3 A Basis for Murder Read online

  As I pulled out onto the main road back to town, I suddenly felt tired. My eyelids felt heavy and began to droop. I shook myself awake and then jumped as my phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket but dropped it around my feet. I reached down, trying to pick it up, but couldn't, so I pulled the car off the road. That was the last thing I remembered.

  When I next opened my eyes I was staring up at a white ceiling with long fluorescent bulbs behind milky white panels. I didn't think I was dead. I tested my arms and legs; everything seemed to be working. I looked at the glass panel in the door opposite me; was that Jamie looking in at me? I tried to focus my eyes, but then he was gone, and I fell back to sleep.

  I woke up again, but did not know how long I had been asleep. I tried to sit up, but my head hurt and my ears needed to pop. I had no idea where I was. There was a familiar but unpleasant smell, and a faint beeping. I looked over and saw a small screen next to me with a bright green line running across it. I looked down at my arm, saw a few things stuck there, and a plastic ID bracelet on my wrist.

  I was in a hospital. How did I get here? My head was pounding, and my memories were swirling around; I couldn’t get a clear hold on any of them. I remembered my car, remembered the water bottle, remembered Gerald and his great grandparents and dead uncle, and remembered my phone ringing in my car, but I couldn’t piece it all together, and I couldn’t put it in the order it had happened. And had Jamie been here?

  Suddenly I heard a voice, low and soft. “Are you okay?”

  I looked up and saw a nurse, a middle aged woman with curly brown hair and too much eye make up.

  “Yes,” I said. I was concerned that my voice was ragged, and my throat burned when I spoke. “What happened?”

  “Let me get the doctor for you,” the nurse said, and without waiting for a response, she turned away and left the room. Within minutes, a man of about fifty with a pointed chin and a receding hairline came in. He took my pulse before saying anything.

  Finally, he spoke. “Misty?”

  I tried to nod but it hurt, so instead, I said, “Yes.”

  “I’m Doctor Reed,” he said. “Do you remember what happened to you?”

  It still hurt to talk, so I simply said "No."

  “You were in an accident. You fell asleep, and your car rolled into a ditch. A passing car found you and called an ambulance. You have a cut on your head, and a bruised trachea, from where your throat hit your steering wheel.”

  “I fell asleep?”

  The doctor hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. “Yes, we did a drug screen on you, and we found triazolam in your system. Do you know what that is?”

  "No." I wanted to ask questions, but my throat was so sore.

  “Basically, it’s a fast acting sleeping agent. I understand from an officer investigating that there was a water bottle in your car and that it contained triazolam. The police believe that someone may have drugged you.”

  I was shocked, and frightened. I had spoken with three different men that day, and any one of them had access to my car when I wasn’t around, and I hadn't locked my doors. Of course, someone else entirely could have drugged me, but I had no idea who it could be.

  “Are you okay?” the doctor asked, and I said, "No," again.

  The doctor murmured something in a sympathetic voice. "You'll have to stay in hospital overnight for observation."

  I felt violated, and uneasy, and as I lay in the hospital bed, hot stinging tears came to my eyes. Doctor Reed patted my on the shoulder and then left, telling me I'd feel better in time when I'd processed everything. I kept crying after he left, holding my palms to my eyes and letting everything out. When I was done crying, I looked down at the cotton blanket over my legs.

  I soon began to feel better physically, but I quite alarmed that someone had tried to kill me. I lay in bed watching The Biggest Loser on the television above my head. I ate tasteless, bland, hospital food and watched The Biggest Loser contestants eating chocolate cup cakes in a Temptation. I was also feeling strangely dizzy.

  After a while, the fear gave way to anger. I wanted to find out who had drugged me, and I thought of all the horrible things I'd like to do to him.

  The cat has nine lives - three for playing, three for straying, and three for staying.

  (English proverb)

  Chapter Fourteen.

  I was certain it was the curator of the Hillgrove museum who had put the substance in my water and tried to kill me. After all, he had been outside twice when I was still inside the museum, and he had plenty of time and opportunity to put the drugs in my water bottle.

