by Morgana Best
Blake nodded. “Todd used to live here in Little Tatterford too,” he explained. “Todd has a lot of patience for Rachel’s high maintenance, speak-to-the-ghosts-of-wombats thing. I must say, I wasn’t happy when she hijacked my lunch table the other day. I tried to convince her not to cause this place trouble and just go home. I’ve told her several times this nonsense was affecting people I care about.”
I smiled in relief. So that’s what all this was about? I wasn’t sure I understood the whole thing with ghost wombats and trees and such, but Blake hadn’t been trying to avoid me. I understood that much.
I walked over to the kitchen to find something to eat with the wine. A quick look through the cupboards revealed cockatoo food and dog treats, but not much else. My eyes fell on the large bag that Blake had placed on the countertop. “Is that food?” I asked.
Blake stood up, and walked over to me. “It’s for you,” he said.
The first thing I saw when I opened the bag was a splash of color. I blinked in surprise. I reached into the bag and pulled out a lush bouquet of exotic, purple dendrobium orchids surrounded by tropical leaves.
I turned to Blake, who was smiling nervously as he watched my stunned reaction.
“Thanks, Blake. They’re gorgeous.”
Blake took a step closer to me.
“I was starting to think you were fed up with me.”
“What would make you think that?” he demanded, with genuine surprise on his face. There was no faking that expression.
“Well, you’re always having to save me from trouble.” I touched a delicate petal on the bouquet, blinking away a misty haze that clouded my vision. “And I thought perhaps, well, you’ve been so irritated lately. Um, I thought that you might have gotten tired of my meddling in the town’s unsolved mysteries.”
I looked back up, and saw nothing but Blake’s eyes staring right into mine. He had leaned in so close that I could feel his breath on my cheek. I took a short breath; my heart was beating out of my chest.
“Never,” he said softly, as he slowly leaned closer. He hesitated, as if giving me a chance to push him away.
I closed my eyes as he pressed his lips against mine. I leaned into the kiss as the entire world seemed to light up. Everything melted away into that one moment, until only the feel of his lips on mine remained.
Chapter 18.
The boarding house had been a ghostly sight of late, with most of the guests gone. I was sitting at the kitchen table with Cressida, who was going over some paperwork, when Mr. Buttons served us steaming coffee. “Here you go, ladies,” he said, extending the mugs to each of us. “I have lowered my standards and served you coffee instead of tea. I figured you could use some caffeine if you’re going to spend another day going through all those records and whatnot.”
Cressida looked up at him, her eyes slowly transitioning from the papers that were sprawled out across the table, to Mr. Buttons’ looming presence. “Records and whatnot?” she said. “I’m trying to find proof of every previous inspection we’ve had done. I know they should have this information somewhere in their systems, but maybe if I can show that awful Franklin Greer proof that we have no history of complaints or failed inspections, he might just close the investigation and let us reopen.” She looked away, clearly upset. “If we remain closed too much longer, it could end up being a permanent closure. I’m losing too much income right now, and still incurring most of the normal operating costs.”
I frowned and looked into my coffee mug. I swirled my finger around the rim and thought about what it would mean if the boarding house had to close. Mr. Buttons and Cressida continued their conversation; I heard their voices, but the words were jumbled and only my own anxiety could be heard clearly. Would I have to move and find a new place to live? Would my close friendships with these people be damaged in any way by such a devastating event?
I came back to the present when I heard Mr. Buttons asking about Dorothy again. He was persistent, that was for sure.
“No, I’m sure it isn’t Dorothy,” Cressida said calmly. She had set her papers aside and was staring at her laptop, her fingers tapping the keys in rapid succession. All of a sudden, she gasped.
“What is it?” I asked, as Mr. Buttons and I moved to look over her shoulder.
“Cynthia Greer!” Cressida exclaimed, jabbing one finger at the screen. “I googled Franklin Greer and Little Tatterford, and a link to an old photo of Cynthia Devonshire just came up, under the name Cynthia Greer!”
