by Morgana Best
I shot a look at Jezza-Belle. “Will you be all right staying by yourself? Promise me you won’t leave the house.”
Basil shot me a worried look. “You really can’t leave Jezza-Belle here alone. You’ll have to take her with you.”
Jezza-Belle’s face brightened considerably. “Please take me with you,” she pleaded. “I promise to act like your mother in front of your friend. I’ll do my best.”
I bit my lip and thought it over. “Okay, I suppose it’s safer to take you with me, but you have to promise to be on your best behaviour.” Jezza-Belle nodded vigorously. “Anyway, Tara already knows that you possessed my mother,” I added.
Jezza-Belle’s eyebrows shot up, but she didn’t respond.
I drove to the small dark café in the middle of town. Tara liked Alexikas, but I didn’t. Their coffee was way too strong for me, and while their after-six menu, such as pizza, was great, their daytime menu left a lot to be desired, unless you liked toasted tomato and cheese sandwiches—which I didn’t.
“I know you think the coffee is too strong here,” Tara said by way of greeting. She was sitting in a booth to the far left of the café, with a view through the huge window over the highway. A cattle truck roared past and drowned out my reply.
“I’m a half shot type of coffee person,” I said after a pause, “and I don’t like bitter coffee.”
“What does it matter, anyway?” Tara said. “Don’t you drink decaf now?”
I nodded. “After my two coffees to wake up, I try to drink decaf for the rest of the day. Anyway, decaf still has to taste nice, and it doesn’t taste nice if it’s too strong.” I took a seat opposite her and gestured for Jezza-Belle to sit down.
Tara leant across the table and stared at Jezza-Belle. I could see she was doing her best not to laugh. “Nice to meet you, Jezza-Belle. I’ve never met anyone who was possessed before.” She shot me a worried look, and then asked, “Will your mother remember any of this when Jezza-Belle leaves her?”
I smacked myself on my forehead. “Hell’s bells! I hadn’t thought of that. I’d better watch what I say from now on.”
Tara laughed. “Don’t get into the habit of saying ‘Hell’s bells,’ because you know how Thelma will react to that.”
Jezza-Belle spoke for the first time since arriving at the café. “Your mother seems like a load of fun, Laurel.”
Tara laughed. “Trust me, she is.”
“If it’s any consolation, I don’t know if she will remember everything, although I can feel her disapproval most of the time.” She thought for a minute, and then amended that to, “All the time, to tell you the truth.”
“When Mum previously came out, did she put up some sort of fight against you?” I asked her.
Jezza-Belle looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, when you see someone possessed on TV, the person that has been possessed will sometimes try to come out.”
Jezza-Belle shook her head. “No, I haven’t felt anything like that.”
The waiter came over to take our orders. I noticed that Jezza-Belle was eyeing him greedily, so I kicked her under the table. She let out a string of swear words that made me blush. “Language!” I said.
Jezza-Belle looked embarrassed. “Sorry.”
I quickly ordered air dried potato chips, and a half shot caramel decaf latte on almond milk. Jezza-Belle ordered a double shot espresso and three toasted cheese and tomato sandwiches, and Tara ordered a mochaccino and one cheese and tomato toastie.
After the waiter beat a hasty retreat, Jezza-Belle apologised again. “Sorry, but he’s super cute.”
I eyed the retreating waiter appraisingly. “He is, but you have to act like Mum. Mum doesn’t check out hot young guys, not as far as I know, anyway.” I laughed at the thought. “Now, Tara, what did you find out from Duncan?”
Tara leant back in her seat, and then looked around the room to see if anyone was listening. No one was sitting close to us, so she pressed on. “Lotti Lovelace said Harper Harris told her that he would go back to her if it wasn’t for Jezza-Belle. He said Jezza-Belle was all that was standing in the way of him going back to Lotti.”
I interrupted her. “That doesn’t make any sense. He left Lotti for Jezza-Belle.”
Jezza-Belle agreed loudly, so I shot her a withering look.
“Okay, I worded that badly,” Tara said. “What I meant was, that Lotti fully expected Harper to resume their relationship, now that Jezza-Belle is dead.” She shot a look at Jezza-Belle. “Sorry about that.”
