by C T Mitchell
She waved a hand again, as if the offending photo album was in front of her instead of autopsy photos of her dead dad. “When I asked him what it was, he said, 'My collection.' Simple as that. He acted like they were all fish he caught. He showed off the rings next. It took everything in my power not to reveal my true identity right then and there.”
“Why didn't you?” Jack had her talking. He knew all he needed to do now was sit back and enjoy the ride.
“Because Mum had other plans.” Simone ran a hand through her dyed black hair. “We gathered all his 'trophies' together at his Cabarita Beach Resort apartment and I came up with some excuse for why he needed to take me there. That's when the real fun began. Have you ever thought what it would be like to be confronted by ghosts of your past? Well, James didn't have to wonder. He knew. We gave him some extra lorazepam. Not enough to kill him, mind you, just enough to sedate him. We never meant to kill him. We wanted him to hurt as much as he hurt each and every one of his trophies.” She bent the index finger of her right hand backwards. “They took turns. The plan was break a finger, put your ring on it. Mum said it was a sort of calling card. We wanted him to know exactly who caused the pain once he woke up.”
“That doesn't explain the toes.”
Simone puckered her lips as if deciding how much to tell on that front. “Breaking his toes was my idea. I wanted to get back for a lifetime of him hurting women. My mum was a shadow of herself because of him. He needed to know how much pain that caused me, so–,” she made the snapping finger gesture again, “there goes his toes. We left right after that. I don't know how he ended up dead in the bin behind the resort.”
Jack motioned at the autopsy report. “Jameson died of asphyxiation. If you just drugged him, how do you explain the fact that someone put a pillow over his face and pressed so hard there were indent marks around his nose and mouth?”
“I–” Simone stopped. The blood in the water was flowing now. He had her right where he wanted. “Mum was the last one to leave. Now that you mention it, I do remember her holding a pillow.”
CHAPTER 8
“Another day, another press conference, eh, Jo?” Jack looked over as Jo came into the Kingscliff Station dressed in what he called her blue power suit.
Jo rolled her eyes. “Very funny. You try being the police spokesperson for once.”
“I'll leave it up to you. You have a face made for television.”
“If you want me to lose my lunch, Creed, you're dangerously close to that happening.”
Jack lifted his coffee cup up to his lips to hide his smile. It wouldn't do him any favors to lose his reputation for being a cold, aloof hard ass, now would it? “I don't know how Lydia thinks she's getting away with a self-defense plea. She smothered the guy while he was drugged.”
“Battered woman syndrome.” Jo pulled her hair back into a ponytail. She hated being glammed up for press conferences. “She'll probably walk.”
“I hate to say it, but I think the guy got what he deserved,” Jack said.
“Yeah. You and me both.” Jo watched Jack shuffle through a stack of file folders on his desk. He finally chose one and picked it up. “What's that?”
“More cases, Jo. More cases.” Jack sighed. “Crime never has a day off. But, that’s what I’m doing for the rest of the day. You can handle things here, Jo. I’m slipping up to Brisbane to see Melissa. She’s had another turn last night.”
With tears in his eyes, Jack wished this pain would ‘take a day off’ forever. Jack hated publically showing his feelings, but the thoughts of losing his daughter overwhelmed him. He dropped his guard; something Jack Creed rarely did.
Jo recognized the pain written all over her colleague’s face; it hit her straight in her heart. With a comforting rub to Jack’s upper back, she wished him well as he departed the station.
DEAD WRONG
By
C T Mitchell
CHAPTER 1
Charles Abernathy was somewhat of a recluse. Everyone in the town of Bangalow knew of him, though very few actually knew him. Some even made up legends about what he did all day besides stand in his window looking down at them and their less fortunate lives. The truth was never as fun as their made up tales. The truth was actually quite boring.
Charles struck it lucky when working as a financier in Lloyds of London. Fortune came quickly, but Charles decided to be smart about how he played his hand. It would have been easy, oh so easy, to spend his newfound money on drinks, women, and gambling. Instead, he chose the smart path by investing his money in the market.
