by Morgana Best
Ruprecht hurried to reassure me. “I don’t usually make any money from passers by, and I’ll just leave the usual notice on the door with my mobile phone number so they can call me if they want. Most of my sales are due to my regular customers.”
I nodded, but I couldn’t help feeling guilty.
“And now, I suggest we all order pizza,” Ruprecht said. “I don’t think Alder is in any fit state to cook for himself, and if he insists on moving back to his apartment, he’ll probably starve to death.”
I looked at Alder, but he had fallen asleep. “I’ll see to it that Alder stays here overnight,” Ruprecht said. “And now, I suggest we do a Justice spell. I have plenty of Little John To Chew on hand.”
I was aghast. “Isn’t that the stuff I’m supposed to chew and then spit at the judge?”
Everyone laughed. “No one does that these days,” Ruprecht said when he managed to stop chuckling. “Little John is simply used in a spell to bring justice to the situation. Here, let’s decide what we want, and I’ll write it on a piece of paper. Suggestions, anyone, for the name paper?”
Thyme was the first to speak. “How about, The police solve Celia Carmichael’s murder without arresting Amelia?”
Ruprecht tapped his chin. “Close, close. However, I think we need to tweak it a little.”
“Celia Carmichael’s murderer is revealed quickly. Amelia doesn’t go to jail,” Camino suggested helpfully.
I rubbed my forehead. “How about, Celia Carmichael’s murderer is revealed. Amelia is absolved from any blame?”
There was a general murmur of agreement. “Now, we need to use the Little John To Chew root, as well as some sugar to sweeten the police to you, Amelia. And if you do have to go to court,” Camino said cheerily, “we can smoke all your clothes on burnt Little John root chips. There’s lots more we can do, too.”
“It won’t come to that,” Ruprecht said firmly. “Meanwhile, Amelia, to keep on the safe side, put some tansy in your shoes. That will keep the police away.”
“I have plenty of tansy growing in my garden,” Camino said. “I can give you plenty. Make a brew from it and pour it into your bath, because that keeps the law away as well.”
I narrowed my eyes, wondering why Ruprecht and Camino knew so much about spells for keeping the law away.
I sat down, and two things happened. First, I heard a ripping sound. Secondly, I heard the loud sound of MC Hammer’s U Can’t Touch This. Strangely, the sound appeared to be coming from my nether regions.
I jumped to my feet, and the sound stopped. Alder awoke with a start.
“What was that?” Thyme asked in alarm.
“It must be someone’s ring tone,” Ruprecht said. “Has anyone changed their ring tone lately?” Everyone, but Camino, shook their head. Camino was bending over what I assumed was another onesie, muttering to herself about a knot in her thread.
I sat down, and the words of U Can’t Touch This blasted again: “Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh.” I jumped back to my feet.
“Is that your phone, Amelia?” Ruprecht asked me.
“I didn’t change my ring tone, but I did see that my phone had done its automatic update earlier today. Sometimes it goes crazy after updates,” I admitted. I walked over to the antique mahogany sideboard to check my phone, when a different sound erupted behind me. I swung around to see Mint, Thyme, and Camino doubled over in fits of laughter. Even Ruprecht was shaking. Alder was clutching his side with one hand and his other hand was firmly clamped over his mouth.
“What is it?” I said in dismay.
“Your bottom,” Thyme managed to say.
And for the second time in a week, I ran for the nearest bathroom. I looked over my shoulder at my back in the mirror. To my utter dismay, the back of the onesie was hanging open. “Not again!” I screeched. The stitches had given way.
That was when I noticed it.
The undies Camino had so kindly given me had the words, ‘You Can’t Touch This,’ emblazoned across a panel, right over my bottom. I gingerly stretched out a hand and pressed the words.
‘Hammertime!’ echoed around the walls.
I snatched the packet from the garbage bin. Musical undies for the adventurous woman. ‘2 for 1 Deal, 99 cents,’ was scrawled across the front.
Just then, I heard Thyme yell, followed by the musical tones, ‘Hit me baby one more time.’
