Live and Let Diet (Australian Amateur Sleuth Book 1)

by Morgana Best

  My jaw fell open. At the same time, the cogs in my mind turned furiously, trying to work out whether Mr. Buttons could possibly be the murderer.

  I was about to speak, but Alison beat me to it. “Mr. Buttons, the police clearly aren’t done with the crime scene. Can’t you see it’s still cordoned off by the tape? What will they think of you cleaning up in here?”

  Mr. Buttons shrugged, although his face did turn pale. “I’m sorry, but I had to clean up. Lord Farringdon has been shedding cat hair all over the rug and like I said, I couldn’t stand it. Anyway, the police will have already taken all the evidence by now.”

  The maid rolled her eyes and then shrugged. “Come on, I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.”

  I followed them both down the dark corridor, assuming I was included in the invitation. I again noticed the musty old scent that was emanating from the walls. We walked into the kitchen. It was no better than the rest of the house, except that it was sparkling clean. It was smaller than I expected. I guessed it had been updated in the 1950’s. The floors were a horrible mixture of beige and mustard tiles. The high ceiling was a weird shade of orange, as were the kitchen cupboards. There was a particularly hideous orange floral blind over the only window. Shelving in dark wood lined the rest of the walls on that side.

  Opposite the wall of built-in cupboards was a cast iron combustion stove, clearly very old and no longer in use. It was an unusual shade of aqua, with the word Metters stamped across the door for the wood and the word Canberra stamped across the oven door. The top of it was speckled lime green enamel. It sat heavily in an old red brick structure that had seen better days, and the backsplash was a revolting shade of mustard.

  In the middle of the kitchen was an old iron and Formica table with a few chairs, and that was where Mr. Buttons sat. I followed his lead.

  Alison busied herself making a pot of tea. She deposited cups on the table and poured tea into them, and was on her way back to the bench with the teapot when she suddenly stopped and exclaimed, “The bowl’s missing!”

  I wondered what the problem was.

  Mr. Buttons appeared equally upset. “Oh no, are you sure?”

  Alison pointed to the table. “It was there, in a plastic bag.”

  I looked at Mr. Buttons. “Could someone please tell me what you’re talking about?”

  Mr. Buttons fidgeted. “This morning, Alison and I went into the library and we found a bowl half filled with cereal in there. The library is rarely used, and I said that Tim Higgins might have been in there. As you said it was cyanide, Alison and I thought we should put the bowl in a plastic bag to keep it safe, just in case Tim was eating from it before he died. It had some of that diet cereal he used to eat in it. Alison said she’d call the police to collect it.”

  “We left it here in the kitchen,” Alison said. “Now it’s gone.” She glared at Mr. Buttons, and then gasped, raising her hand to her face. “The dishwasher!”

  She hurried to the dishwasher and opened it. After the steam cleared, we could see a lone cereal bowl. Alison looked up at Mr. Buttons. “Mr. Buttons, why did you put the bowl in the dishwasher?”

  Mr. Buttons shook his head. “It wasn’t me.”

  Alison put her hands on her hips. “Well, someone took that bowl out of the plastic bag and put it in the dishwasher. What’s more, it’s the only item in the dishwasher, so it’s not as if someone did it by accident.”

  I watched as the man’s jaw ticked, his fists clenching across the table. He took up his cup of tea and sipped it slowly, but then set it back down again so that he could speak. “I have obsessive compulsive disorder when it comes to cleanliness and neatness, and the like. I can’t control it. If it’s dirty, I must clean it,” he said. “Yet I can assure you, I did not touch that cereal bowl.”

  No one had a chance to speak further as Cressida burst into the room, with Sergeant Wessley right behind her. “Blake is here for the bowl,” she announced, stating the obvious.

  Mr. Buttons and I exchanged glances. I noticed that Alison looked decidedly uncomfortable.

  The sergeant nodded to us. “Now where’s that bowl?”

  For a moment no one spoke, and then Mr. Buttons said, “After Alison called you about the cereal bowl, I decided to vacuum, and then Sibyl came, and Alison made us a cup of tea.”

