Repossessed Page 3

  I was in disbelief. “What? Two people dying at the very same time, and then one going into the body of another and possessing them?”

  Ernie nodded. “Exactly.”

  “Then do you have any advice for us?”

  Ernie nodded again. “Yes, I do. Keep your mother alive at all costs. The worst thing that could happen is that she actually dies and becomes a ghost. I really don’t want your mother for company on the spiritual plane.” He looked as though he was about to burst into tears and promptly vanished.

  I turned back to Basil, but before I could say anything, Ernie reappeared. “Laurel, you’ve got company. And you’re not going to like who it is.” With that, he vanished once more.

  Chapter 4

  I hurried to the living room. Dylan was still reading the Bible aloud to himself. I peeped around the heavy velvet brocade curtains at a car I didn’t recognise. “That’s not Ian’s car,” I said to Basil.

  “It’s probably a detective’s car.”

  I went cold all over. I didn’t want to look out the window any longer, so I sat on the sofa and waited for the knock on the door. I crossed to the door and opened it, doing my best to plaster an innocent look on my face.

  “Ms Bay?”

  I nodded.

  “You would remember me, I’m sure? I’m Detective Prescott and this is Detective Peter Packwood, whom you haven’t met before.”

  “Yes, of course I remember you,” I said. Detective Prescott was one of the detectives on the case when a dead naked escort had been found in my mother’s bedroom. I hoped this would play to my advantage, as Detective Prescott knew my mother was as mad as a hatter. I wondered what happened to Detective Wilkinson who had also been on that case, but I wasn’t about to ask.

  I stood aside to open the door widely. “Please come in.”

  The detectives walked into the living room. I offered them a seat, but they chose to remain standing. “And where is your mother?” Detective Prescott asked me.

  “You know what my mother’s like,” I said, shooting him a significant look. “This morning she said she needed to go into rehab.”

  Prescott’s eyebrows shot skyward. “Your mother? Rehab? Whatever for?”

  “She had watched too many episodes of The Bold and the Beautiful,” I told him. “She thought it was a sin and so she needed to go to rehab.”

  “That sounds like your mother,” Prescott muttered.

  I tried not to look too relieved.

  Prescott pushed on. “And when exactly did she leave?”

  I shrugged. “Well, I don’t see much of my mother even though we live next door to each other. She told me this morning, but I have no idea when she actually did leave. She was awfully embarrassed about it, you see. I doubt she even told the details to her best friend, Ian. She only told me because she wanted me to water her garden and look after her new boarder while she was away.”

  “And where is this rehab centre?” Prescott asked.

  “I have no idea. She doesn’t speak to me much, and she certainly didn’t tell me that. Maybe Pastor Green knows. You could ask him.”

  Detective Packwood spoke for the first time. “When did you last see your mother?” A surly man with small beady eyes, Packwood reminded me of a venomous snake.

  “This morning. I have no idea if she left then or later, and I have no idea where she’s gone. I expect she will come back at some point without telling me.”

  Prescott looked over at Dylan. “And who is he?”

  “That’s Dylan Jackson,” I said. “He used to live in Witch Woods, but he now lives in Sydney. He’s back in town for a visit and he rented a room from Mum for the week.”

  The detectives walked over to Dylan. He stood up.

  “When did you arrive in Witch Woods?” Prescott asked him.

  “Only a few hours ago.”

  “And have you seen Mrs Bay since your arrival?”

  He shook his head.

  Basil walked over to them. “Actually, Dylan was struck by lightning when he arrived, and we had to call the ambulance. They wanted him to go to hospital, but he refused. He’s had quite a nasty shock, no pun intended.”

  The detectives exchanged glances.

  Prescott turned to me. “If you do hear from your mother, would you get her to call us?” He handed me a card. Before I could respond, he added, “And if she does call you, I’d appreciate it if you would call us to let us know where she is.”

  My stomach clenched. “Sure. Detectives, can you tell me what this is about?”