Chapter 8
Thyme collected me in her car just before nine the next morning. I’d had a restless sleep, not only because the cats, Willow and Hawthorn, had decided to sleep on top of my legs and complained loudly every time I moved, but because Alder wasn’t in the house. Although he had only been there a few days, I had grown accustomed to his presence.
I walked down the path to the front gate, calling out a hello to my grandfather, Wolff Spelled, as I had become accustomed to doing. I could have sworn that the Mangan tree waved in response.
It was a beautiful sunny day with a gentle breeze carrying along with it the heady scent of jasmine. It didn’t feel like the sort of day in which I would be arrested. Surely a day like that would be full of dark clouds and depressing, damp air. I hoped my sense of optimism would continue throughout the day.
Thyme pulled her car over on the main road through town. I looked up at a rather modern, rendered concrete building. “Is that it?” I said in disbelief. “I thought Bed and Breakfasts were supposed to be pretty, almost historical looking places.” It was a drab building, like a 1970s motel, with a low roof, narrow windows, and a bare concrete parking area.
“It does have a lovely garden down the side,” Thyme said.
A wave of nervousness hit me. “How are we going to handle this?”
“We can play it by ear.”
Thyme’s remark didn’t give me any confidence. “So we’ll just march straight up and knock on the door, and say we’re here to pay our respects?”
Thyme nodded. “Something like that.”
She was already hurrying along past the side of the main building.
“Where are you going?”
“That’s the owner’s residence there,” Thyme said with a nod of her head. “The individual cottages are down behind here, behind the garden.”
I was still silently rehearsing what to say, when we came across Paul sitting in the garden with a woman who had to be his wife, Maria. My first thought was that I would not like to be sitting on that old wooden seat. It had metal arms, and looked as though it had been made from old train shelving by an untalented amateur carpenter. I would bet my last dollar on the fact that there would be redback spiders under that seat.
Paul stood up when he saw us coming. “I hope you don’t mind us coming to see you,” Thyme said quickly. “Amelia and I just wanted to pay our respects.”
Paul shot me a look, and I worried that he thought I was the murderer. Luckily, the local paper only came out three times a week and today was not one of those days. If my photograph as the main murder suspect was going to be plastered all over the paper, it would be the following day.
Paul introduced his wife to us. Although she was no blood relative to Celia, she did bear a striking resemblance. Both were thin and wiry, but while Celia had looked bold and outgoing, this woman looked rather nervous. In fact, she reminded me of a bird the way her hands darted quickly. She seemed to be a quiet, shy woman. When I shook her hand, her grasp was weak.
“Please have a seat,” Paul said.
I tried not to breathe a loud sigh of relief. He was going to talk to us, after all. There were two white wrought iron seats opposite Paul and Maria, and Thyme sat on one. I turned mine over to see if there was a redback spider sitting under it, but to my relief there wasn’t. This town was full of redback spiders. While redbacks weren’t at all aggressive, and their bite was usually not fatal to adults, their bite nevertheless meant a trip to the hospital along with excruciating pain.
I didn’t know how to start the conversation, but luckily Maria did. “It must’ve been horrible
for you two ladies to see what happened to Celia. Paul’s been very distressed about it.”
I hurried to respond. “Yes, it was terrible, and even worse for Paul, being Celia’s grandson.”
“Did you know Celia?” Maria asked us.
We shook our heads. “We only just met her that day,” Thyme said.
“It was awfully kind of you to do that charity work,” Maria said.
“It wasn’t charity work; it was community work,” Paul said.
Maria shot him an angry glare. “I meant free. They gave their services for free.”
“Yes, we gave our services for free,” I said, embarrassed on Maria’s behalf.
“We were driving through town yesterday and we saw police cars outside your cupcake store,” Maria said. I wondered how to respond, but she pushed on. “That must’ve been awful for you. They searched our room here at the B&B, too.”
“They did?” I don’t know why I was surprised. That made sense. “I suppose they had to do that to everyone who was present,” I said. “It must be just routine.”
