by Morgana Best
The guy smiled at me and then set about making the coffees.
“Thanks,” Linda said when I handed her the coffee. “What sort of tree are we sitting under?”
I sat next to her and looked upwards at the feathered fronds. “No idea. It looks like some sort of spreading palm tree.”
Linda sipped her coffee and then put her sunglasses back on. “I had a feeling something was going to happen,” she said. “I’ve been feeling it for about a week. You know, I can’t believe it, that Paul’s dead.”
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled.
“I hated him,” she said, “but like I keep saying, I didn’t want him dead. I did want him out of my life, and to be honest, I often thought it would be good if he dropped dead, but now that it’s happened I don’t know what to think.”
“You’re in shock.”
She nodded. “Do you think I did it?”
“To be quite truthful, I don’t have a clue,” I said, “but I’m sure you didn’t murder him.”
Linda looked at me for a moment and then looked away. “Thanks. I don’t know what I’m going to do with my life now. I don’t even remember how to withdraw money from an ATM machine. Paul did everything for me, managed the finances, decided what we would do every day. You name it, he did it. He was such a control freak that he wouldn’t allow me to do anything. He was very traditional.”
“Traditional!” I said before I could stop myself.
To my relief, Linda laughed briefly. “Yes, he called it traditional, but I called it many things, none of which can be repeated.”
“And you thought you couldn’t get out of there?”
Linda shook her head. “No, I couldn’t. He had relatives and I didn’t.” She tapped herself on the chin. “All his relatives hated me, but I haven’t even told them he’s dead.”
“Seriously, Linda, I’ll call people if you want me to.”
Relief broke out all over her face. “Would you? I might take you up on that, but only if I chicken out. I’ll try to go through with it. It’s going to be even worse if they think I killed him. They’re kind of like religious freaks.”
I was intrigued. “What religion is it?”
Linda shifted uneasily in her seat. “Oh, it’s just an old one. Well, it’s not a religion as such, um, just a tight-knit family.”
I could tell there was more to it, but I equally knew she didn’t want to enlighten me further. Just then, an angry seagull landed in front of us and looked at us. “She wants food,” I said to Linda. To the seagull, I said, “I’m sorry, we’re just drinking coffee.”
The seagull flew away in disgust.
“I suppose they’re used to people feeding them,” Linda said.
I watched as a whole flock of seagulls landed in front of a mother with some children.
It was lovely sitting out on the grass under the shady tree and watching the people go by. This was an inlet quite close to the beach, but there was no surf here. People were standing in line for the whale watching boats and wildlife tour boats nearby.
“Isn’t that the woman from the cottage?” Linda asked, breaking my concentration.
“Where?”
“Off over to that side.”
I looked over to the side, and sure enough, there was Lila Sanders, walking along the waterfront. She was wearing a tight-fitting sarong and a tiny bikini top, along with a wide-brimmed straw hat.
“You did well to recognise her from that distance,” I said to Linda.
“It was the outfit,” she explained. “I saw her in that outfit earlier.”
“I wonder if she’s the murderer,” I said absently.
“What motive could she have?” Linda asked me. “Plus she arrived at the cottage after the murder, as you know.”
“She arrived at the cottage at that time,” I pointed out, “but who knows what time she arrived in Lighthouse Bay? For all we know, she could’ve spent the night in her car. There’s just something about her I don’t like.”
“Me either, but that doesn’t mean she’s the murderer.”
“Any idea who it could be?” I asked her.
Linda shook her head. “The police asked me that, over and over again. I mean, no one liked Paul, and he was rude to most of his customers. He didn’t get any repeat work, but then again, I don’t suppose many taxidermists do. I saw him yell at customers many a time. Take that man, Jack Murphy—you know, the one I said I saw in the restaurant that night? He and his wife, Megan, were having dinner, so I didn’t want to disturb them. He really hated Paul.”
“Why?”
She sipped her coffee before answering. “Jack was a spotlighter.”
