by Morgana Best
"If Cassandra and Douglas stole the urn with the symbols then, why did they need the page?" Talking was an effort, but I needed to know.
"The urn didn't have all the symbols; it was a decoy. Do you know the story of Paul Whitehead burning all his records three days before his death?"
I nodded, but that hurt my head horribly so I said, "Yes."
"Paul Whitehead destroyed all evidence of the symbols, and also put false symbols on his urn as a decoy. He couldn't have known about the cavern which was already in use at that time by the Black Lodge. We can only assume that he found out someone was about to use the symbols, so did his best to destroy anything that could be used, including himself, so no one would be able to torture him to get what they wanted. He was Keeper of the Dashwood Trust just as your Aunt was Keeper."
I still didn't know how Jamie knew all this and what his part in it all was, but as I was wondering whether to ask him, we arrived at the end of a quiet lane and stopped at a set of tall metal gates, not unlike the gates outside Douglas's house. The gates opened. As we drove along the impressive brick-paved drive and parking area in front of the house and garages, several security cameras swung around to track us. What was Jamie, high up in M16? This looked like a house for James Bond.
Jamie's house was every bit as impressive as Douglas's, but whereas Douglas's looked Georgian, Jamie's house appeared to be newly built in a traditional style. It was sleek and expensive. The white brick house was symmetrical, with the four huge windows each side flanked by decorative dark blue shutters. A balcony with balustrade overlooked the front garden.
The Audi pulled up in front of the huge double doors, and before I could protest, Jamie picked me up. I was awfully embarrassed, but I wasn't sure I could walk, and felt slightly nauseous.
Jamie carried me through the generously proportioned reception room with ornate ceiling cornices, up the stairs and to the rear of the house into what I presumed was the master bedroom.
My attention was drawn immediately to the magnificent Louis XV Fleur de Peche cheminee, antique, marble fireplace with black granite slips and hearth. Even the bedroom afforded a great feeling of space. The huge windows allowed natural light to flood in. The wide bay and double doors to a Juliet balcony which no doubt provided views over the garden.
Jamie lowered me onto the bed but I objected. "No, don't put me down here; I'll get blood all over it."
"There is no blood." Jamie gently showed me my wrists. They were grazed from the ropes all right, but no blood. I had felt dirty and bleeding; now I realized I'd had a bath just before Cassandra had drugged me. I was clean after all, so no need to feel so guilty on the pristine bed. Just as well, as Jamie insisted I get in between the covers.
A buzzer sounded and Jamie picked up a device and spoke into it. "The doctor," he informed me.
The doctor was, after all, a nice, elderly lady who put me at my ease rather quickly. She acted as if it were an everyday occurrence to be abducted by a couple of regenerating criminals. Unfortunately, her advice was that there was no instant cure for the drug I'd been given; it would simply wear off. I had to take things easy for a few days and stay well hydrated. At least she gave me two headache tablets.
Now that I was alone, I surveyed the room. Off to the left was a large dressing room and I guessed that an en suite bathroom was on the other side. From my position, I could see a range of closets, drawers and a central island which appeared to have further drawers. The dressing room seemed as big as my bedroom back home.
The bedroom itself was minimalist. There was no sign of a woman's touch. The tones were solely masculine, silver and black against a neutral palette. Apart from the bed, the only furniture was two bedside tables, each with an expensive looking glass and black lamp. I felt groggy and tired, and floated off to dreamland.
"Way down deep, we’re all motivated by the same urges. Cats have the courage to live by them."
(Jim Davis - creator of Garfield )
Chapter 18.
I awoke the next morning to see Jamie looking at me. "What are you doing here?" I said in alarm.
Jamie looked a little embarrassed. "Just checking to see if you're okay. Breakfast is ready." He disappeared out the door.
I had a quick shower and then followed the heavenly and oh-so-welcome scent of good coffee downstairs.
The kitchen screamed expense from the white granite work surfaces to the overwhelming surplus of appliances: two fridge freezers, a wine cooler, combination microwave oven and steam oven, two dishwashers, a faucet which I figured would dispense both boiling water and ice water, and waste compactor, oversized double ovens and plate warmer.
"Omelet?"
"Oh yes please, but I'd kill for a coffee."
"Coming up."
Jamie guided me past the expanse of gleaming white through double doors onto a terrace overlooking the garden. Rather than the flowers, my attention was taken by the high brick walls and security cameras. I tried not to stare, and instead sipped my coffee. Oh it was good, and not a gritty bit in sight. When my caffeine levels had risen to the minimum daily requirement, I spoke.
"Jamie, this house is very big for, um, one person, isn't it?"
"Not really, the style is deceptive. It only has four bedrooms and five bathrooms, and two reception rooms and several office rooms."
"Only four bedrooms, that's huge! Is there just you?" I hadn't wanted to ask straight out; I thought my initial question would have been enough to get the answer.
"No."
I nodded and gulped the coffee.
"I don't own it," he continued. "I just live here most of the time, and so do several of my colleagues from time to time."
"So it's owned by your work?"
