by Morgana Best
He held out his phone. The victim’s computer screen displayed the words, I’ve realized I can’t take it anymore, in a Word doc.
“I won’t tell anyone,” I said. “I won’t tell them about The Bachelor either.” I did my best not to giggle.
Max rubbed his forehead. “I have no idea why I said that.” He held up both hands, palms upwards, in exasperation.
“You’re no doubt under a lot of stress. Are you sure you’d like some coffee? Wouldn’t you rather have some wine?”
Max smiled appreciatively. “Wine would be nice.”
I made my way into the kitchen, when there was another knock on the door. I wasn’t expecting any visitors, and I felt somewhat uneasy. I hurried to the door and opened it to see a tall, thin man wearing a tight suit and a pinched expression.
“I’m looking for Detective Max Greyson.”
“Oh yes, he’s in here,” I said.
“I’m an arrogant person with a very high opinion of myself,” the man said. “I watch Love Actually every Christmas and cry. When my wife goes out with her friends, I try on her clothes. Black lace suits me. Anyway, what are you doing here, Greyson?” The man’s tone was bordering on belligerent.
“Ms Bloom is a friend of mine,” Max said. I wondered why he sounded defensive rather than shocked by the man’s admissions.
The man crossed his arms over his chest. “Did I interrupt something?” He addressed the question to me.
I was quite puzzled. “No. Detective Greyson saw me at the police station earlier today and offered to take me home because my car was here. I was upset, so he said he would check back later to see if I was all right.”
“How neighbourly of him,” the man said with more than a little sarcasm. “Greyson, will you come with me?” It was more of an order than a question.
Max shot me a sheepish look and followed him out the door.
Chapter 5
I had spent a restless night wondering what was going on with Max. Why had he left with the mysterious man? It made no sense. I tossed and turned all night and woke up feeling tired. I staggered into the kitchen, fed Persnickle who was just as grumpy in the mornings as I was, and then switched on the coffee machine. I found Paddy asleep in Persnickle’s wombat bed, and fed him, too.
Two coffees later, I was ready to face the day. Persnickle appeared to have grown accustomed to Paddy riding on his back, although he did emit weary wombat sighs at intervals. I had texted Oleander to bring her up to speed with how Paddy was doing, and she had asked me to come over.
I dressed Persnickle in his therapy wombat blanket. At the sight of the blanket, he danced from one foot to the other, knowing he was going for a ride in the car. Paddy didn’t seem upset to be left home alone. In fact, he seemed pleased to have the wombat bed all to himself.
When I reached the parking area of the East Bucklebury Retirement Home, the security guard stopped me. “Athanasius and Oleander are waiting for you, Goldie,” he said. After the recent murder of the residence manager, the retirement home had employed a security guard to screen all visitors.
Athanasius opened the door for me to get out and then helped Persnickle out of his seat. “I used to be quite a man about town in my day,” Athanasius said. “I was always one with the ladies. Of course, I was a good boy after I got married, and I never did any embezzling or anything like that. I probably would have made quite a good homicidal maniac because many people irritated me, though it never came to that. I have hair growing out of my ears.”
Oleander and I exchanged glances, and then Oleander said, “I’ve had problems with my bowels. I think I might be gluten intolerant. It all started thirty years ago and I thought it was because I couldn’t digest chickpeas and nuts, but the problems with my bowels continued. Why, sometimes…”
I held up a hand to forestall her. “Stop! I think I know what’s happening. I did a truth spell.”
Athanasius and Oleander exchanged glances. “You did a what?” Athanasius asked me.
I slapped myself on the side of my head. “How could I have been so silly? It’s only just dawned on me!”
“What exactly has dawned on you?” Oleander said. “You had better come to my apartment and explain.”
“It’s like I said in my text, the police did gunshot residue tests on me, but they said the results would take a week or so,” I said. “Ever since the time the detectives arrested you and threw you in the Southport watchhouse, Oleander, I was afraid they would do the same to me. I didn’t think I would be able to last out the week. That’s why I did the truth spell, so the murderer would come to light, and soon.”
