Natural-born Grillers (Australian Amateur Sleuth Book 2)

by Morgana Best

  “Sorry, I had to run out to get more. They thought half a jar was going to be plenty, apparently,” a familiar voice said. I turned to see Blake approach the table, a bag of sugar in hand. He was in a white shirt and jeans, wearing a blue apron with the dog show logo on it.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, by way of greeting.

  Blake simply grinned as he refilled the jar. He set the extra sugar in a box of supplies underneath the table before pouring himself a cup of coffee. “How is the show so far? Are you drumming up business?”

  “Yes, it’s going well,” I said, as I poured several spoons of sugar into my coffee.

  Blake took a sip of his drink and made a face, sliding the jar closer to spoon in an extra dose of sugar. “That’s disgusting. They should call in the Hazmat team.”

  I laughed and took a sip of my drink. It wasn’t good, even with the sugar. “No kidding.”

  “Can I interest you in a stale cupcake?” he asked, sweeping a hand toward a tray of sickeningly sweet-looking cakes topped with some shiny looking icing. “We also have extra sticky glazed donuts, crumbling oatmeal cookies, and some sort of brick disguised as a cake.”

  I laughed. “You really know how to sell your product, don’t you?” I was somewhat surprised that Blake was displaying a pleasant sense of humor. He didn’t have his serious cop face on today. “Anyway, why are you here? Are you undercover or something?”

  Blake seemed to think that was quite funny. “Hardly, not in a small country town where everyone knows me,” he said. “No, I was drafted by the regional inspector. His wife was dredging up volunteers, and Constable Andrews decided it would be hilarious to sign me up.” Blake inspected the snacks and opted for one of the stale cupcakes.

  I tried not to smile too much at that. It sounded like something my friends back in Sydney would have done to each other. I admired Blake’s good humor. My ex-husband would have sulked if his co-workers had ever tried that on him.

  “But the last laugh is on him.” He gestured to the half empty boxes scattered around. “I’m taking the leftovers back to Constable Andrews tomorrow.” Blake dipped his cake in his coffee, and it promptly disintegrated. He furrowed his brow and studied the drink. “Well, that wasn’t the best idea.”

  I let out a strained laugh.

  Blake dropped the rest of the cupcake in the coffee and dumped the entire thing into the trash.

  Taking advantage of his good mood, I risked a question. “Do they know who the beneficiaries of Martin Bosworth’s will are yet?”

  Before he could say anything in response, a crackled voice chimed over the intercom calling for all hounds to go Ring Three.

  “Sibyl,” Blake said, when the loudspeaker was silent, “I hope you’re not getting any ideas about investigating this, just to help Cressida. Stay away from Susan Woods.”

  “Just curious,” I said, trying to look convincing. I waited for him to answer, but he was making another coffee. I didn’t want to risk asking him again, so I decided I would go back to the university in Pharmidale at the first opportunity and do some nosing around by myself.

  Chapter 18

  I parked my van in the visitors’ parking area at the bottom of the hill. I put some money in the ticket-machine slot, and then put the ticket under the windshield. I stood with my back against the car, and looked up at the Arts faculty building, wondering what to do next.

  I went through my plan again: I needed to find out if anyone had a grudge against Professors Bosworth and Palmer, and I needed to find out who benefited from their deaths. More than that, I was looking for any link between the two men that would give me a clue to the murders.

  As I trudged up the hill, I muttered under my breath. It wasn’t fair that I had to do this. After all, I was a dog groomer and not a detective. Armed only with a year of Critical Reasoning 101, I made my way through the old wooden doors of the Arts building.

  I looked around for inspiration, but none came. What would I do? I could hardly knock on the doors of the Philosophy Department offices and announce that I was asking questions about Martin Bosworth and Colin Palmer.

  I wandered aimlessly along the pale gray corridors of the Arts building, chastising myself for not being better prepared. As I walked past one open door, someone called my name.

