The Eternal Investigator: An Oxford Key Mysteries Novella

by Lynn Morrison

  In deference to the warm spring evening, when it is nearly time for the mystery event, Dr Gardner rises from her desk and pulls on a lightweight jacket, grabbing a small case that was tucked away under her desk before leaving.

  Catherine Morgan raises an eyebrow when she spots me trailing behind Dr Gardner, but I shake my head, promising to tell her all later. I don’t want to risk losing Dr Gardner when she leaves the college. I pause at the college gates, suddenly unsure whether I am bound to remain within the walls, or am free to go where I want. Dr Gardner’s heels click on the pavement, growing quieter as she makes her way, prompting me to take a quick action if I want to keep up.

  Fortunately, the walls prove no boundary for me, and I speed up to catch her as she turns the corner onto the main road. She waits quietly at the bus stop, boarding the first one which pulls up, paying the fare for a ticket into the city centre. As we ride, I run through the names of businesses in the centre, searching for something which might match the initials M.G., but nothing comes to mind.

  In the centre, she briskly walks for several blocks, passing shops, restaurants and cafes, until she arrives at the bus stop on the far side, catching a bus destined for the Headington Hills.

  The spires sitting atop Oxford’s famous landmarks fall behind us as the bus climbs the hill up to the outer neighbourhood of Headington. My only experience with the area has been visits to the hospitals and clinics for various check-ups and treatment of bumps and bruises. I know there are plenty of working-class houses and flats beyond the hospital buildings, but I’ve had no reason to visit the neighbourhoods before now.

  Dr Gardner stays put as the bus stops for the hospital and next for the shopping high street. She finally pulls the chain to request a stop a few blocks later. My eyes search the surrounding streets for some indication of our destination, but I can’t see more than a few bed and breakfasts and residential homes. A lone man walks a dog in the otherwise empty street.

  Ever polite, Dr Gardner offers her thanks to the driver as she descends down the steps and exits the bus. She doesn’t pause to take in her surroundings or to check street names, further proof that this is a regular trek for her.

  My eyes narrow in suspicion as she ventures deeper into the neighbourhood, passing houses in various states of wear. Most have bicycles and toys cluttering their tiny front gardens, the muted sounds of the evening radio programmes coming from open windows. A few show signs of deterioration, with unkempt lawns and sagging entryways. I wonder whether the owners are out of work or if these houses are home to single mothers trying to get by while their spouses fight on the frontlines. All these years living in Oxford, and yet I know so little of the townspeople and their lives. What else have I missed?

  I begin guessing what Dr Gardner’s final destination will reveal. As a college principal, her unmarried matron status is practically a requirement. College trustees would frown on any sort of a social life outside of a few approved activities, much like the ones listed on the other days in her diary. To my knowledge, she has never been connected in a relationship to any other university fellow or patron.

  Whom might she know in the Headington Hills? Could she have a secret child hidden away, and that is why she needs the extra funds? Or is this another example of her charitable activities, perhaps helping out a single mother? My mind runs away with me, throwing out ideas such as underground gambling clubs or secret societies. When Dr Gardner finally turns into a narrow pathway approaching a well-kept, end of row terraced home, I half expect to see people wearing hooded robes waiting at the window.

  Dr Gardner pauses on the step to straighten her coat and pinch some colour into her cheeks. It is such a feminine move, I am left flabbergasted. After a sharp rap on the door, she twists the handle and steps inside.

  “Matthew? It’s me,” she calls down the hallway as she takes off her coat, hanging it on a nearby hook.

  Before I can step deeper into the house, an older gentleman pops out of the kitchen at the back of the house, his greying hair carefully combed back from his forehead. His clothing isn’t dissimilar to something I’d choose for myself — comfortable trousers, a button-down shirt, and a cardigan. However, the apron tied around his waist isn’t an item I own. His face is vaguely familiar, but I cannot place it straight away.

  I rush ahead, peeking into the kitchen and reception rooms, looking to see who else might be there, but the spaces are all empty. There is a small pot of soup simmering on the boiler and two slices of bread on a plate. The nearby table is set for two.

