by Morgana Best
Linda nodded. “Thankfully. I always wonder why people in movies always go to haunted houses after dark to investigate.”
“This isn’t a haunted house,” I pointed out.
“Not as far as we know,” Linda countered.
I pulled up outside the iron gate flanked by an old wire fence. Magnificent roses grew along the fence line. I opened the wire gate and stepped onto the pathway.
“Can I help you?” a soft, disembodied voice said.
Linda let out a shriek and clutched my arm. I looked down, and there under a magnificent apricot and white David Austin Rose was the thin figure of Alec Aldon clutching a large pair of pruning shears. I summed up the distance to the gate in case he lunged at us.
However, he did no such thing. He stood up and leant over us. “This is a surprise,” he said. “Miss Valkyrie Jasper and her friend, Mrs Williams.”
“Pepper,” I corrected, just as Linda said, “Ms Williams, but you can call me Linda.”
“Come inside and have a cup of tea please,” he said.
I had a feeling I was a fly being invited into the spider’s lair. Linda shot me a worried look, but we had no choice. We were there to question him. He was hardly likely to throw us out after he had offered us a cup of tea. Besides, it was a grievous insult in the country not to accept the offer of a cup of tea or even lunch.
As he walked down the path behind us, I felt a pulling sensation in the back of my head. I spun around as Alec walked past me with his pruning shears in his hand.
What was with suspects with pruning shears? Still, I supposed it was normal for gardeners to have pruning shears.
Alec ushered us straight through the house to sit outside on a white iron garden furniture set. It didn’t have cushions and so was quite uncomfortable. It did however afford a lovely view over the back of his house and the cottage type garden full of roses, lavenders and rosemary bushes as well as small, colourful plants. While I loved roses, I didn’t know much about other flowers.
“Tea or coffee?” he asked us.
We both said we would have black tea. He disappeared inside and I whispered to Linda, “Look around for any sign of evidence.”
“What possible evidence could there be?” she said. “We know he’s an orchid grower and the victim was killed with an orchid stake, but what could we possibly hope to see?”
She did have a point. “I have no clue, really. Still, we might pick up something. Anyway, keep your ears pricked because he could say something to give himself away.”
The porch was as neat as a pin. Alec wafted out, carrying a tray. He reminded me of one of those monsters from scary movies that float along the ground, their feet not touching it. I was unable to suppress a shudder.
“Now, may I ask why you ladies are here?” he said. “Is this about Beckett Maxwell again?”
I shook my head. Beckett Maxwell had been a friend of my parents’. His house was just down the road from Alec Aldon.
“No, the other murder,” I said.
I would have said more, but he said, “Of course. Ethelbert Jones. We’ve had a moment’s silence for him each day at the orchid show.”
“Yes, and that’s why we’re here. The police suspect my Aunt Agnes of being the killer,” I lied. I had the unpleasant thought that I was getting better at lying. Still, it really could be a good thing under the circumstances.
“Why exactly do the police suspect your aunt?” He raised his eyebrows. He was awfully well dressed for someone who was doing gardening. I mean, who else in the world would wear cream trousers to do gardening? He was wearing a brown cardigan with gold buttons down the front. He had to be the most impeccably dressed gardener in the town, if not the country.
“She found the body,” I said. “It seems unreasonable to me. I don’t know why the police suspect her. Anyway, the reason we’re here is because we are going around to everyone in the orchid club and asking them what they knew about Ethelbert Jones and whether they knew anyone who had any reason to kill him.”
“Yes, alas, I told you at the orchid show that Mrs Mumbles was being blackmailed because she was having an affair with a married man. That’s all around town, so I don’t know anything more about anyone else.”
“What about Joyce Batson, the antique dealer?” I asked him.
“I don’t really know anything about Joyce Batson,” he said. “I don’t buy antiques. Dirty things. I don’t buy anything second hand. Only second hand cars.”