“A spotlighter? I mean, I’ve heard of them, of course, and I know they drive utes with big spotlights on top of them, but what exactly do they do? I’m a city girl.”
Linda hurried to explain. “They drive around at dark and shine the spotlights on kangaroos, and shoot them. This guy had pig dogs, though. He hunted feral pigs out in the bush.”
“Not in Lighthouse Bay?” I was terrified—feral pigs were the stuff of nightmares, according to a documentary I had seen the previous month. They looked nothing like normal pigs. The males had tusks, could grow to a massive size, and could be highly aggressive. I knew they ate lambs, and sometimes newborn calves or full grown sheep if desperate for food, as well as the usual plant matter.
Linda shook her head. “No. Jack and Megan are just holidaying here. Anyway, most pig hunters really dote on their dogs. They put armour on their dogs and everything.”
“I do hope that poor dog wasn’t killed by a feral pig?” I asked in horror.
“No, old age,” Linda said. “Anyway, he was Jack Murphy’s favourite pig dog, and Jack was heartbroken. He left a deposit, and when he came to pay, he thought Paul had got his dog mixed up. I mean, he was an all-black pig dog, a Bull Arab. It was his dog all right, but they look different after they’re stuffed. I was there. Jack didn’t speak angrily at all. He simply asked Paul if he’d got the dogs mixed up. Paul threw his stuffed dog across the room.”
“Gosh, I never knew such things went on in the world of taxidermy.” I raised my eyebrows.
“I’m sure they don’t, not normally!” Linda said. “Anyway, the man left without paying, and then Paul threw that poor man’s dog in the garbage.”
“I’m surprised Jack Murphy was civil to you in the restaurant,” I said.
Linda shook her head. “I think he realised that Paul and I didn’t get on. Paul was screaming at me when Jack arrived that day.”
“If everyone murdered someone who was rude to them, there wouldn’t be many people left in the world,” I said.
“Exactly. I just can’t think of anyone who it could be, anyone who could’ve killed Paul.” Linda took off her sunglasses and dabbed at her eyes once more. “Perhaps if I can manage to get a good sleep, something will come to me. Paul was rude to so many customers, so I suppose you could say they all had a motive. And then, of course, I had a motive. I can see why the police think it was me, but it wasn’t.” She burst into tears once more.
I awkwardly patted her on the back. “I think a victim’s spouse is always the first suspect police look at,” I said, not stopping to think that might not be the most encouraging thing to say, “but then they move on to other suspects after that.”
Linda nodded and slurped her coffee noisily. I expect she was trying not to cry.
I looked back in the direction of Lila Sanders, and my heart stopped. She was speaking to Lucas.
His back was to me, so I watched. After a while, he stepped away from her and headed in our general direction. I looked away. “Linda, there’s Lucas O’Callaghan.”
“I wonder if he’s the murderer?” she said.
I was taken aback. “Why would you say that?” I asked her.
Linda took off her sunglasses once more, and looked me in the eye. “Lucas had a terrible argument with Paul the morning before Paul was murdered.”
I sat bol
t upright. “What about?”
Linda shook her head. “I don’t know.”
I wondered if she did know, because she looked away from me as she spoke. I debated calling her on it, but she continued before I had a chance to speak. “Paul was in a worse mood than usual after that for the rest of the day. That’s why I left and went to the motel for the night.”
Something occurred to me. “Did this sort of thing happen often? I mean, after you had a really bad fight, did you leave and stay in a motel overnight?”
Linda nodded. “I didn’t do it often, because I had to spend the housekeeping money Paul allowed me to have, and that always made him really angry.”
“Did you tell the police that?”
Linda nodded.
“That might be better for you,” I said thoughtfully. “If it was the only time you’ve been to a motel and then Paul died the next day, that mightn’t look so good for you, but if it was a regular thing, then I think that will make you look more innocent.”
“I am innocent.”
“Yes, of course, but…” I was interrupted.
