Ghost Blusters

by Morgana Best

  Jezza-Belle and I nodded. “So have you come to the conclusion that your husband didn’t do it?” I asked her, just to clarify matters for myself.

  She shrugged. “I know he’s got the temper to do it, and he’s a very nasty person. I would think he had done it, only for the fact that he only goes into murderous rages just after something sets him off, and he cools down fairly quickly.”

  “We need to speak with him,” I said, more to myself than to anyone else.

  “No, that wouldn’t be safe at all,” Daisy said, clearly terrified.

  “We should speak to him in a social setting so as not to make him suspicious,” Jezza-Belle offered.

  I nodded my approval. “Good idea. Daisy, is Donnie attending any upcoming social events?”

  Daisy sipped her coffee, and then added more sugar. I got a whiff of her expensive French perfume as she did so, and I wondered why she was sitting alone in her house wearing French perfume and a lot of jewellery. I wondered if she had just returned from a liaison with a lover, but if she had, I couldn’t see how that would connect with Jezza-Belle’s murder.

  “Why do you want to speak to Donnie?” she asked me. “I thought you ran the funeral home—you’re not a private detective, are you?”

  I shook my head. “I’m sure the police are doing a good job. It’s just that Jezza-Belle was a close friend, and she asked me to investigate if something happened to her.” Oh gosh, my story was getting more fanciful by the minute. First I had told Daisy that Jezza-Belle wanted me to say she was worried for her safety, and now I was telling her that I was investigating Jezza-Belle’s death.

  Still, it seemed that Daisy was swallowing my story. “Well, the chook sale is on this afternoon,” she said.

  “Chook sale?” Jezza-Belle echoed.

  “Yes, chooks. You know, chickens, fowl, hens?” I told her.

  Daisy drained her coffee before continuing. “The monthly chook sale is on this afternoon, and after that, there’s a big charity sale. He’s going to that.”

  “It’s probably too late to get tickets,” Jezza-Belle said.

  Daisy laughed. “It’s not a charity ball or anything like that. It’s just a charity sale, an auction, to raise money to send hay to the sheep farmers out west. They’re still in a terrible drought. Haven’t you heard of those trucks that take hay out west to sheep farmers in drought? It’s a big charity.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard of it,” I said. “So the event tonight is just like a clearing sale?”

  “It’s more fancy than a clearing sale, but not as fancy as a charity ball,” Daisy said. “I’m not going.” She fidgeted as she said it, and I was sure she was up to something. Still, that was absolutely none of my business, not if it didn’t have anything to do with Jezza-Belle’s death.

  I thanked her and stood up to go, but when Jezza-Belle was halfway out of her seat, she fell back into it. “Laurel,” she said in a weak voice.

  Just then, the front door flew open. “Who are these people?” a heavily-set man demanded.

  I went straight into the cover story. “I’m Laurel, and this is my mother, Thelma. We’re collecting for the church.”

  Jezza-Belle’s eyes popped open. “Church! We’re collecting for the church? Why didn’t you say so, Laurel?”

  Daisy looked strained. “Donnie, Laurel and Thelma were just leaving.”

  Mum went straight into people-pleasing mode. I could tell by her tone that she had overcome Jezza-Belle again. She hurried over to Donnie and offered her hand, which he duly shook. “Such a lovely house you have here. I haven’t seen you at our church. Will I see you there this Sunday?”

  “No,” he said, pushing past her. He looked at the whisky bottle. “Did somebody drink my whisky?”

  Mum gasped. “Certainly not! I have never let a drop of the demon alcohol pass my lips. I signed the Baptist pledge against hard drink when I was eight, and I always keep my word.”

  Donnie looked Mum up and down and then turned to his wife. “Daisy, show these people out, won’t you?”

  Daisy hurried us both to the door and all but pushed us out.

  “Did we collect much money?” Mum said loudly as we walked to my car.

  Chapter 10

  By the time I reached my car, Jezza-Belle was back, to my enormous relief.

  “Twice in a short space of time?” I asked Jezza-Belle. “That’s getting a little too much. Did she give you any warning this time?”

