by Morgana Best
For his entrée, Jamie ordered Minchet Abish, described on the menu as finely ground beef with fenugreek, cottage cheese, and spinach, and for the main, char grilled scotch fillet steak with truffled mash and béarnaise sauce.
I hadn’t taken much notice of the exchange between Jamie and the wine waiter, so I was surprised when a bottle of Bollinger arrived on the table.
“Bollinger,” I blurted, and then at once wished I hadn’t spoken.
Jamie looked concerned. “You don’t like champagne?”
Yes, I thought, I love champagne, especially very expensive champagne like Bollinger. Aloud I said, “Oh no, I really like it.” My thoughts were tumbling over each other. We weren’t celebrating anything; I hadn’t solved the case, so surely champagne meant that this was a date?
“So, what got you into,” I hesitated, “your line of business?”
Jamie smiled. “It was straight out of Cambridge, actually. I was about to finish my degree in Politics and International Studies, when a man approached me in the old pub I always went to. It was overlooking the river Cam.”
I gasped. “You’re kidding. That’s just like something out of a movie.”
“I then went into MI5 for my first years of training as an Intelligence Officer,” Jamie said, “and progressed from there into MI6.”
I cast a glance around furtively. “And ended up in SI7,” I said in hushed tones.
Jamie nodded.
“You’re kind of like James Bond,” I said.
“But I’m not a womanizer.” Jamie winked at me.
My legs turned to mush; lucky I was sitting down. The evidence was looking more and more like this was, indeed, a date. My heart beat so loudly that I wouldn’t have been surprised if all the other patrons had turned to look at me. “I only have your word for that,” I pointed out, unable to suppress the researcher in me.
Jamie laughed loudly. “That’s one of the things I like about you,” he said, “but truly, I’ve never dated anyone from the agency before.” He leaned across the table and put his hand on top of mine.
I managed to close my jaw, which had fallen open. I hoped my hand wasn’t shaking in tune with the rest of me. I was rendered speechless. I had been attracted to this man right from my time in England, but this was the first real indication that he felt the same about me.
Jamie finally retrieved his hand so he could continue eating, and talk turned to work. “Misty, I’m really worried about someone drugging your water,” he said. “That was clearly an attempt on your life. You’re supposed to be doing research, not field work. You are supposed to be safe, not putting yourself in danger.”
I shrugged. “I wasn’t too thrilled about it, either.”
“You must have discovered something that someone considers is threatening to them.”
“I can’t imagine what.” I frowned and chewed my lip. What was I missing?
Jamie put down his fork. “I’ve looked into Gerald Wakefield and Ethan Williams, and they have good, solid reputations around town.”
“Aha, I thought it was the museum curator.”
Jamie waved his finger at me. “Don’t jump to conclusions. It could just as easily be one of them. Or even your friend Douglas.”
I went to protest, but thought the better of it. As we progressed to dessert, Jamie having the red wine poached pear, and me the hazelnut panna cotta, I thought of Douglas. I didn’t trust him and I still wasn’t entirely sure whether he had, in fact, intended to kill me back in England. Still, my instincts told me that he wasn’t the killer. The trouble was, my instincts didn’t tell me just who the killer was.
I felt all warm and cozy as Jamie delivered me back to Brandon’s house and walked me to the door. I turned to thank him for walking me to the door, when I realized he was close behind me. I had no time to react as his lips brushed mine and before I knew it, we were locked in a passionate kiss.
Jamie stopped kissing me and held me at arms’ length. “Misty, promise me you won’t go back to Bakers Creek Falls.”
I would have promised him anything at that moment. I nodded. Jamie pulled me back into a brief kiss, and then went back down the pathway to his car.
I turned back to the door, but to my horror, Brandon was standing here, glaring at me. He didn’t say a word, but the ‘How could you?’ look was plastered all over his face. He swung on his heel and stormed to his bedroom, shutting the door.
I sighed.
