by Morgana Best
I must have fallen asleep, because I had an awful shock when I heard my phone ring. I jumped up suddenly, displacing the cushion, which fell on Mongrel. He let out a frightening growl and attacked the cushion viciously as if it had attacked him on purpose. I stared in disbelief while he ripped it to shreds. I certainly wasn’t going to attempt to stop him.
By the time Mongrel had finished attacking the cushion, the person had hung up. I grabbed my phone and looked at the caller ID. It was Carl. I called him back.
“I have to come over! I’ve got news!”
“Is it good news?” I asked him hopefully.
“Sort of! I’ll come straight over—I can’t tell you on the phone. I was told at the gym by someone who said I can’t tell anyone, so I have to hurry over to tell you.”
I started to complain that I didn’t like being in suspense, but Carl had already hung up. I went into the kitchen to find some chocolate to eat while I was waiting for him. Was it too early for wine?
It seemed like an age before Carl appeared. I flung the door open, grabbed his arm, and hauled him inside. “Out with it! You know how much I hate things been kept from me. What is it?”
Carl looked pleased with himself. “You might be off the hook! Well, not yet, but it might be heading that way.”
I was puzzled. “What do you mean?” I walked into my kitchen, and Carl followed me.
“Guess who I saw at the gym?” Carl said.
I was irritated. I didn’t like playing guessing games. “Can’t you just tell me, Carl?” I crossed my arms.
Carl was clearly enjoying himself. “I was speaking to Detective Clyde, and he told me that the detectives have arrested the man who killed Peter Prentiss.”
I was shocked. “They caught the murderer? And since when have you been on friendly terms with Detective Clyde?”
Carl simply smirked. “The guy is called Luke Ferris.”
“But he wasn’t one of our suspects,” I protested. “Oh well, at least they know I’m innocent now. What was his motive?”
“Well, that’s just it,” Carl said. “And by the way, you’re not completely off the hook. Luke Ferris apparently is a well-known hitman, and someone put out a hit on Peter Prentiss. Ferris won’t say who paid him to do the hit.”
“A hit man? Like in the movies?”
Carl nodded. “Yep, a real live hitman. Clyde says that he doesn’t suspect you any more, because Luke Ferris has links to organized crime. Peter was working on organized crime, so they’re sure it was related to one of his recent cases. Clyde says I’m not allowed to tell anyone, so make sure you don’t tell anyone.”
“Yes, I’ll only tell three people and tell them not to tell anyone, and then they’ll tell three people and tell them not to tell anyone,” I said snarkily.
Carl simply shrugged. “You have to come straight over to my place. I’ll make us some lunch.”
“Lunch sounds good, but why do we have to go over the suspects? Isn’t the case solved?”
“You’re still a suspect, Narel, even if you have dropped down their list. We need to find out who paid Luke Ferris. It still could have been Paula Prentiss or Herb Green, or maybe they were both in it together. And then there was Todd Cambridge as well. We have three suspects, and any one of them could have paid Luke Ferris to do it.”
I was at a loss to follow the train of thought. “Why would I pay Luke Ferris to do a hit on Peter Prentiss, if Clint Stockland had paid me to do the hit?”
“Clyde told me that they think you might have made a profit. You know, outsourced to Luke Ferris, because you didn’t want to do the deed yourself. He also said Rieker thinks that Todd Cambridge paid you the money to give Luke Ferris for the hit, and gave you another large amount for yourself for doing just that.”
I clutched my head. “That just sounds like something you’d see on a movie,” I said. “It sounds all too complicated to me.” Carl agreed. “But anyway,” I continued, “maybe Luke Ferris will tell the cops who paid him.”
Carl shook his head vehemently. “No way! Clyde said that will never happen. He said career criminals never say who paid them to give evidence against other criminals.”
“Honor amongst thieves?” I asked him.
“Most likely,” Carl said, “but Clyde also said that it’s dangerous for a prison inmate if the other inmates know he’s given evidence against someone else.”
I rubbed my temples. “This is a whole new world to me. If only I had kept watching those episodes of Orange Is the New Black.”