  Jezza-Belle shook her head. “No, although I did get a really horrible feeling both times, so perhaps I can take that as a warning.”

  “If you get another horrible feeling like that again, please let me know,” I said. “That could have been really awful.”

  “What do we do now?” Jezza-Belle asked me.

  “We should go back home, and get changed. Then we’ll go to the charity sale.”

  “How should I dress?”

  I smothered a giggle. “Go just as you are. Mum always wears those clothes.”

  “But surely I should dress up for a charity sale?” Jezza-Belle asked me.

  “Wear a strand of pearls if you like,” I said, “but remember that you look like my mother.”

  Jezza-Belle’s face paled. “I’d almost forgotten.”

  I had to do some paperwork for upcoming funerals for the next few hours. Luckily, I didn’t hear from either Mum or Jezza-Belle. When I called for Jezza-Belle late in the afternoon, she told me that my mother hadn’t made another appearance.

  We drove to the local showground which was hosting the charity sale, in the big pavilion next to the chook sale. As we drove up, people were leaving a large white building, some clutching cages of chickens, and some with chooks under their arms. After I parked the car and got out, I heard someone discussing the relative merits of Ancona show hens.

  “It seems a bit weird to me that they’re selling these chickens and then having a charity function,” Jezza-Belle said.

  “This is perfectly normal for a small country town,” I said. “You obviously haven’t mixed in these circles. Let’s go inside and start mingling. Remember, warn me if you think my mother is about to take over you. Do your best to resist.”

  “I don’t know how,” Jezza-Belle said in a pained tone.

  I took a deep breath, and hoped it would all turn out okay. I hadn’t known how to dress for the occasion, so I had chosen a dark green dress cut in such a way as to hide a multitude of sins, or so I hoped.

  “Oh wow, Laurel, you look amazing,” said a deep voice behind me.

  I swung around to see Basil. He held me at arms’ length. “Wow,” he said again, and then kissed me.

  “I’m so pleased you could make it,” I said. “Are you still coming back for dinner tonight?”

  He pulled me close and whispered in my ear, “Sure am,” before kissing me again.

  My heart beat out of my chest and my knees trembled. Basil always had that effect on me. When he released me, I gasped.

  Basil’s arm tightened around my waist. “I didn’t realise I had that effect on you,” he said with a laugh.

  You don’t know the half of it, I said silently. Aloud I said, “That’s Liliana Buckley. Phil Palmer has his arm around her. What if his wife sees them?”

  “She’s his wife,” Basil said. “Liliana and Phil are married.”

  “I didn’t make the connection!” I said in surprise. “I’m conducting Liliana’s father’s funeral the day after tomorrow.”

  Jezza-Belle’s jaw dropped open. “You know how long they’ve been married?” she asked Basil.

  He stroked his chin. “Four or five years, I think.”

  “That means he married her right after his wife died,” I said.

  I was unable to say any more, because someone tapped the microphone in an irritating way that sent a high-pitched sound throughout the room. “Welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen,” the voice said in a monotone. “Let’s hope we raise a lot of money to send hay to the sheep farmers out west. There is no end in s
ight for this drought, and they’re doing it tough out west. Let’s see how many trucks of hay we can send to them.”

  There was a polite round of applause. “If anyone hasn’t registered for the auction, please do so now, because the sale is about to commence,” the man droned on. “Remember to show your paddle when you bid. Everyone take their seats, please. I’d like to introduce a local sheep farmer, Tom Blanche, who can tell us all about the difficulties of feeding sheep in the drought.”

  Tom Blanche, a large, portly man with bright red cheeks and a can of beer in his left hand, took the microphone and tapped it, sending that irritating sound reverberating through the building. “How are youse going,” he said. “I’m Tom Blanche, and I’m struggling to feed my sheep dogs because of the drought.”

  “He’s obviously not struggling to feed himself,” Jezza-Belle said, and I had to elbow her in the ribs.

