by Morgana Best
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I am. Should we go over there, to the café?”
I shook my head. “No, because there’s a back way out of that café. He’ll be gone by the time we get there. I’ll tell the aunts what happened.”
It turned out that Aunt Agnes was less than impressed that I had gone to the police. “This really is a matter for the Council. You shouldn’t have shown that photo to the police,” Aunt Agnes admonished me.
Aunt Dorothy vehemently disagreed with her. “Nonsense, Agnes. You say everything is secret Council business.”
Aunt Maude did not buy into the argument. She was busy arranging candles in a pentagram shape on the kitchen table. Agnes turned her attention to Aunt Maude. “Maude, you’re going to burn down the whole house.”
“How can it burn down if we’re sitting here watching it?” Maude snapped back. “Go and fetch a jug of water if you’re worried.”
Aunt Agnes rolled her eyes. “Well, Valkyrie, please show me the offending photo.”
I handed it to her. She held it this way and that, and finally said, “I do believe you’re right, Valkyrie. This certainly looks like a syringe mark to me.” She handed it to Dorothy.
Dorothy held the photo up to the light. “I can’t see a syringe mark,” she said.
“Try turning the photo over,” Aunt Agnes said snarkily. “You’re looking at the wrong side. Not that it will help you if you look at the right side. I’m telling you, Dorothy, you need glasses.”
Maude took the photo from Dorothy. “Yes, that seems like a syringe mark. And you say Detective Oakes said it looked like a freckle?”
I nodded. “He wouldn’t listen to us.”
She held the photo even closer to her nose. “Yes, I could see how he would think that. It’s either a freckle or a syringe mark. If you know it was a murder, like we do, then it’s obvious that it’s a syringe mark, but to him, given that he’s sure it wasn’t a murder, then it’s obviously a freckle.”
Agnes snatched the photo back from Maude. “Since when did you become a philosopher? Will you change your name to Socrates?”
“I didn’t say anything philosophical!” Maude protested. “Sometimes I don’t know what you’re on about, Agnes.”
“I think I should go back to Beckett Maxwell’s house tomorrow,” I told them.
Aunt Agnes turned to me. “Why?”
I had no idea why I said it, to be honest. I think I was only trying to stop the bickering. “Um, err, I might find some evidence,” I stammered.
“What if someone is there?” Aunt Agnes asked me.
Aunt Dorothy nodded. “That’s right, if Valkyrie goes back, she might be in danger.”
Aunt Agnes sighed dramatically. “I don’t mean the murderer, obviously,” she said in a sarcastic tone. “I meant a relative, someone like that.”
“I’ll simply say I’m there to pay my respects and say I was with him when he died,” I said.
The aunts agreed it was a good idea. “But take Linda with you if she has time,” Aunt Agnes said. “I’m sure it will be perfectly safe, but I will feel better if you don’t go alone.”
I slapped myself on the side of my head. “Oh, I almost forgot. There was a man following us today. We saw him twice.”
“I don’t like it at all,” Aunt Agnes said. “Are you sure it was a man? I must admit, I’ve been thinking that Beckett’s murderer was his cleaner.”
“Maybe they’re in it together,” Aunt Maude offered.
“It could be a woman,” I said doubtfully, “but it does look like a man. I haven’t seen the figure close-up, though.”
I left the aunts arguing over the possible identity of the figure, and went back to my cottage—after all, there was only so much of the aunts I could take—and I had only been there five minutes when the phone Lucas had given me vibrated in my pocket. I nearly jumped through the roof. I had forgotten it was there. I answered it at once. “Lucas?” I breathed.
His tone was urgent. “Pepper, are you safe?”
I was taken aback. “Yes, I am. Is there any reason I shouldn’t be?”
He exhaled heavily. “No, of course not. I was worried about you, that’s all. I can’t speak for long. What’s happened there?”
I nearly mentioned the syringe mark in Beckett’s neck, but caught myself just in time. “Linda got the keys to her new house and I had a look at it today. It’s lovely. We had coffee.”
