by Morgana Best
It was too late. The spirit had already gone.
I looked down at Mary, but she didn’t appear to be aware of her former owner’s spirit. I led her firmly past a nearby bush in which I could hear something rustling. I supposed it was a plover, a bird with a pretty name but without a temperament to match, with the ability to dive bomb more viciously than any magpie in the nesting season, and having the most irritating call imaginable. I tightened my grip on the leash. I was beginning to learn that Mary did not dart off from a sitting position, only when she was walking along.
“Dog walks are supposed to be relaxing,” I said to an excited Mary when I reached my cottage. “I’m taking you into the garden now so you can expend some energy.”
My plans fell flat as Mary chose a spot in the middle of the garden bed and promptly fell asleep. I sat on the seat just as my phone rang.
Some time later, I looked at the time on my phone. I had been on the phone to Constance for a full hour now. Whatever scant relaxation I had gained from my morning walk with Mary had all but dissipated due to listening to Constance’s strident, questioning tones.
“Why are you insisting there is no romance with that man?” she asked for the umpteenth time. “You couldn’t wait to get me out of the house. Don’t tell me that there isn’t something going on between the two of you.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Constance, I met Alum over a case.” That, at least, was the truth. And I could hardly pour out my heart to Constance and tell her the facts, because it would be all over town in record time. Constance didn’t mean to be a gossip; it’s just that she couldn’t help herself. I had told her things in confidence previously and had sworn her to secrecy, but then heard about them the very next day from various other people. There was no way I was going to take the risk.
“Well, we’re on our way over to your house now,” she said firmly.
“I’m driving. I’m not at home now,” I said, wondering if it was her typical use of the royal plural or whether she had people with her.
“Then why is your car parked outside your house?” she said with a laugh, and that remark was followed by a loud knock on the door.
I clutched my head. I couldn’t believe that Constance had come, in person, to give me the third degree.
When I opened the door, I realized that it was worse than I thought. Constance, Barbara, and Iris were all standing there, their faces eager. The three of them did not get on well with each other, so this was clearly a concerted effort to obtain information from me on my love life, such as it was.
I sighed, defeated, and opened the door. “Come in.”
Possum and Lily, the cats, walked forward to greet them, but so did Mary. I had noticed that Mary was scared of the cats, and I hoped she stayed that way. It would be awfully difficult if she started chasing them. The cats turned and saw Mary. The only trouble was that Mary was blocking their exit.
As the cats yowled and screeched in their headlong escape, Mary let out a pitiful whine and sprinted from the room, the cats hard on her tail.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had a dog?” Barbara said. “I’m always the last to know. Did you know about this, Iris? Or was Prudence only keeping it from me?”
“I wasn’t keeping it from anyone,” I said through gritted teeth. “I have been rather busy, you know, with finding my neighbor’s dead body and having to adopt her dog on the spot. Things have been rather hectic.”
“That’s okay, I accept your apology,” Barbara said.
“It wasn’t an apology!” I snapped at her. “I have a lot going on in my life and I do expect some polite consideration.”
Constance hadn’t noticed that I was angry, but Iris and Barbara both looked shocked. “You’re just cranky because you don’t have a man,” Iris said. “That’s what happens when we get to our age. Our emotions go crazy because our hormones all dry up. We’re like dried up old prunes.”
I just wanted to scream.
“That detective doesn’t seem to think Prudence is a prune,” Constance said with a wicked gleam in her eye.
For once I was grateful for her input.
Iris and Barbara crossed to my couch and sat on it. Barbara spoke first. “Tell us all about him. That is, if it’s not top secret or anything,” she added in an offended tone.
I rolled my eyes. “Like I said, I met him when I was working on a confidential case.”
“Did they pay you?” Iris asked me. “Because I’m really worried about your financial situation, your poor thing. Anyway, you do need to find a man before you get any older. And you know, older men always want younger women, not someone your age.”
