Ghostly Hitchhiker Box Set

by Rodney Strong

  (Good boy.)

  Monty wagged his tail. In the meantime Oliver was trying to think who Roman might be.

  ‘The detective has assigned a mostly harmless tag to you.’ She watched his face as she said the words, and there was a flash of teeth as she gave the briefest of smiles.

  ‘I would have said completely harmless,’ he replied.

  ‘No one is completely harmless,’ Beth said. ‘He said there was no way you could make things worse, and there are certain circumstances which have brought this matter some urgency.’ She hesitated on the last word and he shifted uncomfortably, feeling like he was intruding, which technically he was.

  (Ask her how sick she is.)

  I can’t just ask her. Detective Wilson told me that in confidence.

  (Urgh. Fine. I’ll get the dog to ask. Monty, ask Beth how sick she is.)

  Monty looked up at his mistress and barked. Beth stared at him in amazement.

  ‘What’s gotten into you?’ She rubbed the top of his head and he licked her hand.

  He can’t speak English and she can’t speak mountain beast. I’ll find out, just be patient.

  ‘So how do you propose not making things worse?’

  Oliver thought quickly. ‘Can you remember anyone back then that owned a yellow car?’

  Beth frowned. ‘A yellow car? What does that have to do with anything?’

  ‘There’s a suggestion that Debbie’s disappearance and Brigid’s death both involved a yellow car. Yellow cars can’t have been that common back then, not in a small suburb like this.’

  Oliver reached out and let Monty sniff the back of his hand. The dog’s breath was warm as he checked out Oliver’s smell, at which point he seemed to share his owner’s assessment that Oliver was mostly harmless and gave the hand a lick.

  (Good boy. We were never allowed dogs when we were growing up. Mum said Dad was allergic, but I don’t think that’s true because this one time I saw him pat a dog at the playground and he didn’t sneeze or anything.)

  Oliver studied Beth as she considered his question.

  ‘I think Mr Yardley had a yellow car,’ she finally said but there was doubt in her voice.

  ‘Who was Mr Yardley?’

  Beth shrugged. ‘The deputy principal. All the girls in my year thought he was pretty cool. There’s no way he was involved with Debbie going missing. He was a great teacher, and he organised our new swimming pool.’

  Monty sneezed, and suddenly Oliver’s hand was a lot wetter. He grimaced as he looked around for something to wipe it on, then reluctantly used his jeans.

  ‘Where are you getting your information from?’ Beth asked.

  ‘I told you, I read a letter.’

  She waved her hand dismissively. ‘Yes, yes this mysterious letter.’

  A bell echoed through house.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  There was the sound of muted voices from the front door, then Beth came back in with a middle-aged woman trailing behind her.

  ‘This is Julienne. Julienne this is Oliver.’

  They shook hands and Oliver caught a whiff of cinnamon as she said hi. She was a short woman with purple streaks in her hair, and large hoop earrings dangling from her lobes. She was dressed in a long grey summer dress.

  ‘Julienne is a psychic,’ Beth said.

  (No way.)

  ‘Oh,’ Oliver said. He had always been a firm disbeliever in all things psychic, but carrying a spirit around in his head had softened his stance. A little.

  ‘As I said, circumstances have changed, so I’m utilising all possible methods to resolve this before… I have been approached by psychics in the past, and found them all to be completely worthless. However Julienne comes highly recommended.’

  ‘By?’ Oliver couldn’t resist asking.

  ‘The community,’ Beth replied with a twitch of her mouth. Her tone and expression suggested she was aware that wasn’t really a recommendation.

  Meanwhile Julienne was walking around the kitchen. She stepped around Monty, ignoring the dog as she traced her finger over the bench like a hotel inspector looking for dust. She completed her circuit and faced Beth.

  ‘I can feel Debbie’s presence,’ she declared.

  So can I.

  (Wow.)

  Beth’s face radiated scepticism, and Julienne hurried on.

  ‘Yes, I can definitely feel something.’

  What a load of bullsh…bull.

