by Morgana Best
Just then, Carl bounced into the shop. “Love the color, Narel!” he said cheerfully “Oh, Lucinda. Hi there, Tom.”
Lucinda looked puzzled. “Tom? Don’t you mean Borage? There’s no Tom here.” She looked around the room as if expecting to see another person suddenly manifest.
Carl’s face turned beet red. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Tom. Sorry again, I mean Borage. Oops. My bad.” He clutched his cheeks.
The three of us all turned to stare at Lucinda. I wondered how she would take the news, but it did seem to take an awfully long time to dawn on her.
“Tom?” She looked Borage up and down once more. “Wait, you’re not Tom Fletcher?” When no one answered her, she continued to stare at Borage. “Tom Fletcher?” she said again. Her cheeks puffed out like a giant cane toad’s. “You, you! The three of you are playing a joke on me! You’re all mean!” With that, she hurried out of the store.
Carl turned to Borage. “I’m so sorry to let the cat out of the bag.”
Borage smiled. “No matter. At least it made her leave.”
Carl and I laughed.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you both before,” Borage said. While he addressed both of us, he was looking directly at me. “How did you find out? Or did you just finally recognize me?”
“Wayne Sidebottom told us yesterday,” Carl said. “We had lunch with him at his winery.”
“I hope you’re not upset that I deceived you,” Borage said.
“No,” I said, “but if you don’t mind me asking, why did you keep your identity from us?”
Borage looked uncomfortable. “I guess I was embarrassed. I just wanted to have some anonymity. I didn’t mind the townspeople knowing who I was eventually, but since I’ve just moved back to town, I just wanted some quiet time before they all realized I was the little Tom Fletcher who’d been bullied so badly at school. Borage is my middle name.”
“That’s perfectly understandable,” Carl said generously. “Do the police know you’re really Tom Fletcher?”
I, too, wanted to hear the answer to that.
“Yes, of course,” Borage said. “They’ve already questioned me several times, especially as I don’t have an alibi for Mandy Makim’s murder.”
“You don’t?” I said with alarm. Carl and I exchanged glances. Yet surely if Borage wanted to murder Mandy, he would have gone to the reunion. That would’ve been the logical thing to do. If he had gone there to murder Mandy, then the logical thing to do would have been to attend the reunion. Otherwise, if he had been seen, the finger would have been pointed firmly at him. No, it seemed logical to me that Borage could not be the murderer. Of course, I’m sure I wasn’t thinking that only because butterflies danced around my stomach every time I saw him.
“Well, that was awkward,” Carl said when Borage had left the shop.
“He didn’t seem to mind us knowing that he was Tom Fletcher,” I said.
“I suppose. Anyway, what did Lucinda want?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea. I think she just wanted to be mean, as usual. I don’t know what Borage wanted, either. Anyway, Lucinda brought up something very disturbing about Borage.”
“Out with it! Don’t keep me in suspense.”
I took a deep breath. I knew that Carl was already suspicious of Borage. “Lucinda said she saw Borage out with Hamilton Howes the other night, and then I remembered that Borage took a call only hours before Hamilton was murdered. He said he’d meet Hamilton at seven.”
Carl was silent for a while. “That doesn’t necessarily implicate Borage,” he said. “If Lucinda saw Borage with Hamilton, then it must’ve been in a public place. The detectives would already know about it.”
That made sense to me. I nodded.
“Anyway, hurry up and clean up. Get that paint off your face. I’ve set up a meeting with another suspect.”
I groaned. While I could do with a break, I wasn’t really in the mood to grill a suspect. “What exactly do you mean, Carl?”
“I’ve set up lunch with Frederick Flowers. I’ve invited him to the Steakhouse.”
“What, the Steakhouse? The one in the old warehouse?”
“Yes,” Carl said smugly.
“That’s awfully posh and expensive.”
“My treat,” Carl said. “Frederick has gone to the top of my suspects list. I’ve rearranged all the whiteboards.”
