Merry Sister Mary and the One and Only Killer

19: Sister Mary Becomes a Cowgirl

Grabbing the bull by its horns is another popular phrase that people associate to taking one's problems full on with confidence. Unfortunately, my confidence would get the best of me and my problems, well let's just say were like a bull in a china closet, full of clumsy mistakes that would lead to disastrous consequences. Today I would galavant to adrenaline-filled pleasures with bovines instead of taking the bull by the horns. I hope you are ready, for this murder case was about to become all the more sinister and dangerous.

Word travels fast in a small town. Faster than a mosquito might land on a dog on a warm summer's eve. Before the bacon sizzled in the pan, before the inhabitants of the Stanton Manor had a chance to stretch their sleepy legs, there were random vehicles stopping on the side of the road near the gate. People peeked through the bars to catch a glimpse of the infamous witch's ghost. Denise Stanton, the town villain, was no more. Young school boys on their bikes mocked the late Stanton singing, "The witch is dead, the wicked witch, ding dong the wicked witch is dead!" Poor Baines stood by the gates patiently ignoring the threats and sticks that where swung at him. He was waiting for Sergeant LeBlanc and the funeral director to arrive. An arrival that caused the curious and somewhat hostile onlookers to temporarily disperse.

I watched the men pull up the driveway. My teeth chomped on one of Janet's honey biscuits. The funeral director, a tall stork looking man with sunken eyes, stood as the perfect specimen for one in his gloomy profession. He pulled out a clipboard and began jotting notes saying not a word to anyone as he invaded the home. I had the urge to hug him, make him smile, but one glance into his emotionless eyes proved to me that some people had no feeling in their soul. Our weary group followed him from room to room like curious pups waiting for a bone. At last he spoke.

"The parlor will be perfect for the wake and ceremony. I will get a few men to move the furniture. We will set up rows, here and here, and flowers, here and along the sides."

"How many people are we expecting?" asked Giles.

"Oh quite a lot. The list of Mrs. Stanton's respected guests for this event was quite lengthy. She may not have been well liked, but her funeral is one that has the town buzzing. The event of the year, I say. See for yourself." The funeral director pulled today's newspaper from his clipboard. On it were the headlines, DENISE STANTON MURDERED. Every article following from the main articles to the personal ads held the words THE WITCH IS DEAD.

"How awful," said Susan.

"Ha!" shouted Gloria. "It's like a celebration! Oh the irony. We should have a party. It will be just what mother would have wanted."

"No need. Everyone is treating the funeral as the party," said Michael. "Look." He pointed to many of the articles stating the funeral was simply a send off to hell, drinks all around. Reading what others were saying about Mrs. Stanton only made me feel hurt and disillusioned from her true character. I had barely known the woman but I did not feel she was as terrible as people made her out to be. Pearl felt the same way. I spied her disgusted face as she read the spectacle the town was making of her mother's death.

"Pearl, darling, are you alright," I asked rubbing the girl's shoulder. She started crying.

"It's not right," she said through sobs. "Why are people doing this?"

I turned to the funeral director.

"Sir, are you sure you must make this a public event. Surely a private ceremony, the family, a few people, would be best."

"I can only do so much, sister," said the director. "The public will be allowed to attend at a distance but only personal guests of the Stanton family will officially be allowed to attend. I cannot stop the public from showing up, just keep them from going inside."