I expected Lucas to press me on the matter. He was far from gullible, but he must have been preoccupied, because he simply said, “That’s nice.” He added, “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes.”
He hung up at once. What was going on with him? He was acting strangely, and an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. I had second thoughts, and wished I had told him about the syringe mark and the man following us, after all.
Chapter 7
I was driving Linda to Beckett’s house, remembering with sadness the last time I had driven there, only the previous day. I certainly had not expected a murder to happen. I shook my head sadly.
“Are you okay?” Linda asked me.
“I was just thinking about driving to this house yesterday. I sure didn’t expect that Beckett would be murdered while I was in the very next room.” I shuddered. “Thanks for coming with me, by the way.”
Linda smiled at me. “I hope we don’t run into any trouble, but someone would be brave to take on a vampire as well as a Shifter wolf.”
“We don’t know who the murderer is,” I pointed out. “For all I know, the murderer is a powerful vampire, or maybe even a powerful witch. Who knows?”
“That’s not a cheerful thought.”
I shot a look at her. “True. I certainly hope we don’t run into any trouble today.”
I drove into the front yard of Beckett’s house, as I had last time. The house looked the same, obviously uncaring that its former inhabitant had been murdered. The flowers were blooming happily; the sun was shining, and brightly coloured red and green rosellas were perched on the tree overhead.
“Someone is here,” Linda said, reaching across my elbow.
“Where?” I asked in alarm.
She pointed to the window. “There, inside. I saw a shadow pass across the window.”
I shook my head. I was about to say something, when I saw that the front door was open. “It does look like someone is here,” I said. “I hope it’s not the murderer.”
“Should we drive away?”
I considered it for a moment. “No. It could be just a neighbour. Think about it logically. Whoever murdered Beckett had plenty of opportunity to murder me too, and didn’t. I don’t think I was in any danger.” I said it more to convince myself than to convince Linda.
She nodded, and we both got out of the car. I nervously walked towards the front door, with Linda behind me. I knocked loudly. “Is anyone home?” I called out.
A man suddenly appeared at the door, making us both gasp. “Who are you?” he said abruptly.
“I’m Pepper Jasper, and this is my friend, Linda Williams. I was with Beckett when he died, so we wanted to come out and pay our respects. I mean, I know he lived alone, but I figured that his relatives might be here to take care of his affairs. I hope we’re not intruding.”
“Not at all. Please come in.” He opened the door for us, and we stepped inside. While the three of us were standing there awkwardly, I sized up the man. I was never good at guessing age, but he was definitely over thirty. If he was a vampire, he could be over three hundred, for all I knew. I realised then that I hadn’t asked my aunts if Beckett Maxwell was a vampire.
“Please sit down,” the man continued. “I’m Weston Maxwell. Beckett was my uncle. I was about to make some coffee. Would you like tea or coffee?”
“Black tea would be nice,” I said.
“I’ll have the same, too,” Linda said.
Weston nodded, and headed for the kitchen door. His departure left me with a
n awful feeling. I leant across to Linda. “That was the last time I saw Beckett alive,” I told her. “He went through the door, just like that.”
Linda reached over and patted my knee. “Don’t let it upset you.” She lowered her voice. “Just remember why we’re here.”
I nodded. We were off to a good start. Weston hadn’t kicked us out. To the contrary, he seemed keen to have visitors. I scanned the room once more. Nothing seemed out of place. The same esoteric volumes were sitting on the shelf, but then I noticed the cardboard boxes in the far side of the room. It seemed that Weston had wasted no time packing up his uncle’s estate.
Linda cleared her thought. “Pepper, get something of Beckett’s, in case your aunts want to do a spell.”
“What kind of spell?” I asked her.
She shrugged. “Who knows? Isn’t that what you witches do?”
I nodded. “Thanks. It’s a good idea.” I spotted a pair of tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses on the bookshelf next to me. I snatched them and put them in my pocket.
