by Morgana Best
“It’s the police. They’re trying to force me to partake in an abomination, something New Age.” She almost spat the words.
“I’ll be right there.” I turned to Basil. “It’s Mom.” To Mandi, I said, “Nice to meet you. I’ve got to go and help my mother.” I shot Basil a look which I hoped he would interpret to mean that I wanted him to keep Mandi there.
I hurried outside and headed in the direction where I had last seen Mom and Ian standing on crates yelling at people to repent.
“I’m not psychic,” I heard Mom say angrily as I approached. “I’ll have you know that psychic-ness is of the devil!”
“What’s this about?” I asked Detective Prescott.
His face was beet red. “We want your mother to come with us for a psych valuation.”
“Is it compulsory?” I asked him. I shot a look around me. People had gathered to stare. Some were just standing there, staring, while others were doing their best to pretend they weren’t. It must have been obvious to them that the men speaking to Mom were police officers.
“No, but it would be good if she would agree.”
I frowned. “Ian, can you call Mom’s lawyer, please?”
“I already called him,” Ian said. “He said she should take the test, but Thelma said he was no use and so she was going to call you as a last resort.”
“Thanks, I think,” I said through clenched teeth.
Detective Prescott was still trying to explain. “It’s nothing to do with being psychic, Mrs. Bay, and it’s not a test as such. It’s a psychiatric evaluation. It will simply be someone asking you questions.”
Mom looked perplexed. “Do I have to guess things?”
Prescott rubbed his temples hard. “No. You just have to answer truthfully.”
Mom drew herself up to her full height and crossed her arms over her chest. “Why wouldn’t I answer truthfully? I’m not a liar. Liars don’t inherit the Kingdom of God. I insist that Ian comes with me.”
Ian looked afraid. “I need to get home to Audrey.”
“Audrey?” Mom screeched. “I thought the two of you were no longer a couple? Does she still light candles?”
“Anyone may accompany you, but no one can be in the room while you are answering questions,” Prescott said. Wilkinson was doing his best to fade into the background.
“Will there be ink blots?” Mom asked.
Prescott shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Well, what do you know?” Mom said rudely.
“Mom, I’ll go with you,” I said. I remembered what the YouTube videos said about scapegoat children, and thought the better of it, but too late; I had already offered. “I’ll just have to go by my office and collect something, if that’s okay. I assume it’s at the police station?”
Prescott nodded.
“You don’t need to collect anything,” Mom said rudely.
I took the advice I had seen on YouTube. “Suit yourself. I’m not coming.”
Mom’s mouth opened and shut. I made to move away, but Mom called after me, “All right then, but make it fast. I’ll go with you.”
I texted Basil to fill him in, but I didn’t have time to correct the autocorrects. Goodness knows what message was delivered.
The drive to the funeral home was tedious, with Mom making snarky remarks as to why I was making the detour. “If you say one more thing, Mom, I won’t go with you,” I finally snapped. Thankfully, we passed the remainder of the journey in silence.
Once there, I hurried into my office. I had no time to check if Janet was there, so couldn’t call too loudly. “Ernie! Ernie, are you there?” I said in a stage whisper.
He appeared at once. “What is it now?”
“They’re taking Mom in for a psych evaluation.” I didn’t have a chance to say anything more, as Ernie burst into loud guffaws of laughter.
I tapped my foot and waited for him to stop laughing. “Have you quite finished?”
“No,” he said, and laughed some more.
“I’m in a hurry, Ernie. Mom’s waiting in the car. I can’t go into the questioning with her, so I wondered if you would, please, and tell me what they say.”
“Okay.” Ernie wore a big grin from ear to ear. “This should be fun. I have no idea why you’re trying to help her, though.”
“Neither do I,” I muttered.
Five minutes later, I was sitting on a hard wooden seat in a freezing waiting room at the police station, regretting my decision. Someone had turned the air conditioning way too high.
Ernie appeared. “They’re doing this to prove she doesn’t have a case of Defense of Mental Impairment,” he said.