Jezza-Belle shrugged.
“Okay, I’m still not explaining well. Apparently, before Jezza-Belle died, Lotti spoke to Harper and he said he wanted to go back to her, only he was afraid of Jezza-Belle.”
“What a load of nonsense,” Jezza-Belle said angrily, drawing a look from the patrons on the other side of the room.
I was beginning to think it was a bad idea bringing her, and I told her so. “Jezza-Belle, please keep your voice down. You’re probably going to hear things that you don’t want to hear, especially given the fact that you were murdered.”
Jezza-Belle narrowed her eyes, but didn’t say anything.
Tara leant forward once more. “Obviously, that was just a story Harper told Lotti, to let her down gently, I suppose. After Jezza-Belle died, Lotti went to see Harper again, and he said he didn’t want a relationship with her. When she pointed out to him that he’d previously said he was afraid of Jezza-Belle and that Jezza-Belle was all that was standing in his way of resuming a relationship with her, then he told her how he really felt. He must’ve been angry, because he also accused her of murdering Jezza-Belle. That’s when she punched him.”
“Wow.” I would have said more, but our drinks arrived. I looked at my latté with dismay. It was so strong that I wondered if I would be able to drink it. When the waiter left, I asked Tara, “Did Duncan say whether the police think Harper Harris really believed that Lotti murdered Jezza-Belle, or was he saying it in the heat of the moment?”
Tara sipped her coffee before answering. “That’s not all. Harper told the police that he thinks Lotti murdered Jezza-Belle because she’s an insane stalker.”
“Do you mean Lotti’s an insane stalker?” I asked her. “Lotti or Jezza-Belle?” I turned to Jezza-Belle. “No offence.”
“Lotti, of course,” Tara said. “Well, I don’t know if she is, but that’s what Harper told the police. He said that ever since Jezza-Belle died, she’s been texting him non-stop and calling him and so on. He blocked her number, but then she used a friend’s phone to call him. He had to block her from Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, because she sent him heaps of inboxes as well as public comments. He said she’s relentless.”
Our food had arrived. I was quite partial to air fried potato chips. They weren’t soaking in oil, yet they had delicious, crispy edges and were nicely covered with salt. In short, they were delicious.
It didn’t take Jezza-Belle long to eat her three toasted sandwiches. “Does food taste completely normal to you,” I asked her, “given that you’re a ghost?”
“You know, I hadn’t even thought about that,” Jezza-Belle said. “Everything seems completely normal. I don’t feel any different being dead, not at all. Of course, I felt different when I was in ghost form, but now that I’m in your mother, I feel quite normal.”
I was sorely tempted to say something, but thought I should hold my tongue in case my mother remembered what happened to her when she was possessed. “Well, I suppose we should return to the matter at large. Jezza-Belle, do you think Lotti could be the murderer? Or could Harper simply be covering up for murdering you, so he didn’t have to pay you back that money?”
Jezza-Belle shook her head, and stared into space.
“Keep this to yourselves,” Tara said, “but the police are now closely looking at Lotti or possibly Harper as the murderer.”
“That’s great news!” I exclaimed. “Now the police will be able to solve your murder, Jezza
-Belle.”
Jezza-Belle shook her head. “No, neither of them could be the murderer.”
“Yes, I know you don’t want to believe that,” I said, “but…”
She interrupted me. “No, I’m sure it can’t be Lotti or Harper. I know Lotti is unhinged, and she was probably a bit cross that I stole her boyfriend, but I’m sure she didn’t murder me.”
I raised my eyebrows when Jezza-Belle said, ‘A bit cross.’ “She was more than a bit cross, Jezza-Belle. She’s stalking this Harper guy and she seems to have gone into a jealous rage. Surely someone like that could murder someone. Can’t you at least admit the possibility?”
Jezza-Belle shook her head firmly. “No, I don’t think it’s her, or Harper for that matter.”
I caught Tara’s eye and shook my head slightly. “So who do you think murdered you in that case?” I asked Jezza-Belle.
