by Morgana Best
I broke into a cold sweat. Should I make a dash for Tom’s door? Or should I wait in my locked car until Tom came back? I shook my head, dismissing that idea. There was no telling how long he would be. What’s more, Mongrel was likely hungry by now, and I didn’t want him to scratch any of Tom’s nice furniture in retribution for my tardiness with his dinner.
That settled it. At that moment, I was probably more afraid of Mongrel’s anger than I was a would-be assassin.
I put my car keys in my pocket, held Tom’s keys even more tightly, tucked my purse under my arm with my other hand, and then opened the door. I jumped out of the car quickly and sprinted to the front door as fast as my heels would allow.
I heard a noise behind me and dropped my purse in fright. Forget the purse, I said silently. Just get inside the house and lock the door behind me. I opened the door, and in that split second, something brushed my legs. It was Mongrel. He sprinted in the direction of the adjoining bushland.
I no longer thought of my own safety. Mongrel was in a strange house and he had just run away. He was unlikely to return to Tom’s house, and if he tried to find his way back home to my house, there were many busy roads on the way. My breath caught in my throat. I pulled Tom’s door shut, quickly locked it, and sprinted after Mongrel.
I ran after him, calling him, all the while realising that calling a cat is a futile thing to do, unless one is holding cat food.
I had just reached the edge of Tom’s lawn, right where the bushland began, frantically calling to Mongrel, when someone slammed into me and knocked the wind out of me. I fell backwards to the ground, struggling to catch my breath.
It seemed to take me a while to figure out what was going on, although it was probably only a matter of seconds. The figure was on top of me, struggling to hold me down. The moonlight filtered by the trees illuminated her face, making her look like some storybook monster from hell. The needle in the syringe she was holding glinted in the moonlight. It was Valerie Andrews.
I struggled against her as best I could, but she was much stronger than I was, probably from years of lifting hay bales and managing cattle. It was all I could do to hold her wrists away from me, but the syringe was edging ever closer.
“Did you kill Bob Jones?” I asked her, in an attempt to distract her.
It seemed to work; the syringe’s downward motion paused. “I didn’t want to,” she said. “He wanted me to leave Daryl for him. I didn’t realise that Bob was in love with me until he told me he wanted to marry me. I wasn’t in love with him, of course. When I told him that, he got really angry and said he’d tell Daryl about our affair. At first I thought they were empty words, but then I realised he wasn’t joking. I’d signed a prenup—I’d get nothing, and I mean nothing, if Daryl divorced me. Bob blackmailed me into staying with him.”
“But why did you come after me?” I asked her.
That was obviously the wrong question. She reapplied pressure on the syringe. “I overheard you and that dreadful cleaning lady talking at the Open Day,” she said. “Once I dispose of you, I’m going to get rid of that interfering old fool, too. I went to your shop, and overheard you say that Bob was blackmailing someone. Luckily for me, you said you would tell whoever it was on the phone later, so I knew I had to get to you first.”
An unholy sound in the tree directly above us startled us both, but I was the first to recover. In one fluid motion, I rolled out from under her while tossing her to one side. I took off at full sprint into the bush, discarding my heels as I ran.
My feet hurt dreadfully, but I did not care. I could hear her close behind me. Bushes and low branches whipped at me, hurting my legs and occasionally whipping across my face. Still, I ran on, now shielding my face with one arm. I wanted to put distance between us, to give me the chance to find somewhere to hide.
I banged my shin on a fallen tree. It hurt dreadfully. I momentarily thought about grabbing a large branch and hitting Valerie, being the hunter rather than being the hunted. In that second, I remembered a story on the news the previous week of a man who had died after a small amount of organophosphate poison accidentally splashed into his mouth. I couldn’t risk fighting her.
I ran on, and then ducked behind the cover of a large gum tree. I tried to get air into my aching lungs. My breath came in short, ragged gasps, but I tried to breathe as quietly as I could.
I listened for a while. I couldn’t hear anyone behind me. I was about to creep out from behind my cover, when I saw a glow. It wasn’t as strong as a torchlight, and I realised it was the glow from a torch on a smart phone.