  Blake shifted from one foot to another. I could see he was impatient, but he waited for Mr. Buttons to continue.

  “Then,” Mr. Buttons said, “when the three of us came into the kitchen, Alison noticed that the dishwasher was on. She opened it, and the cereal bowl was in there.”

  Blake looked at us. “Did any of you do it?’

  We shook our heads.

  Mr. Buttons stood up. “Blake, you know I have obsessive compulsive disorder and I can’t control it. I admit that I vacuumed the crime scene…”

  Blake interrupted him. “You vacuumed the crime scene?”

  Mr. Buttons folded his arms across his chest. “I had to clean up the mess. It was horrible. Once the police have their evidence ready, you’ll see that I’m clearly not the perpetrator of the crime. I simply had to clean it,” he repeated.

  Blake’s face darkened. “We’ve finished with the crime scene anyway, just as well for you, Mr. Buttons. Now tell me, who had access to this room after Alison called me, apart from the three of you and Ms. Upthorpe?” He looked directly at me.

  For some reason, his unwavering gaze made me feel guilty. “I didn’t have access to it,” I said. “I didn’t go anywhere near the kitchen.”

  Blake gave me a weary look. “Who met you at the door?”

  I frowned. “Well, no one. I knocked for a while and when no one came, I walked inside, and found Mr. Buttons.”

  “So you could’ve gone straight to the kitchen first.”

  I narrowed my eyes. I hadn’t thought of it like that. “Well, yes, I suppose. But I didn’t,” I ended lamely.

  Blake turned back to Mr. Buttons. “Why did you go into the library?”

  Cressida interrupted him. “Lord Farringdon told me that I’d left my favorite reading glasses in there, so I asked Mr. Buttons if he’d go fetch them for me.”

  Mr. Buttons nodded vigorously. “And as I was going in there, Alison saw me and came with me.”

  Blake’s face was growing redder. “Lord Farringdon? You mean the cat, right?” He shook his head and before anyone could respond, he added, “Who else had access to the kitchen?”

  “Only Nora, the cleaning lady,” Cressida said.

  “And where is Nora now?”

  Cressida walked over to the table and sat down. “Cleaning upstairs somewhere.”

  Blake rubbed his forehead. “All right, would someone please go get her?”

  “I’ll go.” Alison hurried out of the room.

  An uncomfortable silence hung in the room. After a while, Cressida got up and made herself a cup of tea. I fidgeted nervously while Blake just stood there, his arms still crossed.

  I looked at Mr. Buttons as he sipped his tea, not making eye contact with anyone. Was he telling the truth or was he trying to cover something up?

  It seemed like an age before Alison returned with Nora, who was clearly flustered. She was clutching a spray bottle of disinfectant to her chest.

  The sergeant pointed to a chair. “Sit down please, Nora.”

  Nora looked around, I assume for a place to deposit the bottle. Cressida, visibly annoyed with her, stood up and took the bottle from her. Nora sat down and then looked at each of us in turn.

  “Nora, where have you been for the last hour?”

  Nora looked at the cop. “Upstairs, cleaning.”

  Blake wrote that in his notebook. When he had finished, he looked up at her. “For the whole hour? You didn’t come downstairs at all?”

  “Yes, I mean no.” Nora shook her head. “I mean I’ve been cleaning upstairs for the whole hour, and I didn’t come downstairs.”

  “Not once in that time?”

  Nora shook her hea
d again, and wrung her hands.

  Blake wrote something else in his notebook. “And you didn’t see anyone the whole time?”

  “No,” Nora said.

  Nora and I looked at each other. I’d had no idea that Nora even existed or was working at the boarding house, and we as yet hadn’t been introduced. Still, I supposed now wasn’t the time for social niceties.

  Blake looked around at all of us. “And no one admits to putting that bowl in the dishwasher?”

  We all shook our heads.

  Blake frowned. “The detectives will be back to interview all of you.” His tone was solemn.

  “Why?” I asked. “Does that mean it was murder? Tim Higgins, I mean?”

  Blake looked at me for a moment before answering. “Yes.”

  Everyone gasped.

