by Morgana Best
Aunt Agnes released her hands. Hemlock fell back into the grave.
It was all too much for the funeral consultant. She sprinted to her car and drove away at speed.
“Can we leave now?” I said.
“Yes,” Aunt Agnes said.
The four of us hurried off in the other direction, leaving Hemlock and Jezabeth to scream obscenities behind us.
Chapter 16
“I’ll be pleased when Jezabeth and Hemlock leave town,” Aunt Agnes said as she sped away from the cemetery.
“How will they get the coffin out of the tree?”
Aunt Agnes swerved to avoid a rabbit that ran out in front of the car. “Not our problem, Valkyrie.”
“When were you going to speak to Joyce Batson, Agnes?” Aunt Dorothy piped up from the back seat.
Aunt Agnes sighed. “I suppose I should go and see her now.”
“We’ll go with you,” Maude offered.
Aunt Agnes shook her head. “I’ll take you and Dorothy home to keep an eye on Breena. If the police come back, we can’t have them questioning her. Keep her out of sight at all times—lock her in the secret room if you have to.”
“Is it safe, though?” asked Maude.
Aunt Agnes quickly glanced across at her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean she can get into the tunnel from the secret room.”
“Breena has been in the tunnel before,” I said. “And if you’re wondering if she’s working for The Other, remember that she didn’t tell anyone where my parents were.”
“That’s true, but…” Aunt Maude’s voice trailed away.
“Maude, do you think Breena had something to do with Gorgona’s death?” Aunt Agnes asked her.
Maude shrugged. “I have no idea, to be honest. Still, we can’t discount it as a possibility. Not while we don’t have a clue who did it, at any rate.”
“We do have a few suspects,” I said.
“And I’m on my way to speak to one of those suspects now,” Agnes said. “And if Joyce didn’t do it, hopefully she might offer some insight into the situation.”
No one spoke again until Agnes dropped Maude and Dorothy back at the manor. “Call me immediately if something happens,” she said to them. “Don’t hesitate.”
When Aunt Agnes parked the car outside the antique shop, I said, “You must be a bit upset about Joyce being a suspect. She’s a good friend of yours, isn’t she?”
“I’ve known her for years,” Aunt Agnes said. “I’d be surprised if she did murder Gorgona. Very surprised.” She straightened up and picked up her handbag. “Still, people have surprised me in the past.”
Joyce’s face lit up when she saw Agnes, no doubt as Agnes was one of her best customers. “Oh, Agnes, great to see you. I have several items from a deceased estate coming in next week.”
“Actually, I came here to speak with you about a deceased estate,” Agnes said.
I gave myself a mental slap on the side of the head. I had completely forgotten that the aunts were inheriting some of Gorgona’s antique furniture.
Joyce’s mouth formed a perfect O. “You are?”
Agnes nodded slowly. “My sisters and I are the executors of an estate for one of the boarders, who happened to be my cousin, Euphemia Jones.”
Joyce looked thoroughly shocked. “That awful woman was your cousin? Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Agnes, I didn’t mean to insult you.”
Aunt Agnes waved one hand at her. “Think nothing of it.”
“So, your cousin was married to the man who was murdered!”
Agnes nodded. “Yes, that’s right, but we didn’t actually know she was our cousin. We hadn’t seen her in many years, and she had legally changed her name.”
Joyce continued to look shocked. She was leaning back against a marble topped, burr walnut credenza, clutching the marble top with both hands. “Why, that’s amazing!” she said. “And you say you’re the executor of her will?”
“Yes, along with Dorothy and Maude,” Agnes said. “Euphemia’s daughter and granddaughter inherit a lot more than we do. I expect she didn’t trust them to be executors, and I’m surprised she left us anything, truth be told. Anyway, as far as the antiques are concerned, my sisters and I get fifty percent of them and Euphemia’s daughter gets the other fifty percent. When the antiques are sorted out, we won’t be able to keep all of them.”
“Did she have many?” Joyce asked.
Aunt Agnes nodded. “She had a huge house, and it’s absolutely jam-packed full of antiques.”
