There Must be a Happy Medium

by Morgana Best

Alum was already sitting at a small table in one corner, by a large picture window overlooking the garden. As he stood up, a look of pain crossed his face. I hurried to his side. “Alum, are you all right?” He nodded. I helped him sit back down. “You shouldn’t have come out.”

  He smiled weakly. “I wanted to see you.”

  My heart leaped out of my chest. I was at a loss for words, so smiled back and took my seat. “So how are you feeling?”

  “Pretty good, despite appearances. My doctor warned me against being impatient. I’m quite bored being on sick leave, but, well, you know, the alternative would have been far worse.”

  I shuddered. For quite a while I had thought Alum was dead and that I was speaking to his ghost. I was overjoyed when I found out that I had in fact been speaking to his spirit while he was in a coma. Recently, I had thought there was a good chance of a relationship, but now I wasn’t too sure. We seemed to be tip-toeing around each other. I was concerned that I had imagined his attraction to me in the first place. Perhaps he had friend-zoned me. I sure hoped that wasn’t the case.

  “Prudence?”

  I looked up, startled, realizing that Alum was speaking to me. “Sorry? I was a million miles away.”

  The waiter arrived to take our orders. Alum ordered Carbonara pasta, and I was relieved when he did. That meant my choice of the other night was suitable. I was starving, but I ordered the same meal because I didn’t want to stuff my face when he was unable to do so. I really wanted to order the crumbed lamb with black olive crust with caramelized onion purée, but I managed to resist, for Alum’s sake.

  As soon as the waiter left, Alum leaned forward. “Larry Brown says that you’ve accepted the position.”

  “Yes, I have, but I’m on a trial first. I have to give him information about Mrs. Cornford’s killer in order to get the permanent job.”

  “You’ll be able to do that, won’t you?”

  I thought I detected hesitation in Alum’s voice. “Yes, I’m sure I will. Fairly sure, anyway.”

  Alum patted my hand. “Then you have nothing to worry about. Just stay safe, won’t you, Prudence?”

  His smile warmed me right through. “I’m sure I’ll be safe. I don’t think the killer will go back to Mrs. Cornford’s house.”

  Alum abruptly stopped touching my hand. “What do you mean? Why do you have to go back to the house?”

  I was puzzled. “To speak to the spirit, of course.”

  “Can’t you speak to the spirit anywhere?” He sounded concerned.

  I shook my head. “No, it doesn’t work like that. Someone who’s been murdered tends to stay around a familiar place.”

  Alum leaned forward. “But I was able to go to your house.”

  “That was unusual. I still can’t figure out how all that happened. Anyway, you weren’t dead.”

  Alum stroked his chin. “True. Still, Prudence, I can’t help worrying about you. It might not be safe to go back to the victim’s house. The police have no clues as yet. The murderer could be anyone, and might think you know something if he or she sees you there.”

  I shrugged. “That’s what I’m being paid for.”

  An uncomfortable silence descended over the table, and it was a few moments before Alum spoke. “So there’s no hope of you continuing with your shows?”

  I shook my head. “None whatsoever. I can’t make a living out of it any more. My only saleable skill is as a clairvoyant medium. I do have a mortgage, you know. I thought you were supportive of me working for the police. Have you changed your mind?”

  Alum looked conflicted. “Err, no. No, I haven’t. I’m just worried about you. I wouldn’t want you to put yourself in danger. I hadn’t realized that the spirits stayed at crime scenes.”

  I hurried to reassure him. “No, not always. They often go to places that they liked, places they had a connection with. They usually only hang around where they were murdered if that was a familiar place to them.”

  “Like Mrs. Cornford’s home?” His expression was solemn.

  I nodded. “Exactly.”

  Alum shook his head. “I don’t like it, Prudence. I don’t like it at all.”

  The waiter arrived to clear our plates. He must have picked up the tension at the table, as his eyes nervously darted between us, and after handing us the dessert menus, he beat a hasty retreat.

  My phone chose that unfortunate moment to ring. I apologized, and reached into my purse to turn it off. “Oh, it’s Detective Brown,” I said in surprise.