A streak of orange darted between our legs, and we both jumped. “Is Mongrel still upset about his visit to the vets?” Carl asked me.
“Not as upset as the vets were,” I said with a chuckle.
Mongrel peered out at us from under a chair and made a low sound. The chair shook.
“Is he growling at us?” Carl said clutching my arm.
“No, I think he’s purring.”
Carl looked shocked. “Purring? That’s amazing.”
Before I could respond, my phone rang. It was Borage. “Hello?” I said, my stomach churning as millions of butterflies fluttered around in it.
“Hi, it’s Borage,” he said.
“What century is this?” Carl said. “Doesn’t he know about caller I D? You know who it is already!”
I shushed Carl and took the phone off loud, and then put it to my ear. “Hello, Borage,” I said.
“I’m just calling to tell you that I heard that the police have arrested a man for the murder of Peter Prentiss.”
“Yes,” I went to say, but Carl held up his hands in warning. “Oh really?” I said, trying to inject some surprise into my voice. “Who was it? How did you find out?”
“Your lawyer, Bertram Smith, told me,” he said. “I don’t think it’s meant to be common knowledge yet, but it was a professional hitman by the name of Luke Ferris. However, you’re not out of the woods yet, because the police could still think that you employed Luke Ferris.”
“Oh really!” I said. I really had no idea what to say, because I already knew all this, but I had to protect Carl’s confidentiality.
I was having trouble concentrating with Carl staring at me. I pointed to the other room, but he simply shrugged and held up his hands, and looked at me. I gave him my best glare, but he simply smiled.
“I hope this makes you less of a suspect to the police now,” Borage said.
“Did my lawyer tell you that I would be?”
“No. That would break client confidentiality.”
I wondered why my lawyer was talking to Borage about my case anyway, but I did not like to ask. I also thought it was strange that this was the first I had heard from Borage since the police had seized me during our dinner. At any rate, I hadn’t even thanked him. “Thank you so much for finding the lawyer for me,” I said, ignoring Carl who was making kissing sounds at the phone.
“You’re more than welcome,” Borage said. “It’s a shame our dinner was interrupted.” He was silent for a moment, most likely expecting me to say something in response.
“Yes, it was,” I said lamely. I needed lessons in the whole dating business.
Borage made to say something, but then at once stopped speaking. I could hear a woman’s voice in the background. “I’m sorry, I’ll have to go,” he said, and with that, he hung up.
Carl pulled a face. “What was that all about?”
“I heard a woman’s voice in the background and then he just hung up.” I hoped my lower lip wasn’t quivering. Borage was the first man I had ever been attracted to, if you don’t count Daniel Craig, Jason Statham, Matthew McConaughey, Brad Pitt, to name a few.
“Cheer up.” Carl patted my shoulder. “Just try to keep everything in perspective. Forget men for the moment—you have to focus on staying out of jail.”
Chapter 19
I let out a gasp when I entered Carl’s house, and it wasn’t because his house was pristine and gleaming white—as usual, a stark contrast to my messy house. It was because hi
s living room had artist easels set up, all sporting whiteboards, and all the whiteboards had various colored strands of wool running from one name to the other.
“This looks like something out of a crime fiction movie, Carl,” I said, scratching my head.
For some reason, Carl took my words as a compliment. He beamed. “Thanks, Narel.”
I handed him the bottle of wine I had snatched as an afterthought from my place. He looked at it with surprise. “What? Wine? It isn’t chocolate.”
“It’s chocolate wine.”
He nodded. “Oh, of course. Your favorite red wine with the heavy notes of chocolate.”
“You do have chocolate, don’t you Carl? I should’ve brought some from my place.”
“Rest assured, since you’ve been out of the hospital, I’ve made sure to keep a ready supply of chocolate for you. Have a seat.” He gestured to his spotless white couch.
I walked over to the couch and picked up a fluffy white cushion to prop against my back. The cushion meowed, and I realized it was his Persian cat, Louis the Fourteenth. “Carl, your cat looks like a furry white cushion.”
I actually did mean that as a compliment, but Carl for some reason did not take it that way. “Well, Narel, I won’t tell you what your cat looks like!” He pouted.