Joyce appeared to be recovering from the shock. “Do you know which antiques you’re getting?”
Aunt Agnes chuckled. “I assume it won’t be the good ones. Still, if Euphemia’s daughter thinks we want any antiques in particular, then those will be the ones she wants. I should pretend we want all the poor quality ones.”
Joyce did not chuckle along with Agnes. “She doesn’t sound like a nice person.”
Aunt Agnes pulled a face. “She isn’t. Anyway, Joyce, when the antiques situation is sorted out, and Dorothy, Maude, and I decide which ones we would like to keep, then I’ll call you to give us prices on the rest of them.”
“You know I’ll do right by you,” Joyce said. “I’ll give you good prices.”
Aunt Agnes nodded solemnly. “I know you will, Joyce. Now, we have to speak about a delicate matter.” She looked around the shop. “Since you don’t have any customers, I suppose I can bring it up now.”
I noticed Joyce’s face was white and drawn. “What is it, Agnes?” she said.
Aunt Agnes leant forward and spoke in a conspiratorial tone. “We think Euphemia Jones was murdered.”
“Murdered!” Joyce shrieked and then stuck her hand over her mouth.
To me, she seemed genuinely surprised. Or maybe she was just a good actor.
“Do the police know who did it?”
Aunt Agnes shook her head. “No, they don’t have a clue. At first, they thought it was natural causes until Valkyrie was hit over the back of the head last night when disturbing an intruder to Euphemia’s cottage.”
Joyce turned her attention to me. “Are you all right?”
She didn’t seem to have any malice towards me, but if she was working for The Other, then it wouldn’t be personal. It occurred to me that she had been here in town for years, keeping friends with Agnes. What’s more, the matter of antiques would give her entry into Mugwort Manor. “I’m all right now,” I said. “It was a pretty nasty experience.”
“Did you see who did it?” Joyce asked me. “Did you catch a glimpse of the person?”
“No, I didn’t,” I said. “It was too dark. I only saw them from a distance and then I went over to the cottage. That’s when they took me by surprise.”
“A dreadful business,” Joyce muttered. “A dreadful business indeed.”
“And now to the delicate matter,” Aunt Agnes said. “At first, the police didn’t realise Euphemia was murdered. On the other hand, my sisters and I did know it was murder, so we had already started investigating.”
Joyce’s eyes grew wide. “You had?”
Agnes nodded and pushed on. “Because we are executors of Euphemia’s will, we were able to look through all her paperwork, and we found evidence she had been blackmailing people. Of course, we knew her husband had been blackmailing people and that’s why Killian Cosgrove murdered him, but I’m afraid to say we also found something incriminating about you, Joyce.”
Joyce’s hand flew to her throat. “Me?” she squeaked.
“Yes, we found that you are overdue with a blackmail payment.” Aunt Agnes stopped speaking and looked at Joyce.
Of course, I knew that the note didn’t mention blackmail—it simply mentioned an overdue payment. Clearly, Agnes was saying that in an attempt to trick Joyce. And it seemed to work.
Joyce hurried to the front door. At first, I thought she was going to escape, but she locked the door, flipped the sign to Closed, and pulled down the blinds. “Come into the b
ack room,” she said.
We followed her into a little office. She sat down at a desk and indicated we should sit too. There were no chairs opposite the desk, so Aunt Agnes and I pulled a chair each away from the chairs stacked against the wall. They were antique chairs and looked rather fragile, so I hoped they would take our weight. There was a laptop on the desk and a whole lot of papers, which Joyce cleared with one arm.
“Yes, Euphemia Jones and her husband, Ethelbert, were blackmailing me,” she said in hushed tones. “Thankfully, the police never found out when they were investigating Ethelbert’s murder.”
“How long had they been blackmailing you, Joyce?” Agnes asked her.
“Not long-term,” she said. “It all started when I had a Minton Lavabo in the shop. I was quite excited about it and I had decided to keep it for myself. Euphemia came in and wanted to buy it, but I said it wasn’t for sale. She became quite angry, which I thought rather strange. Anyway, she must have done some digging into my past because she came back and said if I didn’t give her the Lavabo, then she would make public the information she found out about me.”