Jezza-Belle bit her lip. “I think you need to investigate Phil Palmer, and Daisy and Donnie Fairchild. There was more money involved there.”
“Murders aren’t always about money,” I pointed out.
Jezza-Belle burped loudly. “Maybe so, but surely you can see the need to investigate them.”
“I can see the need for the police to investigate them,” I said. “We need to make that anonymous phone call to the police. Right now, the police don’t know about Phil Palmer or Daisy and Donnie Fairchild, not as far as we know, anyway.” I raised my eyebrows at Tara.
She shook her head. “Duncan didn’t mention them at all.”
“Okay then, that settles it. We need to call the police and tell them about the three of them and then we can leave it to the police to investigate.”
Jezza-Belle disagreed. “Laurel, we had a deal. If you want me to leave your mother alone, then you need to solve this murder, and fast.”
I held up my hands in surrender. “I think it’s a waste of time, but sure, I’ll investigate them. How about we start with Phil Palmer? I still want you to make the anonymous phone call to the police, though.”
Jezza-Belle looked put out. “Why me?”
“Because the police won’t recognise Mum’s voice, and more to the point, you’re the one with all the information on them.”
“Thelma!”
I turned around to see the source of the ear-splitting shriek, and to my dismay, saw Ian. He took a seat in the booth next to Tara. “Why don’t you have a seat, Ian.”
My sarcasm was obviously lost on him, because he said, “Thanks.” He looked at Jezza-Belle and then continued, “Thelma, are you coming to the women’s night tonight?”
I quickly spoke up. “The doctors said that Mum can’t do anything like that, not after the knock on her head. It’s too early for her to be having such, um… fun.”
“But we haven’t prepared for it yet,” Ian said in a whining tone.
“Oh yes, I forgot you attend all the women’s meetings,” I said to Ian, to give Jezza-Belle the heads up. I also cleared my throat loudly in an attempt to warn her not to express surprise.
To my relief, Jezza-Belle simply nodded. “I’m not well enough to come to the meeting, sorry, Ian,” Jezza-Belle said.
Ian set the notepad and pen he was holding on the table. “Never mind, we can come up with a topic now.”
I exchanged glances with Tara. Surely this wasn’t going to end well.
“You have any ideas for topics, Thelma?” Ian asked her. “What about how the Youth should be careful about the type of clothes they wear to church?”
“I have an idea,” I said. “How about a topic based on the verse, ‘Judge not, yet lest ye be judged?’”
My sarcasm once more went straight over Ian’s head. “What a great idea, Laurel.” He clasped his hands together. “But Thelma, the last time I spoke to you, you wanted to organise a prayer group to pray against politicians who weren’t in our denomination.”
I held up a hand to stop him, but he was on a roll. “And we were going to organise prayer groups to pray against…”
I excused myself and hurried to the bathroom. Tara was hard on my heels. “Do you think we should leave the two of them alone together?” she asked me.
“I really couldn’t listen to Ian any longer,” I said. “I think he deserves everything he’s going to get.”
We stayed in the bathroom for five minutes. I kept checking the time on my phone. “Do you think it’s safe to go out now?” Tara asked me.
I shrugged. “Probably not, but we can’t stay here forever.”
We walked back out to find Jezza-Belle and Ian still sitting at the table. However, Jezza-Belle was laughing, and Ian appeared to be in shock. One hand was over his eyes, and one hand was over one ear. He was staring straight ahead with his mouth open.
“Don’t tell me—I don’t want to know,” I said to Jezza-Belle.
Chapter 8
Jezza-Belle and I were driving around town looking for a public phone box. They were something of dinosaurs since the advent of mobile phones, but I was sure I had spied one in town somewhere. The only problem was, I couldn’t remember where I had seen it, and then there was always the likelihood that it didn’t work. Still, I couldn’t risk the police tracing a call to my mobile phone, or Mum’s mobile phone for that matter.
“So tell me everything you know about Phil Palmer,” I said to Jezza-Belle, right after I narrowly missed a group of children on their bikes who had no regard for the road rules.
Jezza-Belle scratched Mum’s head. “He wanted me to go to the local hospital and change his wife’s file to say that she suffered from sleep apnoea.”