Jamie nodded.
"Do you work for M16 - or Torchwood?"
I thought Jamie would laugh, but his expression turned serious. "We have to talk. Would you like another coffee?"
Jamie left to get my refill, and I was alone with my thoughts. I thought his accent had sounded Welsh. Goodness me, the drugs must still be in my system; of course Torchwood, which was set in Wales, was fiction. What was I thinking?
Jamie returned with my welcome second coffee and a bunch of papers in his hand.
"Misty, you need to sign the official secrets act."
I burst out laughing to the extent that I splashed some coffee on my knee. "Pull the other one!"
He frowned. "Sorry?"
"Oh that's an Aussie expression meaning - good joke."
Jamie's frown deepened. "Misty, this is serious. I do work for, well, let's just say, a government organization, and Cassandra and Douglas have been people of interest to us for some time. You're a journalist, and you have knowledge of Cassandra and Douglas, the alchemical symbols, and the Black Lodge. Read these documents carefully, and then sign them. You cannot mention anything pertaining to these subjects ever again." He handed me the papers and a pen.
"Well, people would think I was crazy if I did. Do you work for something like the Ministry of Magic, making sure we Muggles don't find out what's really going on?"
Jamie looked confused. "I don't know what you mean."
I was my turn to shake my head. No wonder I hadn't seen any bookshelves or DVDs in his bedroom.
I shrugged. "Just a literary reference. Just one more thing, Jamie, you're not immortal and you don't sparkle in the sunlight, do you?"
I thought Jamie was about to call the doctor back by the look on his face. "No?"
"Okay, just checking." I sipped my coffee and read the documents which were full of legalese. They took about fourteen pages to tell me that I couldn't breathe a word of it to anyone or I would suffer dire consequences. It would have been much simpler and saved a tree or two had they simply written, "I, the undersigned, will not breathe a word of this to anyone or you will throw me in prison."
Jamie watched me sign the papers. "Misty, there's more you need to know. The Black Lodge killed Beth."
I nodded. "I know. It
was Cassandra herself. Diva the cat was in Cassandra's house yesterday and I had to force window to get her back. I found a bottle of sodium selenite in there. Cassandra told me that Aunt Beth killed herself to protect the page, and that the Keepers of the Society that Beth was in will kill themselves to protect things like the page, just like Paul Whitehead did."
Jamie stared at me intently. "And did you believe that?"
"No. I’d already figured it out. Cassandra believed that Aunt Beth was about to destroy the page, so she murdered her before she could. I can’t figure out why she'd lie to me, though, when she was obviously intending to kill me anyway." I shuddered.
Jamie nodded. "You were right to think that Cassandra killed your aunt. Did Cassandra tell you that before you gave her the page?"
I considered that. "Yes, I see what you mean; she was lying."
"Clearly. And I can't speak for Paul Whitehead, but Keepers don't usually kill themselves."
I chewed the edge of one fingernail. "I don’t know how Dr. Spence figures in all this though."
Jamie replied without hesitation. "He was in the same Society as your aunt. He was simply covering things up."
I was about to ask Jamie how he knew this, when he dropped another bombshell.
"Misty, you're the new Keeper."
I was stunned and started to object, but Jamie held up his hand. "I don't know anything much about the Society, just that it's a hereditary position, and that you are the new Keeper. No doubt you'll be hearing from them soon."
"Are they bad or good?"
Jamie swirled his coffee around in the mug before answering. "I suppose that depends whose side you're on, if you want to get philosophical about it. All governments for example do things that the people would be shocked to find out, all for 'the greater good.' But don't worry, Misty; you're now the Keeper of a society which is generally considered good, just as the Black Lodge is definitely evil. But don't feel bad about giving Cassandra the page."
"I don't feel bad."
Jamie looked surprised, but I continued. "I'm a researcher, you know. I made a copy of that page and hid it, knowing that they would keep looking for it. I left out three of the symbols. I researched the way to make the paper look old, like the original. I won't bore you with the details, but it involved coffee, lemon juice, and a hair dryer. There is no way Cassandra will get her youth back, if it's even possible."
We both laughed, but then Jamie sobered up. "You're booked to fly back to Australia tomorrow. Obviously you can't stay here any longer and it may not be safe. Cassandra, Douglas, and the Black Lodge may not yet know that they don't have what they want, but we can't take any chances."
The enormity of it hit me. Of course I couldn't hang around the U.K. and that meant I'd have to leave Jamie. But what about the cat? "Jamie, I've inherited Aunt Beth's cat, Diva. I’ll have to somehow get her back to Australia. I’ll need time to arrange that - I'll have to look into quarantine, and I imagine there will need to be vet checks first, and I’ll have to pay for her flight." I drew breath, suddenly worried about Diva.
"Don’t worry about that, we'll organize it."
"You'll arrange it all? I'll send the money over for her flight." I wondered where on earth I’d get the rest of the money as I was sure that Aunt Beth's thousand pounds wouldn't cover it all; perhaps I would have to get yet another credit card.