“Greer,” I said. “So the rival B&B owner’s maiden name is Greer, just like that horrible council man, Franklin Greer.”
Mr. Buttons stepped back and gasped. “Does that mean that Franklin Greer from the Little Tatterford and Shire Council is that woman’s brother?”
I nodded. “Most likely.”
Cressida remained silent for some time. When she finally spoke, her voice sounded frustrated, as well as angry. “So that’s why they’re making such a big deal about the balcony. They’re using that poor woman’s death as an excuse to shut us down so they can get an unfair advantage and steal our customers. We need to do something.”
I looked at her sympathetically. “If Franklin Greer is her brother, then the case against the boarding house will be thrown out,” I said.
Mr. Buttons shook his head. “We don’t even know for sure that they’re related. Maybe it’s just a coincidence that they share the same last name.”
“It would be a bit too much of a coincidence,” I said, “and it gives us another suspect. A new B&B moves into town; a murder happens at the leading business in the same field, and then the rival business owner has her brother shut down her rival for a building code violation.” I shook my head. “Now that I’ve said it, it actually doesn’t sound like a viable motive for murder,” I finished lamely.
Cressida nodded. “I have to agree. It’s not as if this is a million dollar business or anything. It’s a stretch to think that the murder was the catalyst for this entire financial sabotage. However, who’s to say that one or both of them weren’t involved? Maybe that was part of their plan all along.”
I shook my head. “Cynthia and Franklin Greer had no motive for murdering Greg’s wife. Everything does fit, except the motive. Why would they single out Greg or his wife if their goal was to disable your business?”
“Maybe there wasn’t a specific target, and they just wanted to hurt and not kill someone. That would make sense, if their motive was simply to hurt someone,” Mr. Buttons said. “But my money is still on the cook.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Lord Farringdon says it wasn’t Dorothy,” Cressida insisted, and right on cue, the fat cat appeared and purred around her legs.
“Why don’t you ask Lord Farringdon who the murderer is, then?” I asked. The words were out before I could stop them. I didn’t mean to sound sarcastic.
Thankfully, Cressida did not appear to have taken offense. “It doesn’t work like that,” she explained patiently. “Lord Farringdon is a cat.”
I felt the beginnings of a headache, but Cressida pressed on. “I think Greg could still have something to do with it, but it all makes you wonder, that’s for sure.” Cressida sighed, and went back to sorting through the layers of papers that littered the large table’s entire surface.
Mr. Buttons and I looked on quietly. After a few minutes of silence and coffee sipping, Greg walked into the kitchen. “Good morning, everyone,” he said.
“Morning,” we replied in unison.
“How are you this morning?’ Cressida asked him.
“I can’t help thinking about poor Lisa.” Greg turned away and covered most of his face with his hands. Sobs could be heard through his makeshift blindfold. “Bless her soul.” His hands fell from his face. “First the balcony, then the vandalism, and then they followed that up by trying to kill me with a car.”
Greg wiped away the invisible tears, and then poured himself some coffee. I watched as heat escaped his cup and thought o
f the steam as the pile of lies that he was letting escape from his mouth. I felt his grief was nothing more than a case of terrible acting. Mr. Buttons suspected Dorothy of the murder, and Cressida suspected Greg, but was now also considering Cynthia Devonshire as a suspect, but I just could not evade one nagging sensation. Every time something happened with Greg, the hairs on the back of my neck stood tall.
Just then, the door flew open and Greg’s personal assistant, Julie, walked in, taking long strides as she approached her boss. Greg rose to greet her. “Julie, what are you doing here?”
“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” she said in a way that reminded me of the annoying, popular girls from high school. “It’s going all around town that you were almost killed! One of those crazy people tried to run you over? Did they catch him? Is he in prison yet?”
Judging by his reaction, the barrage of frenzied questions had caught Greg completely off guard. “Listen, you need to calm down,” Greg said in a soothing, serious tone.
