
a roham. A báró szeliden símogatta haját, vigasztaló szót nem mert
ejteni. Végül elcsöndesedett, úgy látszott, ismét alszik.
Így telt el a délután. Elaludt, majd ismét hirtelen fölriadt és
mindennemű kérdésekkel állt elő. A báró is észrevette, hogy még
álmában, vagy ájulásában is egyre az ő nagy kérdésén töprengett,
csudálatos, kifürkészhetetlen rendszerességgel vetvén föl sorjában a
kérdéseket s amit megtudott, azt magában összeillesztgette.
– Mit csinál most Miklós? – kérdezte.
– Egész éjjel ágyadnál virrasztott. Ki se mozdult a házból. A
szobájában van és föl-alá járva, hallgatódzik minden neszre és
kesereg utánad. Kis anyám, ha látnád, megesnék rajta a szíved és
nem gondolnád többé, hogy nem szeret.
Majd újabb kérdés:
– Mondd csak, a házas embernek is az egészsége parancsolja,
hogy szeretőt tartson?
Az öreg úr előre remegett már minden ilyen kérdéstől. Szegény
feje alig tudott valamit a léhaságok világából, de érezte, hogy
mennél általánosabbá, mennél kötelezőbbé teszi őket a férfi
számára, annál jobban menti azt az egyet, akire leánya gondol. Most
is ebből a szempontból felelt:
 – Mi tűrés-tagadás, kis anyám, ez is megesik.
– Mikor?
– Hát… tudod, erről bajos beszélni, például amikor a feleség
beteg, vagy gyönge, bizony akkor megesik, hogy…
Tovább nem mondta. Olga fehér lett, mint a kréta és rémülten
nézett apjára. Majd valami őrületes dühvel fakadt ki:
– Hát mért nem tanítjátok meg erre a leányotokat? Miért kellett
bután és tudatlanul belemenni egy életbe, mely tele van förtelemmel,
utálattal és veszedelemmel? Miért nem mondjátok meg, hogy a
házasság baromi állapot és miért adtok férjhez egy leányt, aki
gyönge és beteg?
– Kis anyám! – kiált megrettenve az öreg úr.
– Én vagyok az oka, én vagyok az oka! – kiáltott magánkivül
Olga. Kicsi hangját annyira megfeszítette, hogy majd megszakadtak
a hangszálak. Szerencsére ismét elfogta a hangtalan síró roham,
mely annyira kimerítette, hogy halálszerű álomba merült, melyből
aznap már nem is ébredt föl.
Édes apja csak ült mellette és gondolkodott. Olyasfélét érzett,
hogy tennie kellene valamit. Például fogni a leányát és vinni
magával, el ebből a világból, amely tönkreteszi a tisztát és valóságos
belső titkos tanácsossá őt. De eszébe jutott a felesége és sóhajtott.
Az fog történni, amit ez akar, tehát neki semmi köze a dologhoz.
Csak a vejére gondolt nagy keserűséggel. Majd reménykedik: hátha
nem igaz? csak valami gonosz látszat szól ellene? De nyomban ezt
a föltevést is elejtette; a felesége is hiszi, tehát igaz. Az az ember,
akiről azt hitte, hogy nincs más gondolata, csak Olga, szeretőt tart.
Borzasztó. És a perfekt világfi nem tud annyira vigyázni, hogy
titokban maradjon a bűne.
Hat óra után beállított Kömleyné. Mi ujság? Alszik? akkor a báró
mehet. Úgy látszik, a gyerek kezd már csillapodni, akkor át is
szállítjuk magunkhoz.
 – Válást akar? – kérdi félénken a báró.
– Természetes. Olgának jó izlése van, undorodik attól az
embertől. Ok van rá bőven, együttmaradásra meg nincs egy sem.
A báró kezet csókolt feleségének és ment. A Deméndy dolgozó-
szobája előtt megállt habozva, fejét csóválta és tovább akart menni.
De az ajtó nyílt és Deméndy előtte állt.
– Hogy van Olga? – kiáltott izgatott hangon, – hát te sem tartasz
érdemesnek, hogy róla értesíts?
– Alszik – mondja halkan a báró, majd erőt vett rajta a keserűség.
– Miklós, Miklós, ezt nem vártam volna tőled.
