by Morgana Best
She laughed long and hard. “After you did your fake tripping over and spilling of tea act, I realised you want me to look in the cupboards.”
“I was that obvious?” I asked, dismayed.
She stopped laughing. “Only to me. I don’t think Weston would have been suspicious. Anyway, what did you want to look for?”
“Witches’ Brew.”
“Oh.” She shook her head. “No, there was nothing that looked like Witches’ Brew. There were no wine bottles. There were no bottles at all.”
My spirits fell. My whole charade had been for nothing.
“Why were you looking for Witches’ Brew?” she asked me.
I swerved to avoid a rabbit. “I wanted to know if he was a vampire, of course.”
“Why didn’t you ask your aunts?”
I shot her a look. Surely it couldn’t be that simple? “Okay, could you call them? My phone is in my handbag.”
“Doesn’t this car have Bluetooth?” Linda asked me.
I pulled a face. “Yes it does, but my aunts aren’t Bluetooth savvy. The demographic for such modern technology is under hundred years old.”
Linda called Aunt Agnes, and then held the phone to my ear. Aunt Agnes answered at once. “Valkyrie, is everything all right? Are you safe?”
I bit my lip. That was exactly what Lucas had asked me. Was I being paranoid, or was there something both my aunts and Lucas knew that I didn’t know? “We’re fine,” I said. “His nephew, Weston Maxwell, was there. Have you ever heard of him?”
“No, I haven’t. Did you speak with him?”
“Yes. He was very polite and offered us a cup of tea. He told us that his uncle was having an affair with Francine Finnegan and that he she inherits everything. Have you ever heard of her?”
“Yes, she’s very well known around town. She bullies her husband, Frank. Francine is a highly pretentious socialite. Why that man is still with her, is anybody’s guess.”
“That’s interesting,” I said. “Anyway, the main thing I wanted to know, is, I mean was, Beckett Maxwell a vampire?”
“Of course,” Aunt Agnes said. “Isn’t that obvious?”
I felt like a fool. “Well, it wasn’t really obvious to me.”
“He knew your parents, so of course he was a vampire.”
“Did his nephew know he was a vampire? Or is his nephew one, too?”
“I’ve never even heard of his nephew,” Aunt Agnes said. “Anyway, I really didn’t know this Maxwell guy at all. Now, Francine Finnegan is another matter entirely.”
I rounded the corner, and all but ran off the road as a ute came around on the wrong side of the road. “Idiots!” I snapped.
Linda shrieked and dropped the phone, throwing her arms out in front of her.
“Hello, Valkyrie, are you there? Who’s an idiot?” Aunt Agnes said, after Linda retrieved the phone from the floor and put it against my ear.
“Some idiots in a ute were driving on the wrong side of the road,” I told her. “Luckily, I was able to drive off onto the grass on the side of the road and there wasn’t a ditch there. Anyway, can you come to the funeral tomorrow? Weston invited us all.”
“Good idea,” Agnes said. “Any luck finding his housekeeper?”
“No. I’ll tell you about it when I get home.”
“I have a bad feeling,” Agnes said. “Something wicked’s brewing; you mark my words.”
Chapter 8
I hadn’t been to this church before. Nothing like a traditional church, this building was expansive and light, and architecturally, nothing like a church building at all. The ceiling was one big skylight. I imagined it looked amazing in the night-time.
“I’ve never attended a funeral in this church,” Aunt Dorothy said in a stage whisper.
“Shush,” Aunt Agnes said, waving a finger in her face. “You’re speaking too loudly. I think you need hearing aids as well as glasses.”
Aunt Dorothy snorted. “Don’t be so rude, Agnes. And what does it matter if I say I’ve never attended a funeral in this church? It doesn’t seem to be a normal church. What sort of church is it? I don’t like funerals, by the way. They’re all doom and gloom.”
Aunt Agnes rolled her eyes. “Now everyone, we need to find out the identity of Beckett’s housekeeper.”
“If he even did have a housekeeper,” I reminded her. “Weston said he might’ve been pretending to have a housekeeper to cover for the fact he was having an affair with Francine Finnegan.”
