3 A Basis for Murder Read online

  I didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended, yet his concern set my heart fluttering. "Well, I don't have much choice," I said, keeping my voice even. "My boss cut my hours at work. I have bills and all that. I might have thought twice about it though, if I'd known at the time how dangerous it was going to be."

  Jamie stopped walking and spun around to face me once more, just as realized I'd said too much. Me and my big mouth. "Dangerous? What do you mean? Misty; tell me exactly what you mean."

  I sighed deeply in resignation, and then told him the whole story right from when I arrived at Bakers Creek falls, to my visit to the hospital after someone had drugged my water, right up to the time he arrived.

  By the time I finished recounting the day's events, we were back at Brandon's. Brandon's car was nowhere to be seen, and I was grateful for that, although I felt sorry for Brandon.

  As soon as we were inside the house, Jamie turned to me. "You can't go back out there. I'm serious. You've attracted the attention of the murderer, and you can't go back."

  "But Jamie, it's my assignment."

  Jamie folded his arms across his chest. "Your assignment was supposed to be research; it wasn't supposed to put you in physical danger. Perhaps you should resign."

  I was surprised by his tone; Jamie was usually the typical reserved English gentleman. "Jamie, I have a mortgage, bills; I can't survive just on part time work at the magazine."

  Jamie shook his head, "You could have been killed; it's far too dangerous."

  "It's not just that. I realized sometime today that I don't know who I am. The Orpheans have made no attempt to contact me, but I'm the Keeper. That makes no sense that they haven't contacted me yet."

  Jamie nodded, but looked puzzled. I clearly wasn't explaining myself too well.

  "I'm kind of conflicted," I continued. "I need to use my gift for good - I know that sounds corny, but there's a selfish reason too. Douglas said the Orpheans are from a long line of Welsh Druids. With the research I've done, that explains why I can now see or sense ghosts. If I use what I can do - see ghosts - then that is what I want to be doing with my life. I don't want to be a journalist. I want to be me, the authentic me, who I really am. And the way it looks to me now, is that working for SI7 is the only way that can happen."

  "Dinner tonight?" was Jamie's response.

  I stared at him with my mouth open, and it wasn't just the rapid change of subject. Was this a date? Or simply two colleagues having dinner?

  You will always be lucky if you know how to make friends with strange cats.

  (American proverb)

  Chapter Sixteen.

  I was a bundle of nerves when Jamie called for me to take me to the restaurant, and we made small talk on the way. I had no idea if this was a date or not. I figured it wasn't a date, as that seemed too good to be true; any thought of a date was just my wishful thinking. I’d harbored a crush on Jamie Smith since my time in England.

  Nevertheless, I had been sure to put on my strongest shapewear. Not a single bulge was going to escape this armor. I was lucky I could breathe. When he'd called for me, Jamie had said I looked lovely, but I didn't know if he was simply being polite. Despite being a very good researcher, if I do say so myself, I have always been quite dim-witted when it comes to men.

  We were shown to our table, and I reminded myself to look out for any clues which would tip me off as to whether this was a date, or rather, simply a dinner between colleagues. I noted at once that the atmosphere was intimate, with the diffuse lighting little more than candle glow. The tables were not close together, allowing patrons more privacy. It certainly seemed a romantic setting.

  I picked apart my dinner roll. It looked delicious, crusty on the outside while soft and fluffy in the inside, but my stomach was churning so much that I’d lost my appetite. The waiter wasted no time appearing next to my table. I quickly scrolled my eyes down the menu. There appeared to be only one vegetarian option, green asparagus with black olives and burrata. Burrata was my favorite cheese, and I had never bought it for myself, as it was too expensive on my meager journalist's wage. I loved the soft, creamy center and the hard mozzarella shell, and I smiled to myself as I realized that I could now afford to buy it.

  For the main, I could also only see one dish that appeared to be vegetarian: a creamy polenta and gremolata with sautéed mushrooms and mascarpone. I wasn't terribly sure what gremolata was - call me uncultured - so I got around that by asking the waiter if the dish was vegetarian. He affirmed that it was, so I ordered it.