  Alum sighed. “You had better answer it.”

  Larry wasted no time coming to the point. “Prudence, we have results on the poison already. Can you come down to the station?”

  “What? Right now?” I asked him.

  Alum nodded. “That’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ll go with you, and I’ll take you to dinner sometime soon to make up for our lunch being interrupted.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” I said.

  “What’s not my fault?” Larry asked.

  “Sorry, I was speaking to, um…” My voice trailed away. “Never mind, I can be right there.”

  Chapter 9

  Alum followed me to the police station. I was on edge—Alum seemed concerned about me working for the police. I figured it was out of concern for my safety, and that was nice, but I was uneasy. Logically, I didn’t know why, but something was nagging at me. Perhaps it was just that this was not playing out as it had in my fantasies, in which Alum would see me again, sweep me into a passionate kiss, propose to me, and we would live happily ever after.

  Well, not quite like that, but that was the general idea. I couldn’t seem to shake my mood of melancholy.

  This time, I didn’t stop at the front desk, as Alum ushered me straight past the desk sergeant and down a long corridor into Larry’s office. If Larry was surprised to see Alum with me, he covered it well. “Prudence, have a seat. Alum, you do realize you’re on sick leave, don’t you?”

  Alum simply shrugged and took a seat next to me. I looked around the room. I supposed I would soon become accustomed to the interior of police stations. Larry’s office was untidy. Masses of files, next to stacks of assorted papers, sat on the desk. The ceiling was standard police issue, with the addition of some mold near the window. I wondered why that had not been addressed. The rain was now heavier, and only drab gray light shone feebly through the uneven and dusty Venetian blind slats.

  “A Japanese Peace Lily would be good in here,” I said to Larry.

  Larry burst into laughter, taking me by surprise. “Have you been watching Hot Fuzz?” I must have looked blank, because he continued. “That funny movie with Simon Pegg and Nick Frost? You know, they’re English police officers and Simon Pegg takes his Japanese Peace Lily with him. I love that movie.”

  “Err, yes,” I said, “but I meant that Japanese Peace Lilies absorb harmful air and mold spores. NASA studied them and said they improve indoor air quality by sixty percent.”

  “Tetrahydrozoline.”

  “Excuse me?” I said, alarmed at Larry’s segue.

  He handed me a folder, and I opened it to find a lab report.

  “Eye drops,” Alum said. “I’ve only come across one case of that before, in these parts.”

  “That was a bad case.” Larry nodded. “Coffee anyone?”

  I politely declined, as did Alum, who added, “We’ve just eaten.”

  Again, Larry showed no surprise. I wondered if he knew about us. Then again, I didn’t even know if there was an us.

  “Could someone please explain what this is?” I said. “I assume it’s the poison?”

  Both men nodded. “Tetrahydrozoline is found in several brands of eye drops,” Larry said.

  “And it’s poisonous?” I said in alarm.

  “Yes. It works by constricting blood vessels. Did you ever see the movie, Wedding Crashers?”

  I nodded, wondering if Larry spent all his free time watching movies.

  “Remember when one of the main c
haracters put eye drops in the other man’s drink, making him vomit and have severe diarrhea all night?”

  “Yes, vaguely,” I said.

  “Tetrahydrozoline doesn’t actually cause diarrhea, but due to such movies, the general public thinks it does,” Larry said. “It will kill in big enough doses. It’s odorless and tasteless. It’s also colorless. The only thing is, it takes a large amount to kill someone.”

  “And that’s how Mrs. Cornford was murdered?” I asked him.

  Larry gestured to the folder in my hands. “Yes. It’s all in there. The teacup tested positive for it, as did the kitchen sink. The murderer threw the tea down the sink, but didn’t have time to rinse the cup. He obviously wanted it to look like a heart attack.”

  I thought for a moment. “So would this type of poison usually mimic a heart attack?”

  Larry nodded. “Yes, and Mrs. Cornford did have a heart problem. If it wasn’t for the foam around her mouth, the paramedics might not have been suspicious and alerted the police.”