  “All the results aren’t back yet,” he continued, “but they found evidence of cyanide poisoning in the trachea and bronchi, along with other signs. The pathologist has sent samples to the toxicologist to confirm cyanide, but at this stage, it’s pretty clear it was murder by cyanide. What’s more, his last meal was diet cereal.”

  There was a collective gasp.

  I looked around at each person in turn. Someone sitting here was surely the murderer. Cressida? Mr. Buttons? Alison? Nora? Someone had put that cereal bowl in the dishwasher to destroy the evidence. The only thing I knew for sure was that Mr. Buttons and Alison couldn’t have been in on it together, as they had found the bowl together and alerted the police.

  That left four murder suspects, and all of them my close neighbors.

  Chapter 7

  I jumped when someone knocked on the door. Surely the detectives hadn’t come back? They had come to my cottage and given me the third degree the previous day after the incident with the bowl. Surely they didn’t think I was a suspect? After all, I was the one who had mentioned cyanide.

  “Hello, anybody there? State your name,” I called out. I figured it wouldn’t be a good idea to fling open the door and find a murderer on my doorstep—not that I’d know the murderer if I saw him or her, I realized.

  “Yes, it’s Alison,” a female voice said through the door.

  I opened the door and gave her my warmest smile to make up for acting weirdly. “Hi, Alison. I’m glad to see you.” I motioned for her to come in.

  She smiled and shook her head. “No, thanks. I just came to invite you to lunch.”

  “Today?” I tried to figure out the time. I’d fallen asleep on the sofa after a restless night of tossing and turning.

  Alison nodded. “Yes, now. I’ve made some preparations already. The tenants are out and Cressida’s away for the day.”

  I smiled. “I’d love to come over for lunch, thanks.”

  I closed the door behind me and followed Alison down the worn pathway to the large boarding house, down the creepy dismal corridor, and into the dated kitchen. I sat and watched in the kitchen like an obedient child while Alison chopped up the vegetables and stirred some broth in a pot.

  As Alison was cooking, I squirmed in my seat, suddenly nervous. I was aware of the fact that I was in sitting in the very boarding house where the murder was committed. Who could the murderer be? I had no clue, and I hoped the police were doing better. I wondered if Alison suspected Mr. Buttons, though could hardly ask.

  “There we go,” Alison said, depositing the food on the table.

  She laid out a soup bowl and plate with a crusty, fresh bread roll. It was a welcome change from the ghastly microwave dinners I usually made for myself.

  I raised a spoon of soup to my mouth and blew on it, pretending I was doing so to cool it down, but I sniffed it as I inhaled before blowing. After all, Alison could well be the murderer. There was no smell of bitter almonds, so I gingerly placed the spoon in my mouth. To my relief, Alison ate some soup. She had ladled both her soup and mine from the same pot.

  “Thanks, Alison. This is good.”

  She shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal.

  There was no conversation for a while, but just as I finished my soup, Alison spoke. “You’re not married?”

  I hesitated for a moment, and then answered. “No, I’m not. I’m divorced. My husband cheated on me, so I left him. I decided to come here for a new start.” I laid down my spoon, the topic of my ex-husband leaving a bitter taste that lingered in my mouth.

  Alison folded her hands and her eyes narrowed. “I got rid of my man for the same reason.” She chuckled, but did not look at all amused.

  I was curious about Alison’s story, but I could see from the stony lines on her face that she didn’t want to push the topic further.

  “What do you think of the sergeant?”

  I was taken aback by Alison’s question. “Um, he’s all right, I suppose. He’d be better if he didn’t see me as a suspect.”

  Alison laughed. “I’m sure he doesn’t. His last girlfriend…” She stopped and rolled her eyes. “Well, I haven’t been in town for long, but Cressida said she was attractive, but there was nothing in her head. She was always going on about vibrations and things like that, you know, to cure illnesses. She was a new age hippy type. Who knows what she was talking about! Do you think you’ll ever get married again?”

  I shrugged. “Dunno. It’s way too early to think about such things. It would be nice to have someone to depend on, that sort of thing.” A wave of sadness overwhelmed me, and I bit back the tears. I had thought that Andrew was the man I would always be with, that he was The One. Now he was gone, and I was in a strange town, all by myself.