“And speak of the devil,” Agnes said, elbowing me in the ribs, “there’s the woman in question now.” She indicated a large, portly woman who looked as if she were dressed for a ball rather than a funeral. Her dramatic dress of long black lace even had a slight train, and sported a wide belt fastened by two silver and audaciously large clasps.
“Is that a beehive on her head, the poor woman?” Dorothy said, leaning forward and holding the seat in front of her. “Maybe someone should call pest control.”
“It’s a fascinator,” I told her.
“Yes dear, it might be fascinating for now, but it won’t be so fascinating if those bees get loose and start stinging people,” Dorothy remarked.
Aunt Agnes leant forward and put her head in her hands. She recovered after a few moments. “A fascinator is a small object like a hat that people wear on their heads, usually to go to the races,” she explained.
“Well, she’s come to the wrong place,” Dorothy said. “Does she think she’s at the Melbourne Cup or something?”
I stifled a giggle, but Linda didn’t fare so well. She was shaking and clutching her sides. “Your aunts are too much,” she said, when she could finally speak.
“You’re telling me. I just can’t see that woman with Beckett.”
Linda shrugged one shoulder. “They say opposites attract.”
Right on cue, the woman bellowed out, “Frank!”
Everyone in the church stopped speaking and all heads swivelled to the door. The unfortunate man, who I assume was Frank, walked in. He looked younger than Francine, and was tall and dark. Even from where I was sitting, I could see he had a henpecked air about him. “Yes, dear,” he said as he trotted over to Francine like an obedient puppy. “Hold my handbag,” she bellowed, as she thrust a large black handbag into his chest. He took it and smiled at her.
“She must be a very wealthy woman, or surely he’d leave her,” Dorothy said in a stage whisper.
“I hope this funeral isn’t going to be a trial,” I said to Linda, rolling my eyes.
She grinned. “At least it might be entertaining.”
Weston was up the front, speaking to the minister. As he turned around, he caught my eye and waved. “Is that the nephew?” Aunt Agnes asked me.
I answered in the affirmative.
“He’s probably the killer,” she said.
“He doesn’t have a motive,” I countered. “He doesn’t inherit anything. Francine Finnegan is the one who inherits everything, and her husband has a motive, because Francine and Beckett were having an affair.”
“If the nephew is to be believed,” Aunt Agnes pointed out. “And you’re forgetting something, Valkyrie. We don’t think Beckett was murdered for mundane reasons. Have you forgotten?”
I had to admit that I had. “It’s still a possibility, though,” I added.
Aunt Agnes looked less than impressed. The minister walked up to the pulpit, clearly a signal that the funeral was about to begin. Everyone stopped talking, but then a collective gasp went up from the crowd as people with tambourines danced into the room. They danced up and down the aisles, banging their tambourines, as a band took its place on the stage and belted out a loud rendition of, If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands.
It took me a while to shut my mouth. It wasn’t what I had expected from a funeral. When the tambourine players finally sat down and the band stopped playing, the minister spoke. “Welcome one and all,” he said in an animated voice. “This is a happy occasion, because
our dear brother, Beckett, has gone to be with the Lord.” With that, there was a drum roll and a woman ran up and down in front of the stage waving multicoloured flags.
“This is not an occasion for sadness,” the minister said. “Let us all join in a hymn of Oh Happy Day.”
“I think we’ve stumbled across a film set of another Sister Act movie,” Aunt Dorothy said. “Do you think Whoopi Goldberg will come? I’ve always wanted to get her autograph.”
“I think you’ve lost your marbles as well as your hearing and your eyesight,” Aunt Agnes snapped. “Hush, Dorothy. You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”
Linda leant forward again. I assumed she was laughing. The minister nodded to the band, and at once the tambourine dancers came back, accompanied by the flag-waving lady. Some of the congregation danced in the aisles as well. “Best funeral I’ve ever been to,” Linda said between chuckles.
I was sitting between Linda and Agnes. Agnes leant across me to Linda. “Be that as it may, we are here to gather information. Assuming Beckett did have a housekeeper, then we need to find out who she was, and we need to find out more about this Frank person.”