At first, the market was slow in returning his investment. Isn't that always the case? After the initial sluggishness, it began to pick up and left him with plenty of money to spare. Now that money was truly not an issue, he turned his eye to a new place to live. That place turned into Barnesdale Manor. He saw opportunity where others had not. The manor cried out for someone to give it the love and attention it needed. Could no one else see that?
That day Charles decided the manor would no longer be neglected. It could easily be made into something attractive and restored to its original glory. That was twenty years ago. Through lots of hard work and planning, he built up Barnesdale Manor into what it deserved to be.
Despite the label of 'recluse,' on occasion Charles enjoyed a few drinks at the local hotel or golf club and even took out his 'lady friend' Jan Dupree for a meal at a nice restaurant. This behavior just further confused the town gossips. Was he a Jay Gatsby or a Howard Hughes? Which was it? The only person who knew the answer was Charles Abernathy, and he wasn't talking.
*****
Alfred Logan, the Bangalow postmaster, flipped through the mail to be sorted for the day. He knew all of the house numbers as well as the names of the residents who lived in there. He may sort the mail on auto-pilot mode, but nothing slipped by Alfred Logan. Nothing.
That's why it was so strange to see a brightly colored registered letter in the mix for Charles Abernathy. It had been a while since he had last seen one of those so, well, overdone. Whoever sent it to Abernathy certainly meant business. Instead of placing the letter back in the stack like he should have to wait on a received-letter signature from Mr. Abernathy, Alfred picked up the phone to call Mr. Abernathy at Barnesdale Manor. Maybe, if he was lucky, Mr. Abernathy would actually answer. Wouldn't that be a hoot? He could say he talked to THE Charles Abernathy, owner of Barnesdale Manor and resident recluse. Alfred's stock in the village would rise for sure.
If only Mr. Abernathy actually picked up. The phone rang five times before someone finally answered.
“Hello?”
“Hello, yes! This is Alfred Logan at the post office.” Alfred spoke a little louder than he intended to. Part of it was shock and part of it was nervousness of the 'now what?' variety. He called and Abernathy picked up. What happened next? “I have a registered letter for Mr. Abernathy. Could he come in to pick it up, please?”
“Yes, I will be there shortly.” Abernathy hung up without further comment. The buzzing of the disconnected line filled his ear before Alfred thought to hang up. Just like that. Mr. Abernathy coming down to the village and his post office. He didn't quite believe it, and he's the one that made the phone call!
Alfred watched the clock and tapped the certified letter against the counter in time with the ticking. Would Abernathy show? It shouldn't take more than ten minutes to get from the manor to the village. It would be just like him to spoil all of Alfred’s fun. Here he was with an opportunity to tell a 'Charles Abernathy sighting' story and the man himself was going to spoil it, he just knew it. When had Abernathy done anything that anyone expected him to do? The day after never, that's when.
The bell jingled above the door. Alfred looked up in surprise. It was him! Charles Abernathy! Now he really had a story to tell. Most 'Charles Abernathy sighting' stories were weeks, even months, old. Now he had a fresh one.
“I'm Charles Abernathy,” he said, as if Alfred didn't know who he was. “Y
ou have a certified letter for me?”
“I’m sorry to call you in, Mr. Abernathy, but I thought you should see this.” Alfred slid the letter across the counter. “I’ll need you to sign the slip, please.”
Alfred watched as Abernathy signed his name with a flourish, stuffed the letter into his breast coat pocket, and left the post office as suddenly as he had appeared. Some people had no manners. Especially the rich.
*****
Instead of going straight home like he normally would (people stared in the village), Charles decided to grab a bite to eat at the Bangalow pub. As he ate, he looked at the letter in his hands. This was the second letter he received about the issue at hand.