“Oh yes, if I might be quite frank, Mrs Mumbles told us you did it,” I said with a laugh as if I disbelieved her. “That made me think that you could be right in saying she’s the murderer. She was clearly trying to deflect attention onto someone else.”
“Precisely what did she say about me?” he asked. I noticed his hand tightened on his teacup. It was the first time I had heard him speak in an angry tone.
“Well, she said the victim sold you an expensive vintage car and told you it had never been in an accident, and then not long after that, it fell in half or something like that.”
Alec Aldon made the loudest sound he had made in my presence. It would have been at least as loud as a loud whisper. He muttered something rudely, I presume to himself, and then leant forward. “The foolish woman knows nothing about cars. She is, however, correct. Ethelbert Jones sold me a Cadillac model 314. It only had one hundred and fifty kilometres on it. It was a V8 5.2 litre engine. It had been completely restored: the motor, the upholstery, the brakes, the running boards, everything had been reconditioned or replaced. He did say it had never been in an accident.”
“Did he charge too much for it?” I asked him.
He shook his head. “I paid sixty-two thousand dollars for it which I thought quite the bargain, only I found out later it had been in an accident.”
“Didn’t you have it checked over before you bought it?” Linda asked, earning herself a furious glare from Alec.
“Of course I did, my dear woman,” he whispered. “It didn’t fall in half like that woman said. No, indeed, it had engine problems and it…” His voice trailed away. “Do either of you ladies know anything about cars?”
We both shook our heads. “I don’t know a thing,” I said.
“Then I won’t bore you with the technical details,” he said. “Needless to say it’s going to cost me a good ten thousand dollars to fix it.”
“What are those cars usually worth?” I asked him.
“A minimum of seventy thousand dollars,” he said. “I got it for ten thousand dollars less. So then, one could say that even with the hassle and the payment to have it repaired, it will still come out around the right price. Therefore, I didn’t have any motive to murder Ethelbert Jones, if that’s what you’re thinking. He swore he didn’t know about the previous damage. It’s irrelevant to me whether or not he was telling the truth, because I will not be out of pocket.”
I thought it over. I actually didn’t know anything about cars. I tried to remember the name of the car so I could google the price later.
“Come and see my cars now,” Alec whispered. He stood up, soundlessly. As Linda and I stood up, our chairs made a loud sound as they scraped along the concrete. Alec had moved his chair as well, but he hadn’t made a sound. I wondered how that was even possible. Still, I always maintained there was something creepy about him.
We followed him to a large and expensive-looking iron barn in the unpleasant colours of a sickly green roof with mustard coloured walls. He flung open the sliding doors and I gasped to see an array of vintage cars. I did not know whether they were vintage or antique or classic—I knew there was a distinction, but I had no idea what it was. All I knew was that they were very expensive. I wondered how he was able to afford cars such as these. He gestured proudly to the car. “This is the Cadillac, of course,” he said.
I peered at the car. I could see why people got interested in such things. It was a work of art. It was a lovely cream colour with black wheels and red rims. “Is it all right to t
ouch it?” I asked.
“Be my guest.” He looked pleased at my obvious interest.
I looked in the window. “Wow, it’s a piece of history,” I said, momentarily forgetting why I was there.
“Yes, I do enjoy collecting cars,” he whispered to me. “I also have a Jaguar XK120 Drophead Coupe. This is a six cylinder. I imported it from California in 1990. I had the work done. I had it converted to disc brakes and power steering by a Jaguar specialist in 1996. It’s wonderful to drive.”
“The dirt roads around here can’t be much good for it, surely?” Linda asked him.
He narrowed his eyes as he looked at her. It was clear he didn’t like Linda. “Yes, that’s one of the drawbacks of living out here,” he spat. “One of the many drawbacks.”
I wondered why he lived so far out of town with all the dirt roads and the dust. I looked around at his beloved cars. I counted five. “All these are, like, classic cars or whatever you call them as well, aren’t they?” I said.