Chapter 17
I’d promised Jamie that I wouldn’t go back to Baker Creek Falls, but I hadn’t promised him that I wouldn’t go back to Hillgrove. I know that was splitting straws, and he wasn’t happy about it, especially as I had refused to let him accompany me, foolishly as it turned out.
I was tired, actually exhausted in fact, from all the events of the previous days, so had only gone to Hillgrove to take photos, and to get any information about local ghosts for the magazine article. If I stumbled across anything about the evil entity while I was there, all well and good. After the attempt on my life, I needed a few days’ break before I looked into the matter of the evil entity too closely.
I was trying to process everything that had happened to me, and that was mentally tiring. Nevertheless, as I wandered around Hillgrove, with my car well and truly locked this time, I became distracted and ended up focusing on Hillgrove itself. It was hard to imagine that this peaceful, little town had once been a bustling city. It seemed pretty much deserted. A coffee shop would have helped.
I was parked on the corner of the road that ran up to the Hillgrove museum, taking a photo of the sign that told of the former police station, when Gerald Wayfield drove up. He waved enthusiastically and then parked his car next to mine.
“Hi Misty, good to see you again. I was going to call you this afternoon. I have some very exciting information for you.”
I smiled, waiting for him to continue, and when he didn’t, asked, “What is it?”
“I was looking through my historical records, as I promised you I would, and I came across my great, great grandfather’s letters. Several of them mentioned people being attacked by a malingee.”
I stopped him. “I’ve never heard of a malingee. What is it?”
“It’s a creature from Aboriginal mythology. Not a well known one at all, one of the lesser heard of ones. A malingee is a bad Aboriginal spirit that only comes out at night.”
“Oh,” I said, thinking that that was why I couldn’t pick up the presence of one through the day.
“Did that ring a bell? You’ve heard of them, then?”
I shrugged. “No, I don’t think so.”
Gerald looked at me quizzically and then continued. “The only way you can tell if one is around is by the scraping sound that they make, and that’s caused by their stone knees knocking together. In general, they keep away from humans, but if they’re in any way aggravated by people, they won’t think twice about killing them.”
“Are they associated with massacres?”
Gerald shook his head. “No, not at all. Talk of massacres in this district is all an old wives’ tale, really. Anyway, the malingee won’t think twice about killing an individual who annoys it, but never groups of people. They kill with a stone knife. The letters said that they had bright red eyes, like coals in a burning fire.”
I thought it over. It definitely seemed to fit. I had never sensed the presence of an evil entity in Hillgrove or Bakers Creek for that matter, and I had only been there in the daytime. It appeared that the evil creature was a malingee.
At any rate, I was thrilled. I had finally fulfilled my assignment for SI7; I had surely found out the identity of the creature which had killed people at Hillgrove, and Gerald’s ancestor’s letters would supply me with even more information. But what sort of name did the Black Lodge want? Simply malingee, the type of spirit? Or did it have a personal name, like Fred or George? That seemed a bit far fetched. And what was Douglas’s interest in all this?
“I can’t make photocopies
of the letters to post to you, I’m afraid,” Gerald said, “as they’re way too faded. I can let you look at them and take notes. I could drop them off to you next week in Armidale when I go in, or you could call in at my house any time and look at them.”
I thought of Jamie’s dire warnings. “I’ll think about it and let you know.”
Gerald nodded. “Perhaps you could bring your friend, too.”
“My friend?”
“Yes, that nice man, Douglas. He told me how he does research for your magazine.”
I gritted my teeth. “He did, did he? I didn’t know you’d met Douglas.”
Gerald nodded again. “Yes, he’s been out here taking photographs, too, and asking questions.”
I put on my sweetest smile. “Gerald, Douglas and I are both up for a promotion. Would you mind if you didn’t tell him about your great grandfather’s letters?”
Gerald looked crestfallen. “I’m so sorry, Misty. I had no idea. I’ve already told him. I thought the two of you were working together. He hasn’t seen the letters yet though. I’m so sorry.”