– Mit? – fakadt ki Deméndy – mit nem vártál tőlem? Ne
beszéljetek többet erről a dologról, mert nem tudom, mit csinálok. Az
én vétkem komisz, de nem komiszabb akárki másénál. Hanem amit
a feleséged csinált, az példátlan, az… az… nem, nincs arra szó.
– Mit csinált? – kérdi az öreg elképedve.
– Ő rendezte az egész dolgot, ő tört ellenünk, még mielőtt
valamit tudott volna, ő fogta fel leveleimet, ő világosította fel a
leányát és… és ő öli meg a feleségemet. De ha az bekövetkezik,
Kömley Ede báró úr, vigyázzon a feleségére, mert számadásom
rettenetes lesz!
Az ablak felé fordult s ketté harapta a szivart, melyet foga között
szorongatott.
– Állok elébe – szólt csöndesen a báró, a feleségemről azonban
ne gorombáskodj, mert azt nem tűröm el.
Ezzel ment. Deméndy nem is hallgatott rá, nem is értette. Hogy
mi gyötörte oly rettenetesen? Azt hitte, a felesége veszedelme. Úgy
is érezte, hogy most már igazán, szerelmesen szereti a kicsi
asszonyt. De voltaképpen csak a felelősség érzete sujtotta. Meghal,
gondolta és ő ölte meg. Ezt nem tudja elviselni. Ezért a hosszú,
magános órák töprengéseiben, vívódásaiban bűntársul magához
láncolta Kömleynét, majd egyetlen bűnösül. Szenvedjenek együtt.
 Fásultabb óráiban, ha hallotta, hogy Olga nyugodtan beszélget,
vagy alszik, elfogta a skepszis.
– Dehogy hal meg! gyöngébb, mint más, de nem különb. Az
asszonyok nem halnak meg a szerelemtől, a csalódástól sem. Ki
fogja heverni és akkor vagy megbékül, vagy elválik. – Szabad
leszek, gondolta tovább és iparkodott örülni a szabadságnak, de
nem tudott. Szíve összeszorult a gondolatra, hogy kicsi édese
elhagyja. Majd ismét ellágyult: ha nem is hal bele, de kigyógyulni,
boldoggá lenni szegény nem fog többé soha.
Már több huszonnégy óránál, hogy otthon van, mindig magában,
mindig ezekkel a gondolatokkal elfoglalva. Aztán meg kivertnek
érezte magát a saját házában. Olykor gyerekesnek is látta helyzetét.
Ide dugták, nem szabad mutatkoznia, fogoly, akit majd csak a bíró
elé fognak vezetni. Eh, ezt nem tűri.
Majd féltékenység bántotta. Voltaképen az anyja sem kevésbé
vétkes, mint ő, mért hogy mégis hozzászít, őtőle pedig írtózik? Tán
nem is szereti, nem is szerette. Még a megcsalt asszonyban is kell
élnie a szerelemnek. Az a pár mondat pedig, amit a kulcslyukon
keresztül meglesett, oly dermesztően szívtelennek hangzott.
– Annál jobb – gondolta sóhajtva – ha szerelméből is kigyógyult,
akkor még lehet belőle valami. Talán grófné is – tette hozzá, az
anyósa becsvágyára gondolva.
 2.

Reggelre Olga úgy érezte, hogy már semmi baja sincs. Még a
szíve sem fáj, még boldogtalannak sem érezte magát. Csak nem
tudott fölkelni. A sikertelen kisérlet után rosszra fordult a kedve és
egyedül akart maradni. Beteg volt, akarhatott. Csak egyedül,
egyedül, nem szólni senkihez, nem hallani senki szavát. Behunyt
szemmel, a fal felé fordulva, szinte egész nap mozdulatlanul feküdt.
Édes anyja, majd édes apja óvatosan be-benézett hozzá, de látván,
hogy nyugodtan fekszik, nem háborgatták. Jó a nyugalom.
Estére aztán mintha fölébredt volna. Fölült ágyában és vidáman
kiáltotta:
– Éhes vagyok!
Kapott egy kis tejet, egy kis sonkát, ezt roppant jókedvvel
fogyasztotta el. Aztán körülnézett, mint az elkényeztetett gyerek,
egyszer csak azt mondta:
– Hát Miklós merre van?
– Látni akarod? – kérdi meglepetve a báróné.
– Hogyne!