  “Wouldn’t she have had a post mortem, though?” I asked.

  “No.” Larry tapped his pen on the desk. “Not in this state, not for what seemed to be natural causes.”

  “I didn’t see any foam until I touched her arm and she fell to the floor,” I said. “That must’ve dislodged it.”

  Alum spoke for the first time. “It’s obvious that the murderer wanted it to look like natural causes. What do you want Prudence to do, Larry?” His voice held a sharp edge, but Larry did not appear to notice.

  Larry ignored Alum and rested both elbows on his desk. “Prudence, I need you to ask Mrs. Cornford who she allowed in her house. If she can’t remember who killed her, then she should remember her usual visitors. Is that right?”

  I nodded. “Precisely. That’s exactly how it works.”

  “Great.” Larry stood up. “Prudence, please get back to me as soon as you can, once you have the information.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Alum said, as soon as we left Larry’s office.

  “To Mrs. Cornford’s?”

  Alum nodded. “I assume you’re headed there right now?’

  “Yes. I thought I’d try to make contact again.”

  “Mind if I go in your car?” Alum asked me. “And would you mind taking me back to the police station when you’re finished so I can collect my car? I know it’s out of your way.”

  I readily agreed. He still looked quite pale, and I noticed he occasionally touched his side, the place where I assumed he had been shot.

  “I have one more favor to ask. I have to collect my pain medication from the pharmacist just down the road. Would you mind waiting?”

  “Of course not,” I said.

  I had been in the car a full five minutes. Alum had texted to say that there was quite a wait. I was idly looking out the window when I saw Sally Symons go into the pharmacy. I thought I should follow her. After all, I had nothing else to do.

  I lost sight of her for a few moments, and then heard her talking to an assistant. I edged closer and pretended to be looking at the shelves.

  “Do you have problems with flatulence?” a voice asked me.

  I whirled around, to see a woman in uniform. She clearly worked there. “Oh no!” I said in horror, wondering why she would ask such a thing.

  She seemed puzzled by my reaction. “You’re holding a giant bottle of activated charcoal,” she said. “Most people buy it for flatulence.”

  I shoved the bottle back on the shelf as fast as I could. “I’m just waiting for my friend. He’s waiting for a prescription.”

  She nodded and left. I cautiously stepped closer to Sally. From my vantage point, I could hear the conversation.

  “You really should see a doctor if your eyes keep giving you so much trouble,” the assistant said. “Didn’t you buy some bottles of eye drops just the other week?”

  I gasped, and then ducked down behind a row of incontinence briefs so Sally wouldn’t see me. Eye drops! Was Sally the killer? But what motive could she have? The woman in the white uniform was heading my way. “Do you have problems with…?’

  I cut her off. “No!” I hurried out of the store, and caught up with Alum at the door. I couldn’t wait to tell him what I’d overheard. “Should we tell Larry?” I asked.

  Alum nodded. “Most certainly. Call him now.”

  I did so. “Did you happen to notice the brand?” Larry asked me.

  “No,” I said, deflated. “Aren’t all eye drops the same?”

  “Most of them contain tetrahydrozoline, but some don’t.”

  I was disappointed for a moment, but then something occurred to me. “Larry, isn’t the point that Sally Symons has been buying eye drops? I overheard that she bought a few bottles the other week. They could’ve been a different brand, for all we know.” I saw Alum smiling beside me.

  “You’d make a good detective,” he said.

  I held my breath, wondering if he was going to scold me for following Sally, but to my relief, he did not.

  Chapter 10

  Alum and I chatted happily all the way to Mrs. Cornford’s house, just like the old times when he had been a spirit. So much so, that I half expected him to dematerialize.

  “Sally doesn’t have a criminal record,” I said.

  Alum moved the lever on the seat to give himself more leg room. “That doesn’t mean too much, you know. She could well be the murderer. Sometimes people just snap.”

  I shrugged. “I suppose if Mrs. Cornford really upset her, and she happened to have the bottles of eye drops in her purse, she could’ve just poured them into her tea.”