I urgently reached for the phone in my pocket, but then remembered it was in my purse that was probably still sitting outside Tom’s front door. At least Tom, when he eventually got home, would know something was wrong and come looking for me. But would he look in the bushland? That was unlikely, but at least he would call the police. All I had to do was stay alive until help came.
I heard her again, close now, so I broke cover and sprinted off again, this time coming across a track that seemed to circle back in the direction of Tom’s house. I ran and tripped against trees, sprinting until my throat was burning and raw from the exertion.
When I saw blue spots in front of my eyes from overexertion, I allowed myself to stop behind a stringy bark tree for a second and gasp for breath, my back pressed against the tree. I could hear her. She was further away this time. Perhaps she hadn’t found the little track I had stumbled across.
When the spots cleared, I heard a blood-curdling sound directly above me. I clutched my throat and looked up. There, on a large branch directly above me, and illuminated by the moonlight, was Mongrel facing a large, angry possum. Mongrel was growling and the possum was making those dreadful, unearthly sounds that only possums can make.
I experienced a fleeting sense of relief that Mongrel had not strayed far. I could now see Tom’s house directly ahead. I was on the edge of the bushland. I reached into my pocket and pulled out Tom’s keys and sprinted for the door.
I hadn’t gone far, when once more I was tackled to the ground. I heard a crack and then realised it was my head hitting a fallen branch. Instinctively, I threw out both hands and grabbed Valerie’s wrist to stall the descent of the syringe.
Valerie grabbed my neck with her free hand, but I dared not release one of my hands around her wrists. She was sitting on my stomach, leaning over me, putting all her weight into the syringe. It edged closer and closer.
It all seemed to happen so fast. I saw something falling from the tree above us into the midst of our desperate struggle. I thought the branch had broken and dislodged the large possum.
I heard a crunching sound when teeth met flesh. Valerie screamed and dropped the syringe. I rolled out from under her and picked up the syringe by its non-pointy end, careful not to jab myself with it in the melee.
I staggered a few paces away from her. It seemed to take my tired brain a second or two to see that it was Mongrel, not the possum, that had leapt onto Valerie. I realised then that she was wearing a rope belt. Valerie swiped at Mongrel. He wasted no time reacting—he bit her hand in response. She continued to scream.
I wasn’t going to stand around and watch. I had to call the police. With the syringe in my left hand and the keys in my right hand, I sprinted for the house.
I did not see the person blocking my way. I ran straight into them.
I screamed.
Chapter 21
Strong arms wrapped around me. “Narel, what happened?”
“Oh Tom!” I trembled dreadfully with relief. “Careful, I have a deadly syringe.”
Tom carefully took the syringe from me and placed it on the ground.
“Valerie tried to kill me. She told me she killed Bob Jones.” That was all I managed to say before I broke into deep sobs.
Tom called the police, all the while keeping his arm around me. “What if she escapes?” I finally managed to say.
“I don’t think there’s much chance of t
hat,” Tom said with a shudder. I could still hear Valerie screaming. I put my hands over my ears and buried my head in Tom’s chest.
Tom wrapped his arms around me once more.
We stayed that way, silent, until the police and ambulance arrived. “Mongrel!” I said to Tom, realisation flooding back to me. “Please get him back inside.”
To my relief, Tom didn’t need telling twice. “I bought him some treats today,” he said, pulling a small brown paper bag from his pocket. He jiggled the contents and Mongrel came running, bits of rope stuck to his whiskers.
Tom unlocked the door, and tossed the whole packet of cat treats inside. Mongrel ran inside, and Tom shut the door behind him.
The detectives hurried over to us. “Ms Myers, do you need medical attention?” Detective Palmer asked me.
“No,” I said, but Tom interrupted me.
“She’s hurt,” he said. Tom picked me up and carried me over to the ambulance. I had thought all the paramedics were attending to Valerie, but there was one in the back of the ambulance.