  (But I am here. Maybe she knows it. Hey! Here I am! Inside his head.)

  Julienne gave no indication that she heard Debbie, continuing on with what Oliver was sure was a scripted performance.

  ‘Debbie spent many happy hours in this room.’

  (Duh, it’s where the food was.)

  ‘I didn’t bring you here to tell me things I already know,’ Beth said impatiently. ‘Tell me where she is now.’

  Julienne pursed her lips together disapprovingly. ‘The spirit world doesn’t work like that. I get flashes of images and feelings, not a clear picture.’

  For once I agree.

  (I told you, it’s not my fault I can’t remember how I died.)

  Beth crossed her arms and adopted a stern look which Oliver was sure had intimidated many potential criminals over the years. ‘Well, what can you tell me?’

  ‘I see water,’ Julienne said quickly.

  Oliver wasn’t impressed by that given they lived in a country surrounded by water, and the beach was about five hundred metres away.

  Julienne had probably never had a psychic reading go south quite so quickly.

  (I couldn’t swim anyway, just a doggy paddle.)

  Monty pricked up his ears at the word doggy.

  (A Monty paddle.) She laughed.

  ‘And a car,’ Julienne blurted out in a panic.

  Beth glanced across at Oliver, then asked, ‘What colour car?’

  ‘A dark colour, yes definitely a dark colour, like blue, or brown. And there’s a man, and he is offering her something. Something sweet, I think.’ She peered hopefully at Beth, then plunged onwards. ‘A glazed donut?’

  (I loved donuts, but they made me sick.)

  ‘No, not a donut, some lollies perhaps.’

  (That’s right!)

  She’s guessing.

  (How do you know? Maybe she can actually see what happened to me.)

  ‘Your thoughts?’ Beth asked him.

  Oliver stifled a surprised look, and realised he was being tested. How he answered could make the difference between Beth kicking him out with the psychic, or staying for the possibility of more information.

  ‘None of it means anything, because none of it is verifiable. Unless a man in a blue car comes forward and confesses to luring Debbie with a bag of sweets then it’s worthless. There’s not a person in this country that doesn’t live more than a fifteen minute drive from some body of water, and Debbie wasn’t a strong swimmer. And saying it’s a man doesn’t add much either. Most killers are men, generally speaking. Unless she can see a number plate or a driver’s licence then I’m afraid you’re no further along than you were five minutes ago.’

  He felt bad. It wasn’t in his nature to tear people down, and in those few words he’d completely undermined Julienne. Although his guilt was mitigated by the certainty that the woman was a fraud.

  ‘I agree with your assessment.’ Beth turned to the psychic. ‘Thank you for coming, but your services are not required.’

  Julienne shifted nervously on her feet. ‘There is the question of my fee.’

  ‘Oh, there’s no question,’ Beth replied with a humourless smile. ‘You were promised a fee should you provide any real clues.’

  ‘If I had more time,’ Julienne said desperately.

  ‘No thank you. I’ll show you out.’

  Oliver heard the woman protesting all the way down the hall, then her voice was cut off by the sound of a slamming door. Beth stalked back into the kitchen.

  ‘I should have known better. They’re all as airy fa
iry as each other, but I thought this one might be different. Now,’ she stared at him and he subconsciously stood taller, ‘How did you know that Debbie couldn’t swim?’

  ‘I must have read it in one of the newspaper reports,’ he said.

  (Oh please tell her I’m here. Then she’ll tell you what’s wrong with her.)

  Or she’ll send me out the door after the psychic.

  ‘Convince me,’ Beth ordered.

  He wavered. This could go spectacularly wrong.

  (It won’t. Go on, please!)

  ‘There is no letter,’ he started.

  ‘I guessed that much.’

  (She always was a know-it-all.)

  ‘The reason I know things about Debbie is…’ he hesitated and took a deep breath, ‘Is because she’s right here.’ He tapped his head.

  Beth scrunched up her face in confusion. ‘In your head?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I have this…thing…ability I guess you could call it. The spirits of dead people hitchhike in my head. They come back and sort of attach themselves to me when there’s something they need done, and in Debbie’s case she wants to find out what happened to her friend Brigid.’

