3 A Basis for Murder Page 5

  I shut the door and latched it firmly. "Oh well, at least I don’t have a boring life any more," I said to Diva, who had poked her head around the door to make sure she and I now had the house to ourselves. I took the coffee mugs back to the kitchen and plugged in my iPhone to charge it. Just as I did, I saw another message from Blocked Sender. Beware. Death awaits you in Hillgrove.

  * * *

  Never try to outstubborn a cat.

  (Lazarus Long, Time Enough for Love)

  Chapter Eight.

  I was sitting in Keith's office. Keith was my boss, although Skinny basically ran the place. I had no idea why I'd been summoned, and I certainly wasn't going to broach the subject of the Hillgrove ghost story. It had already been assigned to Melissa. Besides, I had warned Bill and Ben that Keith wouldn't like the idea.

  Keith wasted no time in coming to the point. "Misty, I've changed my mind about the Hillgrove ghosts."

  "You have?" I interrupted, a little too shrilly. Had Bill and Ben somehow influenced Keith?

  Keith tapped his pen on his desk. "Daisy thinks it’s a good idea to assign you to take over the story on Hillgrove ghosts from Melissa, to leave Melissa free to write a series of articles on the hauntings at Maitland prison."

  For a minute I wondered who Daisy was, and then I remembered. Daisy was Skinny's real name. Melissa and I never referred to her as Daisy.

  "She did?" That would be a first; Skinny had never approved of me doing anything before.

  Keith nodded. "How are you going on your story about faeries? Did you research the reason why people left milk out for them, like I asked you to?"

  I let out a long, slow breath. "Yes, the people back then in Ireland who used to leave milk out for the faeries believed that any milk that fell on the ground while milking a cow was taken by the faeries. They also thought that it was bad to scrape off any knife run through the butter after it was churned, because the bit that sticks to it belongs to the faeries too. One source I read said that out of three pounds of butter, an ounce or two would be left for the faeries."

  Keith looked blank and fidgeted with a paperweight on his desk. "Well at least you've made a start. Anyway, that story's not due just yet, so concentrate on the Hillgrove story instead. We need to get this story out fast while the murder is still on people's minds. We'll sell more magazines this way."

  With that, I was dismissed, so I walked out to the coffee machine. Melissa was already there, munching on chocolate chip cookies.

  "Any chocolate chip cookies left?" I asked. "Hey, what about me having to write about Hillgrove and you writing about Maitland prison?"

  Melissa shrugged, and handed me the packet of cookies. "Suits me. I can’t ever go back to that ghastly place, not after the murder."

  I was on the point of remarking that Maitland prison would have seen its share of murders over the decades, but managed to stop myself in time. Instead I said, "Let’s go get lunch."

  Melissa readily agreed. As I walked to my cupboard / office, my heel caught in a loop of carpet and I tripped. "Ouch." I looked up from my sprawled position on the carpet, to see Skinny standing over me.

  "You wouldn't have tripped so hard if you weren't wearing those silly heels." She snorted and left the corridor, having made no attempt to help me up.

  I hurried to my feet and exchanged glances with Melissa. I was so glad that I had another wage now and wasn't dependent on Skinny's whims; nevertheless, I was not happy that M17 was forcing me to continue to work for her as a cover. I consoled myself with the fact that it was now only part time.

  We walked down to our favorite local café, and sat in a corner inside. It was busy as usual for lunch time, but most of the patrons were sitting outside under bright, blue umbrellas. Melissa and I preferred to sit in a front corner where we had a good view over the street and of the passers by.

  "My treat, Misty, since you're part time now." Melissa's tone was insistent.

  I made to protest, but Melissa waved one hand in my face and put her hands on her hips. All I could do was thank her, which I did.

  "Now I’ll go over and pay, while you mind our seats. What would you like?"

  I looked down the menu for something cheap, as I felt bad that Melissa was paying. I was now earning considerably more than she was, thanks to my new job with the British government, or whoever they were, but there was no way I could tell Melissa that. I felt bad for lying by omission, but what choice did I have?

