by Morgana Best
Camino stepped forward. “No, that won’t be necessary. The eggs have done their work already. Just wait.”
Her words were drowned by the blare of sirens. Ruprecht went out to meet the police, and soon returned with the two local police officers.
“Is he dead?” Constable Walker asked.
“No,” Ruprecht said. “He seems to be having some sort of psychotic episode.”
Sergeant Tinsdell and the constable walked over to Victor. His eyes flickered when he saw the two men in uniform bending over him. He finally found his voice. “Make Jamie Oliver stop!” he screamed. He scrambled to his feet and backed against the wall, his hands over his ears. “Make Jamie Oliver stop!” he screamed again, pointing in the direction of the television.
The officers exchanged glances. “Walker, get the psych unit on the phone. Quick!”
Walker nodded and left the room. Sergeant Tinsdell turned to us. “Was he like this when you found him?”
We all nodded. “He could be allergic to cats,” I said. “My two cats were draped all over him.” The sergeant looked puzzled, so I added, “You know how cats are always attracted to people who don’t like them? And perhaps severe allergies can make someone lose their mind.”
The sergeant frowned and turned back to Victor. “Why did you break into Amelia Spelled’s house with a gas can?”
Victor finally looked away from the TV and then at the gas can. “She asked my wife, Simone, questions,” he said slowly, his eyes darting from side to side. “I thought she must’ve been in it with Sue Beckett, so I thought I’d get rid of her, too.”
The sergeant scratched his chin. “Please go on. What do you mean by saying she was in it with Sue Beckett?”
“The blackmailing racket, of course,” he said with a cackle. “At first, Sue Beckett didn’t want much money, but she kept asking for more and more. I knew it would never end. I broke into her house and found eleven photos of me, but they were all marked out of twelve, so I knew there was one missing. Anyway, there might’ve been copies. In the end, I had no choice but to kill her.”
“And how did you do that?” the sergeant asked him.
“It was easy.” Victor burst into laughter, which became more and more hysterical. We all just stood there looking at him. A chill ran up my spine.
Just as I was beginning to think that he wouldn’t say another word, he continued. “Simone keeps Botox in her salon and I just increased the dose. I read that ten times the dose could be dangerous, so I increased it even more than that. After Simone gave Sue the Botox treatment, I destroyed that vial, and replaced it with a standard one.”
Constable Walker returned and whispered something in the sergeant’s ear.
Sergeant Tinsdell nodded and turned back to Victor. “And why didn’t you set fire to Amelia Spelled’s house, Victor?”
This appeared to be the wrong thing to say to Victor, as he flung himself back down into his sitting position in the corner once more. “It was the house!” he yelled. “The house wouldn’t let me. And then there was Jamie Oliver!”
The officers exchanged glances once more. “Jamie Oliver attacked you?” the sergeant asked him.
“He was so loud. Jamie Oliver was loud. And the house tried to crush me.”
The sergeant looked at Constable Walker. “I’ve heard enough,” he said. “He’s just babbling utter nonsense now. Let’s take him down to the station and wait for the psych people to come and evaluate him.”
“I think he’s been watching too much TV,” Walker said. When Tinsdell quirked an eyebrow, he continued. “You know, thinking he can plead not guilty due to mental illness.”
The sergeant shook his head. “No. I think this one really is a burger shy of a combo meal.”
The officers led Victor out the door, and all the while Victor was looking around himself muttering wildly about Jamie Oliver being too loud, being allergic to cats, and the house trying to kill him.
Chapter 27
We were all sitting around the table in my back yard, shaded by a large blue umbrella slotted into the table. Other than myself, there were four people: Ruprecht, Camino, Thyme, and Mint. We were sitting in the cool of the afternoon, enjoying the breeze. Nobody had spoken for a long time, but it wasn’t awkward—simply peaceful.
I had received a text from Alder, which simply stated: Dinner Friday? No phones, no mysteries. I smiled again when I thought of it.
We’d had a stressful few weeks, and I think everybody was happy to take a moment just to sit back and relax. Birds were singing happily, and crickets chirped as the wind rustled through the leaves, creating a calm, pleasant atmosphere.
I took a long, slow sip of my coffee and set it gently on the table. This is what it’s all about, I thought. Delicious coffee. Oh, and being with my friends. I looked at everyone and smiled. I’d come a long way from when I’d been evicted from my tiny apartment, and while I still wasn’t sure I could handle the cake store, I knew that I’d have the right people supporting me.
“A superior man is modest in his speech, but superior in his actions.” Ruprecht broke the silence with another one of his proverbs.
I corrected him. “A superior person.”
“Quite so,” he laughed, “but it still stands true.”
I took the bait. “What does it mean, Ruprecht?” I feigned interest, though I honestly enjoyed his philosophical tirades. Sometimes. A little bit. Maybe.
I soon regretted my question.
“Well, it’s fairly straightforward.” He put his coffee down, straightened his back, and cleared his throat. I sighed softly and prepared myself for the incoming monologue. “The superior man—excuse me, person—is the one who can prove themselves through actions without relying on words. This isn’t to say that words can’t be used to great effect, or necessarily that actions speak louder than words, but that the superior person can prove themselves through their actions rather than just their words. Now, there’s a slightly more complicated deeper meaning here...”
