Broom for One More

by Morgana Best

  “Maybe that was just a happy coincidence for you,” he said, undaunted. “Maybe you were already intending to visit Dr Evans that day.”

  “Look, you don’t have any evidence against me, because I haven’t done anything wrong. Those gunshot residue tests can’t be far away, and everyone can tell you that I had never met the vet before. I had no earthly reason to kill him.”

  “Maybe you had an accomplice,” Power said. “Maybe more than one.” A self-satisfied look covered his face.

  It was all I could do not to scream.

  Chapter 15

  “I don’t want to do it,” I whined, bending over the steering well and clutching it tightly with both hands.

  “I have one word for you,” Oleander said firmly. “Southport watchhouse.”

  “That’s two words,” Athanasius piped up.

  Oleander spun around in her seat and fixed him with a glare. “You know what I mean! And I’ve been in that prison and there is no way Goldie will want to go there.”

  “I’m sure Detective Power really does suspect me,” I admitted. “Okay, what’s the plan?”

  Oleander rested her head on her elbows. “How many times have we been over it already? We will take Persnickle to places where Chase Evans’s ghost is likely to appear so you can speak with him further, with the help of Persnickle here.” She jabbed her finger in the direction of the back seat where Persnickle was happily snoozing.

  “I suppose it’s a good idea,” I admitted reluctantly, “but nothing will make me go back to that vet clinic.”

  Oleander held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Of course you don’t have to go back to the vet clinic. That would be a foolish idea.”

  I was glad she had realised that. Oleander pushed on. “I don’t understand why you’re so reluctant about it.”

  “It’s not the whole plan I’m concerned about, it’s just the plan about going back to see Bree Evans in Sanctuary Cove. That’s a gated estate. I have no idea how you think we’re going to get in, and if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, that I absolutely refuse to speak to her again in person. There’s no way I’m knocking on her door or pressing the buzzer or whatever else you have to do to get into a gated estate.”

  “You don’t have to,” Oleander assured me.

  I was exasperated. “Then please tell me why we’re going there? Why on earth are we headed to Sanctuary Cove if you don’t want me to speak to her?”

  Oleander made a little sound of frustration. “We’re going to get into the gated estate. Then we will park outside her house just a little ways down the street where she won’t see us if she drives past, but hopefully close enough for Chase’s ghost to appear.”

  Athanasius muttered something in the back.

  “What was that?” Oleander said snappily.

  “I don’t think the ghost will be at Bree’s house,” Athanasius said. “He is more likely to be at his mistress’s house. I think we should go directly to Georgia’s place.”

  I agreed with him. “I do, too. They didn’t get on terribly well, so why would he want to go to Bree’s house?”

  “It was his house, too,” Oleander said slowly. “Don’t ghosts return to their own homes? Sure, he didn’t get on well with his wife, but it was still his house. I’m sure he’d be just as likely to be there as he would at the vet clinic.”

  I shook my head. “No, because he was murdered at the vet clinic.”

  I was sure Oleander was about to disagree, but we had arrived at the tall, black, iron gates that barred our way to Chase’s home.

  “What do we do now?” I asked Oleander.

  “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” she said. “Circle back there and just wait.”

  I rubbed my eyes. “Wait for what?” I asked wearily.

  “Wait for someone to open the gates and then slip in behind them. Drive fast, mind you.”

  I was aghast. “Do you mean I should slip into the gated estate illegally?”

  “Of course!” she said. “And it’s perfectly safe. I’m sure the gates have sensors so they won’t close on a car. Just get as close to the other car as you can and sneak in behind it.”

  “And how do you propose we get out?” I asked her.

  “Getting out is automatic,” she said.

  I felt foolish. “Oh. I’m just not used to these Gold Coast gated estates, that’s all. I’ll have to get used to them soon before I start work here.”

  I fervently hoped that no one would come along, but to my dismay, a big ute with Jones and Smith Elite Plumbing Services emblazoned along the side in big, red letters drove past us. Oleander poked me hard in the arm.

  “You sure this is a good idea?” I asked her, but she did not respond. I pulled the car out and got as close to the plumber as I could. When he drove off, I tailgated him all the way in. I half expected him to stop the car, get out, and question me, but he drove straight through.

  “I can’t believe that worked,” I said, to a murmur of agreement from Athanasius in the back seat. “Now to find my way back to Bree’s house.”

  “Turn left here, and go along the lake,” Oleander said. “Bree won’t remember your car, and thankfully it has tinted windows, so she won’t see any of us inside it. Just park down the road a little and see if the ghost shows up.”

  I parked a few houses away, but left the engine running with the air-conditioning on because it was so hot. “Chase, Chase Evans! Are you here?” I said in a loud voice.

  There was no reply.

  “Told you,” Athanasius mumbled from the back seat.

  “Maybe you’re too far from her house,” Oleander said. “Go forward a bit, Goldie. Go on, get a bit closer.”

  I drove to the house next door to Bree’s. Again, I called out for Chase, and again there was no response.

  “You’ll have to park directly outside her house,” Oleander said.

  “What if she sees us?”