  I quickly glanced at the menu. The chicken and mushroom crepe looked good and was about the cheapest thing there, apart from the Kids' menu. The menu said that the crepe was pieces of chicken in white wine sauce with sautéed mushrooms, topped with cheese and lightly grilled. Besides, it came with a Greek Salad, so I could pretend it was diet food. The only trouble was, I'm a vegetarian. Instead, I selected the Vegetarian Fitters, which were carrot, zucchini, beet, and fresh herbs, topped with parmesan cheese and served with yogurt and salad. It's what I usually have, as it's the only vegetarian choice on the menu.

  I stared out the window while Melissa was over at the counter, ordering and paying. I saw a passer by trying to pat an elderly lady's little Maltese Terrier, and the dog snapped at them. I smiled; the dog reminded me of Diva. I looked over at Melissa, but she was still talking. I looked out the window again and gasped.

  The man walking down the other side of the road looked exactly like Jamie. I hesitated for a moment, and then grabbed my purse and hurried out the door. I could see him heading downtown, but I had to wait for the traffic to thin before I could run across the road. Finally, when I made it to the other side, he was nowhere to be seen.

  I sighed and shook my head. Douglas had said that Jamie was in town, but if that were true, why hadn’t he contacted me? Yet this was the second time I’d thought I had seen him.

  I made my way back to the café. Melissa was sitting there, looking up at me in surprise. "Where did you run off to? I saw you run out the door as if all the hounds of hell were chasing you."

  I bit my lip and sat down. What on earth could I say? "I thought I saw someone I knew."

  "Who?"

  I fidgeted in my seat. "Someone from England."

  Melissa narrowed her eyes at me. "It's that Jamie guy, isn't it? I knew you were still hung up on him."

  I slumped in my seat, waiting for the lecture I knew was coming.

  Melissa shook her head. "Misty, if anything was going to happen with Jamie, it would've happened by now. If he was interested in you, he would’ve asked you out before you left England, for goodness sake! Seriously, you have to get your head out of the clouds and stop pining after him."

  "I'm not pining after him," I said, but my voice sounded to me pathetic rather than firm and convincing.

  Melissa frowned, but I was saved by the waitress appearing at our table with our food. Melissa wasted no time in spooning some apple crusted pork dripping with caramelized onion into her mouth. "Now, Misty," she said, waving her empty fork at me, "as we finish early today, I have to take my grandmother shopping this afternoon, after work. I can’t bear to do it without backup. It's embarrassing going anywhere with her as she talks non stop, and says rude things about passers by and anyone she encounters, at the top of her voice. Can you come with me, please?"

  I sat there, trying to think of a good excuse to avoid such torture.

  "Misty, come on, you’re going up to Armidale in a couple of days to do the Hillgrove story, so we won't see much of each other for a while. Help with me Granny this afternoon?"

  I shuddered. Melissa's grandmother was deaf, and yelled at everyone. She was a mighty unpleasant woman.

  "Sure," I said.

  * * *

  We should be careful to get out of an experience only the wisdom that is in it - and stop there; lest we be like the cat that sits down on a hot stove-lid. She will never sit down on a hot stove-lid again, and that is well; but also she will never sit down on a cold one anymore, either.

  (Mark Twain)

&nbs
p; Chapter Nine.

  I followed Melissa up the stairs to her grandmother's house which was built into the side of a hill. The steps were flanked by two concrete lions, and rockery ran along either side. The house looked normal from the outside, but the inside was another matter. Melissa's grandmother had been an antiques dealer for years and had kept her favorites.

  When I had last been to her house, I had not been the Keeper, so I had, of course, not sensed any ghosts. I now realized, even from the outside, that the house was very busy with many ghosts and entities, barely any of them friendly. I assumed that the ghosts were attached to the antiques. I knew that Melissa's grandparents had built the house, so no one had been murdered there, unless of course something unpleasant had taken place on the land at some point.

  Melissa's grandmother met us at the door and ushered us into the living room, past the imposing Louis XV Boulle in the heavily and darkly wallpapered entrance hall.

  "Don't forget, Granny likes the house dark, curtains drawn," Melissa whispered. "She doesn't have just one set of curtains, but two or three overlapping sets on each window, with 1950s style Venetian blinds behind. Depressing."