He continued for what felt like hours, but was probably only about ten minutes. I occasionally caught myself letting my mind wander and would try to refocus, but everything he was saying had become a kind of mush of uninteresting philosophical musings. At one point, I even considered asking for Thyme’s advice on baking just to change the subject, but I realized that would probably excite her to the same level as Ruprecht, and nothing would change, except perhaps my property value after I tried to bake again.
“And how does that relate to our situation?” Camino asked earnestly. I think she’d been listening the entire time, but it was possible that she had mastered the art of pretending. Maybe her hearing was starting to go, which I now realized could sometimes be a blessing.
“Oh, well to be honest, I thought that would be fairly obvious, but I’m glad you asked.” Ruprecht took another sip of coffee before he continued. “I was thinking about Victor.”
“You think Victor is a superior man?” I asked, eyebrows raised.
“Oh, no, quite the opposite. I was thinking about not only Victor, but also about you, Amelia. Victor was less than a nice person, to put it lightly, as I’m sure we all agree. However, I’m also sure we’d all agree that you’re a wonderful person.”
I shifted uncomfortably. I was never very good at taking compliments.
“You’re obviously two very different people,” he continued. “But this quote, which is from Confucius, believe it or not,”—I can believe it, I thought—“pertains to our situation. Victor is a coward, and attempted to do something incomprehensibly horrible both to you and your property.”
“And to my cats,” I interjected.
“Of course, and to your cats. Luckily, or rather, by some other force, he was thwarted. That makes the third criminal you’ve helped to apprehend, and yet I never hear you brag about it.” Ruprecht smiled at me proudly.
“Well, I didn’t realize I was allowed to brag. Now that I know, I’ll make a point of doing so,” I joked. It
meant a lot to hear Ruprecht praise me, even if he was doing it in his own roundabout way. “Now, would anybody like another coffee? There’s plenty left in the kitchen, which is right next to the room in which I apprehended a criminal mastermind.”
Everybody laughed. “I wouldn’t call him a mastermind,” Thyme said, still laughing. “His evil master plan was thwarted by a house and two cats.”
“No, not just the cats and the house. Also Jamie Oliver,” I added.
As much as we were making light of the situation, it was a little unsettling that there had been so much violence in the short amount of time since I’d moved here. If this kept up, I’m wasn’t I’d want to stay, though I would probably make a better detective than a baker—not sure which made more money, but I know which I’d rather do, and it’s the one with fewer people dying.
“What’s bothering you, Amelia?” Mint asked kindly.
“It’s just all of this crime lately. Since I’ve moved here, we’ve had more murders than most people experience in their lifetime. Tell me this isn’t normal for this town.”
“No, it isn’t,” she replied. “It’s been very troubled here lately, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Certainly not in your own house!” She smiled as she said it, and she was right. Nobody had any reason to hurt me, but even if someone tried, I was safe in my house. More than that, though, I always had my friends beside me.
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Next Book in this Series .
Spelling Mistake (The Kitchen Witch Book FOUR)
Amelia Spelled discovers an old spellbook, which to her delight contains a spell to improve one’s baking. When Amelia performs the spell, she accidentally summons an evil entity. Too late, she realizes that there was a typo in the spell. When a murder is committed, Amelia is concerned that the entity was responsible.
As the body count rises, Amelia does her best to reverse the spell, and in the process, finally finds her abilities as a witch.
Other books by Morgana Best .
A Ghost of a Chance (Witch Woods Funeral Home Book 1)
Nobody knows that Laurel Bay can see and talk to ghosts. When she inherits a funeral home, she is forced to return from the city to the small town of Witch Woods to breathe life into the business. It is a grave responsibility, but Laurel is determined that this will be no dead-end job.
There she has to contend with her manipulative and overly religious mother, more than one ghost, and a secretive but handsome accountant.
When the murder of a local woman in the funeral home strangles the finances, can Laurel solve the murder?
Or will this be the death of her business?
Note: This book is humorously irreverent in places, so please read only if you won’t be offended.
Christmas Spirit (The Middle-aged Ghost Whisper Book 1)
Prudence Wallflower tours the country, making live appearances. She connects people with loved ones who have passed on. However, her reputation as a psychic medium is failing, and even Prudence has begun to doubt herself. She has never seen a ghost, but receives impressions from the dead. This all changes when the ghost of a detective appears to her and demands her help to solve a murder. Prudence finds herself out of her depth, and to make matters worse, she is more attracted to this ghost than any man she has ever met.
About Morgana Best .
#1 Best-selling Cozy Mystery author, Morgana Best, lives in a small, historic, former gold mining town in the middle of nowhere in Australia. She is owned by one highly demanding, rescued cat who is half Chinchilla, and two less demanding dogs, a chocolate Labrador and a rescued Dingo, as well as two rescued Dorper sheep, the ram, Herbert, and his wether friend, Bertie.
Morgana is a former college professor who now writes full time.
In her spare time, Morgana loves to read cozy mysteries, repurpose furniture, and renovate her old house.
