by Morgana Best
Thankfully, Max believed me. The conversation turned to the case. “Melissa Fowl is my main suspect now,” Max confided. “I’m a bit worried about Oleander and Athanasius, to tell you the truth. If she is the murderer and she gets any inkling that they’re investigating, well…” His words trailed away.
After we had walked a little further, Max took me by my elbow and turned me around to walk back the way we had come. Little electric tingles ran through me at his touch. Once again, I wondered if he felt the same thing. Why couldn’t things be easy? Max did seem to enjoy my company, but he hadn’t asked me on a date. Of course, I told myself that was due to the fact the internal affairs investigator was still in town, and I hoped that was the case.
But what happened if we did get together? How would Max react to the fact that I was a sea witch, able to influence the weather, and that I could speak with ghosts?
My spirits sank further and further.
The drive back home went altogether too fast, as things do when you want to spend as much time with someone as possible. After Max dropped me home, I let Persnickle out for a bathroom break even though he had a dog—or rather, wombat—door, and then I drove straight to the office.
“What’s wrong, Oleander?” I said as soon as I walked in and saw her downcast face.
“We didn’t get any listings for you, Goldie,” she said.
I laughed. “Don’t worry about that! I’m so grateful that you minded the office for me.” I pulled a thermos out of my tote bag. “Guess what I’ve got!”
I walked into the back room and brought out three coffee cups which I hid behind the counter before filling them from the thermos. I slipped the thermos back in my tote bag and put it in the back room away from prying eyes.
“Thanks so much for the coffee,” Oleander said.
“What did you find out from that retired detective?” Athanasius asked me.
“Well, we found out that Chris Coleman and Martin Deakin each gave a substantial amount of gold to Angus Burns. Angus didn’t give any of it back.”
“But we googled where Angus lived in Adelaide,” Athanasius said, “and he had a fairly modest house.”
“Yes, but the retired detective told us that Angus was living it up in Senegal which has no extradition agreement with Australia.”
Athanasius tapped his chin. “But surely when he came back to Australia, the government would have done something.”
I shook my head. “No, this was years ago, mind you. And he had already served time.”
“So then, it looks like Angus Burns was murdered over the gold just as we thought,” Athanasius said.
I agreed. “And that means it was a relative. If it wasn’t Doug or Laurence, then the murderer must be a relative of Chris Coleman’s or Martin Deakin’s.”
“Namely Melissa Fowl,” Oleander said.
I nodded. “Yes, and Max is worried about your safety. Both of you,” I added with a wave of my hand. “If she is the murderer, then you two could be in danger. In fact, you will be in danger if she gets wind of the fact that you’re investigating. And now to matters of finance. I need to pay you both for minding the office.”
They both held up their hands in gestures of protest. “We refuse to take any payment,” Athanasius said. “It was fun.”
“Maybe you could cook us dinner tonight,” Oleander said. “It sounds like a fair trade.”
“You got a deal,” I said.
“And why don’t you make some cocktails?” Athanasius added. “I haven’t had a cocktail in ages.”
“That sounds like a great idea.” I also thought it was a good idea to have backup in case Thomas showed up at my house that night.
“We’ll borrow the retirement home bus,” Athanasius said. “Harriet can drop us off and collect us.”
The remainder of the day passed uneventfully and thankfully, Thomas was conspicuous by his absence.
I was looking forward to Oleander and Athanasius coming for dinner. I decided to make Caesar cocktails, and had bought vodka, hot sauce, Worcestershire sauce, and celery salt. I already had Tabasco sauce and pepper at home as well as several stalks of organic celery.
Every day, I intended to drink celery juice upon awakening in the mornings, but after I tried it the first time I found the taste so ghastly that I wasn’t able to bring myself to do it again. Still, I kept my fridge stocked with a couple of bunches of celery. Every night I convinced myself I would drink celery juice the first thing the next morning, but every morning when I awoke, I drank several cups of coffee instead.