  I poked my head around the door, to see Alec Steel sitting around a low wooden table with several people. I guessed they were students, as they were all looking at Alec with admiration. I didn’t know whether to be pleased or dismayed at running into Alec, but I figured I could turn it to my advantage.

  Alec caught my eye and gestured to the L-shaped seating arrangement, so I walked over and sat down.

  “Welcome to the staff room, Sibyl,” Alec said, as several pairs of eyes fixed on me. “Would you like coffee?”

  I looked around for the urn, and was about to refuse, but to my delight saw a rather fancy espresso machine in the corner. “Yes, please. Black, three sugars.”

  Alec nodded to one of the students, a tall, lanky man, who at once hurried over to the machine.

  “Well, Sibyl, what brings you here? Were you looking for me?”

  I forced the grimace off my face and tried not to cringe. “Actually, I thought you might have an idea who killed Martin Bosworth and Colin Palmer. Who would benefit from their deaths?”

  One of the girl students leaned forward and opened her mouth to speak, but Alec cut her off. “Oh yes, we all know the news now. Martin Bosworth has left all his money to the university, as he had no living relatives.”

  “The university?” I took my coffee from the student, and thanked him. I took a sip. It was good.

  Alec nodded. “Yes. It turns out he set up a trust to fund a permanent position for a philosophy professor specializing in Philosophy of Logic, and he also set up a scholarship for the best student essay on Dialectical Method.”

  “Fascinating,” I lied. “So he obviously wasn’t killed for his money.”

  “Clearly.” Alec’s tone was arrogant, but for once I didn’t mind, as he was proving to be a useful source of information.

  I was about to ask another question, when an elderly man came through the door and walked over to us. “Shouldn’t you all be in Professor Wilson’s class?”

  The students scurried away, and the man sat down opposite me. Alec duly made the introductions.

  “Professor Northrop, I knew Martin Bosworth and Colin Palmer,” I said. “I live next to the boarding house where they were staying.”

  Professor Northrop stroked his beard. “A terrible business. Martin Bosworth wasn’t liked, of course, but why anyone would want to hurt Colin Palmer is beyond me.”

  I set down my coffee cup. “Do you know who inherits Colin Palmer’s estate?”

  Northrop shook his head. “No, but he didn’t have any money, if you’re thinking of motive.”

  I nodded. “So, is there any link between them, any reason why both of them would’ve been murdered?”

  Professor Northrop consumed a cupcake before answering. He offered the plate to me, but I declined. I also declined to point out that several of the crumbs were lodged firmly in his beard. “Martin Bosworth was most unpopular around here. No one had a good word to say about him. He sat on selection committees to employ staff he thought could help him, and had dinner parties for the Dean and gave him gifts. He always sucked up to the Chancellor of the university. He got rid of anyone who got in his way. He started here well before I did, and there was talk that he had gotten rid of several promising staff members, and even general staff, for no good reason. He was ruthless. Everyone said he should have been in the Byzantine history department, rather than the Philosophy Department.”

  Both Alec and Northrop laughed uproariously at that, but it went straight over my head.

  “Well, that could give someone a reason to kill him,” I said, “but it was too long ago.”

  “When I came to teach here, there was talk that Bosworth had just gotten rid of one promising ph
ilosopher when they were both going for tenure, but in recent years, I knew that he had at least one person fired without grounds to do so. On the other hand, Colin Palmer was well liked. I can’t think of any reason why anyone would want to kill both men, any reason at all.” With that, Professor Northrop stuffed a whole cupcake in his mouth, and left the room.

  I was left alone with Alec Steel, and debated whether to leave now, or whether to pump him for more information.

  “I can think of a link between the two,” Alec said.

  I sat silently, waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, I said, “Go on.”

  Alec leaned forward slightly. “The night before he was killed, Colin Palmer told me that he had just seen someone at the boarding house that he hadn’t seen in years. He said he was surprised that it had taken him so long to recognize them.”

