by Morgana Best
To my shock, he turned a pale shade of green.
Chapter 5
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I was about to ask Mr Buttons what was wrong, when he stood up abruptly. “I must pop out to get some more firewood.”
As Mr Buttons opened the front door, Blake stepped inside. He walked straight over to me and wrapped his arms around me. I hugged him back, not caring that we had an audience.
“Get a room, you two *^%%^#!” Max squawked. “You *&^%! %$^# off!”
“Shush, Max!” everyone said in unison.
I reluctantly stepped away from Blake. “Is Detective Roberts going to give you a hard time about dating me again?”
Blake shook his head. “No, don’t worry about that. You’re not a suspect this time.”
Mr Buttons came back with some wood and put it in the wood box. He then dusted himself down frantically, an act which caused tiny pieces of bark and dirt to fly through the air. Mr Buttons let out a shriek and ran to the bathroom. I figured he had never touched anything as dirty as firewood before. I was now even more sure that he was hiding something.
“Do they have any idea who did it?” Cressida asked Blake, offering him the last Tim Tam on the plate.
Blake thanked her but declined, and then shook his head. Mr Buttons re-entered the room, looking flustered. “Blake, do you agree with the detectives that I was the intended victim?”
Blake sat on the sofa. “No, I don’t.” He pulled me down next to him and put his arm around me.
Cressida nodded vigorously. “That’s what Sibyl and I thought.”
Mr Buttons tapped his chin. “It makes no sense. I was telling the ladies just before you arrived that if someone wanted to murder me, then they would surely not mistake me for a person as untidy as Bradley Brown.”
Blake and I exchanged glances. “Mr Buttons thinks that Bradley Brown hid the millions from the bank robbery somewhere in town,” I told Blake.
Blake’s forehead immediately creased. “The detectives have already ordered a search of Bradley’s house and the grounds, and they haven’t turned up any sign of the money.”
“Would he have left it in a safety deposit box, like you see on TV?” I asked him. “That’s surely safer than having it in the house, say under floorboards or something. What if the house burnt down?”
Blake shook his head. “The police were looking for a key, but turned up nothing. The only keys he had were to his car and his front door. Actually, the police practically pulled his house apart looking for it. They had a team in from Sydney.”
I was impressed. “That fast?”
“I suppose they looked in the roof, and behind paintings, and under the floorboards,” Cressida said.
Blake smiled. “They certainly did. They looked in the chimney and in every nook and cranny. They pulled his car apart, too.”
“I’d say he buried it,” Mr Buttons offered. “He was a strong man, so he could have dug a deep hole.”
Blake crossed his arms over his chest. “The police have been looking for that money for years and haven’t turned up any sign of it. They had over a decade to look for that money. Bradley might have been expecting a raid at his own home, so he hid it somewhere else. That makes sense, anyway.”
“Where else could he hide it?” I asked. “It obviously had to be somewhere where no one else would find it.”
“I agree with Mr Buttons.” Blake nodded in his direction. “My best guess is that he buried it.”
“But I thought you said he didn’t bury it at his own house?” I asked him.
Blake let out one long sigh. “This is only a guess, mind you, but I suspect he hid the money somewhere where he was working.”
I thought about it for a moment. “He was working all over town, wasn’t he, Cressida?” I asked her.
Cressida nodded. “He was working for me more, but he did tell me he had odd jobs all over town.”
Blake leant forward. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, any of it, but Roberts and Henderson checked his appointments book. He did have random odd jobs here and there, but they were all in the town itself. This was the only place he worked at that was out of town.”
“And that’s significant because?” My question hung in the air.
“Like I said, I’m not supposed to tell you this,” Blake said, “but Roberts and Henderson think Mr Buttons is the intended victim. On the other hand, I think the murderer was someone who was after the robbery money, and as it wasn’t found in Bradley’s place, I think it was buried or hidden somewhere in the grounds of the boarding house.”
Cressida jumped to her feet, knocking over the plate and the one remaining Tim Tam. Somehow, I managed to grab the Tim Tam before Sandy ate it. Mr Buttons leapt up and dusted the chocolate crumbs from Cressida’s bright orange jeans.
“But Blake, that doesn’t make sense,” I said. “Shouldn’t the murderer have tortured Bradley and made him tell him where the money was? He obviously hid it very carefully, so the now murderer has no hope of finding it.”