– Vigyázz leányom, ismét megárt, mint tegnap.
– Akkor csak ujonc voltam, most már nem lesz baj. Aztán végre
is az asszonynak csak kell érintkeznie az urával.
– Nem urad többé – mondja Kömleyné.
– Téved a mama – szól Olga szokatlanul határozott hangon –
csak most lesz igazán az uram.
 Kömleynét meglepte ez a hang, elannyira, hogy nem is mert
ellenkezni. Beteg szegény, gondolta, most ne ingereljük föl. Néhány
perc mulva berontott Deméndy. Remélni nem mert, csak iszonyúan
aggódott. Lelkülete annyira fel volt már zaklatva, az aggodalom, a
lelkifurdalás, az elkeseredés, a megalázkodás, hogy mint a kutya
csatangol a házában, aztán meg Éva tolakodása, hogy most már
maga sem tudta, voltaképpen mi bántja. Habozva megállt a szoba
küszöbén és nézte felesége fehér gyermekarcát, melyről semmit
sem olvashatott le. A hajdan oly beszédes nagy szem kicsivé
zsugorodott és teljes egykedvűséggel függött rajta. Sovány kis karját
feléje nyujtva, üdvözölte:
– Jó estét, Miklós, sajnálom, hogy akkora nyugtalanságot
okoztam önnek, mint látja, teljesen fölösleges volt.
Deméndynek a szívébe vágott a hideg hang, a magázás.
Odalépett az ágyhoz s megragadta kezét, mely csak első pillanatban
remegett az érintéstől.
– Olga – szólt reszkető hangon – hidd el, hogy mindig szerettelek
és méltó vagyok a bocsánatodra.
– Köszönöm – felelt az asszony és felült az ágyban – szavából
azt látom, hogy nem haragszik rám.
– Én Önre? – Nem volt ereje többé, hogy tegezze a feleségét.
– Igen, barátom, mert sokkal több kellemetlenséget okoztam
önnek én, mint ön nekem. Olyan életre kényszerítettem és oly
hazugságokat követeltem öntől, amik nem valók a mi életünkbe.
Megokosodtam, ennyi az egész, ami történt. És ugy-e bár, nagyon
jó, ha az embernek okos felesége van?
Deméndy nem tudta mire vélni ezt a beszédet. Ránézett és nem
ismert benne többé a feleségére. Igazán csak valami feltűnő
hasonlatosság volt az előtte ülő beteg és a kicsi édes között, aki
tegnapelőtt még a fészekben várta. A gyerekszáj körül kemény
vonások rajzolódtak, a kifürkészhetetlen mélységű szem, melyből
hol rajongó érzelmet, hol meg bohón komolykodó gondolkodást
látott, most hideg értelmességgel, öregesen és józanul tekintett rá és
oly átható közömbösséggel, hogy alig birta állani. Nem értette, de
mégis azt gondolta magában, hogy nincs az a desperatus drámai
jelenet, melyet szívesebben nem fogadott volna, mint ezt a
vérdermesztő előzékenységet, mely mögött érezte, hogy valami
rettentő veszedelem lappang.
Kömleyné is majd kővé meredt meglepetésében. Mégis ő találta
föl magát hamarább és gőgösen fölemelve fejét, közbeszólt:
– Remélem uram, hogy ez a beszéd nem vezeti önt félre a
történtek igazi következményei tekintetében.
– Engedje meg, mama – szólt Deméndyné metszően – de a
kettőnk dolgát igazán csak mi ketten fogjuk elvégezni. Nem veszi
rossz néven, ugy-e bár?
Ezt a kérdést úgy hangsúlyozta, hogy Kömleynének meg kellett
értenie. Ezen a hangon szokta ő alkalmatlan férfilátogatóit
kitessékelni.
– Különben is – folytatta Olga – kettőnk között már csak az a
kérdés vár tisztázásra, hogy hová utazunk. Mert az egész história
nem jelent egyebet, mint változást az úti programmban. Tegnapelőtt
még éretlen gyerek voltam, és holmi kegyeletes terveket szőttem,
ezekről persze le kell tenni. Mit gondol barátom, ne menjünk Tátra-
Füredre? Ott igen kellemes társaságot találunk mind a ketten.
Nemde? Hiszen a minisztere is ott tartózkodik, s a klubja is elég
szépen van képviselve.