  I nodded, but then gasped when I walked into the living room. There, sitting on the wall and jutting into the room, was the most enormous, ornate Black Forest cuckoo clock complete with huge, wooden antlers.

  Melissa stifled a giggle. "You noticed the new cuckoo clock, I see. It's terrifying and loud! It sits above Granny's favorite chair. If it fell on her, she'd be dead. I have no idea how she manages to sleep at nights; it chimes loudly every hour, on the hour." She shuddered.

  "What did you say, Melissa?" Melissa's granny boomed.

  "I was showing Misty the cuckoo clock."

  "Speak up, Melissa."

  Melissa spoke loudly. "I said, I was showing Misty the new clock."

  Granny frowned. "There's no need to yell, Melissa. Yes, I have a new frock." She gestured to her bright yellow and brown dress.

  Melissa glanced at me. I tried not to laugh.

  "You can wait in the formal living room while I finish getting ready. Melissa, take Misty in there."

  I knew before I even entered the formal living room that it would be the worst room in the house as far as the number of ghosts was concerned. I knew from past visits that it was crammed full of Victorian antiques: cedar chiffoniers, burr walnut credenzas with marble tops, and about a dozen antique clocks all ticking loudly and annoyingly. Every available space was crammed with ruby glass, vaseline glass, huge, unwieldy epergnes, monstrous majolica ware, and one patch of carpet was overtaken by Victorian Staffordshire dogs in every available color. It was hard to see the walls as they were overpowered by old oil paintings in ornate, massive, musty old frames.

  Melissa turned to me. "You know, the magazine could do a haunted feature on this house. When I stayed over as a child, I used to have screaming nightmares every night. I always dreamed that evil presences were chasing me, and when I looked up, I saw big, black blob entities gripping the ceiling. They were the most terrifying dreams; I was always too scared to open my eyes for ages after I woke up."

  I murmured in sympathy.

  "When I visit Granny now, I sleep on one of the leather sofas in the informal living room," Melissa continued. "It's very uncomfortable, and my legs hang over the edge, but I don't have the really bad nightmares all night, just ordinary nightmares." She broke off and laughed.

  At that point, Melissa's granny entered the room.

  "This is a lovely room," I said.

  Granny looked affronted. "I can assure you, Misty, that it's very clean in here. I do not need a broom!"

  Granny stormed out, while Melissa and I raised our eyebrows at each other.

  All the way to town, Granny complained about everything, including Melissa's driving, at the top of her voice. I was thankful when we arrived, and I was able to get out of the car.

  The first place we entered was a gift store. "Do you have the pink hand cream?" Granny asked the shop assistant in a booming voice.

  "No, that company shut down. We can only get another brand, and it's always lemon."

  I walked outside while Granny was stridently berating the man for being so inconsiderate as not to supply pink for customers. I walked into a nearby store which had incense, crystals, tarot cards. Melissa followed me in. Soon, Granny appeared and yelled, "I can't stand the smell of this heathen muck! I'm waiting outside."

  Next was a clothes store. Granny said at the top of her lungs, "Look at this overpriced muck! I don't like sloppy ill-fitting clothes like this; I like tailored clothes."

  Melissa and I hurried outside and waited for Granny outside the door. When she emerged, Melissa tried to steer her to the car, but she wanted to look inside a secondhand bookstore. She immediately cornered the man. "This is my daughter, Melissa. She's a journalist. She doesn't write this type of muck here; she writes proper articles. That's her friend, Misty. Do you have any decent antique books? I was an antiques dealer. I used to live in Melbourne. My friend Florence lives there too. Florence is coming to visit me soon, but she's having to help her daughter move house this week. I'd make her do it herself, but Florence isn't strict like I was with Melissa's mother."

  At this point, I headed off to look on the shelves. I found a single "History" shelf after a large and well packed section of "Romance." The "History" books were all general, but I looked at them one by one as Granny was on a roll telling the man her life history, as well as all Melissa's personal business. I was about to walk out of the store and wait outside, when I saw a dusty volume for a high price. It was a 2004 paperback edition of The Faerie-Faith in Celtic Countries, written in 1911 by W.Y. Evans-Wentz, an anthropologist and Celtic mythologist and folklorist. One section jumped out at me. I did have his book online, but hadn't come across this section before.