I rolled my eyes. “Is it too early for wine?”
“No, silly,” Carl said. “It’s lunchtime, after all.” He poured wine into two glasses and then fetched a box of assorted Belgian chocolates from the top cupboard. “Now let’s go through the evidence,” he said, pointing at the whiteboards. “So, what do we know?”
“The first chocolate bar was made in 1842. It takes a cacao tree four to five years to produce its first beans.”
Carl held up his hands to the ceiling. “What have I done to deserve this?” he asked the ceiling. Perhaps he was addressing a higher power. At any rate, he did not receive a response. “Narel, we know that the hitman, Luke Ferris, was employed by someone to murder Peter Prentiss. We also know that Peter Prentiss was working on organized crime cases. Therefore, the most obvious solution is that someone in organized crime paid Luke Ferris to murder Peter Prentiss.”
I sneezed.
“Narel, have you been listening to me?”
I nodded. “Yes, I just couldn’t help sneezing. It’s that smell. What is it? Caramel?”
“Lemongrass.”
I sneezed again. “Oh I see, is it that candle? Would you mind blowing it out?”
Carl was visibly annoyed. “Narel, you’re just not used to a nice smelling house. After all, your house smells of cat litter.”
I was a little offended, but had to concede the point. “And chocolate.” I added.
“Yes, a delightful mixed aroma of cat litter and chocolate.” Carl pulled a sulky face.
“Okay then, you’re right. Peter Prentiss was investigating organized crime, but what about Clint Stockland? The police thought I was doing the hit for Clint Stockland, because he was next to me in the hospital for a while.”
Carl pointed to the whiteboard closest to him. “See that man?”
“No, you have your finger between two photos.”
Carl looked, and then adjusted his finger. He tapped one man’s photo. “That is Todd Cambridge. He was our original suspect, remember? We saw the video feed of him threatening Prentiss just after he was sentenced. He’s just been released on bail, and he did threaten Peter Prentiss. He’s my bet for being the killer. What about you?”
“I think it’s either him or Clint Stockland,” I said. “I really don’t think it’s Paula Prentiss or her boyfriend any more. I actually think Paula’s quite nice.”
“They did have good motives, you have to admit,” Carl pointed out. “The fact that they were having an affair alone is enough of a motive for either or both of them to kill Peter, and then there’s also the fact that Peter sent Herb Green’s business broke when he lost his organic certification.”
“Yes, that was my thinking also, but you didn’t see Paula’s face when Mongrel ate her keys.”
Carl clutched his stomach. “I can only imagine!”
I shook my head. “What I mean is that she didn’t strike me as the murderer then. Sure, she came over to threaten me, but she gave up at the end. I really think she’s harmless.”
Carl nodded and adjusted the wool under the magnets. “We’ll put her at the bottom of the list for now, but that doesn’t mean that Herb Green wasn’t involved. That’s one mighty unpleasant individual.”
“You’ve got no argument from me,” I said. “But I do think the organized crime connection is far more likely. The question is whether it was Todd Cambridge or Clint Stockland.”
Carl rearranged photos on his whiteboard so that the photos of Cambridge and Stockland were at the top. “It is quite a coincidence that you were in the very next room to Clint Stockland for all those weeks in the hospital.”
“Stop it, Carl! That’s just what the police are saying.”
Carl did not reply but simply ate another chocolate. I did too.
Carl swallowed the chocolate and moved pieces of wool cross his whiteboards with the skill of a ninja. “Todd Cambridge would have to be stupid to kill Peter Prentiss as soon as he was released from jail.”
“Perhaps that was his plan.”
Carl put his hands on his hips. “What do you mean?”
“Well, perhaps Todd Cambridge put out the hit on Prentiss the moment he was released from jail, for the very fact that it was far too obvious, so he did it as a trick to fool people, because they would think it was far too obvious for him to commit the murder when he had just been released from jail.”
Carl groaned dramatically, poured himself another glass of wine, and drank half of that in one gulp. “Narel, you’ve been watching old reruns of Get Smart again, haven’t you!”