Chapter 16
I was sitting at the Steakhouse next to Carl, waiting for Carl’s new Number One Suspect, Frederick Flowers, to arrive. Carl had already ordered a nice wine.
“So what do we do if we think that Frederick’s the murderer?” I asked Carl.
“We go to the police with the evidence, of course.”
I shrugged. “Okay.” I didn’t really think we would discover any evidence, but it was fun to go out.
The whole atmosphere of the restaurant screamed opulence. The crisp white tablecloths contrasted sharply with the plush, buttoned, crimson velvet chairs. The lighting was dimmed just enough to give the suggestion of intimacy while allowing people to be able to see their food. The decorators had not hidden the fact that this was an old warehouse, but had managed to give the feeling of luxury by placing numerous candles in glass jars along the walls. The lighting was unusual, and reflected in the many mirrors lining the walls.
“Hello,” came a booming voice from behind us.
I swung around to see Frederick Flowers. He was dressed in a very tight suit, and I wondered if his suit would split if he ate spinach. He reminded me of Popeye.
“Thanks for inviting me, Carl.” He slapped Carl so hard on the back that Carl fell forward and his face missed the table by inches.
“Well, it’s good to be able to catch up with you before you go back to Sydney,” Carl said when he had recovered. “This is the first reunion our class has ever had.”
Frederick nodded and took his seat. He picked up a menu, and made strange sounds of appreciation as he looked through it. At that point, a waiter appeared to take our orders. “I’ll have the oyster platter and the rare porterhouse steak, and the garlic prawns as well. Oh yes, I’ll also have the pork ribs and the chunky crispy fries.”
I hoped that Carl had brought his Gold American Express. This was going to be an expensive meal. Carl ordered a grilled chicken salad.
“Are these mains for both of you?” the waiter asked. “No entrées?”
Carl shook his head. “Mains,” he said.
The waiter turned to me. “I’m having a dessert as a main and then a dessert as the dessert,” I said.
The waiter looked highly confused, but did not comment. “Yes, madam,” he said. He seemed a little annoyed.
“I’ll have the warm flourless chocolate cake with hot Mars bar sauce and chocolate ice cream as the main,” I said.
The waiter raised his eyebrows and then left.
Frederick laughed. “You haven’t changed at all, Narel,” he said. “Your appearance has changed, that’s for sure.” He laughed so loudly that the other patrons in the restaurant turned to look at him. He slapped the table hard and a collective gasp went up from the room.
Carl once turned the subject to the murders. “That was quite a dramatic class reunion.”
Frederick stopped laughing. His face turned bright red. “Those Populars! What that horrible Mandy Makim did to me at school, and to you guys as well! It’s a wonder no one has murdered her before now.” He cracked his knuckles as he spoke.
I was a little afraid of him. “No one would victimize you now, Frederick,” Carl said. “You’ve certainly bulked up since school days.”
“It’s all the steroids,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Aren’t steroids illegal?” I asked him.
“Yes,” he said. He drank his wine in one gulp. “So are peptides, but only if you’re playing football.”
I nodded. I was too afraid to ask him if he played football. We made some small talk for a while, and then a waiter appeared with steaming plates of foo
d. We all straightened up and arranged our cutlery, but the waiter walked straight past us.
“They’re taking a while,” Frederick said in a booming voice.
“It’s quite crowded tonight,” Carl pointed out.
Frederick emitted a guttural grunt by way of response. He commenced drumming his feet on the floor, and the table shook. Thankfully, our food arrived, but my relief was short-lived. “Where are the garlic prawns?” Frederick snapped loudly.
The waiter took a step backward. “This is your entrée.”
Frederick stood up abruptly, bumping the table in the process. “I told that waiter I wanted it all as a main. Do you understand? Main!”
The waiter nodded and hurried away to fetch the rest of the meal.
“I wonder who the murderer is?” Carl said, in an obvious attempt to distract Frederick.
“I don’t know, but if I find out, I’ll shake their hand,” Frederick said.