“What, let her have it for free?” I asked.
Joyce nodded.
“And what was the information, Joyce, if you don’t mind me asking?” asked Agnes.
Joyce looked at Agnes and then put her head between her hands. “Years ago, when I was quite young and foolish, I received stolen goods and sold them on. It was years ago, mind you. I didn’t have a dealer’s licence at the time and I did it from home.”
“Then how did Euphemia find out?” I asked her.
“I had a police record, of course,” Joyce said. “I was charged.”
“Did you have to go to prison?” Agnes asked her.
Joyce shook her head. “No, it was my first offence, but I had to do community service for a year. Plus, there was not much money involved, which helped my case.”
“Then why were you worried if it became public knowledge?” I asked her.
“Because I’m an antique dealer and a rather successful one now,” Joyce said. “If it got out that I had a criminal record for selling stolen goods, that could completely ruin my business.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “And it’s not just a business to me, you understand. It’s my passion. Antiques are my passion.”
“So, do you have any evidence that this was why she was blackmailing you?” Aunt Agnes asked her.
Joyce was visibly shocked. “No. Why?”
Aunt Agnes did not answer but instead asked, “And why were you late with the payment?”
“I’d sold a rare Chinese porcelain and panel floor screen, but the buyers had only left a deposit. They were coming to pick it up in person and pay the balance, but they were delayed because of bushfires in their region. They were regular customers and I expected them to be on time, so I told Euphemia she could have the money on that certain date. That was all.”
“And she wasn’t understanding?” Agnes asked.
Joyce narrowed her eyes. “She wasn’t understanding about anything, that one. I’d rather deal with a Brown snake!”
Aunt Agnes stood up. “Thanks so much for confiding in us, Joyce. Of course, we won’t breathe a word of it to anyone. I’m sorry Euphemia gave you such a hard time.”
“I know she was your cousin, Agnes, but I’m not sorry she’s dead,” Joyce said. “That might sound harsh, but she was blackmailing me. I’m sure she was blackmailing plenty of other people as well.”
Agnes patted Joyce on her shoulder. “I do understand. Well, I’m sorry I had to mention it, and I’ll be in touch as soon as Jezabeth decides which antiques she wants.”
Joyce nodded and showed us to the door. As soon as we were out of earshot, I turned to Aunt Agnes. “Did you believe her story?”
“I suppose so,” Agnes said. “We do have the proof that she owed Gorgona money, but there could be more to it. I just don’t know. Maybe, I’m just getting suspicious of everybody.”
“Do you mean that you’re worried Joyce could be working for The Other?” I asked her. “It’s common knowledge that you love antiques.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Agnes said as she threw her handbag in the back seat of her car.
Chapter 17
Aunt Agnes looked up from her lemonade. “We need to question Karen Cosgrove.”
We were sitting in the back garden under a big beach umbrella. Breena was sitting in the sand, hissing at Cary. She was in human form, and Aunt Agnes had told her to stay that way with Jezabeth being in such close proximity.
I kicked off my sandals and wiggled my toes in the sand. “I think that’s going to be really difficult. Her lover would have already told her we’d been asking questions.”
“It could make it easier,” Dorothy said. “At any rate, you won’t know until you try.”
Maude picked up Cary. He had been rolling and was covered with sand. “She might refuse to talk to us.”
Agnes shrugged. “We don’t have any other suspects and I’m confident it must be someone we already know.”
“Do you still think it was a vampire?” Aunt Maude asked her.
Aunt Agnes tapped her chin for a while before answering. “I wouldn’t say so categorically, but yes, I am leaning in that direction. It’s what happened to Valkyrie that makes me think it must be a vampire.”
“Because you think the intruder saw me at vampire speed?” I asked her.
She nodded slowly. “Yes, there’s that but also the fact that they wanted to do away with you. An agent from The Other could possibly be angry enough to do that. If it was simply some normal person who had been blackmailed by Gorgona, then why would they want you dead too?” She shook her head. “No, the more I think about it, the more I think it could be a vampire.”
“So does that mean we don’t question Karen?” I asked her.