  The day after I was released from the hospital, I drove back to Hillgrove museum to judge the curator's reaction to me. Surely he would give something away when he saw me alive and well, given the fact that he had tried to kill me. My only other two suspects were the wildlife photographer, Ethan Williams, and Gerald Wakefield.

  When I reached the museum, I was disappointed to find it empty again. Still, I had an assignment: to find out about the evil entity at Hillgrove. I wasn't sensing anything in the museum, so walked behind the museum to the displays of old agricultural machinery to see if anything would come to me.

  "Misty!"

  I jumped and spun around. Walking towards me was Gerald Wakefield.

  "I thought I saw you walking around down here," he said. "I'm looking for the curator. Have you seen him?"

  "No," I said, and just managed to stop myself saying that I was looking for him too.

  "Anyway, a good thing I ran into you. I found an old newspaper article you might be interested in. I live not far from here, on your way back to Armidale. Would you like to come over for a cup of tea and piece of cake and have a look at what I've found?"

  I looked him up and down. He was one of my three suspects, albeit the most unlikely one. It was the mention of tea and cake that did it. I would just have to watch him make the tea, to be on the safe side, and make sure he ate some of the cake too. Without any further thought, I graciously accepted his invitation.

  I followed Gerald's car down a bumpy dirt road and then down a long dirt driveway to his house. The house was a surprise. I had expected a little, old, wooden building, but Gerald's house screamed luxury and expense. I wondered where he'd made his money; perhaps he'd inherited it.

  The interior was also a surprise; I had expected traditional, but it was sleek and contemporary. Gerald showed me into the living room which had expansive views of his property through massive floor to ceiling windows.

  He went into the adjoining kitchen to make me a cup of tea and followed him in, just in case he slipped something into my tea. I wasn't taking any chances; he was one of my suspects, after all. I saw that the kitchen was full of stainless steel appliances and granite bench tops. It was quite posh for out here in the country.

  I devoured the offered piece of carrot cake in about three mouthfuls, not caring that I would have looked as if I had no table manners. There was a sudden temperature drop, so the cup of hot tea couldn't come fast enough. I sat with my hands wrapped around it, and listened as Gerald read from an old newspaper.

  "I didn't find anything about massacres, but this is a grisly murder from 1888. A party of hunters found the body of a man at night. Anyway, this is what it says: The corpse was found in a very peculiar place. The man’s throat was cut from ear to ear, and his skull battered in. The sight was a most ghastly one."

  Gerald took a deep breath. "It's best if I summarize it. The body was dragged for some distance, and covered over with bushes and bark. The newspaper said it was a brutal and cold-blooded murder. It says he was cruelly murdered in a secluded spot and that his head was battered in with a pick. The murdered man’s head was nearly severed from his body. The newspaper describes it as a terrible violence."

  I was beginning to feel sick on the stomach, but Gerald didn't notice. "I'll read this bit to you: The place where the deed was done is a prominent point, overlooking the Falls, disclosing a fine view of the
rugged scenery and the Baker’s Creek mine. Close to a stump, about thirty yards from where the body was found, seems to have been the place where the murder was committed, as there is a great quantity of blood on the stump and about the ground all around. My opinion is that the victim was leaning against the stump (which is amongst a lot of granite boulders), and while in that position received a deadly blow. It is quite certain that the deceased was murdered at this spot. The body was afterwards dragged to the edge of the Falls for the evident intention of throwing it over, but by some means or other the body got caught in a few dogwood branches, which prevented it from descending some hundreds of feet down the falls. In this position it was found as already described."

  I shuddered. This was way too gruesome for me. "That's, err, helpful, thanks for that, but I need to find out about massacres." I looked up and saw that Gerald was staring at me strangely.

  "I have never heard about any massacres," he said, "but there have been strange murders here ever since Hillgrove was settled. I read you this newspaper article because it's typical of the murders that have been recorded; the others actually had severed heads. They were all thrown over the cliffs into the gorge."