That was obvious, but all I could do was nod slightly.
“The psych guy looks like Freud himself, and he told the detectives that many psychologists use Rorschach inkblots to gauge personality and measure emotional stability.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“He’s going to make her do the M-Fast.”
“The what?” I pretended to sneeze to cover my remark. Five women were sitting opposite me, all staring at me. I smiled at them and wriggled my eyebrows at Ernie.
Ernie sighed long and hard. “This isn’t easy, you know. It stands for the Miller Forensic Assessment of Symptoms Test. It’s to tell if she’s stark raving bonkers—you know, to see if she’s faking it so she can get off a murder charge by pretending to be completely nuts.”
That worried me. I at once googled it on my phone. It told me that the M-Fast was used to evaluate criminal defendants who were pleading not guilty by reason of insanity. I bit my lip. It seemed they were going to charge Mom, after all.
Ernie pointed behind me. I turned to see a young man walking over to me. “Laurel Bay?”
I stood up. “Yes?”
“I’m your mother’s lawyer. “Luke Dillon.”
We shook hands.
“May I speak frankly?”
I ignored Ernie who was doubling over with laughter. “Yes, please do.”
“I would prefer your mother engage a criminal lawyer. I’m just out of law school and I do contract law. I don’t know anything about criminal law.”
“You’re preaching to the choir,” I said. “Once Mom’s made up her mind, she won’t listen to anyone. Do the police intend to charge her?”
He nodded solemnly. “I’m afraid it’s looking that way. They wouldn’t do the psych evaluation if they didn’t intend to charge her.”
I frowned. “Why haven’t they charged her yet?”
“They’re lining up everything, getting their evidence together. They think she’s deliberately pretending to be, err, a bit strange, as a murder defense.”
I bent down to scratch my foot, and then swatted at the pesky mosquito responsible. “What motive do they think she has?”
He shook his head. “You don’t need a motive to charge somebody with murder in Australia.”
I was perplexed. “Well, surely they don’t think she just suddenly decided to murder Frank for no reason.”
“They think she did it because she found out what sort of escort he really was,” the lawyer said.
“Told you so,” Ernie said.
I waved my hand at him, but then stopped when the lawyer looked at me strangely. “Mosquitoes,” I said. “I’ve already been bitten. Is there anyway you could convince Mom to get a criminal lawyer?”
He shook his head. “I’ve tried, believe me. Thelma won’t employ anyone who doesn’t go to our church. I’ve tried to warn her about the pitfalls of that, but she won’t listen.”
I sensed the hint of warning in his voice. “What do you mean?”
“I’m sure there are some who attend our church just to get business, and for no other reason than that,” he said in hushed tones. “I’ve discussed it with Pastor Green, and he’s as concerned as I am. Still, nothing can be done.”
Just then, Mom appeared. “Let’s all go for a nice cup of tea,” she said cheerily. “We’ll go to The True Vine Garden Café
. That’s my favorite café, and the owners go to our church, don’t they, Luke!”
Luke and I exchanged glances.
Minutes later, we were sitting at The True Vine Garden Café, which was just around the corner from the police station. I never went there without Mom, because the coffee was as weak as dishwater. Still, it was a pretty place, the café’s tables and chairs placed in the midst of the plants and gifts for sale. The huge windows were opened to the outdoor plants, all in their groups.
“That’s a pretty plant,” I said, gesturing to some vivid blue delphiniums.
“Wrong color,” Mom snapped.
I rolled my eyes. Everything in Mom’s garden was red or pink. Mom pulled out her purse and made a show of taking out money. “My treat,” she said loudly, waving a handful of money in the air and grinning.
Everyone in the café turned to look at her. Luke protested, but Mom either didn’t hear or chose to ignore him. “What are you all having?”
I shook my head at Luke. I knew it was pointless to protest. “I’ll come with you and give my order,” I said to Mom. “Luke, what are you having?”