“Good morning, ladies.”
I gasped. I hadn’t noticed Lucas approach; I assumed he would continue along the path near the water’s edge.
“Sorry to startle you,” he said in a tone that made it clear that he didn’t really mean it. “I’m on my way to the police station. They just called me in to give another statement.” He looked at Linda as he said it, and I wondered if he was referring to her telling the police about his argument with Paul.
It seemed to me that something passed between them, some wave of hostility.
Lucas nodded to us and continued on his way. A knot of uneasiness grew in the pit of my stomach. Had Lucas killed Paul Williams? I had no idea of the motive, but surely he had one, given that he’d had an argument with Paul hours before his death. I thought it prudent not to voice that to Linda, so continued to sip my coffee and stare out across the water.
“I don’t like that man,” Linda said.
She said it with such feeling that I wondered if he’d been rude to her. “Why?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I just don’t like him.”
I started when a bright green sarong flashed across my vision. It was Lila Sanders, and she was headed in the direction Lucas had just gone. Was she following him? It sure looked that way. And if she was following him, was it simply because she had a crush? Or was she really some sort of investigative journalist, after all?
Chapter 6
Linda was even more upset after seeing Lucas. I wondered if there was more to it, but I expected he had given her one of the ‘Don’t throw yourself at me,’ lectures he had given me. That would undoubtedly offend her. It had certainly offended me.
“I don’t think I can drink any more of this coffee,” Linda said. “Would you mind taking me back to the manor please, Pepper?”
“Sure.”
“Your aunts are so kind to let me stay at the manor while the cottage is a crime scene,” she said.
I nodded. “I’m sure they’ll let you stay at the manor as long as you like. No doubt you don’t want to go back to the same cottage.”
Linda shrugged. “I haven’t really thought about it. It’s all too much to take in for the moment. You’ll think I’m terrible, but I’m just glad he’s gone. He made my life a misery.”
I unlocked the car with the remote, and then my phone rang. I jumped in the car and fished it out of my bag. Aunt Agnes’s name was on the screen. “Hello?”
“Valkyrie, come home, quick! Something’s happened.”
I caught my breath. “Another murder?”
“No, nothing like that. The police have been here again. Hurry home, and I’ll tell you all about it.” She hung up.
I turned to Linda. “Did you hear all that?”
“Yes, I did. Sorry.”
I waved her apology away. “No, I was going to tell you what she said if you hadn’t heard. I hope nothing bad’s happened.” I looked down to see Linda’s knuckles were white.
“So do I. I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
It was a tense drive back to the manor. Linda and I hurried to the front door, but before I could ring the bell, Aunt Agnes flung the door open. She looked past us at the road, and then gestured wildly. “Hurry inside. We have news.”
I followed Aunt Agnes into the kitchen, where the aunts were all gathered, drinking Witches’ Brew. “Would you like a glass of wine, Linda?” Aunt Agnes asked.
“No, thanks, not right now.”
Aunt Agnes smiled and filled a goblet for me. I thought there was something in the look she gave Linda, but it passed so quickly that I couldn’t get a handle on it.
“What did you find out? What is this all about?” I asked them, hoping they would come to the point quickly.
“Police officers were here with other people, and they took samples from the house.”
I was puzzled. “But they did that yesterday morning.”
“The garbage,” Aunt Dorothy announced dramatically.
“They took samples of the garbage?”
“They took all the garbage,” Agnes said, “but interestingly, they took some potato peels out first and bagged them separately.”
“I’m not sure where this is all going,” I said, punctuated by a sip of Witches’ Brew.
“Let’s have an early lunch,” Agnes said happily. The aunts thought that food was the answer to everything. “I’ve made a nice salad.” She crossed to the huge refrigerator and pulled out several glass bowls topped with wrap. She ripped off the wrap, and set the bowls along the table at intervals. Aunt Maude placed several baskets of crusty rolls along the table, while Aunt Dorothy fetched margarine from the fridge and vegemite from the cupboard.