  I shuddered again and said, not very intelligently, "Eeewwww."

  Gerald raised his eyebrows. "Would you like me to make photocopies of the articles on murders? I have the newspaper clips on file."

  "Yes please, thanks."

  Gerald took himself out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I could hear his printer churning out copies. I drained the last of my tea and saw more cake on the bench. Would it be rude if I went over and helped myself? Probably, but I did so anyway. I was in despair of finding out any information whatsoever about the evil entity.

  Gerald returned and handed me a folder. "Wherever you have cliffs like around here, there will be rumors of people being thrown off. Plus the mining accidents - well, wherever there are mines, there are accidents. I don't think you can read anything sinister into that."

  I nodded. He had a point.

  "Have a look through that folder," he continued, "because I have every newspaper clipping there of murders in this district, to my knowledge anyway. My family's been in this area for generations, and I have quite detailed family history records. If it would help, I could go through them and see if there's anything there that might help you. I'll call you if I find anything."

  I was delighted. Gerald had given me a lead about the evil entity, and could possibly turn up more.

  Later that day, I arrived back at Brandon's tired and not feeling too well. Brandon and Diva were both pleased to see me. I had planned to have a nice, hot shower and then go through the photocopies of newspaper clippings kindly provided by Gerald. Unfortunately, I didn't have the chance.

  Did you ever fly a kite in bed? Did you ever walk with ten cats on your head? Did you ever milk this kind of cow? Well, we can do it. We know how. If you never did, you should. These things are fun and fun is good.

  (Dr. Seuss)

  Chapter Fifteen.

  Brandon took me by the arm and sat me on the sofa. "Guess who I saw today?"

  I shrugged.

  "Fred, silly."

  "Oh." For a moment, don't ask me how, I'd forgotten about Brandon's crush on the so-called Fred. "Did it go well?"

  "We didn't speak," Brandon said. "I don't think he saw me, but I saw him."

  "Oh," I said again, and made a move to get up. Brandon pulled me back down.

  "Do you think he's here to see me?" Brandon leaned forward and peered anxiously into my face.

  "I don't know; I don't have a crystal ball." I kept my tone gentle. I certainly hoped that Fred was here to see Brandon, and I hoped that Fred would turn up right now so I could have that shower. "Brandon, do you mind if I go and have a shower now, and then I'll come back and we can talk some more?"

  "Of course."

  I made to get up, but Brandon said, "Just one more thing. If he does come here, could you please watch how he is with me, and we can compare notes afterwards?"

  I nodded, and took a step closer the bathroom. "But if he does come here, won't it be to see you anyway?"

  Brandon looked crestfallen. "No, we just work together from time to time." He sighed, and leaned back into the sofa. "I'm sorry to go on like this. It's just that I've never felt this way about anyone before. I don't even think he's gay, but that doesn't help how I feel about him. You know, last time I saw him, he said that I looked well. What do you think he meant by that? Was that his way of saying that he found me attractive? Or do you think he was just being polite?"

  I shrugged, and took the opportunity to disappear into the bathroom. I felt like I was thirteen again and in the midst of schoolgirl intrigues; Brandon was driving me quite crazy. I turned on the shower and let the hot water run over the back of my neck. I stood like that for some time, and then finally lathered myself up with lavender and lemongrass shower gel. The hot water's cascading effect was soothing, and was taking away some of the tension I was holding.

  I quickly toweled myself dry and rustled through my cosmetics bag for my white sage smudge stick. I lit it, and when it was smoking nicely, waved it all around me, even under my feet. There's nothing like white sage to cleanse one's aura. I love the smell, too.

  I wrapped a fluffy blue towel around myself and headed for the bedroom, after poking my head around the door to steal a quick glance at the sofa. Brandon was still there, looking aghast at Diva who was coughing up a fur ball. It looked like I would have to have another conversation about Fred.