The woman ignored him. “Just tell me what happened,” she continued, “and why haven’t you even called me to tell me what happened? I thought we were friends, not just colleagues!”
“Julie, you’re my employee, and that’s as far as anything goes between us,” Greg said. His face had turned bright red, and I could see he was having trouble keeping himself under control. “I was going to explain what happened to you once things cooled down and this place opened back up.”
“Employee?” she yelled. “How dare you! You’ve certainly changed your tune!”
I watched with interest; this was more entertaining than an episode of The Real Housewives of Melbourne.
The young woman’s voice steadily increased in volume, until she was yelling at the top of her lungs. Lord Farringdon let out a loud yowl and ran from the room, his tail fluffed out like a toilet brush. Greg tried to lead Julie out of the kitchen, but she was having none of that. “Please, calm down,” he said for the umpteenth time. “Let’s go outside and we can talk about this in private.”
“In private?” she yelled, pointing to us. “Are you afraid that they might hear something incriminating? Are you worried some of your little secrets might get out and see the light of day?”
Oh boy. I glanced at Cressida, who returned my look of astonishment. Mr. Buttons’ eyes were glued to the scene unfolding before our eyes.
“Julie, I’m warning you. Keep your mouth shut, right now.”
The personal assistant didn’t respond, but it was obvious that holding her tongue wasn’t an easy feat.
“Let’s go upstairs and talk about everything,” Greg said, in a now calm voice. He gently put his hand behind Julie and nudged her in the right direction. They had only reached the door when things fell apart again.
“I just don’t understand why you didn’t call or even message me about it. I was worried about you. I found out from a random person at work that my boss, someone I care about deeply, was nearly killed. I’m just hurt and upset.” The young woman’s words sounded truthful and full of pain.
Greg did not respond, but guided Julie through the door and shut it.
“You just don’t get it,” he yelled. By now, they were both out of sight, but their voices were as loud as ever. “You’re nothing but an employee, and that was only until someone better came along. You’re jeopardizing everything, and you need to remove yourself from this.”
“What? What does that even mean?” The woman’s voice sounded desperate. “What are you saying?”
“It means that you’re fired,” Greg yelled. “Get out, go! I didn’t call or text you about it, because I don’t want or need you around me anymore. Please, just go. Find yourself a new job. I’ll give you a good reference.”
Suddenly, the young woman’s voice erupted, causing me to flinch at the startling shriek. “You know what? You’re nothing but a con artist, a liar, a cheat, and a huge jerk! All of this craziness is happening just because you wanted all of your wife’s money, and now you’re getting rid of me to cover it up further. This is all insane. Actually no, you’re insane!”
I could hear her footsteps thumping away from our direction, but the sound was soon interrupted by Greg’s loud voice. “Julie, stop this. Just wait, I’m sorry! Wait!”
“No!” her voice yelled back. “You made your decision, and that’s fine, but now I’m going to make mine.” Her voice faded.
Cressida leaned forward and looked over at us. “What money? Greg’s wealthy. He has no need of his wife’s money.”
“Obviously we missed something,” I said. I hadn’t told Cressida or Mr. Buttons about what Rebecca had said, as I had practically promised her to keep it to myself, but it was all starting to add up.
Chapter 19.
Mr. Buttons jumped to his feet and ran out the kitchen door, presumably after Julie. I glanced over at Cressida with bewilderment. With just one look and no words, Cressida was able to convey to me one instruction: Follow!
Both of us leaped up and dashed out of the kitchen to the front door. When we got outside, Mr. Buttons was already locked in conversation with the woman, and Greg was nowhere to be seen. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything in there. I was just so upset.”
“I understand that, Julie, but I think you need to explain what it meant,” Mr. Buttons said.
“I need to explain what it meant? What is it?” Julie asked, seemingly confused by the question.
“What you said inside,” Cressida added.