“I thought you said he wasn’t murdered for mundane reasons,” I said.
“Yes, but we need to find out as much as we can. Knowledge is power.”
Weston gave a rather touching, yet short, eulogy, and for a while I thought he would be the only one to speak, but then another man stood up. He was stooped and wiry, and, I guessed, about Beckett’s age. “Beckett Maxwell and I had been neighbours for a long time and we didn’t always see eye to eye,” he said. “I only wish we had resolved our differences before his passing. It will always haunt me that we didn’t. Beckett was a private man, but a good one. The world will be poorer for his passing.”
“Nice speech but cliché,” Dorothy remarked.
“This isn’t a speech competition,” Agnes hissed.
I elbowed Aunt Agnes in the ribs. “There’s that creepy neighbour we told you about.” I nodded in the direction of Alec Aldon. He was wearing the same clothes as he had been wearing in his garden, white trousers with cream leather shoes, but this time he had added a dark blue, double-breasted suit coat with gold buttons.
“I see what you mean,” she whispered. “There’s something a little strange about him.”
After some more tambourine banging and dancing interspersed with scripture reading, the funeral was over. “Now girls, be on your toes,” Aunt Agnes commanded us. “Gather as much information as you can. And although it might seem mundane and nothing to do with Valkyrie’s parents, don’t discount anything.”
Everyone had been invited to another building, which turned out to be almost as large as the church building itself. Every manner of food covered the table, meringues, lamingtons, pavlovas, and an assortment of cakes. I tore my eyes from the food and looked around the room. It was then I realised that the police were conspicuous by their absence. Clearly, they were still convinced that Beckett’s death was by natural causes.
Weston walked over to me. “Thank you for coming.”
“It was a lovely service,” I said. “Your eulogy was quite touching.”
Once more, that strange look passed over his face. “I’m glad you thought so. This is a difficult time.”
“The man who spoke after you—I take it he was a friend of Beckett’s?”
I hoped Weston would open up and tell me something about the man, and I was in luck. “Yes, that was his neighbour, Geoff Currey. He and my uncle had a love-hate relationship for years. The road that continues past Beckett’s house goes past Geoff’s house, but it was quite an old farm cottage and Geoff was building a new house on the other side of his farm. He wanted access through Beckett’s land and the two of them argued about it for months.”
I was confused. “I thought you said the road ran straight past, though?”
Weston shook his head. “The road runs past Geoff’s old house, but he built a new house up on the hill directly behind Beckett’s house. He wanted to build a road through Beckett’s land.”
I nodded. “I could see why Beckett wouldn’t want that.”
Weston frowned. “Beckett actually didn’t mind that, but he only agreed for the road to run through his place to Geoff’s new house. There is a road that runs parallel to the public road, and Geoff wanted the new road through Beckett’s house to join it. Beckett put his foot down about that. He didn’t mind people driving through his land to Geoff’s house, but he didn’t want it to become a major thoroughfare. Geoff wanted access from his house onto both roads.”
“I can see the problem,” I said. Still, I couldn’t see it would be a reason to murder someone, but I supposed neighbour disputes were sometimes a motive for murder.
Geoff excused himself and walked away to speak to the minister while I found myself next to Francine Finnegan. She was stuffing a piece of lamington in her mouth, and little bits of shredded coconut had settled on her chin. She caught me looking at her and turned.
“You have something to say to me?” she snapped.
“Oh yes, I thought I recognised you. You’re something of a celebrity, aren’t you?” I said, hoping to flatter her. “Aren’t you the director of that very important charity that cares for the bandicoots?”
Francine appeared at once mollified. “That’s me.” She beamed at me widely.
“Such a worthwhile cause,” I said, scrabbling for words.
“Yes, it is.” She stuffed the rest of the lamington in her mouth and finished it off with one gulp. Her hapless husband arrived by her side. She rounded on him. “What’s that?” she shrieked, pointing to what was in his hand.
He appeared completely unconcerned by her attitude. “You asked for coffee,” he said calmly.