Weston presently returned with a tray, on top of which were three porcelain cups and saucers. I recognised the pattern as Royal Albert Black Old English Rose. It was probably the least dainty of all the china patterns. The pungent smell of Weston’s coffee wafted over to me, and for a moment I regretted my choice. Still, I was well and truly over-caffeinated, having had several cups of coffee that morning.
He placed our cups in front of us, and then took a seat opposite. “I’m sorry it’s so stuffy in here,” he said. “My uncle wasn’t one for fresh air, or daylight for that matter.”
I resisted casting a glance at Linda. I had the impression that there was no love lost between him and his uncle.
Weston continued. “So you were with my uncle when he died?”
I nodded. “Yes, it was a terrible thing to happen. I was not actually with him at the very time.” I faltered, before pushing on. “You know, not at the time he actually died. I was sitting here, just like I am now, and Beckett said he would make me a cup of coffee. I heard a crash, and wondered whether he needed help, but by the time I got there he was already, well you know—gone. I called the police and ambulance immediately,” I hastened to add.
He nodded. “So it was sudden? He didn’t suffer?”
I shook my head. “No, he seemed right as rain. That’s why I was so shocked to find him like that. He didn’t complain about heart pain or anything. He looked absolutely fine.”
Weston appeared to be processing the information. “You weren’t arguing at the time or anything, were you?” he asked me.
I was shocked. “No! Absolutely not!”
Weston shook his head at me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just such a shock, that’s all. If it had been Francine Finnegan with my uncle when he died, I would have been sure she had brought on the heart attack.”
“Francine Finnegan?” I asked him. “She and your uncle didn’t get on?”
Weston grunted. “I probably shouldn’t say things like this at such a time, but my uncle and Francine got on well, too well, if you get my meaning. She was a little too close to my uncle. In fact, she drove a wedge between us.”
Linda spoke for the first time. “So you and your uncle weren’t close?”
Weston leant forward and put his head in his hands. “I’m ashamed to say that we did argue from time to time. I must admit, I was a little annoyed that my uncle left his entire estate to Francine’s charitable foundation.”
I sat upright. This was newsworthy. “He did? That’s strange, when you were his nephew.”
“That’s exactly right.” Weston’s tone was nothing short of furious.
“So what charitable foundation does this woman have?” Linda asked him.
He snorted rudely. “She’s the director of the New South Wales Inland Long Nosed Bandicoot Protection Society.”
I looked at him as if he was joking. “For real?”
“For real,” he echoed. His tone was rueful.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bandicoot in real life,” Linda said, wrinkling her nose.
“They look like rats,” Weston said. His tone was severe, and I realised that there was no love lost between Weston and bandicoots. “There are about twenty species of bandicoots. They’re the size of rabbits and are marsupials. A marsupial is a mammal that gives birth to underdeveloped young and then raises it in a pouch.”
Linda and I exchanged glances. Every Australian child knew what a marsupial was.
“Oh, that reminds me,” I said, tapping my chin. “When I was here talking with your uncle, he was looking for his housekeeper. He expected his housekeeper to be here.”
Weston appeared shocked. “Are you sure? I didn’t know my uncle even had a housekeeper. Maybe she was new.” He looked decidedly uncomfortable.
“What is it?” Linda prompted him.
“Maybe there wasn’t a housekeeper,” Weston said. “Maybe my uncle was covering for the fact that Francine Finnegan was in his house, and he wanted to pass her off as his housekeeper.”
“Well, surely that wouldn’t be a shameful thing?” I asked him.
“Francine Finnegan is married,” Weston told me. “I’m sure her husband would not be happy to find out that my uncle and Francine were consorting.”
Linda shot me a look. I knew what she was thinking. Could this be a mundane murder? Could Francine’s husband have found out about her affair with Beckett and murdered him? Or did Weston do it out of spite, because he wasn’t included in the will? On that note, I asked, “Surely you get to keep the house? Bandicoots won’t need this house.” I injected as much sympathy into my voice as I could.
