Ghostly Hitchhiker Box Set

by Rodney Strong

  ‘Nah. Got school.’

  (Three words! Progress.)

  ‘Okay. I still have the key. In all the confusion the other day, I forgot to give it back to you. Can I come around at 2pm?’

  ‘Sure. What’re you looking for?’ George asked, with a hint of curiousity.

  (Forget brushing teeth, it’s like pulling the damn things.)

  ‘I don’t want to say, just in case it doesn’t pan out. But I’m confident that if it’s still there I’ll be able to tell the police who killed Ashley.’

  There was a long silence and Oliver wondered if George was readying himself for a soliloquy.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘No problem. But — this is important, George — you can’t tell anyone. Not your mother, not Niki, not Alex. No one. Got it?’

  Oliver almost felt the shrug down the phone line and was glad to end the conversation.

  (Why did you tell him not to say anything to the others? I thought we wanted them to know?)

  ‘He thinks I’m an adult and he’s young and independent. I told him not to do something, so what do you think he’s doing right now?’

  (Sleeping?)

  ‘Probably, but it’s just as likely he’s telling his mother and Niki, and maybe Alex, though that’s less likely since they basically hate each other. That’s why I’m going to call Alex as well.’

  That conversation went about as well as their previous one, but Alex managed to convey gratitude and contempt at the same time after Oliver spun a story about getting ready to name Ashley’s killer.

  After the calls, he went into his walk-in wardrobe and looked at all his clothes.

  ‘What does one wear to a potentially life threatening situation?’ he wondered.

  (Something comfortable. I died wearing a dressing gown and my favourite slippers.)

  Oliver pulled a T-shirt from a drawer and slid it over his head. ‘Favourite slippers? How many pairs did you own?’

  (Three. Anyway, I was comfortable. Apart from the whole heart attack thing.)

  Oliver rejected the first pair of jeans as having shrunk too much in the wash. That was the only logical explanation for why they were too tight around the waist.

  (Aye, not the cream donuts ye like to eat.)

  He finished dressing quickly, before Angus could find other things to comment on. When he went back into the kitchen there was a message from Amanda on his phone confirming she had arranged some security to be near George’s house at 2pm. He glanced at his watch and saw he didn’t need to leave for another two hours. He ran through a list of possible activities to fill in the time, but he was too nervous to watch a movie or work. In the end he made a sandwich, using the last of the bread and ham from the fridge, and forced himself to eat it. Then he made a shopping list and shoved it in his pocket for later. Now he only had one hour and forty five minutes to wait.

  (Why not go and meet Amanda early, at least you can be anxious together.)

  ‘Not a bad idea.’ He texted her and arranged to meet in an hour at a café in the middle of the city. That gave him time to drive in, find a park, and check out the big bookshop on Lambton Quay to see if they were stocking his book.

  Because he was ready to leave, he jumped straight into the car and headed down the hill to the motorway.

  He kept his mind off the 2pm deadline by listening to and loudly disagreeing with a talkback radio station.

  As the city and harbour came into view his phone rang.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi Oliver, it’s Claire. I hope you don’t mind me calling.’ She sounded miserable.

  ‘No, of course not. Is everything alright?’

  ‘No. I’m sitting in my room staring at a bottle of tequila and thinking of reasons why I shouldn’t open it. I can’t think of anything.’

  ‘Don’t do that,’ Oliver replied urgently. ‘There’s always a reason not to drink, you need to find it.’

  ‘I know,’ came the crackly reply. ‘But my parents don’t understand what’s happening, and I’ve driven all my friends away and I don’t have anyone to talk to.’

  ‘What about the staff there?’ Oliver said.

  ‘They’re all busy. I was wondering…Never mind, I guess you’re busy too.’

  The clock on the dashboard read 12:20. ‘Did you want me to come and see you? I have to be somewhere at two but I could come for a little while.’

  ‘That would be great, thanks,’ Claire replied.

  ‘Okay, give me fifteen minutes.’ He hung up, then made a mental note to message Amanda when he stopped the car, to tell her he was going to be a little late.