– Gúnyolódik! – gondolta Deméndy elképedve – mire véljem?
– Ön, mama, – folytatta változatlanul egykedvű hangon Olga –
gondolom, nem akarna velünk jönni. Azt hiszem, nem érezné magát
oly fesztelenül a mi társaságunkban, mint eddig, amióta tudom, hogy
az uram önnek udvarlója volt. Vagy egyebe is? – fordult hirtelen
Kömleynéhez, oly egyszerűséggel, mintha egy gombostű után
kérdezősködött volna.
Kömleyné fölpattant.
 – Hogy merészelsz? – kiáltotta reszkető ajakkal.
– Bocsánat, mama – szólt Olga teljes nyugodtan – én csak
kérdezek. Amit eddig mondott, sem én csaltam ki önből. Azt hittem,
ön szeret ezekről a dolgokról beszélni.
Kifáradt és hátrahanyatlott.
– Beteg vagy – szólt Kömleyné hidegen – alkalmasint lázad is
van.
Olga mosolygott és behunyta szemét.
– Tartok tőle – szólt gyengén, – hogy ezentúl mindig lázam lesz.
Nem értem, hogy amikor olyan vagyok én is, mint a többi okos
asszony, miért tartanak betegnek.
A beszélgetés erre megszakadt. Olga úgy feküdt, mintha aludna.
Kömleyné izgatottan járt fel-alá a szobában, Deméndy pedig
elfogultan ült a felesége ágyán és az érzéketlen fehér arc vonásaiból
magyarázatot akart olvasni e különös viselkedéshez. Olykor
tekintete rátévedt anyósára, ki még most is gőgös és hideg tudott
lenni, noha járása-kelése és a gyilkos, megvető tekintet, melyet
olykor vejére vetett, óriási izgatottságra vallott. Végre is nem állhatta
tovább.
– Azt hittem – szólt – ön is idétlennek fogja találni ezt a mi
együttlétünket, és véget vet neki. Tévedtem, ennélfogva leányomnak
le kell mondania ápolásomról.
Deméndy némán meghajtotta magát, ezzel vette tudomásul
anyósa távozását, aki köszönés nélkül becsapta maga után az ajtót,
hogy Olga felriadt.
– Elment? – szólt fejét fölemelve.
– A mi rossz szellemünk – mondja Deméndy mély keserűséggel.
– Olga, édes, ugy-e, csak a mama miatt beszéltél oly rettentő
hidegen és most ismét olyan leszel, mint voltál, az én édes egyetlen,
kicsi édesem, akinek sohasem lesz többé oka panaszkodni az urára.
 Olga fejét rázta. Egy pillanatra szeme rajta függött az urán valami
bús, sirató szeretettel, aztán ismét hideg és okos volt, mint azelőtt.
– Nem, Miklós, amit mondtam, nem volt komédia. Hiszen ha volt
okom valamit meggyűlölni, úgy a komédia az. Igazán és őszintén
mondom, amit igazán és őszintén gondolok. Megnyilt a szemem és
tisztán látok. Gondoljon Don Quijote-ra, aki kijózanodik hóbortjából
és már tudja, hogy nincs többé lovagkor, de nem hal meg. Ilyen
vagyok most én. Nem haragszom magára, ön nem vétett nekem
semmit. Sőt jó volt hozzám és iparkodott legalább látszatban
megszerezni nekem azt a lovagi szép világot, melyben én
képzelődtem. A fészek! – kiáltott föl és kacagott. – Szegény
barátom, képzelem, mennyit kellett szenvednie amiatt a fészek miatt.
Még ma széthordatom.
– Ezt nem fogod tenni – kiált Deméndy – nem, nem engedem,
lesz még idő, édes, amikor boldogok leszünk a fészekben, addig
hadd várjon reánk.
Olga komolyan nézett az urára.
– Ne gyerekeskedjék, Miklós, csak nem kezd most ön hinni Don
Quijote-ba? Önnek eddig nem volt igazi felesége, mert éretlen
gyerek voltam és ostobaságokra kényszerítettem. Ezentúl igazi
felesége lesz, olyan leszek, mint a többi és ön is olyan lehet akkor,
amilyen, sőt azt akarnám, hogy még szabadabban élhessen
hajlamainak, mint a többi férfi, mert megszolgált érte. Azért azt is
gondoltam, hogyha végleg még nem szakított vele, oda vihetné azt
az Évát is.