  Tom made a very long speech. When he was halfway through complaining about sheep shearers calling wet wool when it had barely rained at all, I saw Donnie Fairchild and an attractive young woman slip out the side door. I pointed this out to both Basil and Jezza-Belle.

  “Did she have long blonde hair?” Jezza-Belle asked me. I nodded. “I saw him with her earlier, and they were looking overly friendly, if you get my meaning,” she said.

  Tom Blanche handed the microphone back to the first man who had spoken, who had neglected to give us his name. He gleefully announced that a local car dealer had donated a new Holden ute which would be auctioned at the end of the night. “And we also have for auction a new stainless steel barbeque, a set of portable sheep yards, a stock saddle, RM Williams boots, a vintage wool bail lifter, a square bail baler tractor…” As he continued, I zoned out.

  I was drifting off to sleep when Basil tapped me on the shoulder and nodded over to the door. Donnie Fairchild and the young woman were walking back into the room. It was clear that they had only just got dressed, as Donnie was tucking in his shirt, and their hair was sticking out in all directions.

  The auction continued, and there was a general buzz of excitement in the room about the amount of money being made. Finally, the part I was waiting for, the end of the auction. The Holden ute brought a tidy sum of money. It was bought by five hard faced men in black suits who looked stereotypically like the Mafia of movies. The nameless man stood up and droned on about how much money had been made and how grateful the sheep farmers out west would be. He sang the praises of the man who had started the charity for providing hay to drought stricken farmers, but neglected to name him, too. Maybe the man just had a problem with names. Finally, he announced that everyone was welcome to stay for tea and coffee, pavlovas and lamingtons.

  “I don’t like lamingtons,” Jezza-Belle said to me as an aside. “I’m not fond of shredded coconut.”

  “You can’t be Australian if you don’t like lamingtons,” Basil said for a joke.

  “Enough happy banter,” I said. “We need to speak to Donnie Fairchild. Jezza-Belle, are you up for it? Mum’s not about to take over, is she?”

  Jezza-Belle made a strangled sound, and I clutched Basil’s arm. Right then, a young man walked over to us. “Are youse enjoying the night?”

  There was a loud sound of annoyance next to me. “We’re not sheep, young man. What are they teaching you in school these days? Ewes are sheep. The second person pronoun is the same for both singular and plural. It is you, not youse. If you were addressing more than one person, you would still say, ‘Are you enjoying the night?’ Do you understand?”

  The young man simply hurried away by way of response. Mum rounded on me. “What am I doing here, Laurel? This can’t be a church function, given the poor grammar.”

  “It’s a charity function, Mum,” I said.

  “There is none charitable, none but God,” Mum said, in what I assume was a misquotation of a Bible verse. “The church is the only true charity.” She then let out a string of swear words.

  “Oh good, you’re back, Jezza-Belle,” I said, relieved.

  Jezza-Belle nodded. “It was quite a struggle. At least I had a bit of warning that time.”

  “Has this happened before?” Basil said in alarm.

  “It sure has,” I said. “Jezza-Belle, we must speak to Donnie Fairchild before he goes off with that woman for the night. Basil, I haven’t had a chance to tell you. Jezza-Belle and I went to speak with Daisy Fairchild today, and Donnie turned up right when we were about to leave.”

  “So he recognises you,” Basil said. “I don’t like it, Laurel. If he’s the murderer, then you could be in danger. Can’t you leave it to the police this time?”

  “The police don’t seem to be getting anywhere, and I made Jezza-Belle a deal that she will leave when I solve her murder, and then we’ll have Mum back.”

  Basil muttered words to the effect that he didn’t want Mum back. I found it hard to disagree with him.

  “It will probably play into our hands that he recognises us,” I added, “because we told him that we were collecting for Mum’s church. Jezza-Belle, Mum would typically strong-arm someone into going to her church. I think it’s a good idea if you strong-arm Donnie into going to Mum’s church, because that will give us a way to speak to him.”

  “Are you sure I should strong-arm him?” Jezza-Belle said, her tone filled with doubt.

  I nodded. “That’s what Mum would do, and if he asks around later, that behaviour would fit in. After you do that, I’ll interrupt and mention you, to see his reaction.”