  (She’s not a McMurry.)

  ‘That’s a horrible thing to say. She might not be related to you but she needs my help and…’

  (Hold yer water, son. Ye didn’t let me finish. She’s not a McMurry, but she’s suffering and I’m glad ye can help her. I’m glad that ye’ve helped me, Oliver.)

  ‘Oh. Well, you’re welcome.’

  The warm feeling in his chest lasted all the way to the rehab house. He parked and signed in at the front door. The woman behind the counter gave him a warm smile and a visitor’s badge, in that order. She rang a number and had a brief murmured conversation.

  ‘She’ll be ready in a moment. Please wait over there,’ she directed him to a small area on the opposite side of the foyer with two chairs and a small table littered with pamphlets about addiction.

  (You’d think they already know all that stuff by the time they get here.)

  A few minutes later the woman told him Claire was ready and directed him up the stairs to the first door on the left.

  There was a natural silence about the house that made him think he was in a massive library. He fully expected a sour faced woman to pop out from a doorway and shush him for making too much noise with his shoes.

  (Are libraries actually like that?)

  Only in the movies.

  He knocked gently and the door opened immediately. Fatigue was etched across Claire’s face as she stood aside to let him in. The room was small, with a single bed pushed against one wall and a small wooden chest of drawers on the other. A large window looked out over the back garden, and sun streamed through it, bathing the space in light and warmth. He heard the door click shut behind him.

  ‘Since I’m technically not allowed alcohol, I asked if we could have some tea,’ Claire said as she crossed to a tray on top of the drawers and poured two cups. ‘Milk?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ Oliver replied, searching around for a place to sit. The only option was the bed, which left him feeling uncomfortable. He took the offered cup and hesitated before walking over to the window and perching on the edge of the sill. His bottom quickly protested as the wooden edge dug into his flesh. He inspected the room more closely but couldn’t see any sign of a tequila bottle.

  Claire sat on the bed, leaning against the wall and drawing her knees up to her chest. Oliver blew steam away from his drink and took a sip. It was way too hot, so he cradled the cup in his hands, shifting it from one to the other when the heat became unbearable.

  ‘So, how are you doing?’ Oliver asked to break the silence.

  ‘Better, now that you’re here.’ She gave him a bright smile that dissipated the tiredness. She took a sip from her own cup.

  He thought about having to stay here for treatment. The room was so small, even her suitcase had to find a spot under the bed. He could see the edge poking.

  Oliver looked at Claire and saw she had been watching him carefully. He forced a smile. ‘Has anything happened that’s made you want to drink?’

  ‘Oh, Oliver, I think you know.’

  He realised her voice had changed. Weariness was gone, replaced with something else.

  (Bloody hell.)

  ‘I honestly thought trying to drown you would do the trick, but you kept going. And when I heard that you had discovered something that would identify the murderer, well I just wanted to crack that bottle open.’

  Oliver�
�s mouth went dry and he swallowed a couple of times, but it didn’t help, so he took another sip of his tea.

  ‘George told you I was looking for the suitcase,’ he finally said.

  ‘Of course, we’re very close, he tells me everything.’

  ‘I guess it’s not reciprocal,’ Oliver replied and was rewarded with a smile.

  Questions popped into his mind and he picked one at random.

  ‘How did you get me into the bath?’

  Claire brushed her hair behind one ear and shook her head mockingly. ‘Because I’m a girl I can’t possibly lift you? I hope you’re not teaching your daughter those ideas, Oliver. Anything is possible with the right leverage. I used the shower curtain. Rolled you onto it and it was easy to drag you into the bathroom, half lift you to the edge then tip you in. There was a satisfying thud when you hit the bottom of the bath. I’m surprised you woke up. You must have a guardian angel.’

  (More like a guardian Angus.)

  ‘Why did you kill Ashley?’

  The girl shifted uneasily on the bed and picked at her fingernails for a moment.