Deméndy ajkába harapott.
– Nem teszi helyesen, ha gunyolódik velem – szólt halkan.
– Bocsásson meg, nem akartam bántani. Tehát jó, ne hozza
magával, akkor kettős igyekezettel rajta leszek, hogy pótoljam őt.
Deméndy alig türtőztethette magát.
 – Olga – szólt összeráncolt homlokkal – magán nagy sérelem
esett, rettentő szenvedést okoztam önnek, joga van szeget-szeggel
viszonozni. De remélem, egy idő mulva be fog telni az elégtétellel,
mert nincs az a sérelem, melyet örök időn át kellene expiálni.
– Ön nagyon érzékeny, uram és ezt fölötte sajnálom. Értsen meg
végre. Nem az a célom, hogy önt boldogítsam, hanem hogy
teljesítsem azt a kötelességet, melyet a józan világ a feleségre
hárított. Nem szabad követelőnek lennem, nem szabad
szentimentálisnak lennem és nem szabad betegnek és gyengének
lennem. Mindezt meg fogom tenni, a többihez semmi közöm.
– Higyje el, Olga, én igazán, mélyen és forrón szeretem!
– Ez is hozzátartozik a házassághoz? – kérdi egész komolyan –
akkor azt is elvállalom, hogy szeretem. Ámbár azt hiszem, az egy
kissé tökéletlenné teszi a házasságot. És most, barátom, engedje
meg, hogy a beteg jogával éljek: hagyjon magamra, fáradt vagyok, a
viszontlátásra holnap!
Kezet nyújtott Deméndynek, aki az ajkához emelte. Aztán mély
megindulással föléje hajolt. Deméndyné nem ellenkezett. Nyitott
szemmel nézett az urára, amíg az forró csókot nyomott az ajkára.
– Nem lesz mindig így – rebegte a férfi s az ajtóból ismét
visszafordult és újból megcsókolta – meg fogod látni, hogy
visszatérnek fészkünkbe a régi istenek, akikről azt hiszed, hogy meg
kell őket tagadnod.
Deméndyné csak intett a fejével, nagyon fáradt volt.
Másnap az államtitkár, elvégezvén a miniszteriumban
szabadsága ügyét, délben visszatért s meglepetve hallotta, hogy
felesége fölkelt és kikocsizott. Egy pillanatig aggódott: hátha ebben
is baj van, de csakhamar megnyugodott. A hálószobában ugyanis
ismét föl volt állítva a másik ágy. Valamit gondolt és lopva átsietett a
fészekbe. A fészekből ki voltak hordva a pálmák.
Az államtitkár csóválta a fejét. Mi lesz még ebből? Az élet, ha
ilyen lesz, amilyennek a felesége most vele érezteti, egyszerűen
elviselhetetlen. Nem értette magát. Hiszen valamikor a szó szoros
értelmében ez volt az ideálja. Sőt ezt várta is a házasságtól. Egy
feleség, aki nem követelő. Egy viszony, mely szentesített voltánál
fogva leköti a szenvedélyt és nyugodalmat biztosít. Hát ez most
mind megvan. Igen, de valami szörnyű malicia rejlik mögötte, s
valami iszonyú szenvedés. Mert abban egy pillanatra sem tudott
hinni, hogy Olga csakugyan a mivoltában, a lelkében, az érzésében
olyan lehetne, amilyennek szavaiban és tetteiben magát mutatja.
– Hiszen ha valóban olyan volna – gondolta – akkor elbánnék a
maliciáival, s magamhoz tudnám kényszeríteni a szívét is. De
szenved, szegényke szenved, nem értem, micsoda rettentő hatalmat
ad ennek az asszonynak fölöttem a szenvedése!
Már három órára járt az idő, mikor a kocsi berobogott. Tele volt
rakva csomagokkal, skatulyákkal.
– Megbocsát – szólt mosolyogva – hogy késtem, amint látja,
bevásároltam és ez megmagyaráz mindent. Nincs asszony a
világon, aki el ne késnék, amikor bevásárol.
Egy kicsit ki is pirosodott a nagy bevásárlásban, melyet most
végzett először anyja nélkül. Deméndy ránézett és csodálta.