  “It doesn’t sound like a good plan to me,” Basil said. “I should come with you, to protect you.”

  “Sure.”

  We looked around for Donnie and to our dismay, he was leaving by the back door. There was no sign of his girlfriend, so I assumed they didn’t want anyone to see them leave together. I grabbed Jezza-Belle’s arm. “Quick, let’s go. Do you remember what to do?”

  She nodded. We hurried after Donnie and reached him only moments before he got into his car. “Donnie,” I called.

  He turned around, the look of annoyance plain on his face under the overhead lights on the wall.

  “We didn’t get a chance to speak earlier about coming to my church,” Jezza-Belle said.

  Donnie said rather a rude word, and the next thing I knew, Jezza-Belle had him in an arm lock. I gasped and did a double take. When I looked again, sure enough, Donnie was lying face down in the dirt. Jezza-Belle was twisting his arm behind him and had her knee on his back.

  “What are you doing?” Basil asked in horror. I was still speechless.

  “I’m strong-arming him into going to church like you said I should,” Jezza-Belle said in bewilderment. “I didn’t think it was a good idea, but you insisted.”

  “Let him up, quick,” Basil insisted.

  Donnie struggled to his feet and brushed himself off. “That old bat is crazy,” he said, spitting dirt out of his mouth. “I’m going to call the cops and have her charged with assault.”

  I took a step closer to him. “You do that, and I’ll tell your wife that we all saw you go into a room with that young woman.”

  “Are you spying on me for my wife?” he said angrily.

  I shook my head. “I’m a private investigator. I’ve been hired by a relative of yours.” I waved my finger in his face. “Your wife knows nothing about this. You’ll never guess which relative of yours is working against you. You had better watch your back. My client told me not to tell your wife about your affair yet, but I’m sure I will at some point.”

  Donnie went white, and then jumped in his car. He slammed his door so hard that it’s a wonder it stayed on its hinges, and sped away with a squeal of tyres.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Jezza-Belle said in a small voice.

  I sighed. “When I said to strong-arm him, I didn’t mean to put him in a literal arm lock,” I explained. “It’s an expression that simply means to put verbal pressure on someone.”

  “Oh, I see,” Jezza-Belle said, in a tone w
hich clearly demonstrated that she did not see at all.

  “It’s all right,” I said. “I’ll take you back to Mum’s.”

  Basil caught my arm. He nodded to the five men in black suits who were speaking angrily with someone.

  “That’s Harper,” Jezza-Belle whispered.

  Chapter 11

  I’d barely had any sleep the previous night, considering that I had to swap dinner with Basil and a possible sleepover for a girls’ night with Jezza-Belle. Jezza-Belle said she couldn’t possibly stay alone as she was frightened of Mum.

  Jezza-Belle had talked until about five in the morning so I felt like a zombie when I woke up at eight. We had discussed the suspects over and over again and had not come to any firm conclusion. Jezza-Belle was still insisting that Harper couldn’t possibly have murdered her, but she did agree with me when I said we had to explore all options.

  I had popped back to my apartment to have a shower—after all, it was only a stone’s throw away—and then had two cups of my nice coffee from my coffee machine. I was back in Mum’s house making coffee for Jezza-Belle when she emerged. “It feels weird cleaning your mother’s teeth,” she said. “Still, I figure it’s my responsibility to keep her in good order since I’m inhabiting her for the moment.”

  “That’s kind of you,” I said.

  “But as for having a shower…” She shuddered.

  “I don’t want to know,” I said. “Too much information. Now what conclusion did we come to last night? I’m still half asleep.”

  “You said you think Harper owes a lot of money to the wrong sort of people, and that would give him a motive for killing me because he couldn’t afford to pay it back. You kept saying that and I kept saying that Harper didn’t do it.”

  I rubbed my temples. “It’s all coming back to me. We are going to speak to Harper under the guise of pretending that we think Lotti did it.”

  Jezza-Belle interrupted me. “Yes, and since he’s already had her arrested for assault, there wouldn’t be any love lost between them.”