Jamie shook his head. "Don’t worry about that; it will all be arranged. We'll have the cat delivered to your address as soon as possible."
I wanted to insist, but it was better that way. If the undisclosed government agency would pay for Diva's flight and quarantine, all well and good. I thought it would be better to stay silent.
I looked up to see Jamie regarding me. "And I'll send someone over to your aunt's house to fetch Diva now. She can stay with me until she leaves for Australia."
"Thank you; that would be great!" I said with huge relief. I smiled at him in what I am sure would have appeared to an observer to be quite a sickening way, only there were no observers as the security had seen to that.
I'm only a cat,
and I stay in my place...
Up there on your chair,
on your bed or your face!
I'm only a cat,
and I don't finick much...
I'm happy with cream
and anchovies and such!
I'm only a cat,
and we'll get along fine...
As long as you know
I'm not yours... you're all mine!
(Author Unknown)
Chapter 19.
I awoke the next morning exhausted after alternating between tossing and turning and being scratched by Diva, so I dressed hurriedly and quickly put on my make up. Diva as well as my things had arrived the afternoon before from Aunt Beth's house.
Jamie was downstairs in the kitchen. His hair was sticking out in all directions and he was unshaven, dressed only in a bath robe. He had circles under his eyes. I wondered if Diva had slipped into his bedroom at some point in the night.
"Misty, we're running late," he said in an urgent tone. "Here's your coffee." He put my coffee down and frowned. "Misty, I'm afraid I can't drive you to Heathrow. Our agents will be driving you. It may not be safe for the two of us to appear together so soon in such a public place; it'll only draw attention to you. I'm quite sure you should be safe at this stage, but we have to err on the side of caution."
I simply nodded.
"Are you ready to go?"
"Yes." By way of goodbye, I managed to stroke Diva's fur before she swiped at me.
The three guys who drove me to the airport didn't say a word, stiff upper lip and all that. I stared out the window trying not to cry. My whole time in England had been an emotional rollercoaster.
Thankfully the journey was not long. As we approached Terminal 3 at Heathrow, I was informed that I was to proceed straight to security and not to acknowledge the presence of the men, who, they also informed me, would be nearby keeping an eye on my safety.
I picked up my luggage and walked without incident through security and then looked for coffee. I still didn't feel one hundred percent, and the lack of sleep last night had left my head full of cotton wool. I usually would go straight to Starbucks but this time walked into AMT Coffee, attracted by the signs boasting both Fairtrade and organic. I handed over around three pounds for a large vanilla soy latte, and was surprised that I didn't have to pay extra for the soy. The chocolate croissant looked good, but I knew that the food on Qantas flights was abundant and I'd soon have plenty to eat on the plane.
After a second tall vanilla soy latte, it was time to go to the bathroom. The men from Jamie's unexplained government organization were still there, although inconspicuous, even to me. I wondered how they would feel about me going to the bathroom.
I was drying my hands when a tall, elegant woman approached me. She was holding a large envelope and I figured at first that she must have been one of those people who approaches gullible looking tourists and asks them to carry a package on a flight. She handed me the package, said, "Open it in private," and gently pushed me back into the stall, all in one fluid motion. My time in England had been weird, and it looked like the weirdness was going to follow me right up to my departure.
I shut the door behind me and tore open the envelope. Inside was my silver chain, minus the keys and the seal. There was also a note, made from a piece of paper folded over. I opened it and read it.
I thought you'd like your chain back. We owe you a favor. Cassandra believed that the chamber had been destroyed. We lied to her as she was causing us too much trouble and we didn't want her to rejuvenate. Your fake page will fix that.
Oh, and no hard feelings, I hope.
Douglas. xxx
P.S. Flush the envelope and this note.
I laughed despite myself. The nerve of that man! At least I could see the funny side of it. I put the chain around my neck and under my shirt, and flushed the envelope and the note in
the toilet.
I walked back out and looked at myself in the mirror. In a couple of weeks, I had acquired a cat of questionable temperament but lovable nonetheless, had solved a murder, had become the Keeper of a society about which I knew absolutely nothing, and had been thrust into a world of alchemy and secret societies.
I wondered what the next few weeks had in store for me.
* * * * The End * * * *
Review request.
If you enjoyed this book, I'd be very grateful if you would leave a positive review. Your support really does make a difference.
* * *
Book TWO in the Misty Sales Cozy Animal Mystery series.
A Reason For Murder
What do Voodoo spirit bottles have to do with the ghosts in an Australian touristy village? Plenty, as Misty Sales discovers to her detriment. Morpeth, once an early river port of Australia but now famous for its ghosts, plays host to Misty's latest mystery. Misty Sales, journalist for a paranormal magazine, is back from London, having been made Keeper of a Society about which she knows nothing. Her caffeine habit is out of control, as is her job security, and her cat, Diva, is more unpredictable than ever. Even Misty's life is left in the balance, as her Editor sends her to write about the ghosts of Morpeth. In danger, in shapewear, and in debt, Misty matches wits against an unseen enemy. He attacks Misty with natural and unnatural means, while Misty hits back hard with facts.