Luke quickly scanned the menu, and said he would have a mango smoothie, and a mushroom and red onion bruschetta.
I walked the short distance to the countertop with Mom to give our orders. “I’ll have black English Breakfast tea, please,” Mom said to the waitress. “And that’s black, meaning no milk. Every time I ask for black tea, they give me milk. Don’t they know what the meaning of black is? It means without milk.”
“Are you having anything else with that?” the waitress asked Mom.
“Yes, cinnamon toast. I don’t want butter on it. Just cinnamon toast. I don’t want raisin toast. And I only want one slice.”
The waitress looked at me expectantly, so I ordered both mine and Luke’s. The waitress rang up the order and told us the amount. Mom’s handful of money had mysteriously vanished. Mom looked at me, so I handed the waitress my credit card.
When we returned to the table, Luke thanked Mom.
“You’re welcome,” she said.
Luke leaned forward. “Now, Thelma, tell me what happened.”
Mom stared into space. “Nothing, really,” she said absently. “Do you see those big brass crosses? I think one would look good in my dining room. It would do the guests good to think on it while they ate. Actually, it would make a good gift.”
Luke appeared to be at a loss, but I was used to dealing with her. “Mom, what questions did the man ask you?”
“He did show me ink blots, after all. I said he would.”
I was in two minds whether or not to ask, but I finally did so. “And what did you think they were?”
“Think, Laurel? I didn’t think, I knew. They were pictures of Satan himself.”
Luke gasped, but quickly recovered. “Anything else, Thelma? Or just Satan?”
“Well, there were fallen angels, too,” Mom said thoughtfully. “And demons, lots of demons. And they were all naked.”
Luke turned white. “Thelma, I really think you need a criminal lawyer.” He was going to say more, but our drinks arrived.
“I said no milk,” Mom snapped, jabbing her finger at the little white milk jug that the waiter had just deposited in front of her. “Why does this always happen? I said black tea. Why would you give me milk?”
“I’ll take it back,” the waiter said.
“Good! Do you have a new manager?”
The already stressed waiter looked puzzled. “No, why?”
“The service is worse than last time!”
I muttered apologies to the waiter, who beat a hasty retreat. He soon returned with the food. This time, Mom remained silent.
Luckily, no one spoke over the meal. I figured that Luke had given up trying to convince Mom to get a criminal lawyer. I was looking forward to leaving, and I still hadn’t found out the outcome of Mom’s questioning.
The waiter returned to clear the table. “How was your food?” he asked Mom.
“Do you have a dog?” Mom said in a snarky tone.
The waiter frowned. “No, I don’t.”
“Because this food is only fit for a dog, so I thought if you had a dog, you could take it home and give it to your dog. I certainly wasn’t able to eat it. Like I said, it’s only fit for a dog. I was just writing a note on this napkin to leave you to tell you what I thought about the food.” She used her most smug tone, and she was the Queen of smug tones.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Sorry,” I said to the waiter. I stood up. “Goodbye,” I said to Mom and Ian.
I couldn’t get away fast enough.
Chapter 20
Ernie appeared in the seat beside me as was I driving back to the funeral home. “Watch the road!” he said, after I jumped and screamed.
“Ernie, you scared me!” I said, shaken, as I regained control of the car. I’ve asked you not to appear all of a sudden like that in the car.”
Ernie shrugged. “The detectives said your mother doesn’t meet the criteria to be on a compulsory treatment order.”
“What on earth does that mean?”
“No idea.”
“Do they think she’s pretending to be mad, criminally insane, or whatever they call it?”
Ernie sighed. “I don’t know, but the suspense is terrible. I waited there for ages, but that weird psych guy kept going through his notes. I think Prescott and Wilkinson were as impatient as I was. Anyway, I finally gave up, and here I am!”
“Excuse me a moment.” I had diverted the calls from the funeral home to my cell phone, and one was coming through my car’s Bluetooth. “Good afternoon, Witch Woods Funeral Home. How may I help you?”