Bizonyos bájos rugalmasság volt egész mivoltán, a kicsisége is
mintha erővé változott volna. Apró kacér kalapkája alatt arca az
operette soubrettekére is emlékeztette. Semmi gyerekesség, semmi
ügyefogyottság, ez az asszony igazi asszonnyá változott!
Ebéd alatt pedig csak bevásárlásairól beszélt, meg arról, hogy
mennyi dolga lesz azután. Hogy kimélje magát? – kacagott. Soha
életében oly erősnek és oly jól nem érezte magát. De alig van
ruhája, az sem az ő ízlése szerint való. Délutánra berendelte a
varrónőjét, lesz dolog a válogatással, a kombinálással, eltart ez vagy
három napig is. Aztán a sok próba, meg mi, de azért nem baj,
asszonynak élvezet, ha ruházatával bajlódik, de aztán majd
meglátja, hogy milyen szép is lesz minden. Még divatot is csinál
Tátrafüreden.
 – A tanácsára is szükségem volna – szólt azután, – hiszen önnek
akarok öltözködni és még nem ismerem az ízlését. Nem mutathatná
meg Évát? Szeretném látni, hogyan öltözködik.
Deméndy lecsapta a kést és ránézett az asszonyra, aki egészen
elfogulatlanul állta tekintetét.
– Olga! – szólt csöndesen, szinte könyörögve és legyűrte
ingerültségét.
– Nem akar megérteni – folytatja csökönyösen az asszony –
mondtam már, hogy viszonyát egészen természetesnek találom s
mivel tudom, hogy ez a hölgy le tudta magát kötni, meg akarom
szerezni az eszközöket, hogy én is leköthessem. Én tetszeni akarok
önnek, Miklós, s önt ez sérti.
– Ne akarjon nekem tetszeni, önnek erre semmi szüksége.
– Aztán meg kiváncsi is vagyok – folytatja Deméndyné – igazán
kiváncsi vagyok, hogy milyen az a leány. Mondja, hasonlít rám?
– Nem – nyögi Deméndy a fogai között.
– Vagy a mamára? – kérdi, jó étvággyal falatozva.
– Ne kínozzon már.
– Hiszen csak kiváncsi vagyok. Aztán ugy-e nem került annyiba,
mint én?
Deméndy nem bírta tovább. A vér elborította agyát.
– Kedves Olga – szólt fojtott hangon – ön számot tarthat
mindenre, amit egy megbántott asszony elégtételül megkíván, de én,
bármennyire akarnám is, nem vagyok képes arra a szerepre, melyet
velem játszatni akar. Ha semmiképen sem akar megbocsátani, akkor
történjék meg inkább a legrosszabb, ami rám csak képzelhető,
váljunk el. Ne féljen, ez sem enyhébb bosszú, mint az öné, de
legalább illőbb önhöz is, én hozzám is.
 Deméndyné lehajtotta fejét, merengő szomorúságában ismét
megnyilatkozott a régi édes, de aztán csak rázta fejét és vége volt.
– Erről szó sincsen – mondotta – nekem jogom van ahhoz, hogy
igazi asszony legyek, mint a többi. Odaadó leszek, hű leszek,
szerető is leszek, de azt egy férfi sem kívánja a feleségétől, hogy
törődjék az ő érzékenységével.
– Akkor, kedvesem, én teszem meg a kellő lépéseket.
– Ezt nem fogja tenni, mert gyávaság volna. Tessék
megzabolázni engem, ha férfi, idomítson, parancsoljon, védekezzék,
vagy büntessen. Ha tetszik, veszekedjék, legyen kíméletlen és aztán
kárpótolja magát a házon kívül, de megszökni nem engedem. Végre
is nem én vagyok házasságtörő, hanem ön. Mi oka volna önnek
válni?
– Úgy beszél – szól keserűen Deméndy, – mintha az édes anyja
oktatta volna ki. Ez a kegyetlenség becsületére válnék ő
méltóságának is.
– Egy okkal több, hogy tovább is ilyen maradjak. Hiszen önnek,
mint tudom, faibleje volt ez a kegyetlenség.
Farkasszemet néztek egymással. Deméndyben forrt a vér, de
csak türtőztette magát. Olga fölkelt és kezet nyújtott neki.
– Egészségére.
Deméndy ajkához vitte. Olga közel hajolt hozzá.
– Nem akar megcsókolni?
– De igen.