Constance walked into the room, holding four wine glasses and two of my bottles of wine. “Red or white?” she asked with a flourish.
“It’s too early,” Barbara said sharply.
Iris agreed. “Not for me, Constance, not with all my allergies.”
“Too early for me, too, Constance, but go ahead and help yourself,” I said, knowing she would anyway.
Constance drank half a glass of wine in one gulp and then turned to me. “Why don’t you marry Mr. Detective Man? It’s the ideal solution for your money worries!”
Barbara perched on the edge of her seat. “So he’s not married, then?”
Constance scoffed at her. “Of course he’s not, Barbara. Prudence wouldn’t date a married man!”
Before I could say anything, Iris butted in. “That’s perfect, Prudence! You could marry him. You’re not getting any younger, you know. It’ll be hard enough finding a man to marry now, but in another ten years...” She broke off and shook her head sadly.
I jumped to my feet and put my hands on my hips. “Have you all gone mad? What century is this? Besides, I’m not a young girl looking for a man! I’m not going to marry someone just to gain financial security. Besides, I’ve already been through a horrible divorce.”
“So you’re not in love with him?” Constance said. “Don’t give me that! You’d fall over yourself to marry him. I saw the way you were flirting with him.” She broke off. “Can I hear a car? Maybe it’s your future husband.”
The three of them laughed. I glared at her. I crossed to the window to peek out, hoping it wasn’t Alum. As much as I wanted to see him, I couldn’t begin to imagine the sort of questioning to which they would subject him.
Chapter 7
I didn’t recognize the car, but I did recognize the man who hopped out. Detective Brown.
My first thought that he was here to offer me a job. My second thought was that he was here to question me about Mrs. Cornford’s murder. Either way, I didn’t want an audience.
“It’s the detective who’s investigating Mrs. Cornford’s death,” I told the three of them. “Quick, you have to leave.”
“What’s the rush?” Barbara said. “Is he married?”
“Yes,” I said, even though I had no idea whether or not he was.
“Find out for me, will you?” Barbara said. “I like men in uniform, and I haven’t had a boyfriend for years.”
“That’s what happens at our age,” Iris said. The look on Barbara’s face made me wonder if she was about to throttle Iris.
“He isn’t in uniform, he’s a detective,” I pointed out.
Barbara frowned. “You know what I mean,” she snapped.
Fortunately, by the time Detective Brown knocked on the door, the three women were already off the couch and halfway across the room. I briefly introduced each one in turn, and then, once they left, showed in Detective Brown.
“May we talk, Mrs. Wallflower?” he asked as I shut the door behind him.
“Sure, please call me Prudence.” I indicated that he should sit on the newly vacated couch. I studied him, as on the only previous occasion I had met him, I had been too consumed with worry over Alum. Larry was tall—I estimated a touch over six foot—trim, and looked fit. His dark hair was graying at the temples. His face was round, with kind brown eyes, a full mouth, and st
raight white teeth. All in all, he presented as a pleasant looking guy, and well groomed, too. His clothes were neat: ironed jeans, denim shirt with the top button undone, a loose tie, and polished lace-up shoes.
“Larry,” he said as he sat on the edge of the couch.
I hoped he would come to the point quickly, but after refusing the offer of something to drink, he made inconsequential small talk about the weather. “I’ll come straight to the point,” he said, after a full five minutes of doing everything but.
I nodded encouragingly.
“Would you consider working for the local police department?” Before I could jump at the offer, he held up a hand. “It’s not a done deal yet, but if you’re agreeable, we can put you on an initial trial period.”
I nodded, trying to look as though I were considering his offer, rather than accepting it as quickly as I could. “Yes, I’ve been looking to get into a line of work other than my tours,” I said. I could hardly come out and say that I was desperate because no one was booking me any more. “However, if I’m to abandon my shows and work for the police department, it would need to be on a salary and not on a casual basis, otherwise it wouldn’t be financially viable for me.”