“Quite so.” He gestured to a silver car. “This is my Daimler DS 420, and this is my Daimler Conquest Saloon. He nodded to a black car beside it. And this is my 1939 Chrysler Special.”
“Well, thank you for your time,” I told him. “I absolutely love your cars.” I was genuine. They were beautiful and I loved the history that went with them.
“Apart from Mrs Mumbles, is there anyone you can think of who could have killed Ethelbert Jones?” Linda added.
“My bet is on Mrs Mumbles,” he said.
“Do you know anything about Ethelbert Jones’s wife?” I asked him. “She’s staying at the manor now.”
For some reason, he found my remarks very interesting. “Well, is she now. That’s interesting.”
“Why is it interesting?” I thought that a strange remark.
“She could well be the murderer,” he said. “Perhaps you should find out if she inherits everything. I believe Ethelbert was quite wealthy.”
“Yes, we’ll look into it,” I said. “There’s also Joyce Batson. The victim sold her a fake painting. The other possible suspect is Killian Cosgrove who apparently had some run in with the victim because Ethelbert was sufficiently annoyed with him to put mealy bugs on his orchids, if that can be believed.”
“Mealy bugs. Dreadful things,” Alec said. “I don’t have any, of course. I quarantine any new orchids I buy for a good time. Mealy bugs can take a couple of weeks to hatch, you understand. You can get rid of them with White Oil, which these days they call Pest Oil.”
“We have to go, I’m sorry,” Linda said. “Pepper’s Aunt Agnes texted me and told us to come straight home.”
“I’d love to visit and see your cars at some other time,” I said. I wanted to keep on his good side, and figured I needed to question him further and keep an eye on him.
He smiled and gave a little wave as we walked back down the pathway.
When we were back in the car, I asked Linda, “Why were you in such a hurry to get away?”
Linda clicked on her seatbelt. “He makes me so uneasy. He always has. There is something predatory about him, something evil. Don’t you feel it?”
I had to admit that I didn’t. “That was a waste of time. I hoped we would turn up something,” I lamented. “I don’t think we’re any further along with our investigation. However, I don’t think Alec is the killer, not if his only motive was that car. If my mathematics is correct—and it usually isn’t, by the way—then he didn’t do it. He hasn’t really had a financial loss and he does love the car. It hardly seems a motive for murder.”
Linda agreed. “We have to find out the identity of Mrs Mumbles’ lover.”
“You’re right,” I said. “And we still have to question Killian Cosgrove. If Ethelbert Jones really did put mealy bugs on Killian’s orchids, then he did have a grudge against him. We need to know what that grudge was.”
Chapter 16
“Well, what did you really think of Alec Aldon?” Linda asked me as we drove back in the direction of town.
“Like I said, I don’t think he had a motive, although he seemed awfully keen to blame Mrs Mumbles and then he jumped on Euphemia Jones as being a killer,” I said.
“That’s not suspicious in himself, because an innocent person would probably suggest other suspects. What do you think?”
“There is something about him that makes my flesh crawl,” I admitted, “but I knew someone like that back in the city. I used to work with him. At first I thought he was really creepy, but he turned out to be a lovely person and I felt bad for thinking it.”
“I do find Alec Aldon more than super creepy,” Linda said. “Still, I can’t see that he’s got a motive.”
“Just because we don’t know what his motive is, doesn’t mean he hasn’t got one,” I pointed out.
“Do you think he could possibly be the murderer then?”
I shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.” I sighed. “I really want to go to bed with a cup of hot chocolate. I need a break from all this.”
“You’ve had a really traumatic time lately,” Linda said. “I’m not surprised you feel like that.”
As we got closer to town, I checked the rear vision mirror once more. I was in the habit of checking my rear vision mirror when driving on country roads, because cars could come up quickly behind and pass at speed, showering the car with blinding dust. I hadn’t seen a car before, and now I saw one. “Linda, I think we’re being followed.”