I glared at him. “What if I have? At any rate, we know the When and the Where, and possibly the Why of the murder, but we just don’t know the Who.”
Carl finished the rest of his wine and then stuffed three chocolates in his mouth at once. He was beginning to remind me of myself. When he finished eating, he said, “My money’s on Clint Stockland.”
“But he’s in jail!” I protested.
Carl sighed. “Oh Narel, sometimes you really disappoint me. Don’t you know that someone can put out a hit while in jail?”
“I suppose,” I said doubtfully. I really didn’t have any idea on the subject.
“Now go be a dear and fetch my laptop,” Carl said. “We need to buy to return tickets to the Gold Coast.”
I wasn’t sure I had heard him correctly. “Tickets to the Gold Coast?” I repeated. “Why on earth would we want to fly to the Gold Coast?”
Carl shot me a petulant look. “Perhaps it’s because the weather’s better there? Perhaps it’s because all the eligible men are better looking there? Well, both those things are true, but we need to visit my cousin, Betsy Baker.”
“I didn’t even know you had a cousin.” I narrowed my eyes. I thought perhaps Carl was having a joke at my expense.
“She’s a fairly scary woman, so I always make sure to keep in her good books. In fact, I just sent her an expensive present for her birthday, so I think she likes me.”
I wondered if Carl had completely taken leave of his senses. “Why? Is she a cat tamer or something?”
Carl ate another chocolate before replying. I was really beginning to worry about him. “No, she’s a prison guard, and what’s more, she’s a prison guard at the very jail where Clint Stockland is imprisoned.”
Chapter 20
“Is that normal?” Carl asked, giving me a nervous look. I sighed dramatically and leaned back in my chair.
“Yes, it’s normal,” I said as reassuringly as I could. “They always make that noise. I think it’s something to do with the refueling.”
Carl continued to look nervous, though he seemed slightly more relaxed. We were aboard a tiny plane headed for Brisbane to talk to Carl
’s cousin, Betsy. She was a prison guard at the jail that Todd Cambridge was in, which meant she could provide some vital clues about this entire fiasco—or so we hoped.
Unfortunately, Carl wasn’t a very comfortable flier. Even more unfortunately, the plane we were on was ancient and tiny. I knew it was going to be an uncomfortable flight the moment I had seen how small the plane was, but it was when I noticed that it was propeller powered that I was really worried.
The plane started to taxi onto the runway and I thought Carl might get up and try to jump out a window. He looked like he was somewhere between passing out and trying to run away.
“Are you doing okay?” I asked, genuinely concerned.
Carl gave me a scared look and swallowed loudly. “I’ll be fine,” he said, clenching his eyes shut and breathing heavily. “Just let me know when we’ve landed.”
“It’s not a particularly long flight, Carl, but it’s still more than an hour,” I said, worried.
“I know,” he said as he gave me an unconvincing laugh. “Do they serve liquor?” he asked, clearly planning to drink away his troubles.
“Not enough,” I said, only half joking. “Look, statistically…”
“I really couldn’t care less about statistics right now, Narel,” Carl admitted, his eyes still closed.
“Well, you’re perfectly safe either way,” I said, sighing. “Try not to stress out too much. We’ll be there before you know it.” I smiled at Carl even though he couldn’t see it, feeling a little foolish when I realized. I looked out the window to see the airport slowly drifting away as we taxied onto the runway.
The plane sat still for several minutes and I felt myself fidgeting nervously, waiting for take off. Take off was always my least favorite bit. I hated the way that I was pushed back into the seat when the plane was gaining speed, only to see the ground fall away as I was lifted into the air. It sounded dramatic and adventurous, but usually ended up being a unique combination of terrifying and anticlimactic.
After sitting still on the tarmac for several minutes, we suddenly gathered speed without warning. The propellers blared noisily, being uncomfortably loud even though we were sitting toward the back of the plane. We took off at considerable speed, and I felt that familiar uncomfortable feeling of being forced back into my own seat, though it wasn’t nearly as intense as it usually was, which I suspected was because it was a propeller rather than a jet engine plane.