The first wasn’t sent registered, so it was clear whoever sent them meant business. Little did the sender know, no one pushed Charles Abernathy around. He'd do it his own way and no one else’s.
The letter dared him into the past of the Manor and suggested that Charles should hold a scavenger hunt to help reveal all. A scavenger hunt, Charles pondered. He smiled as the idea took shape, but he didn’t really know anybody in the village. But perhaps if he did organize such a hunt with the help of Jan Dupree, then he could showcase the lovely renovations he painstakingly had carried out at Barnesdale Manor.
Done. Yes, he would organize a scavenger hunt, invite guests, and make it a great big, extravagant game. Maybe then he'd get some answers and unlock the mystery contained in the mysterious letters. But first...food for the guests.
Living alone, he prepared his own, simple meals. Inviting guests to Barnesdale Manor would involve much, much more than he was prepared for. He needed a caterer and he knew just the person for the job – Janette Wilson.
Janette frowned once Charles explained the situation and what he had in mind for meals. “All that, prepared and delivered in ten days? It just can't be done, Mr. Abernathy. I'm sorry. You'll have to go elsewhere if you're looking for someone to cater your event on such short notice.”
“What’s going on?” Abe Wilson, Janette’s uncle and the pub owner, asked.
“I have asked your niece to prepare some catering for my guests and myself,” Charles said. “She has unfortunately declined.”
“Declined?” Abe raised both his eyebrows at Janette questioningly. “Turning down work isn't your style, Janette.”
“It's not so much the meals as the timeframe,” Janette explained. “Mr. Abernathy wants everything prepared within ten days.”
“We can do that!” Abe said. “We’ve been in tighter spaces than that and have made great meals for people! Just write up a list of everything you want, Mr. Abernathy, and we'll have it at your door when you need it – and not a second later.”
“Excellent,” Charles said. Calling on his social days in London, he scribed down a list of meals from appetizers to desserts. “I'll see you both in ten days.”
CHAPTER 2
Janette felt her van would burst with all the goods she had stored inside as she slowly drove from the village to Barnesdale Manor ten days later. Abernathy had been more than generous with payment, so it wasn't her place to question him or his party choices. She knew Louise – one of his only known friends and the designated event planner – was supposed to meet her at the door.
Janette pulled up to the front door via the circular driveway and stopped. And waited. And waited some more. Where was Louise? She finally honked the van horn and Louise appeared.
“I have the food,” Janette stated.
“Wonderful.” Louise gathered up armfuls of plates and covered dishes before heading back into the manor.
Janette loaded up her arms with the rest and followed her in. She had never been in the manor before. Not very many people had. For a place shrouded in such mystery, it wasn't very dazzling in person. Red damask curtains covered all the windows, the wood door frames and staircase were polished until they shined, but everything else looked like it came from the local secondhand store. Not very impressive for a man with so much money to throw around. Well, no one said he was anything but eccentric. Abernathy seemed to enjoy taking that word to a whole new level.
“Why throw a party so late at night?” Janette asked Louise. “I know Mr. Abernathy loves being different, but this really seems odd – even for him.”
“Charles is all about setting the mood,” Louise said. “It plays into the mystery of a scavenger hunt. The guests will arrive after sunset, be given clues, and then the real fun begins.”
“What do they get if they win?”
“A bottle of Bordeaux wine Charles bought at a London auction.”
Janette whistled through her teeth. “Worth a year of my wages, I imagine.”
Louise smiled thinly. “Possibly two.”
Janette turned when she heard the creaking of a door opening. Abernathy emerged from what Janette assumed was his study with twenty neatly folded envelopes with names written on them. One envelope for each guest.
“Thank you, but you better clear out. My guests are about to arrive.”
Janette pursed her lips at his rudeness – well, at least he said thank you – but decided it was best to do as he asked instead of make a scene. She was curious about what this scavenger hunt entailed, but she was also more than happy to drive back to the normalcy of the village far below Barnesdale Manor.