I was shocked. “Surely you don’t mean that.”
Frederick stretched out his beefy arms and cracked his knuckles again. “I sure do, Narel. I’ve often thought about ways I’d like to kill them all. Long nights I’ve lain awake in my bed thinking just how I’d murder each one of those Populars. You remember what they did to me, don’t you? What about how they took that photo of me sitting on the toilet seat and put it all over MySpace? I wanted to kill them then, but I wasn’t strong back in those days. I am strong now.” His tone was menacing.
I shook a little.
Frederick kept talking. “Of course, I haven’t killed anyone before. Really.” He stopped chewing and looked at us. We both nodded. “I was accused of beating someone up, but I got off the charges.”
“Oh, so you didn’t do it?” I asked him.
“Yes, I did do it. I just had a good lawyer.” He frowned. “That man really annoyed me! He got what was coming to him. That was back in Sydney, anyway. And don’t you remember what that awful Lucinda did to you, Narel? And you too, Carl?”
“She did lots of horrible things to me,” I said.
Frederick nodded. “One of worst things she did to me was the time she invited me to a fancy dress party, only it turned out to be a formal party. I came dressed as Batgirl. It was her suggestion, of course.” He scowled.
“Of course,” I said.
Frederick cracked his knuckles once more and bent his fork with his bare hand. “And she always made fun of my name. She always called me Petal. She’ll be next!”
I looked at Carl, but he was staring at Frederick with his mouth open. “Do you mean Lucinda will be next to be murdered?”
Frederick nodded. “Yes!” he said through a mouthful of steak and fries.
Chapter 17
I was a bit shaken up after our lunch with Frederick Flowers, who to me seemed like the stereotypical homicidal maniac. The therapists had told me that I needed to exercise, and I had been trying. Now it was important than ever, considering I had ended up eating three desserts. But who’s counting?
I hadn’t walked back down to the walking track since I had found Ridgewell Dugan’s body. I even shuddered every time I looked out my living room window. I knew I had to get over that, or it would make living in my house rather unpleasant. Still, I expected I would be uneasy until the murderer had been caught.
There was nothing else for it. After I put out another dish of cat food for Mongrel—who still hadn’t been out of his basket when I was around—I put on my workout clothes and steeled myself to walk along the creek. After all, it was a lovely afternoon. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the gentle breeze lifted the scent from the lemon eucalyptus trees and carried it along to me. It’s broad daylight, I silently encouraged myself. You can do it!
Of course, Hamilton had been murdered in the dark, and the sun was now high in the sky. Plus, plenty of people use the walking track. I could see the turn-around point of the walking track from my house, and I had found Hamilton’s body off to one side near the creek. I headed straight for the walking track, relieved to see people walking their dogs along it, and some kids kicking a ball to each other.
Once I reached the walking track, I experienced a great sense of relief. I wandered aimlessly along it, thankful that I could let my mind run blank to some degree. It was good not to have to think of murderers, suspects, and motives for once.
I was glad that the grass was short, because I wouldn’t want to add snakes to my list of worries. I wandered on, finally relaxing and finding a sense of peace. I nodded politely to passing people, dodged out of the way of overly friendly dogs, and generally enjoyed myself. Finally, I realized I had gone too far. I was out of breath, and my calves were aching. I had to retrace my steps, but I didn’t feel quite up to doing so, not yet. I walked a few paces from the walking track, and sat on the seat under a spreading willow tree.
This too was relaxing, and I watched as the wood ducks played in the creek, expertly weaving their way around the reeds.
“Narel?”
I spun around, startled. It was Borage Fletcher. My first instinct was that I was pleased to see him, and I silently scolded myself. What if he was the murderer? Here I was, alone and with a possible murderer. “What are you doing here?” I asked him.
“I go for a jog every afternoon, work permitting,” he said.
“Oh.” I felt foolish. He was dressed in running clothes and running shoes. What else would he be doing?
“I hope I didn’t disturb you,” he said, as he took a tentative step forward.