  There is no child, no anguished single mother. There is no card table with poker chips and no signs of witchcraft or secret society meetings. There is no evidence that supports any of my wild theories.

  “Hullo darling,” the man says as he breezes through my ghostly form and pulls Dr Gardner into a warm embrace. “Hand me your overnight case, I’ll run it upstairs for you. I wish you would leave some clothes here… this back and forth is so tedious.”

  My eyes widen as Dr Gardner leans into the man’s embrace, her arms wrapped around his midsection. “I wish I could as well, dear, but as long as I’m the principal at St Margaret, you know that I must keep our relationship a secret. Just a few more years and then I can retire early and we can be together permanently.”

  I look away as their embrace turns passionate, stumbling into the reception room and slumping onto the sofa. I finally place where I know the man. He is Matthew Goodwin, the butcher who supplies the college with all of its meats. They must have met there and somehow formed a relationship. I can see why Dr Gardner would keep it a secret. The trustees would not approve of their esteemed principal having a relationship with a local tradesman, no matter how lovely a man he might be. In Oxford, appearances are everything, and Dr Gardner knows the game well.

  She couldn’t be behind the theft of the money. If she is already hiding a secret of this size, would she dare to do anything else to call attention to herself? It seems highly unlikely.

  It is also clear from the home and its furnishings that Matthew Goodwin does well enough for himself. Even if they plan to settle down together one day, Dr Gardner wouldn’t need to embezzle money to allow them to live comfortably.

  The pair carry on with their evening, totally unaware of my presence. I quietly slip out of the door and slowly begin the long walk back to the college. If it isn’t me who stole the money, and it isn’t Dr Gardner, the only possible person left is Penny.

  But why would a well-employed woman in her mid-twenties need to steal money from her employer?

  Chapter Five

  The cool night air invigorates me on the walk back to St Margaret, helping me work through my feelings about Dr Gardner and her secret lover. Once the initial shock wears off, I find I am strangely at peace with the news. I had always judged it somewhat unfair that the female professors were expected to sacrifice their personal lives in favour of a commitment to the educational system. If Dr Gardner has found a way around the constraints, who am I to begrudge her any happiness?

  Now, what to do about Penny? Perhaps Catherine Morgan will have a suggestion.

  As soon as the thought passes through my brain, I find myself standing in front of her portrait in the main entry hall at St Margaret.

  I stumble to a halt. “Wha…?”

  Catherine, seated within her frame, covers her mouth to hide her chuckle. “First time discovering you can travel from one place to another, simply by thinking about the destination?”

  I nod my head as I run my hands along my arms and legs, reassuring myself I am still in one piece.

  “You are a ghost now, Bartie.” Her mouth stretches into a gentle smile. “While our demise has some obvious drawbacks, it also offers up some new advantages.”

  “I shall make an effort to remember that, Ms Morgan.” I motion towards a nearby chair and when she doesn’t object, I take a seat.

  “Now that you are comfortable, tell me where you have been,” she commands, reminding me of m
y earlier promise to explain why I was trailing behind Dr Gardner. Her eyes grow wide as I recount my trip across town and up Headington Hill. It is clear from her expression that she was just as in the dark as I was about Dr Gardner’s secret relationship. By the time I finish, Catherine is practically beaming.

  “A clandestine romance? My word! I had no idea she had it in her.” Catherine spins around to face in the direction of Headington, raising her cup of tea in a mock salute. “Well done, old girl!”

  “I arrived at a similar conclusion,” I admit, feeling my cheeks grow red. Thank goodness Dr Gardner will never know that I uncovered her secret. Although, now that I know, I am not sure if I’m obligated to do something about it. “Erm, Catherine… As Eternals…”

  “Yes, Bartie?” She gives me a soft smile, encouraging me to continue.

  “Are there certain rules we must follow? If we know someone is violating a rule, must we do something about it?”