  Beth was shaking her head. ‘I think I threw out the wrong person,’ she muttered.

  I’m losing her. Tell me something about her that only you would know.

  (I don’t know. She was my sister, I never paid that much attention to her except when she was taking my stuff.)

  There must be a secret of hers you know.

  He remembered something. ‘When you were little you liked a boy called Kelvin. You made him a valentine’s card.’

  She paused. ‘Not many people knew that, except for most of my class when Kelvin showed them the wonky love heart I drew, and they all laughed.’

  (I forgot about that.)

  That’s not helpful. Tell me something else!

  (She had an Abba poster on her bedroom wall.)

  He relayed the information.

  (And underneath it she had another poster of Leif Garrett. He was cool.)

  When he added the last part Beth’s eyes grew so large he readied himself to catch one if it popped out of her head.

  ‘How did you…?’

  So he went over it again from the moment he picked Debbie up from the cemetery, and by the time he finished Beth looked only marginally more convinced and the tiniest bit less likely to set the dog on him.

  ‘You understand how insane that sounds.’

  He winced at the word insane. ‘You must have heard worse in your years as a judge,’ he said hopefully.

  ‘Not that I recall. Is she really here?’

  He nodded.

  ‘And she doesn’t remember what happened to her?’

  He shook his head. ‘It sounds like the man knocked her out and she never woke up. But she definitely remembers a yellow car.’

  Beth sighed, suddenly looking tired and frail.

  ‘She wants to know what’s wrong with you,’ he asked gently.

  ‘I suppose it doesn’t matter too much,’ she said with a shrug of her shoulders. ‘I have a brain tumour. Inoperable, maybe five months to live.’

  (Oh, Beth.)

  Oliver felt a wave of sadness flood through him and he struggled to hold back tears. Although he was a naturally empathetic man, he knew this emotion mostly came from Debbie.

  ‘I want to know what happened to my sister. And you’re telling me that I can talk to her, but she doesn’t remember how she died? She was pretty useless when she was alive as well,’ Beth sniffed and turned away for a second.

  (She wasn’t much better. Huh. And to think I was about to get all upset that she’s dying.)

  She’s just trying to cope. She doesn’t mean it.

  (You don’t know Beth.)

  When Beth turned back her face was expressionless. ‘Because my time is limited I’m going to allow what you’ve said.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘Sorry, too many years of court. I mean I’ll accept it, for now. But only because I can’t see an angle for you in this, and because Roman Wilson vouched for you.’

  Mostly harmless is a vouch?

  ‘But, and I’m sure the detective will tell you I never joke about things like this, if I find out this is a con or an attempt to extort something from me, I will ensure you are prosecuted for as many broken laws as I can think of, and I know the law quite well.’

  (Oh blah blah blah.)

  ‘I believe you, and I hope you can believe me when I say there is no angle, no con. I want to be here less than you want me here. But experience has taught me that these hitchhikers,’ he tapped the side of his head, ‘don’t go anywhere until the reason they came back is resolved.’

  ‘And in this case Debbie wants to know what happened to Brigid?’

  Oliver nodded and Beth sighed, absentmindedly scratching behind Monty’s ear. There was a rhythmic thump as his tail hit the floor.

  ‘I guess that makes sense. Those two were inseparable.’

  (She was just jealous coz she didn’t have a friend like mine.)

  ‘Beth,’ he began hesitantly. ‘I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell anyone about… my hitchhiker. Especially Detective Wilson.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that. I have no greater desire to be treated like I’ve lost my marbles than you have. Right, time is wasting. What do you need from me?’

  ‘Do you know if any of Brigid’s family is still alive?’

  ‘Her father is in a rest home in Wellington. Last reports were he has full onset dementia and remembers very little most of the time. Her mother passed away several years ago and her sister is married and living in London.’ Beth pulled her phone out of the handbag resting on the counter and tapped away. ‘Email address?’

  Oliver relayed it to her and she tapped some more.