*****
Jan Dupree was the first guest to arrive. Jan wore a figure hugging, brightly colored cocktail dress. She was always showy. Jan walked up to Charles and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek.
“Charles, darling, it's wonderful to see you finally entertaining guests.”
“I’m glad to see you are the first guest.” Charles handed her the first envelope.
“I wouldn’t dare miss it.” Jan winked before sauntering into the manor.
Charles repeated the process as each guest arrived – thanked them from coming, handed them an envelope, and told them to eat their fill and explore the house. At sunset, they would gather in the study and the scavenger hunt would begin.
At the scheduled time, every one of the guests gathered in the designated spot and turned wide, curious eyes to Charles.
“It is time for all of you to open your envelopes!” he declared. “Let the hunt begin!”
CHAPTER 3
The blissful giddiness the guests once felt quickly melted away the longer the scavenger hunt lasted. Alfred was about ready to burst from annoyance. He didn't question why he had been invited, but he did question what all these coded clues were about. His mouth opened and closed like a fish as he tried to maintain his composure and speak in a calm voice. He managed to speak, but it was far from calm.
“We can’t possibly find anything around this house!” he shouted. “How can we possibly find such obscure and small items on this list? I’m barely half way through mine and I'm about ready to murder someone! And I’m sure I’m not the only one!”
Lydia Hilton, who owned the local book store, spoke up next. “I don’t understand how we can’t find a crow’s feather! Something like that should be easily found in your hunting room and there are birds everywhere here! What about candle wax? In such a big house where I’ve heard you use candles—”
Her husband, Larry Hilton, finished her thought for her. “In such a big mansion that would be easy to find! Unless there’s something you’re not telling us! Is this some sort of silly game just for your sadistic entertainment? Are you amused by our scrambling around?”
Alfred watched as guest after guest spoke out against this silly scavenger hunt. It seemed like he let loose a dam of ill temper. Now the night really was getting interesting.
“We can only search indoors! There’s no point in trying to search anymore! We’re probably all being led on a wild goose chase!”
“Come on, Lydia, let’s leave!” Larry announced. “Anyone else who is interested in leaving this scheme should come along with me!”
Alfred glanced over at Abernathy. His face was the color of the ugly yellow wallpaper in the ha
llway. He looked positively ill that his game was turning from an exciting adventure into a hopeless flop. He needed to resurrect it quickly.
“If you stay, I’ll give you all a clue,” Abernathy announced.
“Go on then,” Alfred said. “Give us this clue.”
Abernathy smiled and spread his arms wide like he was Willy Wonka opening up his chocolate factory. “In an old house, there are hidden panels.”
The guests scrambled to check every nook, cranny, bookcase, and knock on every wall, hoping for a false panel or phony bottom. To Alfred, it seemed like yet another ploy to toy with them by Abernathy, at least until Larry pulled on a book and a large panel swung out where the bookcase used to be.
“I found something!” Larry called. “The old bugger was right! There are hidden panels!”
“You've found the secret entrance to the cellar.” Abernathy grabbed an electric torch and led the way down the steep and winding stairs.
“The walls and steps are narrow, so allow me to lead the way. Be mindful of your step. I don't want anything to happen to anyone. What kind of host would that make me if someone leaves in a body bag?”
“Can’t you just pull a switch and turn on a light?” Larry asked.
“If it were that easy, I would’ve done that,” Abernathy said. “Remember to be careful when following me, as it can get a bit slippery and difficult.”
After winding single file down the narrow, twisting, damp staircase, Abernathy stopped and opened two large doors. “Here we are, ladies and gentlemen. It is my wine cellar. Perhaps here you’ll find what you are looking for.”
The guests streamed past Abernathy like kids pushing to be the first into a candy store. Larry and Lydia found their candle wax and crow's feather in a corner of the wine cellar. Larry looked down at the scavenger hunt list in his hands. “Last item is a brick. I bet we can find tons of those down here!”