“No!” the aunts answered in unison.
“Karen could be a vampire,” Aunt Dorothy pointed out.
“So could Joyce, but I don’t really want to believe it,” Agnes said. “I mean, it would be a bit of a coincidence if Gorgona was blackmailing someone who just happened to be a vampire in disguise as well.”
“Maybe that’s precisely what she was blackmailing Joyce about,” I said to Aunt Agnes. “We only have Joyce’s word that Gorgona was blackmailing her because of some youthful criminal convictions.”
Aunt Agnes looked surprised. “You know, that hadn’t occurred to me,” she said. “But what would Joyce have against you? I mean, if she was working for The Other, then perhaps …” Her voice trailed away and she shook her head. “Something doesn’t add up. There is something I’m not seeing. I’m sure it will be obvious in hindsight, but for now, I’m not making the connection.”
Aunt Maude put down her goblet of witches’ brew and spread out her hands on the white iron garden table. “Let’s look at the facts. We know somebody murdered Gorgona. We know Gorgona was blackmailing people. Now, what are the other motives for murder?”
“Love; money; revenge; wrong place, wrong time,” I said. “There are probably others, but I can’t think of them right now.” I popped a small lemon meringue tart into my mouth.
“Well, I can’t imagine Gorgona having a secret lover,” Aunt Agnes said with a chuckle.
Maude disagreed. “It takes all types.”
“There is the inheritance,” I said. “What if Hemlock murdered her for the hundred thousand dollars? Goodness knows her drug habit would be expensive.”
“It was one hundred and ten thousand dollars,” Aunt Agnes corrected me.
I shrugged. “Or maybe Jezabeth murdered her to get her share of the inheritance. Perhaps Jezabeth lost her fortune.”
“Have you seen all those designer clothes she wears?” asked Aunt Agnes.
“Maybe she’s broke because of all her designer clothes,” Maude said.
I reached over to stroke Cary. “And as for a wrong place, wrong time, motive, well, I suppose that’s out of
the question.”
Aunt Maude nodded. “And then why did someone try to murder you, Valkyrie?”
“Maybe they thought I had seen them and could identify them,” I said.
“Maybe.” Aunt Maude took another sip of witches’ brew. “But for once, I agree with Agnes. I think there was malice directed at you, Valkyrie.”
“You know, it’s possible we have been looking at this all wrong,” Aunt Agnes said. “Perhaps Gorgona was working for The Other, and either did a job for them badly, or refused to do it.”
“You’re not making any sense, Agnes,” Aunt Dorothy complained.
Aunt Agnes gave a snort of disgust. “Okay, I wasn’t explaining it well, but I meant to say that maybe The Other is responsible for Gorgona’s death.”
“But I shouldn’t be in danger from The Other, surely? I mean, I know my parents are, but I shouldn’t be, should I?” A trickle of apprehension ran up the back of my spine.
“No, otherwise, Lucas wouldn’t have left you,” Aunt Agnes said, scratching her head. “We are missing something here, but I don’t know what it is. Breena, would you go into the kitchen and fetch us another bottle of witches’ brew please?”
Breena nodded and glided off in the direction of the kitchen. She did walk like a cat, I thought as I watched her go.
“What if it was Breena?” Aunt Agnes said. “Haven’t you noticed how different she’s been since Gorgona died?”
“Actually, she’s been a lot more like a person and a lot less like a cat,” I said. “I’ve noticed that.”
“But what possible motive could she have?” Dorothy said. “Did she even know Gorgona?”
“Maybe Gorgona captured her and tortured her before she came to live at Mugwort Manor,” Aunt Dorothy said. “Valkyrie said there was cat food in Gorgona’s house.”
“Plenty of people have cat food in their house, Dorothy.” Aunt Agnes rolled her eyes.
“It is a bit of a stretch,” Maude said.
Aunt Dorothy looked quite put out. “Seriously! What possible motive could Breena have had to murder Gorgona?”
Aunt Agnes looked behind her, but Breena hadn’t emerged from the manor. “What if she is working for The Other? What if they put her here to spy on us in the first place?”