“We can eat while we talk,” Agnes said.
“Could you start from the beginning?” I asked as I spread my bread roll. I shot a look at Linda, but she seemed just as confused as I was.
“Well, we were snooping, truth be told,” Aunt Dorothy said. “We saw the police come. They didn’t even call in to ask permission, did they, Maude?”
Aunt Maude tut-tutted. “No, they didn’t. What bad manners they have!”
“Anyway, we were out in the vegetable garden when the police arrived, so we sneaked around to see what they were doing.”
“Didn’t they object to you watching them?” Linda asked.
Agnes shook her head. “No, they didn’t even notice us. No one notices old ladies.” The other two aunts nodded, and kept knitting.
“And what did you say?” I prompted her.
“They came out with bags of all the vegetables in the cottage. I don’t just mean small samples, I mean all the vegetables. Then they spent ages carefully looking through the garbage and they bagged all the potato peels. Then they took all the garbage with them, too.”
“They think he was murdered by vegetables?” I said. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
Aunt Agnes shook her finger at me. “Young people these days—they don’t seem to have any common knowledge. What did they teach you at university, Valkyrie?”
I shrugged. “Ancient dead dudes like Aeschylus, Euripides, Aristophanes, Horace, Cicero, Sophocles, Socrates… Need I go on?”
“No,” the aunts said in unison.
“Okay, are you telling me that someone can be murdered with vegetables?” I wondered if the aunts had lost their minds.
“Potato peels, Valkyrie. Think,” Aunt Agnes said, her voice thick with disapproval. “What do you know about potato peels?”
My mind was blank, and I said so. The aunts exchanged glances. I looked at Linda for help, but she shrugged.
Aunt Agnes sighed and stared at me over her bifocals. “What do you know about green potatoes, Valkyrie?”
It dawned on me. “Oh, green potatoes! Yes, green potatoes are poisonous. You’re not supposed to eat potatoes with sprouting eyes on them or potatoes that are green when you peel them.”
Aunt Agnes tapped the table. “Exactly. What if Paul was killed with green potato peels?”
“But surely that’s not possible,” I said. “How on earth could he eat enough to kill him?”
“We didn’t even have any potatoes in the house,” Linda said.
“Are you sure?” Agnes asked her. “Did Paul like potatoes? What time did you leave the house after the argument? Could he have gone to the shops after you left and bought some?”
Linda bit her lip and stared off into the distance. “I arrived at the motel early afternoon, so that would have given him plenty of time to buy potatoes. And Paul did like potatoes. It was one of his favourite foods, only he never cooked.”
“I think you’re forgetting something,” I said to Aunt Agnes. “The police think it’s murder. Even if Paul did buy and cook green potatoes for dinner, then the police would think it was an accidental death. They wouldn’t suspect murder. To me, that means he consumed huge quantities.”
“So Paul didn’t cook, Linda?” Agnes asked her.
“No, never. He hated cooking,” Linda said. “I’m sure he would never cook for himself. He’d starve, first.”
I remembered the crime scene. “When I saw Paul’s body, the kitchen was an absolute mess. Someone had been cooking.”
“It couldn’t have been Paul,” Linda said. “He would never cook, and he was compulsive about cleaning. I had to clean up after him and keep everything spotless. Even then, he imagined there was a mess and would get very angry with me.”
“Perhaps you should tell the police that,” Aunt Maude said gently. “This could be quite important. You say there were no potatoes in the house, and you say he never did any cooking. We all clearly saw the police take potato peels from the garbage. You haven’t eaten potatoes since you’ve been here?”
Linda shook her head. “No, we ordered take away every night.”
“And Valkyrie saw the kitchen in a mess,” Aunt Dorothy said.
“That’s hardly the point is it, Dorothy?” Aunt Agnes said snappily. “Paul didn’t cook for himself; there were no potatoes in the house; the police took potato peels from the garbage; people can die from eating green potatoes.”