  I changed into jeans and a shirt and dabbed some Fiery Wall of Protection Oil on my wrists and on the back of my neck. I had set up part of my desk as an altar of sorts, and had an incense holder next to some candles. I lit some Dragons Blood as well as Frankincense and Myrrh incense, and felt better once it wafted around the room. I was about to leave the bedroom and had my hand on the door handle when I heard a knock at the door, not my bedroom door, but the door to the house. I opened my bedroom door just in time to see Brandon open the front door.

  I was in a good vantage spot to see his face. His expression was one of extreme shock.

  The extreme shock on Brandon's face was followed by great pleasure. Brandon turned to me and mouthed, "Fred." Not very subtle, Brandon, I thought, Fred would have seen you do that. I sincerely hoped that Fred was indeed gay and that he would profess undying love to Brandon; if not, the rest of my stay would be taken up with more lengthy, "He said, I said," conversations.

  I walked out into the hallway to meet Fred.

  I just stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to move. There, standing in front of me, was Jamie.

  Jamie immediately enveloped me in a warm hug. I was just as taken aback to be hugged by Jamie as I was to see him. I tried not to return his hug too enthusiastically with Brandon as an audience. I looked over Jamie's shoulder at Brandon. His face was registering disbelief, shock, and hurt all at the same time.

  Jamie let me go and turned to face Brandon. "Hi, Brandon. Nice to see you again."

  Brandon simply said, "Are you two friends?"

  Jamie and I exchanged glances.

  Before anyone could speak, Brandon said, "I have to go."

  I laid my hand on his arm, but he shrugged it off and hurried out the door.

  "What was that all about?"

  I didn’t want to betray Brandon's confidence, so I answered his question with a question. "What are you doing here? I didn't even know you were in the country."

  Jamie did not respond at once, so I continued, asking the question that had been plaguing me for some time. "Douglas told me that your organization is called SI7. Why didn't you tell me?"

  "Douglas!" I could practically see the steam coming out of Jamie's ears. "You've spoken to Douglas?"

  I simply narrowed my eyes and glared at him.

  Jamie sighed. "We need to talk, but not here; Brandon might come back and he can’t know about this. Let's go for a walk."

&n
bsp; Jamie and I walked outside and down the street. It was quite deserted; we only saw a few people walking their dogs. Jamie smelled faintly of musk and leaves, all woodsy.

  Jamie broke the silence. "I wasn't allowed to tell you the name of the organization."

  I stopped mid-stride and turned to him. "Why ever not?"

  "I really don't know, but orders are orders."

  I digested his words, but before I could ask another question, Jamie questioned me. "Now, please tell me about Douglas. When did you see him? What did he say?"

  I could see that Jamie was tensing up. "He came to work one afternoon when I wasn't there and the next day was waiting for me outside the building when I went out for lunch. I had lunch with him, and he told me that the group I've always called the Society is actually called The Orpheans, and that he is my contact there." I said it all without drawing breath.

  Jamie came to a stop and turned to face me. "Lies, absolute lies. Douglas works for the Black Lodge. He has nothing to do with your society."

  "He said he's a double agent, that The Orpheans sent him as my contact."

  Jamie shook his head. "Misty, please don't trust him. I've read his file; he has nothing to do with The Orpheans."

  "Well at least he told me the Society's real name; you didn't," I said in a tone which I realized was childlike as soon as the words were out of my mouth.

  Jamie clearly chose to ignore my remark. "Tell me what else he said."

  We started walking again. "He turned up here," I said, then put my hand to my mouth. "Jamie, he's here, in town. I was having coffee at a café this morning and he turned up out of nowhere."

  "What did he want?"

  "He told me to go out to Bakers Creek Falls and get the name of the evil entity and tell him. He said that was my assignment from The Orpheans." I held up my hand. "Now, before you say anymore, I didn't trust him of course, as that's exactly what the Black Lodge want."

  "I'm really concerned about that. I don't like him anywhere near you," he said quietly. "You know, I haven't said this to you before, but I'm worried that you took this job with our organization. Now don't go all ballistic-feminist on me, it's just that I worry about you."