  “That is a wise question, Bartie. Unfortunately, as I said before, there is no rule book lying around to guide us. We’re left to muddle through as best as we can, much as we did when we were alive. However, as you’ve uncovered today, at times we discover a truth we wish we didn’t know.”

  I sit back in the chair as I weigh Catherine’s words, noting she has been careful to avoid giving me outright advice in this case. I check my moral compass as I search through the potential outcomes — Dr Gardner losing her job, forced to leave under a cloud of suspicion, or keeping quiet and letting her stay on. Is it enough to abide by the spirit of the rules or must she be obligated to stick to the letter of an unjust statute?

  Having reached a conclusion, I lift my head to look Catherine in the eye. “I see no need to begrudge Dr Gardner her happiness, particularly during these dark wartimes. My focus must remain on identifying the individual who is robbing our coffers.”

  Catherine gives me a nod, approval clear in her gaze. “What now, Bartie? Where does this leave you in your investigation?”

  Although my next steps are clear, something stops me from responding. What other innocent half-truths and outright lies will I uncover? I spent my years here keeping my colleagues at an arm’s length, and now I am diving into their private lives. I give myself a mental shake, putting a stop to that train of thought.

  “If it is not Dr Gardner nor I behind the theft, there is only one individual left. As much as it pains me, I know I must see this through to the end.” I rise from my chair with a determined look upon my face. “If you will excuse me, Catherine, I shall return to my investigation.” I doff my cap and then make my departure.

  ❖

  When the sun rises, I am in position, leaning against the bookcase in Dr Gardner’s outer office. I watch its rays track along the floor until Penny herself steps into the room, casting a shadow across the space.

  Penny bustles around her office, hanging her coat on the rack, setting her handbag under her desk, and dusting off the tabletops. I narrow my gaze, wondering whether her flurry of activity is driven by necessity, or is instead a reflection of her guilt. Is she working over hard to ensure all is perfect as a means to atone for her theft?

  Eventually Dr Gardner calls her in for a meeting. I use the opportunity to search her handbag and coat pockets. I come up dry with her coat, finding only a crumpled tissue and a used bus ticket. Her handbag, however, proves interesting. At first glance, it appears to hold what I imagine are the normal necessities — her coinpurse, a tube of lipstick and a small address book. Closer inspection reveals a small pocket, carefully cut in just below the seam. To the casual eye, it would be invisible.

  I fumble with the tiny button closure, my large ghostly hands struggling to slip the dainty button through the small slit. Finally, it slides through, the fabric gaping slightly. Folded carefully in half is a stack of pound and ten shilling notes. A whistle escapes me as I fan them out, making a quick calculation in my head. This is far too much to be pocket money.

  I shadow Penny during lunch and throughout the afternoon. I had always thought of Penny as warm and friendly, with a sunny disposition and can-do attitude. Whenever anyone is looking, that is exactly who she is. But the quiet moments when she is alone, or when attention is turned elsewhere, I notice that her smile slips.

  For example, at lunch one of the young secretaries recounts an adventurous evening out on the town, sending the group into gales of laughter. Penny chimes in at all the right moments, but I catch her eyes narrowing, as though she secretly resents her friend for having a carefree life. For the life of me, I cannot think of a reason why she should. She is equally young, single, and unencumbered. As Dr Gardner’s secretary, she must earn more than all of the other women in her peer group here at St Margaret.

  By the end of the day, Penny’s shoulders are drooping and she rubs her forehead, appearing to fight off a headache. Is it a simple case of being tired, or are the subterfuge and stress catching up with her? Despite having spent the day mulling the possibilities, I cannot find a reason why she would be carrying such a large amount of money. Something is clearly afoot.

  The sound of the door handle turning causes Penny to straighten in her chair and force a smile upon her face. Dr Gardner steps out of her office and pauses beside Penny’s desk. “Penny, dear, are you still here? It’s so late.”

  “It’s barely gone past six in the evening. I was finishing up some typing for the Major, but don’t worry, I’m done now.”