  ‘All relevant details are with you now. What else do you need?’

  ‘Nothing for now,’ Oliver replied.

  ‘Not even my phone number?’ Beth replied.

  He felt his face flush at the obvious oversight. ‘Of course,’ he replied, saving the number into his phone.

  ‘Tell me, is she…’

  Oliver waited but the rest of the sentence remained unspoken.

  ‘I’m not a religious person, but our parents were and they believed in the afterlife…’ Again Beth’s voice trailed off, and Oliver began to see where this was going.

  (Can you tell me coz I’m confused.)

  ‘You want to know if she’s in heaven?’

  Beth’s face showed embarrassment and she took a deep breath and nodded uncertainly.

  (Tell her I’m in an awesome place where I ride ponies all day and get to eat all the lollies I want without getting sick.)

  Is that true?

  (No, but she doesn’t know that.)

  ‘She seems happy,’ he said instead. ‘No mention of torture or eternal damnation.’

  (Why didn’t you say what I said?)

  I’m not lying to a judge.

  (She wouldn’t know —)

  ‘I should think not,’ Beth interrupted the internal conversation. ‘She was a pain in the butt on occasion but not enough to warrant a trip to hell.’

  (Then why did she keep telling me to go there?)

  ‘I wasn’t…I didn’t mean it that way,’ Oliver said.

  With that uncomfortable goodbye, he retraced his steps to the car. Before he could turn on the engine his phone rang.

  ‘My god, your grandmother is a firecracker,’ Graeme Wilson’s voice boomed through the car speaker.

  ‘Huh?’ Oliver’s grandmother, even when she was alive, had quite probably never been called a firecracker in her entire life.

  ‘Your grandmother. Wonderful woman. If I was twenty years older...’

  The fact that he didn’t finish the thought didn’t stop Oliver from connecting the dots and shuddering at the involuntary image it conjured.

  ‘You met my grandmother?�
��

  ‘Are you drunk, Oliver? You sent her to me.’

  Something clicked into place.

  ‘Yes, of course I did, I just wasn’t expecting her to meet with you so soon.’

  (He met with your dead grandmother?)

  No, Alice obviously must have introduced herself as my grandmother.

  (Oh, obviously.)

  I wish she’d warned me, but given Amanda’s habit of springing things on me I probably shouldn’t be surprised.

  ‘She’s got a sharp mind that woman. I only hope I’m as switched on when I’m her age. Listen, must dash, it’s just that she’s got me thinking about the Judkins case a different way. I’ve got some things to check out. I’ll call you later, just wanted to say thank you for introducing me to Agatha.’

  ‘Wait…’

  The phone clicked off as he hung up and Oliver slumped in his seat, exhausted from the sudden assault of a phone call.

  (Agatha?)

  Oliver put the car into gear and eased away from the kerb. ‘The…’ he was about to use their family name when he realised he had no clue what it was. ‘As Alice said earlier, she has a habit of changing her name more often than Rose changes clothes.’

  (Is that a lot?)

  ‘Are you kidding. Have you seen her washing pile?’

  (No.)

  ‘Of course not, you’re a kid,’ he muttered darkly. ‘You’ve got laundry blindness.’

  FOURTEEN

  The first thing he did when he got home was to search the Education Register online to see if Mr Yardley was still teaching. Unfortunately he only had a surname. Fortunately it wasn’t very common. Still, it gave him a list of five names of people who were all still registered teachers.

  Lacking any other way to narrow the list further, he called Graeme Wilson and left a message asking if the reporter had interviewed the deputy principal back in 1978.

  Then he sat back in his chair and stared at the fly poo on the ceiling. It was the thing he hated most about the warm weather.

  ‘Is there anything else you can remember about your death?’ he asked.

  Kaos, the family black and white (and more recently slightly grey) cat announced his arrival at the sliding door with an ear-shattering yowl. When Oliver opened the door he saw a dead rat at the cat’s feet. Kaos sauntered past him, as if to say, “Look how clever I am. Now dispose of the body, minion”.