  Detective Packwood took a step forward. I was unable to avoid the rich, overpowering notes of lime and mothballs emanating from his cheap aftershave. It was all I could do not to sneeze. “We want her to help us with our enquiries.”

  “Yes, we realise that,” Basil said, “but your enquiries into what precisely?” When the detective hesitated, Basil added, “Come on, Detective. You know this is a small country town. It will be all over the Bush Telegraph today at any rate. You might as well tell us.”

  Packwood allowed himself a small sigh. “Tom Trent was murdered earlier today.”

  I scratched my head. “Tom Trent.”

  “He was one of the members of the Birds of Pray Church Community Garden,” Detective Prescott supplied.

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. My mother had complained at length about Tom Trent to all and sundry. It was becoming more apparent to me that Mum was indeed a suspect in the murder.

  The detective pointed to me. “Call me the second you hear from your mother.”

  “I will, but I might not hear from her. We’re not exactly the best of friends, you understand.”

  The detectives both nodded before heading for the door. I shut it behind them and leant against it. I was about to say something, but Basil put his finger to his lips and inclined his head in Dylan’s direction.

  Before I could do anything else, there was another knock on the door. I expected the detectives had forgotten something, but there, to my horror, was Ian standing on the front porch.

  “Ian!” I said in alarm.

  He pushed his way past me and walked into the living room. Dylan broke into a wide smile and gave Ian a little wave. Ian swung to face me. “Where’s Thelma?”

  That was when I remembered the incident with Ian’s phone and Mum. It had gone completely out of my mind. Thankfully, I had told the detectives I had last seen my mother that morning.

  “Ian, mum’s booked herself into rehab.”

  “Booked herself into rehab!” Ian said in disbelief. “That can’t be right! She would have told me.”

  “She was too embarrassed to tell anybody,” I said. “She only told me because I had to look after her new boarder here. That’s him over there, Dylan Jackson.”

  Ian stared at Dylan.

  “Mum said she was horribly embarrassed, and she hoped to be healed of her sins before she could come back and confess her sins to you.”

  Ian appeared somewhat mollified. “What sins precisely?” he said, his eyes glinting with curiosity. “What could Thelma possibly have had an addiction to? She was righteous. Oh, not that anybody is righteous,” he added as an afterthought.

  “The Bold and the Beautiful,” I said, doing my best to keep a straight face. “She was ashamed of the fact she was addicted to it. She watched it every day.”

  Ian nodded slowly. “Yes, of course. I should have seen that coming. I did tell her that the people were dressed rather inappropriately and did rather immoral things. It was hardly edifying to watch such a show. I told Thelma that time and time again, but she did not appear to listen to me.”

  “She finally did listen to you, Ian,” I said, “and that’s why she was too embarrassed to tell you. She is going to ask for your forgiveness when she gets back, completely healed of her addiction.”

  “It’s not my forgiveness she needs, dear,” Ian said smugly. “There is but One who can forgive.”

  I resisted the urge to kick him in the shins and in
stead said, “Quite so, quite so.”

  Ian’s hand flew to his forehead. “Oh! I almost forgot why I was here. It’s a terrible matter. Tom Trent has been murdered!”

  “Yes, the men who just left when you arrived were detectives. I’m sure they suspect Thelma.”

  Ian’s hand flew to his throat. “Suspect Thelma? Surely not. Why would they suspect Thelma?”

  “Because Mum and Tom Trent didn’t like each other, I suppose. What do you know about the murder, Ian?”

  “I’m not one to gossip,” Ian said, “‘Whoso keepeth his mouth and his tongue keepeth his soul from troubles.’ Proverbs, chapter twenty-one, verse twenty-three.” He shot me a smug look.

  “But why didn’t Mum like Tom Trent?” I pressed him.

  “Your mother didn’t like Tom Trent because they were in the community garden together and Tom Trent grew corn.”

  I waited for him to come to the point. After a lengthy interval, I prompted him. “Corn?”