  For his entrée, Jamie ordered Minchet Abish, described on the menu as finely ground beef with fenugreek, cottage cheese, and spinach, and for the main, char grilled scotch fillet steak with truffled mash and béarnaise sauce.

  He sure was a big meat eater, but I didn’t mind that - each to their own.

  I hadn't taken much notice of the exchange between Jamie and the wine waiter, so I was surprised when a bottle of Bollinger arrived on the table.

  "Bollinger," I blurted, and then at once wished I hadn't spoken.

  Jamie looked concerned. "You don’t like champagne?"

  Yes, I thought, I love champagne, especially very expensive champagne like Bollinger. Aloud I said, "Oh no, I really like it." My thoughts were tumbling over each other. We weren't celebrating anything; I hadn't solved the case, so surely champagne meant that this was a date?

  "So, what got you into-" I hesitated, "your line of business?"

  Jamie smiled. "It was straight out of Cambridge, actually. I was about to finish my degree in Politics and International Studies, when a man approached me in the old pub I always went to; it was overlooking the river Cam."

  I gasped. "You're kidding. That's just like something out of a movie."

  "I then went into M15 for my first years of training as an Intelligence Officer," Jamie said, "and progressed from there into M16."

  I cast a glance around furtively. "And ended up in S17," I said in hushed tones.

  Jamie nodded.

  "You're kind of like James Bond," I said.

  "But I'm not a womanizer." Jamie winked at me.

  My legs turned to mush; lucky I was sitting down. The evidence was looking more and more like this was, indeed, a date. My heart beat so loudly that I wouldn't have been surprised if all the other patrons had turned to look at me. "I only have your word for that," I pointed out, unable to suppress the researcher in me.

  Jamie laughed loudly. "That's one of the things I like about you," he said, "but truly, I've never dated anyone from the agency before." He leaned across the table and put his hand on top of mine.

  I managed to close my jaw which had fallen open. I hoped my hand wasn't shaking in tune with the rest of me. I was rendered speechless. I had been attracted to this man right from my time in England, but this was the first real indication that he felt the same about me.

  Jamie finally retrieved his hand so he could continue eating, and talk turned to work. "Misty, I'm really worried about someone drugging your water," he said. "That was clearly an attempt on your life. You're supposed to be doing research, not field work. You are supposed to be safe, not putting yourself in danger."

  I shrugged. "I wasn’t too thrilled about it, either."

  "You must have discovered something that someone considers is threatening to them."

  "I can't imagine what." I frowned and chewed my lip. What was I missing?

  Jamie put down his fork. "I've looked into Gerald Wakefield and Ethan Williams, and they have good, solid reputations around town."

  "Aha, I thought it was the museum curator."

  Jamie waved his finger at me. "Don’t jump to conclusions. It could just as easily be one of them. Or even your friend Douglas."

  I went to protest, but thought the better of it. As we progressed to dessert, Jamie having the red wine poached pear, and me the hazelnut panna cotta, I thought of Douglas. I didn’t trust him and I still wasn't entirely sure whether he had, in fact, intended to kill me back i
n England. Still, my instincts told me that he wasn’t the killer. The trouble was, my instincts didn’t tell me just who the killer was.

  I felt all warm and cozy as Jamie delivered me back to Brandon's house and walked me to the door. I turned to thank him for walking me to the door, when I realized he was close behind me. I had no time to react as his lips brushed mine and before I knew it, we were locked in a passionate kiss.

  Jamie stopped kissing me and held me at arms' length. "Misty, promise me you won't go back to Bakers Creek Falls."

  I would have promised him anything at that moment. I nodded. Jamie pulled me back into a brief kiss, and then went back down the pathway to his car.

  I turned back to the door, but to my horror, Brandon was standing here, glaring at me. He didn’t say a word, but the How could you? look was plastered all over his face. He swung on his heel and stormed to his bedroom, shutting the door.

  I sighed.

  * * *

  Cats seem to go on the principle that it never does any harm to ask for what you want.

  (Joseph Wood Krutch)

  Chapter Seventeen.