  Oleander pointed to other cars parked on the street. “She won’t think anything of it, and if she does, just tell her a client wants to buy a house here and you’re checking out the area.”

  I clutched my forehead. Still, I did as she asked and edged the car forward.

  Oleander was still talking. “There are really no windows overlooking the road, so even if she is home, she would be looking out over the golf course. Try again, Goldie.”

  “Chase, are you here?” I yelled at the top of my lungs.

  Persnickle woke up and grunted.

  “Someone will hear you,” Oleander said.

  “That’s the general idea. Chase, are you here?” I yelled again.

  I yelled a few more times, quite loudly. I admit part of that was a secret desire to irritate Oleander.

  Finally, she relented. “Okay, it doesn’t seem as though he’s here. Let’s try Georgia’s house next.”

  I could feel Athanasius’s smirk from the back seat.

  Oleander was right—I was able to leave the gated estate with no trouble, and I was relieved that no one had caught us in there. It was a fair drive back to Georgia’s house, and when we got closer, I was again concerned. “What if she sees us?” I asked Oleander.

  “Just do the same thing that you did at Bree’s house,” Oleander said. “Just get as close as you can, and see if Chase will respond. If he doesn’t, then just go a bit closer.”

  I repeated the process. I parked down the road and called out for Chase. There was no response. I edged a little further forward. Still no response.

  “You will have to park directly outside her house,” Oleander said.

  “She’s out of a job at the moment,” I pointed out. “She is likely to be at home.”

  “Like I said before, you have tinted windows, and she really won’t notice anyone in the car. Stop worrying about everything.” Oleander dismissed my concerns with a wave of her hand.

  I rubbed my eyes one more, being careful not to ruin my mascara, and edged on until I parked directly outside Georgia’s
home. I was about to call out for Chase when Oleander said, “Don’t call out as loudly as last time.”

  “Chase,” I said in more dulcet tones. “Chase, are you here?”

  I didn’t expect anything, so I was surprised when he materialised right outside my window. “He’s here!” I said to Oleander and Athanasius.

  “Hi, Chase. The police still haven’t solved your murder, so I’m wondering if you’ve come up with any other ideas?”

  To my dismay, he shook his head. “I don’t have a clue.”

  I rolled down my window.

  “Why are you rolling down your window?” Oleander said. “The engine is running, and you’ve got the air conditioner on. He’s a ghost—you can hear him even with the window up.”

  “Shush,” Athanasius said. “Let Goldie do what she likes.”

  “So you still have no idea who murdered you?” I asked him.

  He sighed long and hard. “I’m afraid that’s the case. I’ve been going over and over and over it in my mind. I suspected Georgia’s husband, but I overheard the police say that he has an ironclad alibi.”

  “Did you overhear anything else that the police said, like maybe any talk of other suspects?”

  He shook his head. “That was all I heard. He’s the only one I suspected, so if he didn’t do it, then who did? I don’t understand it.”

  “I know you didn’t see whoever came up behind you and shot you, but after you had been shot, was there much of a gap between that time and between the time you realised you were a ghost?”

  He looked puzzled. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

  I took a deep breath. “I mean, in your ghostly form, you could have seen the murderer making a getaway.”

  “Oh, I see.” He tapped his chin. “That does make sense. No, I actually don’t remember much about it at all, and I don’t remember seeing anyone fleeing the scene.”

  “Someone typed something on your computer to make it look like suicide,” I told him. “You don’t remember anyone doing that?”

  He rubbed his temples with both hands. “No, I don’t remember a thing, but I wish I did. It’s just so puzzling. Do you think it could be a case of mistaken identity? There is absolutely no one who wanted to kill me.”

  “I really don’t think it would be a case of mistaken identity, since you were the only vet at the clinic,” I told him. “And someone obviously did want to kill you, because you’re dead. It has to be someone you don’t suspect. Can you give it a little more thought?”

  “I have given it nothing but a lot of thought,” he said. “I can tell you, it’s very boring for me just hanging around, and all I have to do is try to figure out who killed me. That being said, I don’t have a clue, not a clue at all.”

  With that, he vanished.

  Chapter 16

  “Men don’t like high maintenance women, Goldie,” said the voice. This was my mother’s best friend, who had taken me under her wing after my parents passed away.

  When the phone rang that night, I hadn’t meant to pick it up. Gertrude Hyacinth Clutterbuck always called on the landline at precisely five, which meant I never answered the phone when it rang at five of an evening.

  Persnickle, however, had decided he didn’t like hearing the phone. By the third ring, he’d knocked it off the hook and onto the floor, and I was forced to speak to Gertrude.

  “Does it really matter if some men don’t like some high maintenance women?” I said.

  I had decided to take Persnickle for a walk. I thought his agitation about the colour orange might be because he didn’t get enough exercise to sooth his frazzled wombat nerves. Nobody needed another wombat incident with the Dutch runners. Especially not the Dutch runners.

  “Your womb is empty, Goldie. Empty. At least one of us should be worrying about that.”

  “Bye, Gertrude,” I said. Whenever she started talking about wombs, it was my sign to get off the phone.

  “Honestly, Goldie,” she replied, which was her usual way of saying goodbye.