Athanasius rubbed his chin. “I don’t suppose you followed the first rule of witchcraft, that is, to be completely specific?”
I was shamefaced. “Um, no. Perhaps I wasn’t specific enough. You know, Max and the man who came for him last night both said lots of things I thought very strange at the time. Why didn’t I realise this before? It’s obvious now.”
“Everything is obvious in hindsight,” Athanasius said sagely.
Oleander agreed. “But don’t you see, Goldie, this is good! It means the murderer will tell you the truth as well.”
Persnickle had found some flowering fuchsia bushes, and I had a devil of a job to pull his head out of them. “Persnickle, stop that!” I said. “You’ve already had your breakfast.”
Athanasius came to my aid. “Persnickle, I have a lemon tart.”
At the sound of the promised tart, Persnickle whipped his head around like lightning and almost bowled Athanasius over. Athanasius fed him the tart and said, “Where was I? Yes. The only trouble is, we don’t know who the suspects are.”
Oleander nodded. “Let’s brainstorm on that when we get to my apartment.”
Athanasius and Oleander both owned independent living apartments at the East Bucklebury Retirement Home. Oleander’s apartment was on the east side of the home, along with all the other independent living apartments, but Athanasius owned a former staff member’s apartment and it was in the same complex as the assisted living section. It was to Oleander’s apartment we were now heading.
To my dismay, we happened across Harriet Hemsworth brandishing pruning shears and bending over a patch of overgrown daisies. She beamed when she saw us. “Oh, I didn’t know there was a therapy wombat session today.”
I shook my head. “There isn’t. I’m just bringing Persnickle for an outing to see Athanasius and Oleander.”
Her face fell. “Did I ever tell you I was a naturopath?” she began.
I quickly said, “Yes, you told us all about it.”
Undaunted, she pushed on. “I have a bad case of haemorrhoids. Did you know Napoleon had haemorrhoids? That’s why some people say he lost the Battle of Waterloo, because he couldn’t sit on his horse for too long. Still, I saw his old desk chair in an episode of Escape From the Country and that chair was as hard as a rock. Surely what they say about him can’t be true, because he’d have needed to sit on a cushion. I have to sit on a cushion, a soft ring cushion. What do you think of that?”
I muttered something and made to walk away, but she reached out her hand and dug her bony fingers into my arm. “I have terrible gas. At first I thought it was from eating cabbages, but I don’t know now. It just doesn’t stop. It’s embarrassing, because I don’t know when it will happen, and everyone looks at me. I always blame the woman sitting next to me, or I blame Josephine Gatts. Everyone thinks it’s Josephine, but it’s me.”
She bent down and pointed to her feet. “And I haven’t clipped my toenails in years. It’s a wonder they don’t curl over. I keep thinking I should go for a pedicure, but I’m sure they’d frighten those ladies who do them. I did try to take scissors to my toenails once, but they were just too hard to cut. Like old boots, they were.”
“Um, that’s nice,” I said over my shoulder as Athanasius and Oleander pulled me away from her. Thank goodness Harriet hadn’t shown us her ghastly book that contained graphic photos of every m
anner of disease from her naturopath days.
When we reached Oleander’s apartment, I pulled a thermos from my big shoulder bag.
“Coffee,” both Athanasius and Oleander shrieked in delight.
“Why don’t you put Persnickle out in the courtyard to stretch his legs,” Oleander said.
I didn’t think it a good idea. “Are you sure there’s nothing he can eat out there?”
“No, I think those plants are quite safe from him. I haven’t weeded the garden lately so the weeds are fair game. It would be good if he could eat them.”
“Now to business,” Athanasius said, sitting on one of the sofas and indicating that we should, too. “Goldie, you think the police suspect you?”
I nodded. “It’s that super irritating Detective Power. He arrested Oleander without any solid evidence, and I’m worried the same thing will happen to me. After all, I found the body.”
Athanasius nodded solemnly. “Now who was that woman that you said was there soon after?”