Larry leaned back on the couch. “Yes, that’s exactly what we had in mind. However, for the initial period trial, it will be a one off fee.”
I had to think fast. My former agent had always attended to all my financial dealings, so I was not used to negotiating. “And if I’m successful after the trial, how long before you would employ me full time?”
“Immediately,” Larry said, looking somewhat taken aback as Mary ran in the room and tried to climb onto his knee. “Is that a dingo?”
I jumped to my feet, and told Mary to get off him. She promptly dropped to the ground, rolled over and wanted her belly scratched. “Yes, she’s a dingo. I’m so sorry about her,” I said. “She was Mrs. Cornford’s dog, and her nephew gave her to me. He was going to take her to the pound otherwise.” I realized I needed to bring the conversation back to the financial matters. I wished I hadn’t brought up the subject of Mrs. Cornford, because I fully expected Larry to take the subject in that direction.
“If I’m going to leave my agent and cancel my shows,” I continued, “I need to know what salary the Department would intend paying me, and the amount of the fee for the initial trial.”
“Of course.”
I tried to keep my expression neutral as Larry mentioned a considerable sum for the trial, and then an excellent salary. “Is that acceptable?” he asked me.
I counted to five and then readily agreed. I hoped he couldn’t see me shaking. I pressed down hard on my knees to stop them knocking together. Perhaps I should have asked for more, or asked questions, but I didn’t know what I was doing as far as negotiating went, and it seemed more than fair to me. It was certainly more that I had been making doing shows as a clairvoyant medium, and what’s more, it was a stable job. My mortgage would be safe. The only thing was, I had no idea what the trial entailed. I asked him.
“Look, Prudence, I’d be happy to put you on the payroll right now, but my superiors insist that you do a trial.” I raised my eyebrows expectantly, so he pushed on. “If you can give us information to help us solve Mrs. Cornford’s murder, then we will employ you.”
“Sounds fair,” I said. I was reasonably confident, given that Mrs. Cornford’s ghost had already been in touch. Sure, she hadn’t said much, but the fact that a newly murdered spirit had been able to communicate at all was generally a good sign that I would be able to find out further information. Aloud I said, “I took Mary for a walk to Mrs. Cornford’s house this morning, and Mrs. Cornford’s spirit actually appeared to me.”
Larry looked shocked, which rather surprised me, given that he knew I was a clairvoyant medium and that he appeared to believe that I could communicate with spirits. I suppose that the reality is always something of a shock. “Did she say anything?” he asked me.
I shook my head. “Just that she was murdered,” I said, “but don’t worry. Spirits who have recently experienced murder usually take a while to communicate. Like I always say, it’s a process. I’m sure she’ll tell me more.”
He nodded. “This is a hard one, actually. We’ll know more when we get the forensics tests back, but early indications are that she was poisoned. You would have noticed there were two cups of tea on the kitchen table. The person with whom she was drinking tea is likely the murderer, but we have no suspects. Put it this way, we have suspects, but no motive. Her only living relative was her nephew, Boris McIntosh.”
I interrupted him. “Isn’t that a motive right there, surely? Boris inherits everything?” I didn’t like the man, given his attitude to Mary.
Larry shook his head. “You’ve seen the house. Not only will it take a long time to sell, but given its state of disrepair, it won’t bring much at all. It appears to be part way through a renovation. Plus the nephew is a wealthy man.”
“What about Sally?” I asked him. “She was leaving the house when I got there.”
“What motive would she have?” Larry said.
“Just because we don’t know what motive she had, doesn’t mean she didn’t have a motive,” I pointed out.
Larry laughed. “You’re sounding like quite the detective.”
I felt my face flush hot. “I’m so sorry.”
Larry dismissed my concern with a wave of his hand. “No need to be sorry at all. You’re right, of course. It’s just that neither Sally Symons nor Mrs. Cornford’s nephew, Boris McIntosh, have a criminal record. And there’s never been as much as a hint of any wrongdoing on Sally’s part.”