Blake held up both hands. “I don’t have a clue, to be honest. I also don’t have a clue why the murderer killed him in broad daylight, although I suppose it was safer to murder him out of town at a boarding house rather than murder him in town, especially if the murderer knew that everyone was inside the building.”
“Still, it’s quite a risk,” I said.
Blake agreed. “And it’s not as if the murderer was trying to make Bradley tell him and then went a little too far, because the murderer certainly would not have done that in broad daylight on the boarding house porch.”
I had forgotten Cressida for a moment, but she let out a wail. “We’re all in mortal danger,” she said tearfully, wringing her hands.
“Please get a grip, madam,” Mr Buttons said, although not unkindly. “This is no time to fall apart.”
“I’m afraid Cressida is right,” Blake said, his tone grim. “I do happen to think you could all be in danger. If the murderer was so brazen as to murder Bradley Brown in broad daylight and in the open, then it stands to reason that the murderer could be quite brash. It also seems to me that the murderer thought he had a good lead on the money, because surely he wouldn’t have risked killing Bradley otherwise.”
“And you think the money is buried at the boarding house?” Cressida said, her voice little more than a whimper.
“Buried or hidden,” Blake said. “Cressida, did Bradley ever do any work inside the house?”
Cressida shook her head. “He’d come in for a cup of tea or a snack, or meals, but he was never wandering loo
se around the house.”
“That means the money is likely hidden somewhere outside,” Mr Buttons said. “Blake, he did do some repairs to the roof.”
Blake’s face was grim. “Look, I have to tell you that my hands are tied in this matter. Roberts and Henderson don’t appear to realise any of this, because they’re convinced you were the intended victim, Mr Buttons.”
“What are we going to do?” I asked him.
Blake shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Sibyl, you have to promise me that you won’t investigate. And that goes for all of you. Don’t look for the money, and don’t investigate. The murderer could quite possibly be someone at the boarding house, and if they have the slightest inkling that you’re looking for the money, then your lives could be in danger. Am I making myself quite clear?”
Mr Buttons saluted; Cressida snickered, and I nodded solemnly.
Blake’s eyes narrowed. “I’m still on duty, so I have to leave now. I want you all to give me your solemn word that none of you will investigate this or look for the money.”
We all nodded. Blake looked at me. “Sibyl?”
I nodded again. “Sure. I won’t investigate or look for the money.”
Blake gave me a long penetrating look, and walked to the door.
Mr Buttons hurried after him, and then peeked behind the curtains. “Okay, he’s gone. Sibyl, I expect you had your fingers crossed behind your back?”
I nodded. “Sure did!”
“I did, too,” Cressida said.
“I’m sure you don’t want to lie to Blake, Sibyl,” Mr Buttons said, “but we have more pressing matters on our hands. Blake himself told us that Roberts and Henderson think I was the intended victim, and that means they will neglect to turn their attention to the real perpetrator of this crime. What’s more, Blake told us that we could be in danger. I know he said we might only be in danger if the murderer caught us snooping, but if the money is at the boarding house, then we are in danger, anyway. We have no option but to investigate. Is everyone in agreement?”
Cressida clapped her hands. “How thrilling, another murder investigation.” Her face fell. “I don’t mean to sound happy, because poor Bradley is no longer here.”
“I don’t like lying to Blake,” I said, “but I don’t see that we have any other option. If those detectives were doing their duty, then we wouldn’t be put in this position. If we don’t find out who the murderer is, I agree that we could all be in danger.”
“Sibyl, didn’t you say that Bradley looked shocked when he saw one of the people in the room?”
I was about to answer, when Cressida interrupted me. “That’s right! Mr Buttons, it was just after you gave him your coat. You stood aside and then the boarders were turning around looking at him. He saw one of them and gasped. Right after that, he left the room as fast as could be, as if all the hounds of hell were after him.”
“And we were trying to remember if the French chef was in the room at the time,” I reminded her.
Mr Buttons tapped his chin. “I think he was.”
I held up my hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I really can’t remember if he was.”
Mr Buttons shrugged. “Nevertheless, we will have to treat him as a suspect. So that leaves us four people to investigate: the French chef, and the three boarders, Dennis Stanton, Wendy Mason, and Adrian Addison.”
I agreed. “They all had the opportunity. Oh, that reminds me, Mr Buttons. Adrian was asking a lot of questions about you.”
Mr Buttons’ jaw dropped open, but he quickly recovered. “What did he ask, specifically?”
I tried to remember. “He asked how long you’ve been in the country, and he said that Buttons is an unusual name. Oh, that’s right—he asked if you had any family in Australia.”