Hidegen, formálisan homlokon csókolta. Aztán az egyik jobbra, a
másik balra ment.
– Ezt nem fogom elviselni – mondotta magában Deméndy, de
azért csak elviselte.
 Felesége csakugyan egész délután a varrónőjével volt elfoglalva.
Deméndy járt az elintézendő dolgai után, este a klubba is betért.
Mikor hazaért, Olga már ágyban volt. Nincs semmi baja, csak egy
kicsit fáradt, egy kicsit lusta. Vacsorálni is fog, ha nincs kifogása
ellene, majd az ágya mellett fog teríttetni.
Aztán magyarázgatta, milyen ruhákban állapodott meg. Egyet
maga is komponált. Extravagáns, de nagyon szép, határozottan
tetszeni fog. Egy angol derék, francia dísszel és betyárujjakkal. Majd
meglátja, milyen pikáns lesz benne.
– Igaz is – szólt azután, – már délben akartam kérdezni,
fölkereste már Évát? A levelében még egy találkozást követelt.
– Nem! – förmedt föl Deméndy durván.
– Rosszul tette – mondja Olga – s igazán kérem, ne
érzékenykedjék, mikor erről beszélek, de a magam érdekéről van
szó, azért teszem. Önnek teljesítenie kell e hölgy kívánságát, hogy
botrányt ne csináljon. Ez fölötte kellemetlen volna, mert ha
nyilvánosan is tudomásomra jut az eset, akkor a társaság kedvéért
nekem is scénákat kellene csinálnom. Úgy-e?
– Sohse törődjék vele, majd elintézem a magam dolgát.
– Akkor jól van, hiszen egyebet sem akarok, mint hogy elintézze.
Így végződött a vacsora.
– Nem akar elmenni? Az est igen kellemes. Sajnálom, hogy
olyan fáradt vagyok, de talán holnap vele mehetek.
– Köszönöm, itthon maradok.
– Vigyázni kell az egészségére – folytatja Deméndyné – a többi
urak, akik még itt vannak, nem ülnek otthon, s bizonyára az
egészségük kívánja meg, hogy házon kívül szórakozzanak.
– Ön virtuózságra vitte a csipkedést – fakad ki Deméndy vonagló
ajkkal – de jól van, tűrni fogom, amíg önnek csak jól esik.
 – Jó mesterem volt – suttogja Olga és lehanyatlik a feje.
Deméndy fölébe hajol és két könnycsepp szivárog szemébe.
– Édes, édes! suttogja az asszony fülébe.
Ez a kezével egy párszor végig simítja a férfi haját, aztán ellöki
magától és csukott szemmel int neki: menjen.
Aztán hirtelen, mintha most jutott volna eszébe, fölkiáltott:
– Azaz hova is gondolok? Hiszen este van s ez a szoba az öné
is. Tehát tetszése szerint, Miklós. Ha éppen szüksége van rám, ne
tekintse, hogy fáradt vagyok, ezt csak úgy mondtam.
Deméndy ezt is lenyelte. Az ajtóból visszafordult, felesége
meredt szemmel bámult utána, de teljesen érzéketlenül.
– Megtébolyodott – gondolta elhülő vérrel – nagy isten, mi lesz
ebből?
Az éjszakát dolgozószobájában töltötte. Másnap egész nap nem
találkozott feleségével. Időt akart neki engedni és ki akart térni a
gyilkos előzékenység elől, mellyel szegény Olga vele szembe
tüntetett. Vendéglőben ebédelt, aztán a minisztériumban belevájta
magát a munkába s öreg este volt, mire elszorult lélekkel hazafelé
tartott, ahol otthont többé nem talált.
Olga szalonjában várta, divatképeket tanulmányozva. Egy szóval
sem kérdezte, hol volt napközben, ellenben a legaprólékosabban
beszámolt a maga dolgaival. A bútorokat már bevonatta, a ládákat
lehozatta, két nap alatt teljesen rendben lesz, utazhatnak. Aztán
hozzátette:
– Sajnálom, hogy intézkedésemmel megfosztottam éjjeli
kényelmétől. Már jóvátettem hibámat, melyet nem is kellett volna
elkövetnem ha egy kicsit gondolkodom. Az a rend, hogy külön
szobája legyen, hát miért kényszeríteném a régi parasztsághoz?