I prepared a lovely Thai green curry for Oleander and Athanasius. I was looking forward to relaxing. I was not looking forward to the possibility of seeing Thomas again. As I cooked, I continually shook my vinegar bottles that were going to separate me from Detective Power and the investigator. I smiled to myself as I did it.
Athanasius and Oleander arrived when the green curry was simmering nicely. “Now, I’ll just pop into the kitchen to make you a cocktail,” I said after they were seated. “How does a Caesar cocktail sound?”
Athanasius rubbed his hands together with glee. “They’re my favourite! I haven’t had one since I was last in Canada.”
“I haven’t made one for ages,” I said.
“Goldie, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your magic,” Oleander said. “You haven’t done any lately, have you? I mean, you do something with the weather every time someone tries to murder you, but that’s about it.”
Athanasius chuckled. “Oh dear, Oleander, you make that sound so matter-of-fact.”
Oleander looked affronted. “What are you talking about, Athanasius?”
“You mention murders as if they’re an everyday occurrence.”
“Well, they have been lately!” Oleander folded her arms over her chest.
I thought I had better intervene. “I do have two vinegar separation bottles in the kitchen right now.” I went back to the kitchen to fetch the bottles. “I did these spells to separate myself from both Detective Power and the internal affairs investigator. You know, one of those traditional vinegar bottle spells.”
Oleander shook her head. “Goldie, I don’t mean that. I don’t mean ordinary spells.”
I scrunched up my face. “What do you mean, Oleander? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“I don’t want to put words in Oleander’s mouth, but I think she means that you need to stretch yourself. I mean, have you ever watched The Voice or Australian Idol, and they tell a singer that they need to stretch themselves—you know, do something they haven’t tried before to extend their abilities?”
“I guess,” I said doubtfully.
“Athanasius is right,” Oleander said. “Your vinegar spell is normal witchcraft that anyone could do, but you’re a sea witch. You can control the weather. And you have other abilities.”
“Yes, I can speak to ghosts when Persnickle is nearby,” I said.
Oleander shook her head. “Sea witches can do a lot more than that. Magic is changing reality. A traditional witch changes reality by her focus, whether she uses candles, crystals, or spells said aloud, or sometimes simply even with focus. A spell is to change reality in order to manifest something. When you make the weather change, you’re not doing a spell, you’re not lighting a candle, you’re not writing anything on a name paper—you’re simply focusing and changing the reality of the weather. You’re manifesting a change in the weather. Am I making sense?”
“Yes, you are,” I said, wondering where this was going.
“Goldie, I’m sure you can do other things. I’m sure you can manifest other things. Why don’t you try?”
“Yes, that’s a good idea.” I nodded slowly as I spoke. “Thanks for the encouragement, Oleander. I’ll just fetch those cocktails.”
I had the mason jars ready for the Caesar cocktails, and the ingredients were assembled. I dipped the rim of the mason jars in lime juice, and then dipped them in the spice mix to create a spiced rim, all the while consid
ering Oleander’s words.
That’s when it occurred to me. Why should I make cocktails myself? If I was a sea witch as powerful as Oleander said, surely I could make the Caesar cocktails happen by themselves. It was worth a try. I had nothing to lose—what’s the worst that could happen?
I stood back and focused hard. I realised I was frowning, and smoothed my forehead with one finger. I tried again. Finally, I thought perhaps I should use words. I said, “Manifest now! Appear, Caesar…”
I did not get to say the word ‘cocktails’ because there was a loud banging on my door. My eyes went straight to the first vinegar bottle. Surely this wasn’t Detective Power?
I hurried into the living room, past Oleander and Athanasius, and flung the door open.
The internal affairs investigator was standing there, his arms folded over his chest. Why hadn’t the vinegar bottle worked?
“Is Detective Grayson here?” he spat.