  Ian nodded vigorously. “Yes! It grows tall, and sun-loving plants can’t grow in shade. It’s not a high yielding crop, don’t you understand?”

  “Yes,” I lied. “So how was he murdered? Was he stabbed, shot?”

  “He was poisoned,” Ian said. “He was found face down in the community garden, dead and murdered. It’s all over town.”

  “Is it all over town who might have done it?” I asked hopefully. I jumped as music suddenly blared from mum’s sound system. It was the worst possible funeral church music. The music was so bad that no clients had ever requested I play something so awful at any of the funerals I had ever run.

  Ian ignored my question and turned to Dylan. “Hi, I’m Ian. Your name’s familiar, but I don’t think we’ve met. You have good taste in music.”

  Dylan sat down and patted the couch beside him. “Would you like a nice cup of tea and we can listen to this lovely gospel music collection?”

  Ian beamed from ear to ear. “I’d like that.”

  Dylan turned to me. “Laurel! A cup of tea for both of us, please. Now don’t just stand there looking at me. Off you go.” He waved his hand at me in dismissal.

  Chapter 5

  I was on my way to town to speak with Tara, my best friend. Her husband happened to be Duncan who was one of the local uniformed cops in town. Tara was a witch—not the Hollywood fantasy style witch but a normal person who practised traditional witchcraft. She knew I could see and communicate with ghosts.

  Basil had gone back to work, but I had asked him to check on Mum first. I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that Janet, the cosmetician, might pop up suddenly and discover Mum, even though I knew that was illogical. There was no reason for Janet to appear and look in the mortuary cabinets when there was no work for her. Still, I wished there was somewhere better to hide Mum, but there simply wasn’t.

  I burst into the café and at once spied Tara sitting at the back of the room. I made my way through the crowd to her and sat down.

  “Are you all right, Laurel? You look terrible. Is it because your mother is a suspect?” Her hand flew to her mouth as soon as she said it. “Oops!”

  “So she is a suspect then?”

  Tara nodded slowly. “Sorry, Laurel.”

  “There’s a lot more to it than that,” I said, “but I need to have a coffee with at least five heaped spoons of sugar in it before I can tell you.”

  Tara raised her eyebrows by way of response.

  One hazelnut almond latte later, and I had filled in Tara.

  “But, but, um, are you sure?” she sputtered. “Laurel, is this a joke? Or have you suddenly turned to drink?”

  I shook my head. “If I was going to turn to drink, my mother would have driven me to drink years ago. No, everything I’ve told you is true and correct.”

  “I can’t believe this has happened again, two possessions. I didn’t even know it was possible.”

  “I didn’t either,” I admitted. “Now I have to keep Janet away from the funeral home and keep mum’s body alive.” I thought about it for a moment and then added, “Well, safe at any rate until her spirit can go back into her.”

  The waitress came over and asked if we wanted more coffee. “I sure do,” I said, “but maybe I’ll only have two spoons of sugar in this one. And maybe I should have a lemon meringue pie.”

  Tara ordered a triple iced Jaffa cake, and the waitress left. I rubbed my left eye with one hand. “Where was I? I forgot what I was talking about.”

  “I was about to ask you a question,” Tara said. “How long before your mother’s spirit leaves that man, and what happens to him when she does?”

  I thought I had mentioned that already. “Her spirit will leave him when his spirit has sufficiently recovered, and then it will go back into Mum and she’ll be perfectly all right—that is, of course, unless somebody has discovered her and buried her!” I realised my voice had risen to a high pitch, so I clenched my hand over my mouth and snuggled against the wall.

  “And how long will that be?” Tara asked.

  I shrugged. “Who would know? That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it! And Ernie says it will happen sooner if Dylan is completely happy. So right now, apparently, we have to fulfil his every whim.”

  Tara looked stricken. “Not his every whim! His reputation is all over town!”

  I chuckled, in spite of myself. “That was before my mother possessed him. He’s completely repented, trust me.”