“It’s Bryce,” the gruff voice said. “Your mother’s not answering her phone. Is she with you?”
“No, I just left her,” I said.
“She has a blocked sewer pipe. I’ve called the plumber. You’d better come quick.” With that, he hung up.
I shot Ernie a sidelong glance. “I was about to tell him that it was nothing to do with me.”
Ernie held up a hand. “Just a moment. The cops are closing in on your mother fast. If you really want to help the old… err, your mother, then this might give you a chance to do some scouting.”
I swerved to miss a snake. It was a big Eastern Brown, and moving fast. “How so?” I said after I shuddered. I made a mental note not to shove my hand blindly in the garden to retrieve one of Mom’s garden gnomes, now that the weather was warming up. Snake season was well and truly here.
“If it’s not your mother and it’s not the dead guy’s girlfriend, then it has to be one of the six guests or that builder guy. Right?”
“Right,” I said.
“Well, you have seven suspects all in the one place. If you pretend to be interested in the blocked sewer pipe, then you might find out something. Who knows?”
I thought about it for a moment. It was either paperwork, or sewerage. “Good idea,” I said.
I bypassed the funeral home and drove straight to Mom’s house. The plumber was already there, just getting his tool box out of his vehicle. He looked over and smiled. “Hi, Laurel. What’s the problem?”
“I don’t know, Simon. Bryce, the builder, just called me and said he couldn’t get in touch with Mom.” The plumber was easy-going for someone Mom liked. I had spoken to him on several occasions previously. He seemed a nice enough guy, but I had used a different plumber when I’d renovated my apartment. The less Mom and I had in common, the better.
We both walked inside in search of Bryce, who was banging away in the kitchen. He looked up when we approached. “I don’t know anything about it,” he grunted. “That woman, Jenny, said the toilet in the main bathroom was blocked.” He went back to his hammering.
I raised my eyebrows at Simon. “Come on, I’ll show you the way.”
Jenny wasn’t there; in fact, there was no-one in sight. Simon looked at the toilet and scratched his head. He made some n
on-committal noises and then opened his tool box. “It’s good that Thelma’s giving Bryce some work,” he said. “Most people wouldn’t, given how rude he is and the exorbitant prices he charges.”
I wondered if Simon was trying to warn me about Bryce. I opened my mouth to say something, but Simon continued. “Bryce has serious financial troubles, or so he says. He’s a very angry man. Still, I wouldn’t like to be in his position, not that it’s any excuse. Can you hand me that wrench? No, the big wrench?”
I did as I was asked. “What do you mean, his position?”
“He’s paying a lot of child support. He always complains to the church and they give him money. Constantly.”
I was surprised. “It seems he does good business.”
Simon nodded. “Yes, he does, so it all seems a bit strange. And he’s convinced that his wife ran off with some man, but the way he was treating her, he only had himself to blame. I finished the plumbing in the kitchen the other day, and I have to wonder why he’s taking so long to finish the job. I assume your mother’s paying him by the hour?”
“Um, err, I don’t know,” I stammered. “Do you think he’s getting money from the church under false pretenses?”
When Simon looked up from the toilet, his face was flushed, no pun intended. “It’s not for me to say,” he said. “I think I’ve said too much. Still, I don’t like to see him taking financial advantage of women, even your mother.” He stuck his head back in the toilet.
Okay, now what? That was the question I asked myself.
I averted my eyes from the drab orange curtains and leaned against the cold, tiled wall while I ran through the suspects, barely distracted by Simon muttering to himself. Was it Frank’s girlfriend, Mandi? She had the most apparent motive. She’d had a furious argument with him right before he died. Significantly, she didn’t have an alibi. Then there were the suspects in Mom’s house: Bryce, who was possibly something of a conman, and the guests. I knew Jenny sold hat pins in her store, and knew that she had employed the services of an escort from Frank’s agency. Then there was her husband, James. His possible motive was jealousy.
“I’ll wait downstairs for you, Simon. I don’t know where my mother is.”