  Dr Gardner takes a closer look at Penny, checking her for signs of exhaustion. For her part, Penny does her best to keep them hidden. “Very well, Penny. I won’t begrudge you the overtime payment, although I do hope you are taking care of yourself. It is a stressful time for all of us, but particularly for your generation. Make sure you take some time to rest.” Dr Gardner stands up and looks down upon Penny with a stern expression. “That’s an order.”

  Penny gives a soft laugh in reply, knowing that Dr Gardner means well. “You’ll be pleased to know I’m meeting some friends for a drink after work. In fact, I should get going.”

  As Penny and Dr Gardner say their goodbyes, I prepare myself for another evening of spying. At least this time I shouldn’t end up uncovering an illicit romance, or at least not right away. Hopefully a gin and tonic will induce Penny to reveal information which I can use to figure out what is going on.

  Her coat buttoned, handbag by her side, Penny’s heels make a clicking sound as she exits St Margaret’s main gate and begins walking towards the centre. I fall into step beside her, for a moment feeling as though I am still alive and out for an evening with a friend. Never mind that she doesn’t know I’m here. I catch myself whistling and say a quick word of thanks that she can’t hear me.

  It takes me a moment to realise she is no longer by my side when she stops abruptly at a traffic light. She darts across the street as soon as the light changes, barely making it in time to step aboard a bus heading in the opposite direction. The bus door closes in my face, but that doesn’t stop me from stepping through it and claiming an empty seat near Penny.

  The bus pulls away, merging into the traffic leaving the centre of Oxford for its outskirts. It’s good that I don’t need to conceal my confusion, because I am not sure I would be able. Penny clearly lied to Dr Gardner about her evening plans. Whatever she is really doing, she felt guilty enough about it to conceal it.

  “Hold on, my boy,” I caution myself before I go too far down the path of determining Penny’s guilt for the theft.

  Similar to Dr Gardner the evening before, Penny signals the bus to stop in a residential area, descending the steps and walking deeper into the housing area. Here the similarity stops. This neighbourhood is decidedly less upscale, its streets lined with public housing. Penny tucks her head to her chest as she hurries past a loud domestic dispute and dodges a group of young boys on bicycles. This is one of the last places I would choose to venture with a wad of notes hidden in my purse. Yet, Penny appears to know her way, looking neither left nor right
until she turns into the pathway leading to a front entrance, midway along a row of terraced flats.

  “It’s me, Mum,” she says as she slips her coat from her shoulders and hangs it on a peg.

  A heavy-set older version of Penny emerges from the back of the house, her cheeks flushed from working in the kitchen. “Ah, luv, you needn’t have come this evening. I told you I’d take care of it. You work too hard.”

  Penny leans over to give her mum a quick buss on the cheek. “As if you do any less, mum. I’d hardly be able to enjoy myself if I knew you were here shouldering the full burden yourself. You’re a grannie now. You should be propping your feet up and playing with your grandbabies, not working your fingers to the bone.”

  “Aye, luv, I’m doing that too. Your sister-in-law dropped the little ones off an hour ago.”

  I follow the pair as they move into the kitchen. The room is barely recognisable. The built-in appliances are all there, but instead of a table and chairs, there are large metal washtubs taking up much of the space. In the corner, I spy a pair of chubby-cheeked twins sitting on a blanket, nomming away on the heels of a loaf of bread.

  It is as far from the picture of illicit activity as one could be. I creep into the nearby rooms, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. The front room has been taken over by large tables covered in freshly pressed linens. When I hear Penny’s voice, I return to the kitchen.

  “Before I forget, Mum, here’s the payment for last week.” Penny opens her handbag and shuffles inside it, her hand emerging holding a familiar stack of pound notes. “I collected it this morning when I delivered the last bag.”

  I circle as close as I can get, not wanting to miss a word of whatever is said next.

  Penny’s mother unfolds the notes and peels off several, passing them back to Penny. Penny, however, refuses to take them. “No, Mum, you keep it all. You have more need of it than I do.”