What happened next was all a blur. I was checked for concussion, and then the paramedic applied some sort of cream to all my cuts and grazes. It didn’t sting, but I was developing a rather bad headache. It was only when he began to pull bits of bark out of the balls of my feet with tweezers that I was really in pain. “Ouch,” I said at intervals, squeezing Tom’s hand.
Just as the paramedic finished bandaging my head and arms, the other two paramedics wheeled Valerie on a gurney to the ambulance. She was swearing rather loudly and making all sorts of threats, interspersed with howls.
“You accompany her,” Palmer said to Thompson. Thompson climbed in the ambulance with one of the paramedics, and the other two paramedics shut the doors.
“What’s her condition?” Palmer asked a paramedic.
“Mainly superficial,” the paramedic said, “but nasty. It seems she was attacked by a very large possum. She’s covered with terrible bites and scratches. I’ve never seen a possum inflict those types of injuries before.”
Tom and I exchanged glances.
“She did it,” I said to Detective Palmer. “It was Valerie Andrews. She tried to inject me with a syringe. She told me she killed Bob. They were lovers, and he was going to tell her husband.”
“That’s right,” Tom added. “The syringe is over here, Detective. I think you’ll find organophosphate poison in it. At any rate, I have to get Narel inside. You can question her inside the house.”
Detective Palmer nodded. When Tom made to unlock the door, I said, “Make sure Mongrel doesn’t get out. That’s what happened before. He ran out just after I unlocked the door, so I went after him and that’s when Valerie attacked me.”
Tom’s eyebrows shot up, but thankfully he did not question the wisdom of my actions. He showed us both straight into the living room. “Narel, you probably feel like a glass of wine, but I’m going to give you something non-alcoholic and sugary, and you’ll need to take those painkillers the paramedic gave you. Hot chocolate?”
I nodded, but that hurt my head, so I said, “Yes, please. Very sugary with lots of marshmallows.” I looked at Mongrel. He was sprawled across the three seater sofa, licking his paws and looking entirely relaxed and pleased with himself. He seemed oblivious to all the trouble he had caused. More accurately, he just didn’t care.
Tom offered the detective a cup of tea, but he declined. “When you’re up to it, Ms Myers, could you please tell me what happened?” He pulled out his pen and notepad.
I rubbed my forehead. “It wasn’t Carl,” I said. “I told you it wasn’t Carl. Valerie is the murderer. Tom, could I please have half a glass of water so I can take those painkillers? I’ve got a killer of a headache.”
I slumped back into the sofa and then began the painful process of giving Palmer a blow by blow description of what happened. He made notes as I spoke. “And so,” I concluded, “I think that’s everything. It was Valerie Andrews all along. I feel sorry for her husband. That’s two out of two wives who’ve had affairs.”
“And one of them is a murderer,” Tom added, handing me the glass of water.
Detective Palmer stood up. “Ms Myers, you’re obviously the worse for wear, so I won’t question you any further tonight. Would you please come down to the temporary police station tomorrow to give your witness statement?”
I was going to nod, when I remembered that would hurt, so I said, “Yes. Any particular time?”
Palmer shook his head. “Just whenever you can manage it.”
Tom showed him to the door, and I swallowed the painkillers. I hoped they wouldn’t take long to work. Tom returned with Carl, who raced over to me, his face white and drawn. “Narel!” Carl screeched. “You look like a mummy.”
“Sorry? I look like my mother?” I asked him. I wondered if he meant I had aged.
Carl made a strangled sound. “No, you look like a mummy, an Egyptian mummy. Your feet are all bandaged and your arms and head are bandaged. I can’t believe someone tried to kill you—again!”
“It’s beginning to be a habit,” I said sadly. “Carl, do you know how long painkillers take to work? I’ve got a terrible headache.”
“They work pretty fast, I think,” he said. “What happened?”
Tom handed me a hot chocolate and then put his arm around me while I sipped it. I went through what happened for one more time that night. “And so Mongrel saved the day yet again!” Carl said.
I shook my head. The headache was now diminishing. “If Mongrel hadn’t run out the door, then I would have been safely inside, and Valerie would never have attacked me,” I pointed out.