  A Druid Enchantment.-After this strange psychical narrative, there followed the most weird legend I have heard in Celtic lands about Druids and magic. One afternoon Patrick Waters pointed out to me the field, near the sea-coast opposite Innishmurray, in which the ancient standing stone containing the 'enchantment' used to stand; and, at another time, he said that a bronze wand covered with curious marks (or else interlaced designs) was found not far from the ruined stone tomb and a tunnel leading into a Neolithic tomb on the farm of Patrick Bruan, about two miles southward. This last statement, like the story itself, I have been unable to verify in any way.

  'In times before Christ there were Druids here who enchanted one another with Druid rods made of brass, and metamorphosed one another into stone and lumps of oak. The question is, Where are the spirits of these Druids now? Their spirits are wafted through the air, and the man or beast they meet is smitten, while their own bodies are still under enchantment. I had such a Druid enchantment in my hand; it wasn't stone, nor marble, nor flint, and had human shape. It was found in the center of a big rock on Innis-na-Gore; and round this rock light used to appear at night. The man who owned the stone decided to blast it up, and he found at its center the enchantment--just like a man, with head and legs and arms. 1 Father Healy took the enchantment away, when he was here on a visit, and said that it was a Druid enchanted, and that to get out of the rock was one part of the releasement, and that there would be a second and complete releasement of the Druid.'

  I stood, rooted to the spot in shock. My Aunt, the former Keeper, had left to me in her will a silver chain, and hanging off the chain were keys and a citrine seal. At least, I had thought they were all keys when I had first taken delivery of the time, but I had long since realized that one of the "keys" was in fact a small, bronze rod covered with interlaced designs.

  Douglas had told me that The Orpheans were an ancient Druid society. I knew that I had only been able to see ghosts since my Aunt had died, but then the thought struck me: what if I had only been able to see ghosts since I had taken to wearing the chain? Since I’d returned from England, I had never taken the chain off, so I was always wearing the
rod.

  What if the rod was, in fact, an ancient Druid enchantment that enabled me to see ghosts?

  "You are getting very sleepy" is not a command when said to a cat; it is an eternal truth.

  (Ari Rapkin)

  Chapter Ten.

  I had paid for new tires with my greatly reduced paycheck from the magazine, and my car had survived the drive to Armidale. The blinkers had stopped working, but I'd been lucky that no police had been behind me when I was turning. My cat Diva was along for the ride, and she didn't like the long drive at all.

  She yowled so much that I had to let her out of her carrier crate, and then she sat on the seat next to me with a mean look on her face for the rest of the drive.

  I hoped that this Brandon was a nice guy. I was a bit nervous about living in the same house as strangers, even if it wasn't for too long. It was just on dark when I pulled up outside a blue brick home quite close to the center of town, near the old convent. I somehow managed to drag my luggage and Diva's luggage (cat food, water bowl, food bowl, litter tray, litter) plus Diva, now back in her cat carrier, out of the car and then dragged it all up the seven or so steps to the front of the house. I rang the doorbell, once, then twice. Lights were on, so surely this Brandon guy was at home.

  It was with some relief that I presently heard footsteps, and the door opened to reveal a man, slightly shorter than I am, with bulging biceps and broad shoulders. I immediately knew I'd like this man, if for no other reason than that he was holding two champagne glasses, and he offered one to me.

  Brandon proved to be as camp as a row of tents. I think he'd already had more than one glass of bubbly too, as he seemed a bit, well, happy, overly so. He even made soothing noises when he greeted Diva, and she purred in response, so unlike her. He showed me to my room which overlooked the street. It was nice enough, but I suspected it might be a little dark in daylight. The desk was just under the window, so at least I'd have a view when I was at my laptop. The front yard had lovely old trees. I could sense the spirit of an old lady, but she seemed welcoming and was for now at least keeping to the background.