  I guess something Gertrude said stuck in my mind, because instead of walking Persnickle in my usual athletic wear of five inch stilettos, I laced up my sneakers. I didn’t even know I owned sneakers.

  I think I must have bought them accidentally while drunk. Most likely I’d bought them online after seeing a shirtless man jogging past the window on a night run and decided to take up jogging, only to sober up and come to my senses the next morning when the shoes had already been shipped.

  “I shouldn’t walk you at all, Persnickle,” I told the wombat, clipping on his leash. “You made me talk to my aunt, after all.”

  I headed in a different direction, thinking I should try something new. We made it down several blocks before an incident occurred. Persnickle caught sight of a gnome with an orange hat and broke free from my grip, ploughing into the garden to destroy the defenceless garden ornament.

  “You all right there?”

  I was trying to tear Persnickle away from the evidence when Max stuck his head out a window.

  “Is this your house?” I asked him.

  “It sure is.”

  “And is that your garden gnome?”

  “Not anymore,” he replied, pointing to the bits of pottery scattered around the garden. “Come inside, Goldie. Something important is happening in here.”

  Nothing important was happening in Max’s house, because Max was watching The Bachelor.

  “He’s getting rid of Mandy tonight,” Max informed me as he set down a bowl of water for Persnickle. “I’ll bet you anything.”

  I was not allowed to talk during The Bachelor, although Max was allowed to speak. In great detail he explained who was the favourite to win, who would actually win, and who was the meanest.

  I was relieved when The Bachelor finally came to an end. I mean, I enjoyed the show, but not that much.

  Max turned around as if seeing me for the first time. He gasped. “Goldie, you don’t look the same as usual.”

  My hand automatically went to my hair. “Oh, you mean my new hairstyle. You’ve seen it before.”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s the clothes. And those shoes!”

  “Oh.” I looked down at my sneakers, and then said the first thing that came into my head. “I’ve been in training for that run that’s coming up soon. The East Bucklebury Run.”

  Max looked impressed. “You have? Which one are you doing, the Half Marathon, the 10K, or the 5K run?”

  I automatically picked the shortest. “The 5K,” I said.

  He continued to look impressed for a moment, but then his expression changed. “Be careful, won’t you, Goldie? Most of the suspects are runners. They will be in those races.”

  I filed that piece of information away. It might prove useful later. “I’m sorry about your garden gnome.”

  He waved a hand in dismissal. “I didn’t like it to be honest, but on the other hand, I did treasure it because Oleander gave it to me.”

  I nodded absently, looking around Max’s house. For some reason, I’d imagined him living in a renovated Queenslander, but instead, he was in a renovated modern, but now even more modern, house. I figured it had started life as a brick building, but now was rendered and white.

  The furniture was sparse, just two chocolate-brown sofas contrasting with the white walls and white tiled floor. It was all very bachelor pad, apart from a giant Japanese Peace Lily and several turquoise cushions. The ceilings were high, and through the far windows I could see the sparkling water of the canal.

  Max cleared his throat, interrupting my thoughts. “I was about to cook dinner. Would you like some dinner?”

  I was taken aback. Dinner, in Max’s home? Would this be romantic? Or had he friend-zoned me? He wasn’t acting romantic. Still, I wasn’t going to refuse. “Yes, that would be lovely, thank you. Can I do anything to help?”

  He looked doubtful. “Can you cook?”

  I was offended. “Of course I can cook! I lived alone in Melbour
ne.” I didn’t add that I had always ordered in food. I didn’t have time to cook in Melbourne, even if I had wanted to, not with the long hours I had worked.

  “Come to the kitchen and at least you can have a glass of wine and talk to me while I prepare dinner,” Max said. “Do you eat eggplant lasagne?”

  I nodded. “Sounds nice.”

  When we reached the kitchen, only a few steps away, I realised why Persnickle had been quiet and why he hadn’t eaten the Japanese Peace Lily in the corner of Max’s living room. He was making happy gurgling sounds while rolling around on his back.

  “Oh no!” I screeched, pointing to a carton of cask wine. It was lying on its side and wine was dripping out. “How did he reach that?”

  Max scratched his head. “I have no idea. It was on the counter. I didn’t think he was so agile.”

  “He’s remarkably agile when he wants to be,” I said. “Do you think he’ll be all right?”

  Max examined the damage. “He hasn’t had much, but then again, it probably doesn’t take much wine to get a wombat drunk.”

  I was appalled. I was clearly an irresponsible wombat mother. Then again, Persnickle was an awfully naughty wombat. “How will we sober him up?” I asked him.

  “We’ll just have to wait for him to sober up,” Max said. “He didn’t drink much, so it shouldn’t take long. You won’t be able to take him home like that. I don’t think even the two of us would be able to lift him all the way out to my car.”

  I readily agreed.

  Max and I soon fell into comfortable conversation while we made the dinner. To be precise, he prepared the dinner although I was able to help by passing him vegetables and refilling our wine glasses. All the while, Persnickle rolled around on his back, burping loudly at intervals. Max put the lasagne in the oven and suggested we go back into the living room.

  “Do you think Persnickle will be all right by himself?” I asked him.