Well, most women.
“And my husband was in the sitting room while I changed into my nightclothes.”
Next to her, the man confirmed this with a nod of his head. He smiled at me, then winked. There was no time to contemplate that before a shrill cry cut through the air.
Mrs. Honeycut jumped, everyone else looked at me.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, backing from the room. I pulled out my cell and checked the text.
It was from Monique.
COME GET YOUR BRETHREN BEFORE I TOSS HER DOWN A WELL
Dammit, Ivy. There was no time for her crap. I texted Monique back and told her I’d be there ASAP.
Before I even turned back around, the scent of sandalwood told me who would be standing there.
“Why do you sneak up on me like that? I hate that!” I said.
My grandmother eyed me up and down, crossed her arms then arched a perfectly tweezed eyebrow. She was taller than me, which made for masterful intimidation. It almost always worked.
“It’s about time,” she said.
I could have taken that a number of different ways, but I chose to ignore all of them. One family crisis at a time.
I said, “Your guests are in the parlor with Leo. Something upset them and it’s not the usual kind of upset like ‘I thought I would be meeting three sweet old ladies and instead I spent a weekend with the Witches of Eastwick’. It’s a bit more dramatic than that.” I didn’t tell her I couldn’t stick around to find out what the problem was.
“Hmm.” She paused theatrically. “Well then, we shall converse later, Anastasia.”
That nickname was fun for about five minutes.
Birdie’s gypsy garb fluttered and chimed as she floated toward the parlor, her red cape billowing behind her. I followed, preparing to make a left turn for the doorway.
That was when I heard Mrs. Honeycut say, “Dead. Right there in the bathroom.”
To which Birdie replied, “Impossible. That wasn’t supposed to happen until tomorrow.”
There was a brief silence and then Mrs. Honeycut gasped and said, “It’s you. I saw you out the window earlier. Holding a dagger!”
Well, this might take longer than I thought.
IVY GERAGHTY’S PERSONAL BOOK OF SHADOWS
by Ivy Geraghty
Entry #7
I am patiently awaiting further instructions from the blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh, my sister, Anastasia. Meanwhile, I study the Enemy closely, crafting my plan to identify, target and align her adversaries into our camp, for the Enemy of my Enemy is my friend. (No idea who said that, but I’m pretty sure it was some Asian philosopher because I saw it in a fortune cookie. Scully thinks it’s a righteous citation.)
-Ivy Geraghty, Junior Apprentice Warrior Goddess (in training)
TWENTY-FOUR
“So you’re telling me that this is a murder-mystery weekend and all your guests were given a part to play in it?” Leo asked.
“Actually, not just our guests. Several other hotels and inns are participating,” Fiona said. “There’s a dinner later down at the Riverside hotel.”
We were all standing upstairs in the hallway just outside of the old couple’s room.
“But, I don’t understand,” Mrs. Honeycut said. “We never heard a thing about it.”
Mr. Honeycut chimed in. “This weekend was a gift from our daughter.” He turned to his wife. “She must have forgotten to mention it, Cece.”
Fiona said, “The instructions for the game should have arrived along with your reservation confirmation.”
Mrs. Honeycut was beginning to look like one of those old cat clocks with the roaming eyes and nervous tail.
“But, you,” Mrs. Honeycut turned to my grandmother, “I saw you with a knife in your hand. Just outside the window. I recognize the cape.”
Why was Birdie wearing her ritual cape anyway? There was nothing special about tonight, no holiday. Nothing she would have cast a spell for. And even if there was, she would have done it in the back of the house, near the woods. Not on the front lawn where her guests might intrude upon the
“And my husband was in the sitting room while I changed into my nightclothes.”
Next to her, the man confirmed this with a nod of his head. He smiled at me, then winked. There was no time to contemplate that before a shrill cry cut through the air.
Mrs. Honeycut jumped, everyone else looked at me.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, backing from the room. I pulled out my cell and checked the text.
It was from Monique.
COME GET YOUR BRETHREN BEFORE I TOSS HER DOWN A WELL
Dammit, Ivy. There was no time for her crap. I texted Monique back and told her I’d be there ASAP.
Before I even turned back around, the scent of sandalwood told me who would be standing there.
“Why do you sneak up on me like that? I hate that!” I said.
My grandmother eyed me up and down, crossed her arms then arched a perfectly tweezed eyebrow. She was taller than me, which made for masterful intimidation. It almost always worked.
“It’s about time,” she said.
I could have taken that a number of different ways, but I chose to ignore all of them. One family crisis at a time.
I said, “Your guests are in the parlor with Leo. Something upset them and it’s not the usual kind of upset like ‘I thought I would be meeting three sweet old ladies and instead I spent a weekend with the Witches of Eastwick’. It’s a bit more dramatic than that.” I didn’t tell her I couldn’t stick around to find out what the problem was.
“Hmm.” She paused theatrically. “Well then, we shall converse later, Anastasia.”
That nickname was fun for about five minutes.
Birdie’s gypsy garb fluttered and chimed as she floated toward the parlor, her red cape billowing behind her. I followed, preparing to make a left turn for the doorway.
That was when I heard Mrs. Honeycut say, “Dead. Right there in the bathroom.”
To which Birdie replied, “Impossible. That wasn’t supposed to happen until tomorrow.”
There was a brief silence and then Mrs. Honeycut gasped and said, “It’s you. I saw you out the window earlier. Holding a dagger!”
Well, this might take longer than I thought.
IVY GERAGHTY’S PERSONAL BOOK OF SHADOWS
by Ivy Geraghty
Entry #7
I am patiently awaiting further instructions from the blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh, my sister, Anastasia. Meanwhile, I study the Enemy closely, crafting my plan to identify, target and align her adversaries into our camp, for the Enemy of my Enemy is my friend. (No idea who said that, but I’m pretty sure it was some Asian philosopher because I saw it in a fortune cookie. Scully thinks it’s a righteous citation.)
-Ivy Geraghty, Junior Apprentice Warrior Goddess (in training)
TWENTY-FOUR
“So you’re telling me that this is a murder-mystery weekend and all your guests were given a part to play in it?” Leo asked.
“Actually, not just our guests. Several other hotels and inns are participating,” Fiona said. “There’s a dinner later down at the Riverside hotel.”
We were all standing upstairs in the hallway just outside of the old couple’s room.
“But, I don’t understand,” Mrs. Honeycut said. “We never heard a thing about it.”
Mr. Honeycut chimed in. “This weekend was a gift from our daughter.” He turned to his wife. “She must have forgotten to mention it, Cece.”
Fiona said, “The instructions for the game should have arrived along with your reservation confirmation.”
Mrs. Honeycut was beginning to look like one of those old cat clocks with the roaming eyes and nervous tail.
“But, you,” Mrs. Honeycut turned to my grandmother, “I saw you with a knife in your hand. Just outside the window. I recognize the cape.”
Why was Birdie wearing her ritual cape anyway? There was nothing special about tonight, no holiday. Nothing she would have cast a spell for. And even if there was, she would have done it in the back of the house, near the woods. Not on the front lawn where her guests might intrude upon the
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