“Yes, but they cost us a lot with all the ingredients they took away,” Thyme said bitterly.
Maria nodded. “They ordered us to stay here in town, but we can’t afford it. Really, if the police order someone to stay in town, then they should give us the money for it.”
Paul agreed with her. “It’s ridiculous!” he snapped. “We have to move to a cheap motel until the cops tell us we can go home. Who knows how long that will be? We could only afford to stay at this B&B until today, and now we have to stay in a horrible cheap motel. The police should pay us compensation.”
“Yes, it really isn’t fair,” I said, hoping to draw them into further conversation.
“Oh well, at least there won’t be possums fighting on the roof all night at a motel in the middle of town,” Maria said. “They’ve been keeping me awake all night.”
“How do you know there won’t be possums at the cheap motel?” Paul said, clearly irritated.
“They’re mostly out this side of town,” I said, in an attempt to be a peacemaker.
“At least the police have agreed that Celia can be cremated.” Maria’s face lit up when she said it. It was the first spark of life I had seen in her since we arrived.
I exchanged glances with Thyme. Cremated! Obviously Paul wanted the evidence disposed of as quickly as possible. It seemed more and more likely to me that he was the killer. I just didn’t yet know if Maria was in it with him.
“I’m surprised that the police would allow a murder victim to be cremated,” I said carefully.
Maria nodded vigorously. “That’s what I thought, too. It’s just lucky they have agreed that we can, because it’s so much cheaper than a burial, and we simply can’t afford a burial.”
“It’s wonderful that they agreed,” I said. “I’d never thought about that, about cremations being cheaper than burials.”
“Oh, so much cheaper!” Maria said happily. “And Paul is Celia’s only living relative, so the burden of her funeral falls entirely on him. There’s no one else at all. And we’ve had all the terrible expense of Celia in the nursing home for years.”
“That must have been a severe financial burden,” Thyme said.
Maria nodded. “Yes, but Celia and Paul were always so close. To tell you the truth, I couldn’t stand the woman. She was a nasty bully. I always agreed to come with Paul to Bayberry Creek to visit her once a month, but I couldn’t bring myself to see her in person, because she was so rude to me.”
“She seemed very fond of you, Paul,” I said.
He nodded. “Yes, both my parents worked long hours when I was a child, and they left me with my grandmother most days. In fact, I saw more of her than my parents. We were always very close.”
Not so close that you didn’t want to kill her for the inheritance, I thought. I wondered how to bring the conversation around to the inheritance. “So I hope probate comes through quickly for you with all your expenses—you know, with having Celia at Happy Valley Gardens and then having to pay for the funeral, too,” I said evenly.
Both Paul and Maria looked surprised. “Probate?” Maria asked. “What do you mean?”
I shifted uneasily in my seat and looked at Thyme who gave a slight shrug. “Um, err,” I stammered. “I mean, you know, the inheritance.”
Maria laughed bitterly. “That woman didn’t have a cracker to her name. She was broke.”
Paul nodded. “She and her husband had a sheep farm out west for years, but they had drought after drought and then the bank foreclosed on their farm. That was long after my parents had died. Celia’s husband died soon after they were kicked off their farm. They were a fair age by then, and Celia had bad arthritis so she lived with us for a while…”
Maria interrupted him. “Yes, but she made my life a living hell, so we put her at Happy Valley Gardens. I suppose you’re wondering why here and not somewhere in the city or closer to where we live?”
I actually hadn’t wondered, but it was a good point. I nodded.
“It was Celia’s idea,” Paul said. “She had a good friend living there.”
“Do you mean Edith?”
Paul nodded. “Yes, Edith. I don’t know if Edith ever looked on Celia as a good friend. Edith and Celia grew up together, and Edith was engaged to Frank, who eventually married Celia. In fact, Frank had already ordered all the timber to build their new house on the farm when Celia suddenly threw herself at Frank.”
“Paul and I always wondered how she managed to get Frank away from Edith,” Maria said.
“I’m surprised Edith remained friends with Celia after that,” I said.