  Alison nodded her agreement. “So you’re going to do pet grooming?”

  “Yes, I bought a mobile pet grooming van. I’ve always loved animals, and I’ve always wanted my own business, and now I have both. It’s a bit daunting though. I don’t know if I’ll be able to make enough out of it to live on.”

  “Did you leave him as soon as he cheated on you?” Alison asked.

  I was surprised by the rapid change of subject, and didn’t reply for a while, pushing the bread roll around my plate. I had only just met Alison and barely knew anything about her, and what’s more, I had only opened up to my family about my divorce. I had written down the feelings, the hurt, and the anger and everything pertaining to it, in my journal.

  I had no desire to open up to Alison, but I had to say something. “Yes, what about you?”

  Alison frowned and bit her bottom lip. “It had been going on for some time, but it took me a while to come to my senses and sort it all out.”

  I swallowed a bite of the bread roll and murmured my sympathy. “And you never remarried?”

  Alison looked shocked. “Oh, it was fairly recent.”

  “I’m sorry.” I thought that Alison and I might become friends; after all, we’d shared an experience. “Mine had cheated on me for some time before I found out.”

  Alison nodded. “That was probably the case with me, too.”

  “You know, I don’t even know how he found women out where he was working, in the mining industry.”

  Alison looked interested. “Where was he working, out on an oil rig? Not many women work offshore.”

  I frowned. “No, but not many women work where he works, either, but he managed to find them, that’s for sure. He’s a chemical engineer, working for one of the companies that makes sodium cyanide.”

  Alison gasped. I shot her a sharp look, and she said, “People make cyanide? Like the cyanide that killed Tim Higgins?”

  I nodded. “Sure, for the mining industry. You know, to separate gold and silver from iron ore, that kind of thing. I was always stuck in Sydney, and Andrew was always working away from home.”

  I was surprised that no tears had sprung to my eyes while I recounted my sorry tale.

  Alison reached over the table and squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry. That’s awful. I can relate, though. My ex was the same. Your last name, Potts, is that your husband’s name?”

  I meant to give a rude, short laugh but it came out more
like a grunt. “No, his name is Rankin, Andrew Rankin. Potts is my maiden name. I changed it back to that when I found out that Andrew had several affairs. I wanted nothing to do with that name.”

  I looked at Alison, but her face was frozen. “Alison, are you okay?”

  She tossed her head. “That’s awful, Sibyl. I’m so sorry to hear that. Did you say he had several affairs?”

  I nodded. “Yes, he admitted to it. Well, gloated, more like it.”

  “Men have needs,” Alison snapped, “and sometimes they neglect to remember that those needs should be satisfied by just one woman and not by some…” Alison’s voice trailed away and she clutched at her throat.

  I wondered if her divorce was recent. It appeared as if that were the case, given her reaction. I wanted to comfort Alison, but didn’t know how.

  At that, the conversation died away and there seemed to be no point in furthering it. I stood up to carry my dirty plates to the sink, but Alison stopped me.

  “The dishwasher takes care of everything. Don’t worry about the dishes. Let me show you to the door,” Alison said.

  I protested, but left the plates on the table as Alison led me out of the boarding house. I walked back to the cottage with an overwhelming sense of tiredness. I just wanted a quiet life with no drama or intrigue. Was that too much to ask?

  Chapter 8

  I woke up to the sound of Don’t Stop Believing blaring from my bedside radio. It was early—earlier than I normally wake up. I had a trip to make, but otherwise today could be spent however I pleased. I had no clients lined up for the day, and I wanted to spend time figuring out how to get more business. I got up and ran through my routine: having a shower, doing my hair and make-up, getting dressed, making a morning coffee, and eating a bowl of cereal.

  This morning, the coffee and cereal both tasted different. I was in the habit of having both every morning, but today something was wrong. Maybe the milk in the cereal was bad; maybe it was something else, but I drank the coffee and ate the cereal anyway. One doesn’t break a caffeine and cereal addiction for the simple issue of terrible flavor.