I exhaled loudly. “Oh well, it’s not your fault at all, Gerald. Can you somehow keep the letters from him if he wants to see them, make something up?”
“I’ll try.” After another apology, Gerald left and I went back to my car. I unlocked it, drank some water, and ate a cookie. What was I to do now? I stood up and stretched, and then sat back down in the car again. It was no use thinking; my head was in a muddle and I needed a decent sleep. I called Jamie’s phone, but I was out of range. I decided to head back to Armidale, and to report to Jamie about the malingee.
I was only just south of Hillgrove when my phone rang. I picked it up but the connection was bad, so I pulled off the road and parked.
“Hello? I haven’t heard anything. Can you say it again?”
“Misty, it’s Gerald,” the voice yelled over the line. “I’ve just got back home and Douglas has just turned up. He wants to see the letters and I’ve told him that we should wait for you. Are you far away?”
Good old Gerald. I hope I hadn’t put him in on the spot. “No, I’m just up the road. I’ll be right there. I should be able to remember the way to your place. Can you shout? I can barely hear you.”
“Hang on, Douglas wants to speak with you.”
“Hey, bring me a coffee, will you Misty?”
I couldn’t think of anything rude to say to Douglas, which is just as well as he must have handed the phone right back to Gerald. “See you soon, call if you get lost,” Gerald said, and then hung up.
Remembering Jamie’s dire warnings, I texted him to let him know where I was headed and that Douglas was there too. I drove off and somehow managed to find my way back to Gerald’s, although I only narrowly missed taking a wrong turn.
The front door was open, but I knocked. “Hello? Gerald?”
Gerald appeared, drinking a coffee. “Hi Misty, let’s have a cup of tea and then get started. Or would you prefer coffee?”
“What sort of coffee do you have?” I despise instant coffee, so asking this question usually gives me the heads up as to whether someone has a coffee machine, without offending them.
“Nescafe, I think.” Gerald furrowed his brow.
“Actually, a nice cup of tea would be great, black, no sugar, please.”
Gerald disappeared in the direction of the kitchen and reappeared almost instantly with a cup of tea.
“Where’s Douglas?”
Gerald laughed. “You’ll be very pleased with me. I sent him down to the barn and told him I’d left the files, my great grandfather’s letters, down there on a bench where I was sitting in the sun to eat lunch. That will give you time to look through them first.”
“Thanks so much, Gerald.” I beamed at him. Who would have thought he’d be so sneaky?
I opened the folder and looked at the first letter. It was blurry. “Oh, where are my glasses?” I wondered aloud. As soon as I said that, I realized I was wearing my glasses. “Not again,” I said. I looked over at Gerald, and he looked malevolent. “Have you drugged me?” I asked.
Gerald’s expression was one of puzzlement. “Of course not. What do you mean?”
“I can’t see and I’m wearing my glasses.”
Gerald laughed. “You’re drinking hot tea. No doubt it fogged up your glasses.”
“Oh.” I was horribly embarrassed and felt like a complete idiot. “You must think I’m quite mad, Gerald. I’m really embarrassed. I’m so sorry for thinking you’d drugged me.”
“Why would I drug you?”
I shrugged, mortified by what I’d said.
Gerald stood up. “Yes, why would I drug you when I have this?” He pulled out a gun from behind his back and waved it at me. It was a small hand gun, not a rifle like farmers have. My knowledge of guns is zero.
My first thought was, Here we go again. That’s not to say I wasn’t scared. Far from it; I was terrified. This was the third or forth time that my life had been threatened by someone. I’d lost count. The researcher in me wondered why Gerald saw me as a threat; what was the connection between Gerald and the malingee? Or was there a different reason he was pointing a gun at me?
He waved the gun toward a door at the back of the kitchen, indicating that I should walk over there. I hoped that the gun wouldn’t accidentally go off. I walked over to the door, terrified that he would shoot me in the back. I walked through the door, and saw that there were steps immediately ahead of me.