“No, not at all,” I said. “I’m only having a rest to get the energy for the walk back.”
He looked puzzled. “Where are you walking to?”
“Just to my house.” I pointed to my right. “It’s just at the end of the walking track.”
Borage still looked puzzled. “It’s not all that far.”
I realized he probably didn’t know about my accident. “I’ve only just been released from the hospital,” I told him. “I had a terrible accident. Someone ran a stop sign and hit me. I was in the hospital for months.”
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” He walked over and sat down next to me. “Were you seriously hurt?”
“Yes,” I said. “I was in intensive care for ages, and I’ve had several major reconstructive surgeries.”
“Oh.”
I wondered if he’d previously thought that I’d had cosmetic surgery for the sake of it—and a stack of stomach staples to boot. After all, I did look completely different.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he added.
I tried to shrug it off. “Well, I’m better now. It’s just that I get tired very easily.”
“That’s understandable,” he said. “Narel, I came by your shop earlier to tell you I was really Tom. I’m so sorry I kept it from you and Carl. It’s just that I didn’t really know how to bring it up.”
I smiled at him. “No, that’s all right, seriously. I don’t mind at all. I really do understand.”
He smiled at me and we sat for a few moments in companionable silence. I took the opportunity to study him once more. He certainly had changed since high school. Back then he had been a gawky adolescent and now he was a super hot man. Still, I didn’t know if he was single. Lucinda had asked him if he was married, and he had answered in the negative, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t have a girlfriend, and a serious one at that. Plus he had said he had a girlfriend, but that was likely just to fend off Carl. And there was certainly no way I was going to come straight out and ask him. I supposed I would find out in time. “I didn’t see you at the reunion,” I said.
Borage shook his head. “I really didn’t want to have anything to do with The Populars,” he said. “I had enough of them in high school. I really can’t handle seeing any of them again.”
“Lucinda is the only Popular left now,” I pointed out.
Borage looked grim. “That’s so true. And, Narel, do you think you should be out and about? I mean, it’s safe now at this time of day, but i
f I were you I wouldn’t walk early morning or late afternoon. Weren’t you the one who found Hamilton Howes?”
I shuddered. “Yes, I was, and you won’t catch me walking at those times. It took all my courage just to go for a walk now.”
“I felt awful having dinner with Hamilton Howes only hours before he was killed,” Borage said. “He’d even asked me to forgive him for what he did at school.” He swiped his finger across his phone. I looked over his shoulder to see a photo of a well-dressed Hamilton and a happy Borage, both having a beer.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Borage said. “I didn’t mean to look at his photo in front of you. It’s just such shock. Sorry about that.”
He was doing a lot of apologizing, and that would normally irritate me, but I found it endearing. Unless he was the murderer, of course. I saw a documentary on murderers when I was in the hospital, and it said that murderers just look like anyone else. They seem like nice normal people. Borage certainly seemed like a nice normal person.
“Who do you think the murderer is, Borage?” I asked him.
He looked startled. “No idea! But since all The Populars but one have been murdered, I can only assume it was one of us.”
“One of us?” I repeated.
“Yes,” he said. “I mean, one of the people they victimized in high school. What else would they have in common?”
I stood up and stretched my back. Borage stood up also. “That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking,” I told him. “There possibly could be another motive, but it seems to me like someone from high school who they bullied is now taking revenge.”
“That’s how it seems to me, too,” Borage said, “but I still don’t think we should be taking any chances. Again, I don’t want to frighten you, but please make sure you keep all your doors and windows locked at all times.”
I nodded.
“Are you walking home now?”
I nodded again. “Yes, I am. I feel rested now.”
“Do you mind if I walk you home?”
“No, of course I don’t mind. That would be great, thanks.” My stomach did cartwheels. I wondered if Borage actually liked me, or whether he was genuinely concerned for my welfare given that there was a murder on the loose. Maybe it was a bit of both. I certainly hoped so, anyway.