She turned around. “I can’t see anyone.”
“Keep looking,” I said.
“I can just now see a white car in the distance,” she said. “It seems entirely innocent to me. Whatever makes you think it’s following us?”
“Because my right eye is twitching and it only does that when something is amiss.”
“Has your right eye twitched around a murderer before?” Linda asked me.
I shook my head. “It only works at random, but every time it’s happened, something bad happens. Plenty of bad things happen without my right eye twitching, but when it does, then something bad does happen. Does that make sense?”
“Perfect sense,” Linda said. “And you think this is definitely tied into the white car back there?”
“Don’t ask me how I know,” I said, “but we’re being followed.” As soon as I said the words, I wondered if the person following me was the spy for The Other. If it was, then I shouldn’t mention anything to Linda.
“What should we do?” Linda asked me.
“Ideally, I could duck down a side road and come out behind them and see who it is,” I said.
“It must mean we’re close to solving the murder.”
I nodded, although I doubted that was the case. I figured I was being followed by the spy for The Other because they had figured out their tracking spell had been broken.
As we drove down a long hill, Linda grabbed my arm. “Duck in there!”
I sped down the hill and took a hard right into a little dirt lane. I turned the car hard and pulled up under the cover of tall bottlebrush bushes. I held my breath, waiting for the car to go past.
“I don’t think they can see us from here,” Linda said.
“They can if they look, but no one will be looking,” I said. “They would have to be deliberately looking off to the right.”
I held my breath. My mouth was dry. I wondered if I should text my aunts and tell them what was happening, but thought the better of it. It was then I remembered I said I’d text Aunt Agnes as soon as we left Alec’s house.
“Linda, quick, can you text Aunt Agnes for me and tell her that we’ve left Alec Aldon’s house and we’re on our way home. My phone’s in the cup holder.”
Linda was texting away when the white car turned into the lane. I gasped and Linda dropped my phone.
It was Alec Aldon in a white car.
Linda was fishing on the floor for the phone. I put my hand on the back of her neck and hissed, “Stay down so he doesn’t see you. I have a plan.�
� I pushed her head down.
Alec rolled his window down. “Did you ladies break down?”
“No,” I said. He continued to look at me, so I said, “Linda needed a bathroom break. She’s in those bushes there.”
His face flushed bright red. “I’m so sorry to trouble you.” He turned the car around and drove off in the direction of town.
“Ouch,” Linda said as soon as I left her up. “What was all that about?”
I couldn’t tell Linda about the spy, so I said, “I didn’t want whoever was following to find both of us in the car. I planned to say I was with someone who was having a bathroom break,” I told her. It didn’t exactly sound believable.
“How did Alec even see us turn off?” she asked me.
“I have no idea,” I said. “Still, it seems he was simply driving into town.”
“Either that or he was deliberately following us,” Linda said, “but why on earth would he do that?”
I did not respond. If Alec Aldon had murdered Ethelbert Jones, there was no reason for him to follow me. If however, he was the spy for The Other, then he had every reason to follow me. My stomach twisted into knots.
When we reached the manor, Linda said, “I’ve got to run off now. I have an appointment.”
“Do you have time for coffee before you go?” I asked her.
She shook her head. “I’m late as it is.”
“Thanks for your help,” I said. I waved until she had driven out of sight. I walked around the back of the house and was walking into the kitchen when I saw Euphemia Jones bending over in the vegetable garden.
I walked over to her. “Hello, Mrs Jones.”
She straightened up and clutched her stomach. “Ms Jasper, you scared me.”
“Sorry about that,” I said. She had a large green bag. Lots of vegetables were poking out the top.
“I hope you don’t mind me taking these,” she said. “I thought it was the least you could do since my husband has been murdered here. I’m not suing you, so I thought you’d all be grateful.”