I drove slowly down a side street in a bad part of town. “Did you ask him why?”
“No, of course not. It was none of my business. Besides, he paid well.”
I sighed. “Don’t you realise that he must’ve killed his wife?”
Jezza-Belle shot me a sharp look. “Don’t you think that’s jumping to conclusions?”
I silently counted to five before answering. “What other possible reason could he have? He probably smothered her with a pillow, and then wanted everyone to think she died from sleep apnoea.”
“There!” Jezza-Belle pointed to an old silver phone box. I hit the brakes, as she continued. “I would agree with you if it happened right now, but it happened five years ago. If she died yesterday, and he asked me to change the hospital records then yes, I would think he murdered her, but obviously her death must’ve been ruled as accidental, because he’s not in prison.”
“He might have been brought up on charges and released,” I said.
Jezza-Belle disagreed. “Even so, why would he want me to change old records, five year old records at that?”
I shrugged and got out of the car. I put a coin in the slot, and remarkably got a dial tone. I signalled to Jezza-Belle to make the call.
“Shouldn’t I wear gloves or something?” she asked me.
“This is a small country town,” I reminded her. “I hardly think the police are going to investigate an anonymous call that closely. Here are some more coins in case you need them. I’ll wait in the car.”
I had only spent about five minutes on Instagram when Jezza-Belle returned. “How did it go?”
“Pretty good. I told them everything, and then got off the phone as fast as I could in case they traced the call.”
I smiled, thinking that Jezza-Belle had watched too much TV. I turned the car in the direction of home. “I’m heading for the funeral home office,” I told Jezza-Belle. “I have a desktop and laptop there, so we can both google Phil Palmer, and look for information on his wife’s death. There’s surely something online about it.”
As I drove up to the funeral home, I saw Basil’s two pet sheep standing by the fence, staring at me. “It’s Arthur and Martha,” I said to Jezza-Belle. “I forgot to give them their morning treats.”
I hurried inside and fetched the sheep treats. “What are those?” Jezza-Belle asked me.
“No idea, only that they’re specially made
for sheep and they love them,” I told her. “Copper can be quite dangerous to sheep, so you have to be careful what you give them.”
At first I thought Jezza-Belle would think it strange to have sheep as pets, but then I remembered that she had left all her money to a dog and cat shelter. “That was really good of you to leave all your money to that shelter,” I said.
“I’m happy they got my money,” she said. “Most people in Australia donate to the big government animal charity, but they make millions of dollars of profit a year, and they’re supposed to be a not-for-profit. The small animal shelters get no funding at all and they really struggle. They can’t afford to advertise on TV, and they have a no kill policy, which sadly, those big charities that make millions of dollars don’t have. In fact, they have a high kill rate.”
I shook my head. “It makes no sense at all, does it? The small charities are the ones that need the money. They don’t get any government funding at all and they certainly don’t make millions of dollars of profit a year.” The sheep accepted the treats gratefully. “Sorry I’m late, guys,” I said to them. I turned to Jezza-Belle. “And now, let’s get to work and see what we can find on this Phil guy.”
Soon the two of us were sitting in my office, tapping away at the computers. We both had coffee and cake beside us. I actually preferred the taste of the coffee I made in my little coffee machine to the stuff that I could buy in town.
There was little online. “Have you found anything?” I asked Jezza-Belle. She shook her head. “I found the funeral notice, and it all looks quite straightforward. There is nothing about any charges being laid or any suspicious circumstances. His wife wasn’t that old—surely they’d think it strange that she died in her sleep.”
“I’m looking at the funeral notice now too,” Jezza-Belle said. “Phil thanks a Dr Sharpe. Maybe we could track down this Dr Sharpe and question him.”
“Good idea.” I googled Dr Sharpe, but came up blank. “I can’t find him in town. Maybe he’s moved on.”
We both tried to track down Dr Sharpe, with absolutely no luck. “I’m not conducting many funerals this week,” I told Jezza-Belle. “I think we should go to the two medical centres in town and ask if they know what happened to Dr Sharpe.”