Paul shrugged. “I personally didn’t think Edith can stand Celia, but Celia never had the sort of personality to pick up on what others were thinking of her. She was only concerned with what she thought of them. When we suggested putting her in a nursing home, she insisted on staying in the one where Edith was. They were the only terms she’d agree to.”
“She was completely penniless,” Maria pointed out. “We’ve had to pay her expenses ever since then, and it hasn’t been cheap, I can tell you. It’s made it awfully hard on us and now we have severe money worries.”
I thought I might as well come out and ask. “And you won’t inherit anything from Celia?”
Maria made a choking sound. “That woman didn’t have a cent to her name. No, we don’t get anything in the inheritance. There is no inheritance. At least the police can’t suspect that we killed her for the inheritance.” She laughed bitterly.
I was disappointed. Paul had been my number one suspect, but now it seemed that he wasn’t going to inherit a single thing. Unless of course, he was going to inherit and Maria was either lying or she was misinformed. I made a mental note to check into that. But if that was true, then Paul wasn’t the killer. So if he wasn’t the killer, then who was? Edith? Celia had stolen her husband years ago, and bullied the woman. Had it all got too much for Edith?
I was deep in thought when Paul’s phone rang. He picked it from the rusted iron coffee table in front of him and barked, “Hello?”
As he listened to the conversation, his face grew redder and redder. “Not natural causes? Are you sure?” After a moment, he yelled into the phone, “But would a small town coroner know what he’s doing?” Again he paused, before he yelled even more loudly, “Okay, she! Would a small town coroner know what she’s doing?”
He listened for a few more moments and then made a dramatic show of hanging up. He flung his phone down so hard on the coffee table that I looked to see if the screen was cracked. Those things crack easily, speaking from experience.
“That was the cops. They said Celia was poisoned.”
I realised then that Paul probably hadn’t seen the white substance in the cupcake or if he had, would have thought it was perhaps part of the cupcake itself and not poison. “Poisoned?” I said, doing my best to sound surprised. “Did they say what type of poison?”
&
nbsp; I wondered if Paul would tell me, but I didn’t have to wait long. “Codeine!” he said. “They’re so incompetent! Do they even know what they’re doing? How can codeine be a poison? Anyone can go and buy it over the counter. Besides, surely they shouldn’t tell us what the poison was? Do these cops know what they’re doing!” He continued to rant, so much so that Maria lent away from him.
I stood up. “Well, we must be going,” I said. “I’m so sorry about Celia, and all this.”
Paul stopped ranting, and nodded to us. “I’ll walk you out,” Maria said. “Thanks for coming. It was thoughtful of you.”
Maria accompanied us as we walked back down the concrete driveway to Thyme’s car. “Sorry about my husband,” she said. “He was close to his grandmother and this has really upset him.”
Thyme and I hurried to reassure her. “Hopefully the police will let you both go home soon, now that they know what the poison was,” I said.
Her face brightened. “Yes, I hadn’t thought of that. We’ll have the funeral first, of course. We have to have it here in Bayberry Creek, so the other residents can attend, and then we can go home.”
“And we’ll come to the funeral, too. That is, if that’s all right with you?” I asked her.
Maria nodded. “Oh yes, please do.” If she did not want us to attend the funeral, she showed no sign.
As soon as we had driven down the road a little way, I turned to Thyme. “What do you make of that?”
“He has anger management issues, doesn’t he!” Thyme said. “But that was interesting about the inheritance.”
“We have to find out if it’s true. If it is true, then they can’t be suspects.”
Thyme agreed. “So it could be that other old lady, Edith, or perhaps Jane, if Jane was having an affair with him. Perhaps Jane is having an affair with Paul, after all.”
I held up my fingers and ticked them off. “Paul, Maria, Edith, Jane, or it could be one of the other nurses who were there.”
“We might get some good information at the funeral,” Thyme said.
“But first, we have to find out whether Celia left anything in her will or whether she was as broke as they say. How do we find that out, Thyme?”