“Georgia Garrison, the vet nurse,” I said. “She arrived at the clinic not long after I did. But like I said in my text, I saw the vet’s body, and just about as soon as I laid eyes on him, she came into the room.”
Athanasius raised his bushy eyebrows. “Did she appear genuinely upset?”
I nodded. “She seemed genuinely shocked and distraught, and if she was acting, then she should win an Oscar.”
“We shouldn’t discount her, nevertheless,” Oleander said, tapping her chin. “Didn’t you say the police initially said it was suicide?”
“Yes, that’s what was strange. At first, Power said it was suicide, and then he was acting like it was a murder investigation.”
Athanasius set down his empty coffee mug, and I refilled it from my thermos. “Perhaps there was a note left or something. In other words, perhaps the murderer tried to make it look like suicide, but the police weren’t taken in by it.”
I couldn’t tell them about the note on the computer screen, because Max had told me that in confidence. “It must’ve been quite obviously not suicide if Detective Power figured out it was murder.” I pulled a face.
“And you didn’t see anyone else driving down the road when you arrived?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t see a single car, not even the vet’s. I expect he parked around the back, but if someone had driven away after I’d got there, then Georgia would have seen them.”
“The vet clinic is right on the edge of town, but it does back onto some walking tracks,” Oleander pointed out. “A fit person could have jogged there and then jogged away again.”
I groaned. “There are a lot of fit people in town at the moment, what with the big run coming up,” I said. “In fact, that’s what all started it.”
“Is there any more coffee?” Oleander asked me. Before I could answer, she poured herself some more from the thermos. “Yes, you told me all about the Norwegians.”
“They weren’t Norwegians; they were Dutch,” I told her.
“But I thought you said they were dressed in orange? Isn’t orange the national colour of the Norwegians?”
I shook my head. “No, orange is the Dutch colour.”
“But their flag isn’t orange,” Oleander said, clearly confused.
“Orange is their national sporting colour,” I told her. “They’re in town en masse at the local health resort, having raw juices and colonics.”
Both Athanasius and Oleander sniggered.
“I can’t see why one of those Dutch people would have done it,” I continued. “They haven’t been in town long, not long enough to develop any sort of dislike for the vet. Who did dislike the vet? Did he charge a lot or something?”
“There wouldn’t be many vets left in Australia if they were murdered over the size of the vet bills,” Athanasius pointed out. “I suspect that’s not the motive.”
Oleander leapt to her feet. “I know! The disgruntled dog owner!”
I was startled. “What?”
Oleander sat down again. “She’s complained about the vet for the last month. She took her dog to the vet. He misdiagnosed him and the dog nearly died.” She held up both hands in a gesture of reassurance. “Don’t worry, the dog is fine now because she took him to a vet in Southport who completely healed him, but he had some genetic disorder. I forget what it was. Not peritonitis. It starts with P. I know! Pancreatitis. The Southport vet said he has to take tablets with every meal, but the local vet misdiagnosed him and thought it was something else entirely, so he could have died. This woman was absolutely furious about it. She’s told everyone who will listen.”
“But would that be a motive for murder?” I asked her.
Athanasius folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t think so, given that the dog turned out all right. Still, she was absolutely furious with Dr Chase Evans, and to make matters worse, even though he misdiagnosed the dog and nearly caused the poor dog’s demise, he still charged her a hefty price for his treatment and threatened to take her to court if she didn’t pay.”
“So he wasn’t nice then?” I asked him. “If he did it to her, then likely he did it to other people too.”
Both Athanasius and Oleander nodded. “Quite possibly. I think we need to speak with the disgruntled dog owner,” Oleander said. “She’s the only suspect we have to date, apart from the vet nurse, Georgia Garrison. There’s that male nurse as well, so we’ll put him on our list of suspects. There must be other suspects, so we need to find out if anyone else had a grudge against the vet. And Goldie, you need to take Persnickle to the vet clinic to try to speak with the vet’s ghost.”
Once more that morning I slapped myself on the side of my head. “You’re kidding!” Both of them were surprised at my outburst, so I added, “You know, I hadn’t even thought of that. Honestly, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. That should have been the first thing I thought of.”