  I stared at Alec, but there was no sign that he was inventing this. “Well, that’s the link!” I exclaimed. “Someone had a grudge against Martin Bosworth and killed him, and then killed Colin Palmer after Colin recognized them.”

  Alec smiled, clearly pleased with himself. “That’s exactly what I think.”

  “You must tell the detectives.” I tried to process the information; although I thought it might clear Cressida, it did not tie in with Susan being the culprit. Susan had been there the whole time that the boarders were there, so they had plenty of opportunity to recognize her right from the very first day.

  “I did.”

  I stared at Alec in disbelief. “You told the detectives? And what did they say?”

  He shrugged. “They just thanked me for helping them with their inquiries.”

  Typical. Surely the detectives couldn’t still suspect Cressida after the information Alec had provided? Or did they? “Did they ask you any questions?”

  Alec shook his head. “No, they didn’t seem interested.”

  I rubbed my eyes. That was discouraging, but I bet Blake didn’t know this piece of information. I looked up at Alec. “Was it a man or woman?”

  Alec frowned. “Was what?”

  “The person Colin Palmer recognized. Did he say he or she?”

  Alec shot me a pitying look. “Sibyl, Colin said they. They is now in correct and common usage as the third person, generic singular, personal pronoun.”

  My head was spinning, so I simply nodded. “Good, thanks for that. Well, I’d best be going.” I stood up, and took my coffee mug over to the sink.

  When I turned around, Alec was standing so close behind me that I had to step sideways to escape him.

  “Sibyl, meet me for coffee tomorrow and we can discuss this further.”

  I hesitated for a moment. I had no wish to spend any more time in Alec’s presence, but he had just provided me with a possible suspect, the person who had been recognized by Colin Palmer. Of course, Alec might be the murderer, and he might be covering up by presenting me with a fake suspect. Either way, I needed more information from him.

  Reluctantly, I agreed.

  Chapter 19

  My first impulse was to tell Alec Steel that I was a big girl and could order my own food. My second impulse was to turn on my heel and get out while the getting was good. I had accepted a coffee invitation from Alec against my better judgment, but I wanted him for information. He was rapidly becoming my Number One Suspect, and the fact that I didn’t like him had everything to do with that.

  Alec had ordered some sort of green liquid salad for me and that did not help at all. I studied the drink in front of me. Was it congealing, or was that just my imagination? I preferred my vegetables on a plate. I preferred to eat them with a fork, not drink them through a straw.

  Still, this was a special circumstance. I had made it clear to him that the meeting was simply to ask him questions, but he still seemed to have the wrong idea. Perhaps he thought that all women were attracted to him. The thought made me shudder.

  “You know,” Alec said, squaring his shoulders and throwing his arm over the back of his chair, “are you really content to keep on washing a bunch of neighborhood mutts for a living? I could make a couple of calls and get you a real job, something at my office. I could always use a pretty woman as a research assistant.”

  The greater good, I said to myself, fighting the urge to run from the café. This is for Cressida. Aloud I said, “Not a hope in hell. Now, Alec, I told you I’d agree to meet you for coffee to ask you questions about Martin Bosworth and Colin Palmer.”

  Alec winked at me, and I shuddered. “It’s logical that the two deaths are related,” he said. “No one liked Martin Bosworth. But Colin Palmer—everyone liked him. That’s what’s so strange.”

  “Aren’t you afraid?” I asked. “What if someone kills another philosophy professor? You could be next in line.”

  “I’m well liked, Sibyl.” His tone was arrogant.

  I was going to point out that he had just said that Colin Palmer was well liked, but he continued speaking in his patronizing tone. “So, Sibyl, what brought you to a dull town like this?”

  “Just getting a new start on life.” There was no way I was going to share the story of my life with the likes of Alec Steel. “Anyway, the town doesn’t really seem all that dull to me. It seems to be homicide central at the moment.”

  Alec sneered as he took a long drink from his green stuff.

  How does he drink that? I wondered. Why does the café even sell it?