A basement. We really don’t have them in Australia, but this was the second time I’d encountered one in a house with people trying to kill me. I suppose if people engage in criminal activities, then they do need a basement or some sort of hideaway. I was forcing myself to think logically as a firewall against my fear, but fear now rose to take the upper hand.
I was trembling and terrified. I braced myself as I took the first step, fearing that Gerald would push me down the stairs.
The door slammed hard behind me as I reached the third step. I breathed a sigh of relief. Gerald hadn’t shot me or pushed me down the stairs, so clearly intended to keep me alive at least for the time being. I stopped and hoped like hell that something sinister wasn’t waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs.
I crept down, holding my breath. I could hear something moving down there, larger than a rat.
There was a small, rectangular window ahead of me to the left, high up and barred. Of all things, it had flimsy lace curtains over it. It was throwing some light into the room, but I had to squint to see my surroundings.
I reached the bottom of the stairs, and turned hard to the right. To my left was nothing but a cold, stone wall. I tentatively rounded the corner, and then stood stock still when I saw Douglas ahead of me.
“Douglas!”
“Misty!”
We stared at each other. Douglas was sitting with his back to a pole, his hands behind him, and thick, rough rope tied around his feet.
Chapter 18
For the second time in the space of a few minutes, I thought, Here we go again.
“Misty, quick, untie me.”
I laughed harshly. “Been there, done that, Douglas.”
“What do you mean?”
I snorted rudely. “How could you forget? Doesn’t this scenario seem familiar to you? Back in England, when you and Cassandra tried to kill me? How stupid do I look? It worked last time, but it won’t work this time!”
Again Douglas asked, “What do you mean?”
I was getting angry, and for the moment, anger overcame my fear. “Don’t pretend you don’t remember! Cassandra had you tied up and said she’d kill you if I didn’t tell her where that document she wanted was. I told her, and then she untied you, and the two of you both laughed at me, and then you were both going to kill me.” I then sneezed violently; I don’t think Gerald kept this place dusted.
“Misty, I did not try to kill you. We’ve been through this before. I’m a double agent…”
&nb
sp; I cut him off. “Double agent indeed! Gerald will come down the steps and say that he’ll kill you if I don’t tell him something or other.”
And right on cue, a light came on in the room. The switch must have been outside the basement door. I looked around for a weapon, but there was nothing. This was no ordinary basement used for storage; it was some sort of ritual room. Strange symbols were painted on every wall, and there was a large, stone altar which looked like it was used for blood sacrifice. I was too scared to look too closely, as it seemed to be covered in old blood stains. Behind that, and against the wall was another altar covered with candles and ritual items, including what very much looked like a ritual dagger made of stone.
Gerald came down the stairs waving the gun in front of him. “Okay, I’ve hidden both your cars in the barn just to be on the safe side. Go over there, near your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I spat.
“Whatever. Now, I need you to me tell me why you two are snooping around asking questions. Who sent you?”
I spoke first. “I’m a journalist. Call the magazine and ask them. I told you the name, Horrors and Haunts. I’m here to do a story on ghosts in Hillgrove. Call them and ask them.”
Gerald shook his head. “Tell me the truth or he gets it.” He pointed the gun at Douglas.
I laughed, which came out as a false, high-pitched laugh due to my fear. “Shoot him then. I don’t care. I don’t like him. I don’t care what you do with him.”
“Misty!” Douglas’s tone was urgent.
I turned to him. “How stupid do you think I am, Douglas? Once bitten, twice shy! I know the two of you are in it together. You even spoke with me on the phone and told me to come.”
“He was pointing a gun at me,” Douglas said.
I shook my head.
Gerald walked over to Douglas and held the gun against his head. “Tell me what you’re really doing, Misty, or I’ll shoot him. I’m not fooling around.”