  I'd promised Jamie that I wouldn't go back to Baker Creek Falls, but I hadn't promised him that I wouldn't go back to Hillgrove. I know that was splitting straws, and he wasn't happy about it, especially as I had refused to let him accompany me, foolishly as it turned out.

  I was tired, actually exhausted in fact, from all the events of the previous days, so had only gone to Hillgrove to take photos for the article, and to get any information about local ghosts for the magazine article. If I stumbled across anything about the evil entity while I was there, all well and good. After the attempt on my life, I needed a few days' break before I looked into the matter of the evil entity too closely.

  I was trying to process everything that had happened to me, and that was mentally tiring. Nevertheless, as I wandered around Hillgrove, with my car well and truly locked this time, I became distracted and ended up focusing on Hillgrove itself. It was hard to imagine that this peaceful, little town had once been a bustling city. It seemed pretty much deserted. A coffee shop would have helped.

  I was parked on the corner of the road that ran up to the Hillgrove museum, taking a photo of the sign that told of the former Police station, when Gerald Wayfield drove up. He waved enthusiastically and then parked his car next to mine.

  "Hi Misty, good to see you again. I was going to call you this afternoon. I have some very exciting information for you."

  I smiled, waiting for him to continue, and when he didn't, asked, "What is it?"

  "I was looking through my historical records, as I promised you I would, and I came across my great, great grandfather's letters. Several of them mentioned people being attacked by a malingee."

  I stopped him. "I've never heard of a malingee. What is it?"

  "It's a creature from Aboriginal mythology, not a well known one at all, one of the lesser heard of ones. A malingee is a bad Aboriginal spirit that only comes out at night."

  "Oh," I said, thinking that that was why I couldn't pick up the presence of one through the day.

  "Did that ring a bell? You've heard of them, then?"

  I shrugged. "No, I don't think so."

  Gerald looked at me quizzically and then continued. "The only way you can tell if one is around is by the scraping sound that they make, and that's caused by their stone knees knocking together. In general, they keep away from humans, but if they're in any way aggravated by people, they won't think twice about killing them."

  "Are they associated with massacres?"

  Gerald shook his head. "No, not at all. Talk of massacres in this district is all an old wives' tale, really. Anyway, the malingee won't think twice about killing an individual who annoys it, but never groups of people. They kill with a stone knife. The letters said that they had bright red eyes like coals in a burning fire."

  I thought it over. It definitely seemed to fit. I had never sensed the presence of an evil entity in Hillgrove or Bakers Creek for that matter, and I had only been there in the daytime. It appeared that the evil creature was a malingee.

  At any rate, I was thrilled. I had finally fulfilled my assignment for SI7; I had surely found out the identity of the creature which had killed people at Hillgrove, and Gerald's ancestor's letters would supply me with even more information. But what sort of name did the Black Lodge want? Simply malingee, the type of spirit? Or did it have a personal name like Fred or George? That seemed a bit far fetched. And what was Douglas's interest in all this?

  "I can't make photocopies of the letters to post to you, I'm afraid," Gerald said, "as they're way too faded. I can let you look at them and take notes. I could drop them into you next week in Armidale when I go in, or you could call in past my house any time and look at them."

  I thought of Jamie's dire warnings. "I'll think about it and let you know."

  Gerald nodded. "Perhaps you could bring your friend too."

  "My friend?"

  "Yes, that nice man, Douglas. He told me how he does research for your magazine."

  I gritted my teeth. "He did, did he? I didn’t know you'd met Douglas."

  Gerald nodded again. "Yes, he's been out here taking photographs, too, and asking questions."

  I put on my sweetest smile. "Gerald, Douglas and I are both up for a promotion. Would you mind if you didn't tell him about your great grandfather's letters?"

  Gerald looked crestfallen. "I'm so sorry, Misty; I had no idea. I've already told him. I thought the two of you were working together. He hasn't seen the letters yet though. I'm so sorry."

  I exhaled loudly. "Oh well, it's not your fault at all, Gerald. Can you somehow keep the letters from him if he wants to see them, make something up?"