Weston grimaced. “No, the house and land are being sold. They were left to Francine as well. Only the contents were left to me. I’m going to keep some things for sentimental value, and my uncle’s books, but what will I do with all this old, musty furniture?” He waved one arm around the room expansively. “I’m going to call the Salvation Army and donate the lot.”
“That’s terrible,” I said. My mind had drifted away from the matter of inheritance to the question of whether or not Beckett had been a vampire. I needed to know if there was any Witches’ Brew in the kitchen, but I had no idea how to find out. I could hardly march straight in there, not with Weston here. And if there was any Witches’ Brew, then Beckett had kept it hidden. I had not seen any the day I found his body, and there had certainly been no bottles of Witches’ Brew in the photos.
Weston nodded slowly. “And how did my uncle seem to you?”
“Happy,” I said. “He seemed happy.”
“I’m glad you were with him then,” Weston said. “It puts my mind at rest. I’m glad he didn’t suffer.”
Linda and I nodded. “The funeral is tomorrow,” he added. “You’re both most welcome to attend.”
The funeral! I thought. They’re always a good source of information. Aloud I said, “Thank you. We’ll be there. And so will my aunts, if that’s all right? They were friends of his.”
I thought I saw something flicker across Weston’s face, but he recovered immediately. “Of course. All friends of my uncle’s are most welcome.”
We sat around for a few more moments, awkwardly, and the conversation dried up. I stood up, and Linda followed my lead. “Thanks so much for your hospitality,” I said. “I’m sorry about your uncle.”
Weston nodded, and reached for our teacups. “I’ll take them to the kitchen,” I said.
He made to stop me. “Oh there’s no need.”
“I insist,” I said with a smile. I grabbed my teacup and hurried to the kitchen before he could stop me. Linda clearly didn’t know what I was up to, but thankfully followed my lead. She took her cup and stepped behind me, in front of Weston. As I approached the kitchen sink, I pretended to trip, and upended the last of my tea onto the floor.
“How dreadfully clumsy of me!” I said. “Linda, find something to clean this up with. Maybe in a cupboard.” I gave her
a pointed look.
I opened the cupboard under the sink, but it was only full of household chemicals.
“I’ll clean it up,” Weston said. “Please don’t apologise.” He had procured a towel from somewhere, and proceeded to mop up the floor.
Linda and I shook his hand, and then walked out the front door. I gave him a small wave, and then we got in my car and left.
I had only just turned out onto the road when the creepy pale man appeared in front of me. He stepped in front of the car so swiftly that I had to slam on the brakes. “That’s the neighbour, the one I told you about,” I hissed at Linda.
I pulled the car over to the side of the road, and we both got out. “This is my friend, Linda,” I told him.
He whispered something so softly that we could not hear what he said. I turned to Linda. “This is Alec Aldon.”
They shook hands, and Linda took a step backwards. I figured she was having the same response to him that I’d had.
“Is there any more news on Beckett’s death?” he whispered.
Linda took a step closer to him. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“Is there any more news on Beckett’s death?” he repeated in the same soft tone.
“What do you mean?” I asked him.
He bent over. I sensed a malicious air about him, but it might have just been my imagination. “Was he murdered?”
Linda heard him this time. “What makes you think he was murdered?”
The expression on his face did not change. “I don’t think he was murdered; I was simply asking if he was murdered. It seems strange to me that a healthy man would die so suddenly.”
I did not know how to respond, so I changed the subject. “Beckett mentioned that he had a housekeeper,” I said. “We’ve been looking all over town for the housekeeper, so I could tell her that Beckett didn’t suffer at all. Would you happen to know her name?”
He mumbled something else, but I couldn’t hear him. I nodded. After a few moments, he nodded to us and walked in the direction of Beckett’s house.
“Did you find anything in the cupboards?” I asked Linda, as soon as we drove away.