Berendeztettem önnek öltözőmet, szomszédok vagyunk, de nem
zavarom. Bizony, nagyon okos rendszer ez, nem hiába olyan
általános.
 – Mit gondol Olga, – kérdi Deméndy szeliden – mi lesz ennek a
vége?
Az asszony rideg arca erre a kérdésre felengedett, merengve
sütötte le szempilláit, úgy mondta, suttogó hangon:
– Meg fogunk öregedni és akkor vége lesz mindennek. Nem
hiszek már a halálban.
– Így nem akarok megöregedni – válaszol Deméndy vonagló
ajkkal – inkább főbelövöm magamat.
– Nem, nem! – sikolt Olga és rémülten tárja karjait ura elé. Ez
boldogan szökik melléje, a melléhez szorítja és forró csókokkal
borítja el arcát.
– Tehát szeretsz, úgy-e szeretsz még? Ó édes, tudtam, hogy
csak meg akarsz büntetni, de a szíved örökre az enyém.
Az asszony karja lehanyatlik, arca, melyet a férfi elvakult
csókokkal borít el, irtózatot és szörnyű fájdalmat tükröztet vissza. Fel
is szisszen és összeszorítja fogát – ha Deméndynek csak egy csöpp
józansága van, láthatta, hogy felesége az ő karjaiban most
tízszeresen érzi azt a kínt, melyet a fészekben a kelletlen
szeretkezések közepette ő szenvedett annyiszor végig.
– Szeretsz? – súgja Deméndy egészen boldogan.
– Igen – mondja Olga kurtán.
– Milyen hidegen mondod.
– Szeretlek, – ismétli Olga – most már elég meleg?
Deméndy elereszti feleségét, kijózanodott. Szomorúan néz rajta
végig és nehéz sóhajjal mondja:
– Tehát mindennek vége! Így is jó.
Olga újból megijed.
– Kis uram, – kiáltja – nem igaz, én… én… igazán szeretlek.
 – Nem – szól Deméndy a fejét rázva – azért mondja, hogy meg
ne öljem magamat. Én pedig azt mondom magának, amit a
fészekben annyiszor hallottam, hogy szerelmet nem lehet hazudni,
megérzi azt az ember, ha igazán szeretik, azt is, ha csak mutatják.
Olga magához intette az urát. Megfogta fejét és a füléhez hajolt:
– Nem érzed? – súgta.
– Édes – kiáltott boldogan Deméndy, ez ismét a régi felesége volt
– most már érzem és esküszöm neked, hogy soha, de soha…
– Ne esküdj, – súgja az asszony és szájára teszi kezét – hagyjuk
a jövőt és hagyjuk a multat. De úgy-e, már nem gondolsz arra, hogy
meghalj?
– Nem, érzem, hogy igazán megbocsátasz.
– Meg fogom próbálni, Miklós, ne haragudj, de csak ennyit
mondhatok. Szeretlek és amíg kínoztalak, akkor is szerettelek. De
még undorodom magamtól, azt hittem, bele fogok halni és mégis
élek. Meg fogom próbálni, hogy újból megszokjam az életet.
– Édes, – áradozik Deméndy – a csapás nagy és váratlan volt,
értem, hogy hamarosan nem teheted magad rajta túl. De el fogod
felejteni és meg fogod szokni a te bűnös uradat, aki azért nem volt
sohasem rossz. Bízzál bennem, édes, idővel minden jó lesz.
– Jó lesz, – ismétli Olga – igen, idővel.
És három napot töltöttek még Budapesten, valami ősziesen bús
boldogságban. Olga gyöngéd és érzelmes volt. Az ura ölelését nagy
szeretettel fogadta, viszonozta is, bizonyos anyás odaadással, de
jókedv nélkül és mindig csak úgy, hogy az urának engedett. Aztán
elutaztak, a társaságba vegyültek és Deméndy a zajos életben
kezdett feléledni és kevésbbé figyelte feleségét. Látta, hogy nem
olyan, mint volt, de boldogan mondogatta magában: olyan most ez
az asszony, amilyennek lennie kell. Olykor arra is gondolt, hogy
megéri ezt az eredményt a krizis, melyen keresztülmentek, neki is,
aki felszabadult a kényszerromantika alól, Olgának is, aki most
igazán bízhatik benne – ilyen feleség mellett semmi oka többé a
csapodárságra.