I folded my arms over my chest. “He most certainly is not here! I’m having dinner with my friends, Athanasius and Oleander. You can come inside and see for yourself.”
To my surprise, the man stepped inside. “Is he hiding somewhere?” he demanded.
Athanasius stood up and drew himself up to his full height. “No, he is not. Do you have a warrant?”
“Do you have something to hide?” he countered. “I can hear noises in that room.” He pointed to the kitchen.
I thought of my coffee machine. There was no way I could let him into the kitchen. Still, I too had heard noises in the kitchen and Persnickle was fast asleep in his wombat bed.
“Come out of there. I know it’s you!” the man called out.
The door opened and a man stepped out. We all gasped.
The man held up a hand. “Salve!” he said. His brow was furrowed with confusion.
He was wearing a toga. He had greeted us in Latin.
It dawned on me.
“Caesar!”
Chapter 11
Oleander stood up. “No!”
“I was conjuring Caesar cocktails,” I said, ducking my head towards Julius Caesar standing in my kitchen door.
I clutched my chest. The whole room spun. I was certain I would faint. I sat down and put my head between my knees.
“Who’s this person?” the internal affairs investigator asked in a belligerent tone.
“We are having a meeting of the East Bucklebury drama group,” Athanasius said. “George here is a method actor. We’re doing an artistic take on Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar.”
Julius Caesar let out a string of Latin. I didn’t need to understand Latin to know it contained some expletives. His face had turned as white as his toga.
“My Latin is quite good,” Athanasius said. “I’ll try.” He walked over to Caesar and they had a faltering conversation.
“Goldie, fetch Caesar a large glass of wine,” Athanasius called out. He helped Caesar into a comfortable chair. At that point, Caesar spotted Persnickle and jumped to his feet. Athanasius spoke to him once more. Caesar nodded and sat back down. I ran into the kitchen and fetched the strongest wine I could find and poured it into a spare mason jar. I figured the situation called for more than a wine glass.
I took it back and gave it to Caesar. “Gratias ago,” he said.
I smiled in return.
“Why isn’t he speaking in English?” the investigator said.
“We’ve already told you—he’s a method actor,” I said. “He has to be Julius Caesar until we put on the play.”
“All right, then I’ll be on my way.” The investigator muttered something to himself and left. I shut the door behind him before turning my attention back to Caesar.
“How is he doing?” I asked Athanasius.
“Remarkably well,” he said. “He thinks you’re a Persian magician.”
“Isn’t that a bit of a quantum leap?” I asked him.
Athanasius shrugged. “Apparently, in his time the Persian magicians were the ones who practised magic. It’s awfully good that he thinks that. I’ve explained to him about his coming to the future. He isn’t too pleased because Cleopatra was visiting Rome and was staying in Caesar’s villa just outside Rome when you brought him here. Now, we must be very careful not to tell him what happens to him, because we can’t change history.”
I snorted. “Of course! I’ve watched enough Doctor Who episodes to know that. Of course we can’t tell him what’s going to happen to him. Anyway, I don’t know much ancient history and he can’t speak English.”
Athanasius looked off into the distance. “Well, Pompey was already dead by now if I remember my history correctly. My guess is he’s come from around 47 BC.”
“He seems like a nice man,” Oleander said.
Caesar had drained the mason jar already and was holding it out to me for a refill.
“I don’t know how strong the wine was in his day, but he’ll soon be a nice drunk man,” I added. I fetched the wine to refill Caesar’s glass. He drank it as though he was drinking water.
“You might have to slow down on that,” I said. I tried to remember my schoolgirl Latin. “Lente,” I said, pointing to the glass. At least I hoped I said “slowly” and not something rude.
To the others, I said, “This really has put a fly in the ointment, having Caesar here while we’re trying to solve a murder.”
“The timing isn’t good, I’ll admit,” Athanasius said, “but there probably isn’t a really good time to conjure Caesar.”
I rubbed my forehead. “How am I going to send him back?”