Mr Buttons was visibly annoyed. “How rude. What a busybody.”
“I actually asked him outright why he was so interested in you.”
Mr Buttons raised his eyebrows. “And what did he say?”
“He said it was good to meet a fellow Englishman. You know, Mr Buttons, I think there’s more to it.”
“Pish posh,” Mr Buttons said dismissively. “He’s just a nosy busybody. Now, we’re going to have to investigate those four people, and my money is on Albert Dubois. At dinner tonight, our investigation will begin.”
The rapid change of subject did not escape my notice. Mr Buttons had a secret, and Adrian Addison knew more about it than I did. Whatever could it be?
Chapter 6
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I was sitting in the dining room, lamenting my lack of paperwork for the day. The day had been consumed with talk of our pending investigation. I didn’t like keeping anything from Blake, but I really had no option.
I looked around the table at all the boarders, and shuddered at the realisation that one of them was the murderer. That is, unless it was the French chef, Albert Dubois. Wendy and Addison seemed friendly, so I wondered if they were in it together. Perhaps one of them stood watch while the other one committed the murder. And then there was Dennis. He certainly had the upper body strength to strangle someone quickly. I silently moved him to the top of my suspects list.
Chef Dubois entered the room to serve us. He looked flustered, but then again, he probably didn’t have as much experience of murder as the rest of us. That is, unless he had committed the crime. He announced with a flourish that the entrée was Crevettes Sauce Boursin.
As he placed long plates with the food arranged into circles on the table, my attention was drawn by the leaves. There was one leaf on each serving, and I remembered that hemlock grew wild along the roadsides in the area. I quickly pulled my phone from my pocket and googled images of hemlock. To my relief, it did not look like the leaves on the plates.
Mr Buttons caught my eye, and I realised he wanted us to launch into our questions. Before I could do so, Wendy had one of her own. “This looks delicious,” she said tentatively, “but what is it?”
The chef was visibly affronted. “I told you, it is Crevettes Sauce Boursin.”
Wendy nodded. “Yes, I know that, but what’s in it?”
“Prawns.” The chef pointed to a large prawn sitting on top of each circle. “You not like prawns, mademoiselle?”
Wendy gave a little cough, and then said, “Is there garlic in it? I try not to eat garlic.”
I bet you don’t, I said to myself. She clearly had her eye on Adrian, and didn’t want to laden him with garlic scented kisses. Then again, maybe I was just overly suspicious. Seeing dead bodies on a regular basis can do that to someone.
“I am also serving a wild mushroom fricassee.” His voice rose to a high pitch. “It has no garl-leek!”
“Did you pick those mushrooms yourself?” I piped up. I knew deadly mushrooms grew in the area, and some looked just like common mushrooms. I knew I was getting paranoid, but I prefer to be paranoid and alive rather than trusting and dead.
Chef Dubois looked at me as if I was out of my mind. “Of course not! I bought zem.”
Since Mr Buttons was still staring at me and raising his eyebrows, I thought I should start the questioning. “So, Wendy, you said you’re here to pan for gold?”
She nodded. “That’s right.”
“What creek will you be going to?”
Wendy looked alarmed. “Creek, creek?” she stammered. “Oh, I see, you’re asking where I’ll be doing the gold panning. I don’t know yet. Can you recommend a location?”
I thought about it for a moment. “Rifle Range Road,” I said. “There’s a creek at the bottom of it where most people go gold panning, just for fun. I don’t know where the more serious people go.”
Wendy laughed. “I’m not serious at all. I’ve done some gold panning out of Bathurst, at Sofala, but never in this area. I heard Little Tatterford was an old gold mining town, so I thought it would be a nice place to come to for a holiday.”
Mr Buttons narrowed his eyes. “That sounds interesting. What equipment do you need for that?”
Wendy once more looked ill at ease. “Well, a gold pan. It’s like a shallow piece of tin, round.”
“I know what a gold pan looks like,” Mr Buttons said amicably enough, “but I wondered if you needed any other equipment.”
Wendy bit her lip. “No, I’ve only ever used a gold pan. I put water in it, shake it around, tip out the water, and see if any gold has settled in the bottom of the pan.”
“Well, you’ll get some gold dust at any rate,” I told her. “The local farmers always say that when they dig post holes, they find lots of flecks of gold.” I thought I wasn’t getting anywhere with that, so I changed my approach. “So, what do you do for a living? Does it have anything to do with minerals? Are you a geologist or something?”