Oleander leant forward and patted my knee. “You’ve had a lot on your mind, Goldie. And speaking of a lot on your mind, what did Max Greyson confess to you?” She winked at me as she said it.
My spirits fell. “Nothing like that. He didn’t confess any feelings for me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Oleander pulled a face. “Oh. I’m sorry, Goldie.”
I sighed long and hard. “He was interrupted by Persnickle, I suppose. He just told me stuff about work, boring stuff about how he went to work and got his stapler, nothing interesting.”
“All the more reason why you should speak with suspects as soon as you can,” Athanasius said. “We have no idea how long this truth spell will work, and if you can speak with the murderer soon, that person could well confess.”
Oleander rubbed her hands together. “That’s exactly right, Athanasius. Do you have anything else to do right now, Goldie?” I shook my head, so she pushed on. “All right then, let’s go and visit the disgruntled dog owner. She lives alone and I know she will be pleased to have visitors.”
Chapter 6
“We’ll just wing it,” Oleander said as I drove us all to the disgruntled dog owner’s house. Oleander had informed me that said woman’s name was Mabel Wraith.
“To tell you the truth, that doesn’t give me much confidence,” I said to Oleander. “I would feel better if we had some sort of a concrete plan.”
“Like what?” Oleander asked me. I shrugged, so she added, “There you go!” in a triumphant tone.
Mabel Wraith lived in a part of town I hadn’t seen before. We drove through cane fields and then down a dirt lane to an unremarkable, semi-dilapidated, blue building. When we got out of the car and made to open the front gate, several Maltese terriers barked viciously at us. I was glad I had taken Persnickle home first and set him in front of the television.
A crotchety-looking woman stormed out the gate, waving her walking stick at us. “What do you want?” she screeched angrily, but her face changed when she saw Oleander. “Oleander, what brings you here?”
I wondered
what Oleander would say. After all, it was her idea to wing it, so I was glad she was the one put on the spot.
“I thought you’d be interested to know that my friend Goldie here was the one who found the vet’s body. I thought you wouldn’t mind hearing a bit of gossip.”
Mabel’s face lit up. “Come in! I was just about to have some walnut cake.”
I was relieved that we were welcomed, but I was not so relieved when Oleander hissed in my ear, “Don’t eat anything, whatever you do.”
As soon as I walked in the door, the unpleasant smell of damp hit me, probably because the floor joists were likely rotted. Black mould and signs of rising damp adorned the walls, the odour even overcoming the pungent smell of dog. It looked like an episode of one of those shows where people try to help the worst of hoarders. The place was chock-a-block full from ceiling to roof with every manner of object, from china ornaments in overfilled china cabinets to cardboard boxes of indeterminable items.
“Take a seat if you can find one,” Mabel said with a crooked smile.
Athanasius moved some cardboard boxes aside so we could sit on the three-seater sofa.
“I’ll make us a nice cup of tea and fetch the walnut cake.”
“Don’t go to any trouble on our account,” Oleander said hurriedly. “We don’t want to intrude and take advantage of your hospitality.”
Mabel waved a hand in dismissal. “It’s no trouble at all. I’ll just put the walnut cake in the microwave. It’s been in the fridge for a year or so.”
Oleander shot me a warning look. I grimaced, while trying to breathe. The stench was overpowering. I wondered why Mabel hadn’t opened some windows, but maybe she was immune to the frightful odour.
Mabel presently returned with a tray, on top of which were three cups of black tea.
“I heard that dreadful vet was dead,” Mabel said. “I thought about killing him myself. I’m not sorry he’s dead, given that he overcharged people. I’m surprised no one has killed him before,” she added, all the while waving her hands angrily. “I make walnut cakes and put some in the freezer and then forget they’re there. Sometimes when I thaw them out, there’s mould on them. Who’d have thought? I thought freezing things would stop mould forming, but no. You have some. I’m not going to have any in case it makes me sick. I don’t want to end up in hospital with food poisoning, but you go ahead and help yourselves.”