  As I was wondering how to get back to my questioning, Alec gave a well-practiced wink and smiled as if he thought I was totally charmed by his behavior. Apparently he was well convinced of the thought, because he sat back and got comfortable as he told his epic story. He started from high school, where he was the pride of the school, class president, award winner, and so he droned on through a catalog of various university prizes—real or imagined, I for one didn’t care. I twice attempted to cut through his speech, to no avail.

  I turned my eyes heavenward. Please make him stop!

  Alec was so intrigued by his own life history, that he did not even notice when I glanced around the café to look for something to distract me, to help me get through his long dialog. To my surprise, I saw a familiar face looking my way.

  Over the other side of the room was Blake Wessley. I didn’t know what looked better, Blake himself or the delicious looking grilled sandwich and coffee in front of him. I figured he was on his lunch break, given that he was wearing a uniform. When I caught his eye, he looked away immediately.

  “And of course that geezer ruined everything!” Alec exclaimed, jarring me back to the table.

  “What?” I said in alarm.

  “Haven’t you been listening to a thing I said?” His face was petulant, like a small child about to throw a tantrum.

  “No,” I answered truthfully. “It must be low blood sugar, or an allergy to green slime.”

  Alec narrowed his eyes at me. “I said,” he continued, “that I was a brilliant student, and I landed a position as a Teaching Assistant, but then they assigned me to Martin Bosworth.” He groaned dramatically and raised his hands to the ceiling.

  I didn’t know what was worse: having to listen to him drone on about his accomplishments, or him pausing at the very part I wanted to hear. “I take it Martin Bosworth wasn’t easy to get along with?” I prompted, tapping my knuckles impatiently on the table.

  “That’s putting it mildly. He made it his life goal to give me a hard time. He’d ask me to run his errands, like I was paid to do that. He even made me go and fetch coffee for him.”

  I smiled encouragingly.

  Alec sighed and his lower lip dropped. “Anyway, some of my buddies were still undergrads. They were in my class, and he was constantly on my case about making sure I didn’t give them answers, like I was a moron that needed to be reminded. But one of my friends got us all tickets to a big show in Sydney. The problem was that we all had to leave on the Friday morning, the day of a big test. So I did the most logical thing.”

  I wondered w
hat the most logical thing was. “You all left immediately after the test?” I guessed.

  “No!” Alec looked at me like I was an idiot. “I just moved the test up to Thursday. It’s not like any of the others were going to get any higher marks with one extra day to prepare for it. I canceled class for Friday. Everybody got a three day weekend! They should’ve all been grateful.”

  Alec apparently misinterpreted my look of disbelief for admiration. He smiled widely in response. “Martin Bosworth made a point to attack me over it. He gave me a real hard time after that, so I had to take up a position at another university interstate. So then, I made it a point to deal with old Bosworth. “

  “Deal with him how?” I asked.

  He leaned over the table and gazed into my eyes. “How about I tell you over dinner at my place?”

  I shuddered. “How about you just tell me now?”

  “How about seven o’clock, Friday?”

  I shook my head and stood up. “No. Thanks for the drink.”

  Alec frowned. “Leaving already? And you barely touched your drink.”

  “I’m a picky eater. Goodbye, Alec.”

  As I hurried to make my escape, I noticed that Blake had left. That was a shame, as I had wanted to talk with him about Alec and the likelihood of him getting even with Martin Bosworth.

  I walked to my van, thinking about Blake’s expression as he was watching our table. Was it curiosity? No, it seemed something akin to annoyance. I thought back to the day of the dog show, and then to the dog park, and about how nice it had been to talk to him, and how easy it was to be around him. Could he have been jealous?

  I paused in the middle of the parking lot and looked around for Blake. To my disappointment there was no sign of him. I shook my head and sighed. I had just gotten out of a bad marriage, and I was rebuilding a life and a career. I didn’t have time to fantasize about a charming and handsome young cop.