  “But you said he doesn’t know he’s Thelma? And Thelma doesn’t speak through him?”

  I shrugged again. “Yes, but she appears to have had a big impact on his behaviour. I’ve left him listening to mum’s style of gospel music, The Fifty Most Depressingly Mournful Funeral Dirges The World Has Known.”

  “That’s not really the title, surely?”

  The waitress came back to the table and deposited our coffees and cakes. When she left, I said, “Dylan has taken a liking to Ian, and Ian has taken a liking to Dylan. Hopefully, Ian can raise Dylan’s spirits and I won’t have to bother too much. I will have to run after him and wait on him hand and foot, make him cups of tea and feed him nice food, I suppose.”

  Tara ate half of her cake before speaking. “I don’t envy you, Laurel. This sounds like a complete disaster.”

  “It is a complete disaster. Now, you’re going to have to help me with the case. Those detectives won’t be able to focus on looking for the real killer because they suspect Mum. That means I’ll have to solve it and as soon as possible. They’ve already been around to the house asking where Mum is.”

  Tara’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh gosh, I didn’t think of that! What did you tell them?”

  “I told them she went to a rehab clinic because she watched too many episodes of The Bold and the Beautiful and needed to break the addiction.”

  Tara laughed. “What did you really tell them?”

  I drummed my fingers on the table. “That’s exactly what I told them. Ian will back me up. He always said Mum watched too many episodes. It was all I could think of at the time.”

  “Anyone who knows your mother will believe that,” Tara said. “And Detective Prescott does know your mother, so I’m sure he’ll believe it.”

  “And I told them that Mum and I didn’t exactly have a good relationship, so she didn’t tell me where she was going.”

  Tara finished her cake and twirled her coffee cup around. “That was wise. Laurel, I don’t think you should worry too much. Can’t you leave it to the police to solve it?”

  “I’d like to do that, but I really can’t. You yourself said they suspect Mum, so they won’t be able to focus on the real suspect. Do they have any other suspects?”

  “I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  I leant forward eagerly. “Thanks. I know the victim was Tom Trent, but that’s all I know—oh, apart from the fact that his body was found at the Birds of Pray Church Community Garden, and that’s the church Mum attends.”

  “That’s right. Tom
Trent was widely disliked, and your mother had many arguments with him as she was on the garden committee with him. He ran the community garden and the second in charge was a woman called Celia Watson. I imagine she’s a suspect as well, and the fourth person on the garden committee was Eliza Entwistle. She’s probably a suspect as well because your mother, Celia, and Eliza all disliked Tom Trent, and he disliked them as well.”

  I pulled out my phone and made notes on it. “So Tom Trent was universally disliked? Not just by the other church garden committee members?”

  Tara pulled a face. “I have no idea, to be honest. I’d never even heard of him. I only know what Duncan told me about him. But I do know Eliza. She’s a retired primary school teacher, my old teacher, in fact.”

  “Do you know exactly when he was killed? I heard his body was discovered this morning.”

  “That’s right. One of the garden members—don’t ask me who—went to the community garden and found him. It was apparent he had been poisoned.”

  “How did they know it wasn’t simply a heart attack?” I asked.

  “Duncan said he had obvious symptoms of poisoning,” Tara said. “Besides, they do grow lots of herbs there, and lots of herbs can be poisonous. I know that from my own craft practice. I mainly use things like dill for protection and breaking curses, lemon balm for health and basil for attracting money, rosemary for protection as well as lemongrass for house cleansing. In fact, I use herbs for everything. I also use white snakeroot to keep snakes away, and I know it’s quite dangerous if eaten. I buy my herbs from the church garden shop.”

  “That is interesting,” I said. “Tara, please let me know if you hear of any other suspects. Do you know anything about Celia and Eliza? Are they good righteous churchgoers like mum?”

  Tara shrugged. “I don’t have a clue if they are, to be honest. I overheard Duncan on the phone saying that was a plant-based poison, and I know that they suspect the church committee members, but that’s about it.”