I turned to the uncaring cat that was now fast asleep, snoring and twitching on the sofa that he had clearly claimed as his own. “It’s all your fault, Mongrel.”
“Perhaps if Mongrel hadn’t run out the door, then you wouldn’t have found out for sure that Valerie was the murderer, and the police might have charged me,” Carl said.
“Carl, why are you taking Mongrel’s side in this?” I asked him sternly.
A sheepish look covered his face. “Because I have a confession to make, and that was my segue into it.”
I leaned forward carefully and put my cup of hot chocolate on the coffee table in front of me. I was on my second cup by now. It hurt to move—I knew I was going to be awfully sore by morning. “I’m finally going to find out what you’ve been hiding from me,” I said. I absently wondered if Tom had any strong liniment.
Carl held up both hands. “Wait! You knew I was keeping something from you?”
“Of course I did, Carl,” I admonished him. “I know you too well.”
Carl looked ashamed. A slow red flush worked its way up his face. “It was all for a good cause.”
“And that would be?” I prompted him.
Carl covered his face with his hands.
“It’s best if you just come straight out and tell Narel,” Tom said.
I looked at Tom in shock. “You knew?”
“I swore Tom to secrecy,” Carl said. “Don’t be mad at him. Oh Narel, I think you’re going to yell at me. I’m sorry I kept it from you.”
“Carl, you’re making it worse. Please just come straight out and tell me.”
Carl bit his lip, and then said, “It’s all because of Mongrel. I saw what happened to Mongrel, how he doesn’t like rope because of his traumatic experience. I was talking it over with Peter The Purr-suader…”
I interrupted him. “Don’t tell me he’s in on the secret, too?”
Carl shifted in his seat. “Sort of. A little. Maybe. Anyway, I’ve registered a cat rescue charity.”
“You did what?” I shrieked.
Carl nodded. “Yes, and I was looking for a bit of land for it. I talked it over with Peter, and this is what we thought would be the best idea. I’ll try to find as many foster homes as I can and we will adopt out as many cats as we can. Peter explained that many rescue cats have Feline Immunodeficiency Virus, but som
e people don’t mind and will still adopt them. All that aside, there will be several cats that won’t be able to be adopted, ever, and even those cats that will be able to be adopted, some might not be able to be fostered out. That’s why I need premises where I can keep them to care for them.”
“Why, that’s admirable,” I said. “I can’t understand why you tried to keep it a secret from me.”
Carl’s face turned bright red. “Well, I knew you’d want to help, financially, and Narel, you have to live off that settlement for the rest of your life. I was worried you’d want to put your money into it, when you need to keep that money safe for yourself.”
“How much money is it?” I asked him.
Carl shook his finger at me. “I know what you’re thinking, Narel, but no. I’m going to sell my IT business and work for the new boss as an employee, to fund it.”
“You’ll do no such thing!” I said, jumping to my feet. A wave of nausea hit me and I sat back down abruptly.
“See, this is how I knew she would react,” Carl said to Tom. “You can see why I didn’t want to tell her.”
“I’m still here and I can hear you talking about me,” I said to Carl. “Carl, you must not sell your business. I’ve had an idea. I’m going to be buying a new place soon. I’ve already decided it can’t be a renovator, as you know.”
Carl looked puzzled. “That’s right. You don’t want any more renovation hassles.”
I pressed on. “Tom told me that all the new houses in town have a few acres of land with them, so I had already intended to buy a place with a few acres of land. I don’t want acreage, but I want a new house, so I have no choice. Why don’t we put the cat rescue charity buildings on my property?”
Carl appeared to be thinking it over.
“I think that’s a brilliant idea,” Tom said.
Carl’s face brightened up considerably. “You do?”
“I think it’s a brilliant idea, too,” I said, “considering it was my idea. Carl, just think—you won’t have to sell your business, and I have no use for a few acres. What am I going to do with acreage? I can barely look after a garden as it is. I’ll buy the house and live in it, and you can run the cat rescue on the land. Does that sound like a deal?”