“You told Greg that all of this craziness was happening just because he wanted all of his wife’s money. Those were your exact words, or something to that effect, I think,” I said.
Julie looked at me for a while. After a few minutes of silence, she spoke. “I shouldn’t have said that,” she said softly. She turned away from the three of us and looked off into the distance. We looked at each other, but nobody as much as whispered a word, until Julie continued. “I don’t know if he hurt Lisa, or exactly what he has or hasn’t done, but I do know for a fact that he knows more than he’s telling everyone else. I’ve seen his emails; I’ve seen some of his text messages, and I’ve heard many of his voicemails. I know more about Greg than his wife probably did.” A grim look overtook her features as she let out a loud sigh.
“Then please fill us in,” Cressida said, “because ever since Greg checked in, everything has become one big mess. Once everything is cleared up, this business can open back up and avoid closing down for good.”
Julie appeared to be considering the matter. “Okay,” she continued. “Again, I don’t know that he hurt anyone, but I know that he has a motive to have done so. His parents and Lisa’s parents are in business together. They’ve known each other for years, even before Greg and Lisa were born, as far as I know. They offered Greg and Lisa a huge parcel of land right next to the wilderness that Greg’s currently developing.”
“You’re not saying that they offered their kids a big patch of land to marry each other?” Mr. Buttons said, in obvious disbelief.
Julie shrugged. “I don’t think they saw it that way. They considered it a wedding gift, but the catch was that even after the land was gifted to the couple, Greg and Lisa both had equal say with any development of that land.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means that they both have to agree to it,” Cressida said.
“Exactly,” Julie added. “In order for anything to be done with the land, both of the owners need to sign a document giving consent.”
“I still don’t see how that’s a problem,” I said. “Wouldn’t Lisa just consent to developing the land? She’d benefit from it just as much as Greg would.”
“The thing is,” Julie said, “that parcel of land was wilderness land, too. Lisa did not approve of the development of wilderness land. She was unlike Greg and her parents, as well as his parents. She openly said she would never consent to the development of that parcel of land.”
“I take it the land is worth quite a b
it?” Mr. Buttons inquired.
Julie nodded. “Millions and millions, if it’s developed.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “If one of the owners dies, the other gains total control, right?”
“Yes,” Julie said. “If one of them were to die before the other, the land and all of their assets and finances would be inherited by the surviving spouse. Lisa’s death means that Greg now owns all of that land as its single proprietor.”
Cressida, Mr. Buttons, and I looked at each other. Finally! We had uncovered a motive.
“Maybe Dorothy isn’t looking like a prime suspect anymore,” Mr. Buttons admitted sadly. His shoulders drooped.
Julie sighed. “I’m going to head back home. I’ve had more than enough of this place, no offense,” she said.
“I’ll have to call Blake and tell him,” I said, once Julie had left.
“Should we try to stop Greg from leaving until the police show up or something?” Mr. Buttons asked.
Cressida shook her head. “No, just stay out of it, Mr. Buttons. He’s not going anywhere. Where would he go? He’s in the middle of nowhere working on a project. He can’t just up and leave. He’s a well-known businessman. It’s not as if he can make a run for it and then hide out in the bush for years like that other fugitive did a few years back.”
“Oh yes,” Mr. Buttons said. “That was Malcolm Naden, wasn’t it? He hid out in the bush for seven years, right around these parts.”
I shuddered. When driving south, I always stopped for a break at the tiny village of Nowendoc, where Naden had been hiding out prior to his capture. The thought always gave me the creeps.
“It was always about the motive,” Mr. Buttons added. “Without a motive, I just couldn’t let myself believe that a man could be so heartless and ruthless. To murder his own wife for something as trivial as money seems unforgivable in any regard.” Mr. Buttons looked down.
“Unfortunately, a lot of people in this world are greedy,” I said. “It’s all about propelling themselves ahead, without any worry or concern for those they had to step on to get where they are.”