  "I'll try." After another apology, Gerald left and I went back to my car. I unlocked it, drank some water, and ate a cookie. What was I to do now? I stood up and stretched, and then sat back in the car again. It was no use thinking; my head was in a muddle and I needed a decent sleep. I called Jamie's phone, but I was out of range. I decided to head back to Armidale, and to report to Jamie about the malingee.

  I was only just south of Hillgrove when my phone rang. I picked it up but the connection was bad, so I pulled off the road and parked.

  "Hello? I haven't heard anything; can you say it again?"

  "Misty, it's Gerald," the voice yelled over the line. "I've just got back home and Douglas has just turned up. He wants to see the letters and I've told him that we should wait for you. Are you far away?"

  Good old Gerald. I hope I hadn't put him in on the spot. "No, I'm just up the road; I'll be right there. I should be able to remember the way to your place. Can you shout? I can barely hear you."

  "Hang on, Douglas wants to speak to you."

  "Hey, bring me a coffee, will you Misty?"

  I couldn't think of anything rude to say to Douglas, which is just as well as he must have handed the phone right back to Gerald. "See you soon; call if you get lost," Gerald said, and then hung up.

  Remembering Jamie's dire warnings, I texted him to let him know where I was headed and that Douglas was there too. I drove off and somehow managed to find my way back to Gerald's, although I only narrowly missed taking a wrong turn.

  The front door was open, but I knocked. "Hello? Gerald?"

  Gerald appeared, drinking a coffee. "Hi Misty, let's have a cup of tea and then get started. Or would you prefer coffee?"

  "What sort of coffee do you have?" I despise instant coffee, so asking this question usually gives me the heads up as to whether someone has a coffee machine, without offending them.

  "Nescafe, I think." Gerald furrowed his brow.

  "Actually, a nice cup of tea would be great, black, no sugar, please."

  Gerald disappeared in the direction of the kitchen and reappeared almost instantly with a cup of tea.

  "Where's Douglas?"

  Gerald laughed. "You'll be very pleased with me. I sent him down to the barn a
nd told him I'd left the files, my great grandfather's letters, down there on a bench where I was sitting in the sun to eat lunch. That will give you time to look through them first."

  "Thanks so much, Gerald." I beamed at him. Who would have thought he'd be so sneaky?

  I opened the folder and looked at the first letter. It was blurry. "Oh, where are my glasses?" I wondered aloud. As soon as I said that, I realized I was wearing my glasses. "Not again," I said. I looked over at Gerald, and he looked malevolent. "Have you drugged me?" I asked.

  Gerald's expression was one of puzzlement. "Of course not. What do you mean?"

  "I can't see and I'm wearing my glasses."

  Gerald laughed. "You're drinking hot tea. No doubt it fogged up your glasses."

  "Oh." I was horribly embarrassed and felt like a complete idiot. "You must think I'm quite mad, Gerald. I'm really embarrassed. I'm so sorry for thinking you'd drugged me."

  "Why would I drug you?"

  I shrugged, mortified by what I'd said.

  Gerald stood up. "Yes, why would I drug you when I have this?" He pulled out a gun from behind his back and waved it at me. It was a small hand gun, not a rifle like farmers have. My knowledge of guns is zero.

  My first thought was, Here we go again. That's not to say I wasn't scared. Far from it; I was terrified. This was the third or forth time that my life had been threatened by someone - I’d lost count. The researcher in me wondered why Gerald saw me as a threat; what was the connection between Gerald and the malingee? Or was there a different reason he was pointing a gun at me?

  He waved the gun towards a door at the back of the kitchen, indicating that I should walk over there. I hoped that the gun wouldn't accidentally go off. I walked over the door, terrified that he would shoot me in the back. I walked through the door, and there were steps immediately ahead of me.

  A basement. We really don't have them in Australia, but this was the second time I'd encountered one with people trying to kill me. I suppose if people engage in criminal activities, then they do need a basement or some sort of hideaway. I was forcing myself to think logically as a firewall against my fear, but fear now rose to take the upper hand.