“Could it have been accidental poisoning?” I asked him. “I mean, what if Sally cleaned the teacups with a strong disinfectant or something like that, and Mrs. Cornford was allergic to it and died?”
“We’ve considered such possibilities.”
“Of course you have. I’m sorry.” Again, I silently added.
Larry laughed. “Please don’t be sorry, Prudence. It’s good that you think along those lines, since you’ll be working for us. Mrs. Cornford’s doctor told us she had no allergies, and a search of the house didn’t reveal anything that could have that effect, so I suspect the murderer took the poison when he—or she—left.”
“Was it poison for sure?” I asked him.
He nodded. “There were no signs of a struggle, no bruises or lesions on the victim, and no fibers or tissues under the victim’s fingernails. There’s no sign of any poison in the house. It does appear that the victim was having a cup of tea with her murderer, so it was someone she knew.”
“Are Sally Symons and Boris McIntosh the only two suspects you have?” I asked him.
“The only other one to date is Mrs. Cornford’s ex-husband. He lives in another state, and hasn’t been seen in these parts for years. We checked on him and found he has an alibi. They’ve been divorced for years and haven’t had any contact since then, so it’s highly unlikely to be him. Then we have to consider the fact that she upset someone locally, but we haven’t uncovered anything so far, apart from the fact she was generally disliked. This is a hard case because we can’t find any motives. Prudence, if Mrs. Cornford’s, err, ghost will tell you who murdered her, that would be helpful.”
“I’m sure she will, given time,” I said. “It takes time for victims to communicate, like I said.”
Larry thanked me and stood up. I showed him to the door, and when he had driven away, I did pirouettes up and down my living room, yelling, “I’m employed! I’m employed!”
The cats ran under the couch, and Mary fled from the room.
Chapter 8
I thought the day couldn’t get any better, but Alum called and invited me to lunch at a restaurant in town.
I was delighted at first, but then I remembered something the Millionaire Matchmaker said. At least I think she was the one who said it. Dinner means he’s serious; lunch means he’s not. Or had I read that somewhere?
Nevertheless, I sure hoped it wasn’t true.
Again, I was at a loss as to what to wear. In my town, people only dressed up for funerals and weddings. I didn’t want it to appear overtly as if I had made an effort, so I went to a lot of effort to make it look as though I hadn’t. I finally decided upon white linen trousers, a pretty blouse in blue, and my favorite shoes. Alum always wore good quality shoes, and that, according to my grandmother, meant he was generous. She used to say not to marry a man who wore cheap shoes, because he would be mean with money. I smiled at the memory. I popped in my blue topaz earrings, and decided to take my wide-brimmed white straw hat, trimmed with a pretty silk scarf in blues and grays. I would need it if we were going to sit outside in the harsh Australian sun. I stared at myself in the mirror—not too closely, mind you.
I set off for the restaurant after leaving Mary in the walled garden with a squeaky toy and a big bowl of water. Even a dingo couldn’t jump those high walls. Mary had so far shown no signs of separation anxiety, and I had bought a dog door so she could go between the house and the walled garden at will.
I arrived at twelve precisely. One benefit of living in a small country town was that no one was ever early or late, as everything was within a five minute drive. My heart thumped as I parked the car and tottered inside on my heels. It was raining lightly, and the scent of freshly cut grass from the adjoining park was delightful. I liked this restaurant. Modern artworks in every style and size imaginable covered the warm yellow Tuscan walls. The restaurant was light and airy, with a welcoming atmosphere. Sofas were arranged around the edges in a way to encourage conversation. The tables and chairs were an eclectic collection of vintage pieces. There was a courtyard to the side, with tables under a grape covered pergola set in a lovely garden. The restaurant was invariably crowded at night, but today, at lunch, there were only two other patrons. On another couch, a man was reading the newspaper, while his companion was reading her tablet.