“That’s not coffee!” she said angrily. “Instant does not count as coffee. When I said to fetch me a coffee, I meant from a café. Now you’ve wasted all this time. Head straight to the nearest café and get me a decent coffee.”
“Yes, dear.” Frank smiled, put the polystyrene cup of unwanted coffee on the table, and hurried from the room.
I looked across the other side of the table and caught Linda’s eye. Was Frank for real? If I were him, I would be biding my time until I did away with her, or at the very least divorced her. She was utterly unbearable. Or maybe he liked it? Who would know? It had to be working for him, given that they were still married.
Aunt Agnes beckoned to me, so I hurried over to her. “Our cleaner isn’t here,” she pronounced.
“Did you expect her to come to Beckett’s funeral?” I asked her.
“I’m not sure. If she killed him, then perhaps she would come to his funeral, or maybe she wouldn’t.” Agnes appeared to be talking more to herself than to me. “Did you find out anything useful, Valkyrie?”
I nodded. “I found out information out about his neighbour, but I’ll tell you later. Have you found out anything?”
“Yes, I was speaking to Joyce Batson. Do remember her, Valkyrie? She owns one of the local antique stores.”
“Yes, I went with you to her shop once.”
“Beckett was a client of hers. He bought antique pieces from time to time, not furniture as such, more bric-a-brac. He liked Victorian glassware, namely Mary Gregory glass, and old books, although she said she wasn’t a book dealer. He particularly liked blue Mary Gregory glass…”
I managed to interrupt her. “I mean did you find out anything that might be relevant to his murder?”
Aunt Agnes looked dismayed not being able to continue talking about antiques. “Yes, I asked her if she thought Francine had murdered him and made it look like natural causes, given that she inherits everything for her bandicoot charity.” Aunt Agnes paused for effect.
I prompted her. “Go on.”
“She said Francine’s bandicoot charity is fraudulent. Her charity is for the Southern Brown Bandicoots which mainly only exist on the North Shore of Sydney and certainly not out here at Lighthouse Bay. Jo
yce did say she was sure Francine and Beckett had something going on. She doesn’t like his nephew, Weston, because she says he is sneaky.”
“What is sneaky about him?” I asked, intrigued.
Agnes made a face. “No idea, she didn’t elaborate. She did say she felt sorry for him not inheriting and it all going to Francine. She also said Francine has treated her husband, Frank, badly for years, but it must be working for him because he’s made no attempt to leave her.”
That was exactly what I had been thinking, but I had no chance to reply as the phone given to me by Lucas vibrated in my pocket. I excused myself and headed straight for the bathroom, because I couldn’t let my aunts know that I had a special phone from Lucas.
“I’m fine,” I said by way of greeting. “No need to worry.”
“That’s good,” Lucas said. “I miss you, Pepper. Is everything okay there?”
“Yes, we’re at Beckett’s funeral,” I told him in a whisper. “I’m hiding in the bathroom, speaking to you.”
“That’s good,” he said. “Be careful, Pepper. Beckett was murdered, and you could be next on the list. I need to tell you that…” His phone crackled and the line went dead.
Chapter 9
The aunts and I were sitting around the kitchen table. Aunt Maude was still arranging candles in a pentagram. It was something that should have taken fifty seconds, but had taken her considerably longer than that. “I’m just not sure of my choice of colour,” she lamented.
“It might help if you told us what you were doing,” Agnes said, and for once Aunt Dorothy agreed with her.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Aunt Maude said, wrinkling up her nose.
“If it was obvious, we wouldn’t be asking,” Agnes said in a weary tone.
Maude moved one of the candles a little to the left. “I’m doing a protection spell, of course. That’s why I’ve chosen purple candles, although I’m not too sure about the colour. They’re not a very nice shade of purple. I said it was obvious not only because I’m using purple candles, but also because I’m burning dragon’s blood, frankincense, and myrrh incense in the middle of the pentagram. That combination is known as Fiery Wall of Protection, as you all well know.” Maude held up her hands, palms outwards. “I know we have a lot of protection around Mugwort Manor, but you can never have too much protection, can you?”