  ‘I’ve already told you that. Don’t you remember? I told you I loved her. Well I didn’t mean like a friend, I meant I loved her. She knew it — well, guessed it I suppose. But I’d written her a letter, confessing how I felt and she said we needed to talk when I was out of treatment. Well I couldn’t wait that long so I went to see her. And I’d had a couple of drinks for courage. She said she didn’t think of me that way. Got quite insistent in the end. She was busy preparing that stupid mud bath. Can you imagine? Denying true love while testing the temperature of hot dirt. I got angry, then she was dead. You’d think I’d panic, but for some reason I was very calm. I took the empty bags from the mud, to confuse the police, which worked quite nicely. I even made a whistling sound as I left, to muddy things for anyone who might be listening. Get it? Muddy.’

  She laughed and Oliver stared at her in horror.

  ‘The letter was in the suitcase,’ he finally said.

  Claire waved her hand dismissively. ‘Yes, I borrowed the suitcase to move in here, and she needed it back to loan to another friend. That was Ashley, always helping others. In all the excitement of the night I forgot it was there.’ She giggled.

  (She’s mad.)

  ‘Maybe,’ Oliver replied.

  ‘Maybe?’

  ‘Sorry, thinking out loud. Were you afraid that the letter would make you a suspect?’

  ‘A prime suspect I thought. When George rang to tell me you were looking for it, I decided to get rid of both things at the same time.’

  ‘He said he’d told no one,’ Oliver said.

  ‘I am no one. At least to my family. Which actually works quite nicely. No one suspects no one.’ She grinned again but her eyes were narrow and hard. ‘Especially one in a place like this. People forget about phones and that if I really wanted to I can get out. And sometimes I really wanted to.’

  (Ye need to get out.)

  Oliver ignored him.

  ‘And you manipulated Niki into trying to break George and Ashley up?’

  ‘It wasn’t that hard. She was hopelessly in lust with my brother and Alex was stupidly in love with Ashley. A couple of words at the right time and she thought it was all her idea,’ Claire said in a voice twisted with distain.

  The room was starting to get warm and a prickle of sweat touched his forehead. He wiped it away and put his tea on the chest of drawers. When he turned back, Claire was studying him curiously.

  ‘So all the times we’ve talked, I thought you needed someone to confide in, but you were — what? Getting information?’

  Claire grinned and bowed her head. ‘That was easy as well. A bit of faked weakness and you were lapping it up. You should have seen the concern on your face at the poor alcoholic pouring her heart out.’

  The room got warmer as his face flushed.

  (She’s a loony.)

  ‘Why are you telling me this? Why confess now?’

  ‘I got the letter from the suitcase, but according to George there was something else in the house that would point towards me. So what is it?’

  ‘Nothing. I made it up,’ Oliver admitted.

  (Aye, now would have been a good time to lie.)

  ‘It was a ploy to draw out the killer. Damn, I thought that might be it, but I couldn’t take the risk. Oh well.’ Claire shrugged.

  ‘You confessed for nothing.’

  ‘Confessed? I didn’t confess to anything. I’m a liar remember? I made sure that the staff here told you, and I’m sure mum told you as well. This is nothing but the ramblings of an attention seeking alcoholic.’ She offered him a weak smile, then smiled.

  ‘The police will believe me.’

  ‘Perhaps, but I doubt it. I’m very convincing.’

  Oliver wiped his face, the hand came away wet with sweat.

  ‘So am I. There are plenty of people who know you’re on the suspect list.’

  ‘Well then, I’ll have to take a more permanent approach,’ Claire said, jumping off the bed.

  He reared back, banging his head on the glass.

  She cracked up laughing. ‘Relax Oliver. When it comes to hitting someone from behind I’ll back myself every time, but I’m not so confident in a direct approach. Besides why use violence?’ She glanced over as his tea cup.

  He followed her glance and a sick feeling roiled up in his stomach.

  ‘What did you do?’ he asked in a cracked voice.

  ‘I didn’t do anything Oliver’ she replied.

  ‘Call an ambulance.’

  ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘I wasn’t talking to you,’ he said, pulling his phone out. His hands shook a little as he checked to make sure the connection was still open.

  ‘I’m coming up the stairs. The ambulance is on the way.’

  ‘What the…’ Claire started.

  ‘I might not always be the quickest person in the room, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid.’ His vision blurred and he wiped at his eyes. Everything came back into focus. ‘It was a bit too much of a coincidence that one of the people on my suspect list calls me up on the day I made a plan to catch the killer. So when I was standing outside your door, I dialled a number. Everything you’ve said has been heard and recorded.’

  ‘By who?’ Claire demanded.

  The door swung open. ‘Me,’ said Detective Wilson. ‘And you are under arrest.’

  THIRTY FIVE

  I don’t feel terribly well,’ Oliver said, slumping against the wall.

  ‘I was making it up. I didn’t mean any of it,’ Claire said.

  ‘Perhaps. I’m sure we’ll figure it out down at the station. In the meantime, what have you done to Oliver?’

  ‘The tea,’ Oliver told him, pointing at the cup in case the detective couldn’t recognise the drink by himself.

  ‘Get it tested,’ Claire challenged. ‘I never said there was anything in the tea, he inferred it. Just like everything else I said.’

  ‘I got angry, then she was dead,’ Detective Wilson quoted. Claire paled.

  A uniformed officer came into the room and Wilson directed her to handcuff Claire while he went over to Oliver.

  ‘I feel hot,’ Oliver said.

  ‘You’re sitting in the sun.’

  ‘I feel dizzy.’

  ‘Did you hit your head?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Oliver admitted.

  ‘Your likely concussed head?’ added the detective.

  ‘Why are you being so logical? She tried to kill me.’

  ‘Not with tea,’ murmured Claire.

  Detective Wilson stared at Oliver and for a short glorious moment he thought the detective was going to wink at him. Instead he turned and asked that Claire be escorted to the police station. She rolled her eyes as she was led out of the room.

  (Shall I cold blast ye?)

  ‘I’m good,’ Oliver said.

  ‘Let’s have the paramedics make that decision,’ Detectiv
e Wilson said. He helped Oliver straighten up and by the time they made it down the stairs and out the front door two uniformed paramedics were waiting to check him out. They informed him one of the sutures in his scalp had come apart and there was a bit of bleeding, but nothing too serious. He passed all the on the spot concussion checks and felt much better by the end of it all. There was no indication he had been poisoned, but they suggested he go to the hospital to be sure.

  Before he could decide, his phone buzzed.

  Amanda said she was waiting across the street from his car. When he was sure Detective Wilson was occupied, Oliver snuck off.

  As soon as he unlocked his car, Amanda crossed the road and jumped into the driver’s seat.

  ‘Do you think she poisoned you?’

  ‘I doubt it. I think she was playing games. And I feel much better now that I was right.’

  Amanda gave him an amused look as she drove down the narrow winding streets towards the city.

  ‘I’m glad you called the detective. And I’m glad you’re a suspicious sod who doesn’t believe in coincidences.’

  Oliver slumped against the window, the cool glass soothing on his cheek. ‘So am I. Although I have to admit, I didn’t think she would confess, not that easily anyway. I suppose I should ask how you knew to be here, but I can’t say I’m surprised.’

  Amanda took the next turn a little fast, the car wobbling a little before steadying itself.

  ‘Tell me something, Oliver, was Claire out of your sight at any stage?’

  He glanced over to see her gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles were white.

  ‘No. I mean, she made me wait a little in the foyer, but once I was in her room she never left my sight. Why?’

  ‘Because I don’t believe in coincidences either.’

  ‘Meaning?’ Oliver replied, although the way Amanda screeched around the next corner he thought he knew the answer.

  ‘Meaning the brakes aren’t working.’

  (Bloody….)

  THIRTY SIX

  I trust you have car insurance,’ Amanda said calmly.

  ‘I’m not actually thinking of the car right now,’ Oliver replied as they took another turn way too fast, the back of the car skidding dangerously close to a parked car before Amanda regained control.