They both shrugged. “And where is he going to stay?” I asked them. “He can’t stay with me.”
Caesar crossed to the window and looked out. “Cleopatra,” he said.
“Are you sure he understands he’s in the future?” I asked Athanasius.
“Fairly sure,” he said. “I told him you’d send him back soon.”
“What if I can’t?” I asked in a panic.
Athanasius shrugged. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“I know! I’ll drive him to the retirement home and you can put him in the psych ward until I discover how to send him back.”
Oleander gasped. “We don’t have a psych ward! Besides, he’d probably have a heart attack if he sees a car.”
“Yes, that’s true. I’ll have to focus on sending him back.”
Just then, there was another knock on the door. “This is getting worse,” I lamented. The door opened. It was Max.
“That investigator was just here looking for you,” I said to Max.
“I know,” he said. “I was watching. Anyway, I saw him come here and saw the retirement home bus, so I figured you were all talking about the case and I might be able to be of some help.” He nodded at Caesar. “Who is that?” he asked in hushed tones.
“Julius Caesar,” I said without thinking.
“Oh yes, Oleander and I are going to put on an interpretation of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar at the retirement home,” Athanasius told him. “This is the son of one of the residents and he’s a method actor. Don’t speak to him because he is determined only to speak in Latin.”
Max scratched the back of his neck. “I see,” he said, although he clearly didn’t.
“We can discuss the case in front of him—it’s perfectly all right,” I said. “Obviously, I’ve already told Oleander and Athanasius what we found out today. Anyway Max, please stay for dinner. I’ve made Thai green curry.”
“I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“You’re most welcome to stay,” I said. “It would be nice.”
“That would be lovely, Goldie. Thank you. You know, Melissa Fowl seems like the most obvious suspect, but I’m inclined to think we should investigate Doug Greer first, if only to clear his name.”
“I was thinking that earlier too,” I said. “The only thing is, why would Doug murder someone in his own house? That seems a bit silly.”
“Maybe he didn’t have the oppo
rtunity to murder him anywhere else,” Max said.
I gave a little start. “Oh no, the curry! It’s been simmering too long.” I hurried to the kitchen. Thankfully, the curry was all right. I turned off the heat just as Max appeared at the door. “Like some help, Goldie?”
I shot him a shy smile. “That would be lovely.”
Max fetched five bowls and I scooped the curry into them. “It smells heavenly,” Max said. “I didn’t know you were such a good cook, Goldie.”
I beamed at him but before I could respond, there was a loud shriek. We ran into the living room. “It’s Caesar!” Athanasius said. “He’s made a run for it! Oleander is chasing him.”
I ran outside. Caesar was sprinting down the street holding up his toga with both hands. Oleander was running after him but wasn’t making any ground.
“I didn’t know Caesar could run so fast,” I said. “What are we going to do?”
“You need to make sure he goes back home,” Athanasius said.
“Why is it up to Goldie?” Max asked her.
“George won’t listen to us. I’m sure if Goldie yells at him, he’ll go back to the retirement home.”
“He won’t get far on foot,” Max said. “Isn’t he taking this method acting thing a bit too far?”
“He’s completely eccentric,” I told Max. I felt bad for lying, but I could hardly tell him the truth.
“Yes, in fact, George has spent most of his life in a psych ward,” Athanasius added for good measure.
I rubbed my forehead, wondering how I could send Caesar back to his villa just outside Rome, back to 47 BC. I thought that might be difficult considering I had no idea how he got here in the first place. “Why don’t you drive down the road and insist he gets in the car?” Max asked me.
I bit my lip. I couldn’t imagine Caesar’s reaction when he saw a car. Just as I was wondering what to say to Max, I heard hoof beats. I looked down the road to see a horse galloping towards us. As the horse got closer, I saw Caesar was on its back.
“Oh no!” I said.
“Is that his horse?” Max asked me.