  Alum agreed. “It might have been a spur-of-the-moment thing, and perhaps she didn’t want to kill the victim. Maybe she just wanted to make her sick.”

  “That makes sense,” I said, “given what Larry said about the popular view of eye drops.”

  “And you said Mrs. Cornford wasn’t popular around town.”

  I nodded. “No one liked her. She was pretty mean, as much as I don’t like to speak ill of the dead. It’s not a stretch to think that she said something particularly nasty to Sally, or perhaps even hadn’t paid her for some time.”

  I parked just outside the yellow police tape at the front gate. I made to get out of the car, but Alum restrained me with a hand on my arm. “Prudence, please stick close to me. That won’t affect you communicating with the spirit, will it?”

  I assured him that it wouldn’t. I hesitated for a moment, resisting the urge simply to throw my arms around his neck and hug him tightly.

  Alum continued talking. “Please stay in the car and lock yourself in, while I go and make sure that no one’s in the house.”

  I was immediately afraid for his safety. “Surely the murderer wouldn’t come back?” I said, concerned.

  “We don’t know who the murderer is,” Alum pointed out, “so we don’t know what the murderer will or will not do. I doubt anyone will be in the house, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

  I spent the next few minutes nervously waiting, terribly afraid that something would happen to Alum. It was with great relief that I saw him emerge through the front door and wave to me. I got out of the car, ducked under the yellow police tape, and walked inside the house.

  Mrs. Cornford’s spirit was immediately apparent upon entering the house. “Just tell me what to do,” Alum said.

  “Just try to stay in the background,” I said. “Try not to react to anything I say. I doubt you’ll frighten Mrs. Cornford’s spirit away, but I can’t be sure at this stage. And you’ll only hear one side of the conversation, so it might seem strange to you.”

  Alum nodded and stayed by the wall, while I walked over to sit at the kitchen table. “Mrs. Cornford, it’s me again, Prudence Wallflower, your neighbor. I have your dog, Mary, at home.”

  I could sense that the spirit was still confused, and she wasn’t coming through clearly. At least she showed no signs of fading, so I waited for her to speak. Finally,
she reached out to me. “I was murdered,” she said, the same remark that she had made last time.

  “Yes. Do you remember anything about it?” I asked her.

  I could feel her spirit oscillating, but she managed to solidify. Not that I could see her, only with my mind’s eye. She sent me impressions that she was drinking tea with someone. “Do you have any idea who you were drinking tea with?” I asked her.

  “No.” That came through loud and clear.

  “Who did you normally drink tea with?” I asked her.

  I waited for the impressions to come. I received the impression about the maid, Sally Symons, and Mrs. Cornford’s nephew, Boris McIntosh, clearly, and also that there were two other men.

  “Who are the two other men?” I asked her.

  She drew my attention to missing skirting boards, and a new door frame around the entrance to the living room. “Repairman? Builders?” I asked her.

  She projected the impression that I was correct.

  “Anyone else?”

  Mrs. Cornford projected, if I was picking up on her correctly, that no one else had tea with her on a regular basis. “And you can’t remember who you had tea with that day?” I asked her.

  “No.” Her projections were becoming stronger now, forming words that I sensed, rather than heard.

  “Thanks for that, you’ve been a big help, Mrs. Cornford. Do you mind if I come back here from time to time to see if you’ve remembered anything else?”

  “I want you to come back. I want to know who murdered me.”

  I agreed that I would come back. I added, “And don’t worry about Mary. I’ll take good care of her.”

  I sensed the ensuing rush of gratitude. I considered that Mrs. Cornford was far nicer as a spirit than she had been in life.

  I turned to Alum. “She’s gone now.”

  “Well, that was amazing!” he said, his voice filled with wonderment. “It was great to see you at work.”

  “You’ve seen me at work before,” I said with a laugh, “when you were in spirit form.”

  Alum seemed to ponder that for a moment. “It’s completely different seeing it from the other side. You really are clever, Prudence.”