by Morgana Best
We all nodded. Alder raised one eyebrow and then said, “I have discovered how to reverse the spell.”
A wave of relief swept over me. “That’s great news!”
Alder shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
“But you said…,” Thyme began, but Alder held up one hand, palm outwards.
“It will be easy to reverse the spell once we have Camino’s book listing her onesies that was used in the original spell. Unfortunately, the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man took the book.”
I sighed. “That’s bad news, for sure.”
Alder nodded. “The funeral is tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I echoed. “Isn’t that a little soon? Is it possible to have a funeral so fast?”
“Apparently so,” Alder said. “I discovered that Henry Vanderbilt had one brother, Bernard, who is understandably distraught about his brother’s murder. He is not having a church service, just a graveside attendance, and no one has been invited.”
Both Ruprechts gasped. “No one?” they repeated.
Alder shook his head. “Not a soul. Oh, apart from family and friends, but not journalists I meant to say.”
The Ruprechts exchanged glances. “My dear Alder, those are two entirely different matters,” they said.
Alder appeared unconcerned.
I shrugged. “Then I suppose we can’t go to the funeral? We’re not family or friends.”
“No, more’s the pity,” Alder said. “It would have been good to go to the funeral, because then we would see everyone who knew him.”
“Maybe we can go up on a hill with binoculars,” I offered. Everyone looked at me as though I had taken leave of my senses.
“Is Camino still being questioned?” Alder asked. When we all nodded, and he added, “I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. It’s taking far too long.”
“Maybe she just has to wait for them to print out her statement or something,” Mint said.
Alder shook himself. “I don’t have a good feeling. Amelia, could you come with me?”
“Sure,” I said, “but where to? The police station?”
He nodded.
I looked at the others. “Will you be all right by yourselves? Could you open the shop when the goats have gone?”
Alder’s expression turned grim. “I have a strange premonition that something is amiss at the police station.”
Chapter 8
Alder drove me to the Bayberry Creek police station. It only took a few minutes—after all, Bayberry Creek was a small town. My heart was in my mouth. I wondered what Alder’s bad feeling could possibly mean. Had the police arrested Camino? Maybe she was already in prison. Why hadn’t she called for a lawyer?
As we walked towards the small police station, a burly man in a suit barred our way. “We can’t let you in, I’m afraid. This area is sealed.”
“What do you mean?” Alder asked him.
The man in the suit looked Alder up and down. “That’s all you need to know. No one is allowed in, and no one is allowed out.”
“Are you a detective?” I asked him.
He pulled out his badge and flashed it at me. “FBI.”
“FBI?” I repeated. “But this is Australia.” I wondered what could be so important that the Australian government had called in American FBI agents to such a small town. Surely, it wasn’t to do with the onesies coming to life? But even if it was, I didn’t think the Australian government would have been able to get agents over from America so soon. Maybe, they were from a special task force that investigated bizarre paranormal happenings.
With all the thoughts running through my head, I didn’t immediately notice Alder tapping my arm. Finally, I looked up at him. “What is it?”
He pointed to one of the windows. Detective Barrett was tapping on the window. Chris was behind him, waving frantically. We watched as another man in a suit marched them away.
“Our friend, Camino Abre, was brought here for questioning,” Alder told the man. “We want to speak with her. Has she been arrested?”
“Of course she hasn’t been arrested,” he said. “She is innocent. We’re holding all these fools here under house arrest for daring to question the wonderful Camino.”
Alder and I exchanged glances. “So exactly who are you holding under house arrest?” Alder asked him.
The man folded his arms over his chest. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we are holding the detectives and the uniformed officers. No one is allowed in, and no one is allowed out.”
Alder took me by my arm and hurried me away from the man. He didn’t speak until we were in his car and he had activated the remote lock. “That man was a onesie,” he said.
“A onesie?” I shrieked. “Surely, you must be joking! A onesie? Why would Camino make an FBI onesie?”
“She made more than one FBI onesie,” Alder said. “Remember we saw men inside, making Chris and Detective Barrett move away from the window?”
“I only saw one man in a suit inside,” I said. “That was all I saw.” I rubbed my hand over my eyes. “Alder, what’s going on? Do you think Chris or Dawson or the other officers in there are in any danger?”
Alder shook his head and started the engine. As he drove off, he said, “No, I’m sure they’re not. Camino made those onesies, and the onesies think they are FBI agents. They are keeping the cops under house arrest, so they will feed them and look after them well. I assume the onesies have disabled all communications in and out and confiscated all the mobile phones.”
“We will have to see if Mint can call Chris,” I said.
Alder nodded slowly. “And we have to find Camino.”
“Do you think she’s escaped from the police station?” I asked him.
“I’m certain of it. The FBI officer said she left. She’s probably back at your shop already.”
“What are we going to do?” I wailed. “How we will find the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man and Camino’s book?”
“I’m sure we’ll find them soon. Amelia, try not to worry.”
“It’s hard not to worry with a town full of onesies come to life and Camino a suspect in a murder case,” I said.
“We need to solve the murder. It would be good if we could solve the murder before the police are released from the station,” Alder said. “I only hope the escaped onesies don’t do any damage.”
“Thankfully, it’s almost Halloween,” I pointed out. “No doubt people will think the onesies are Halloween costumes.”
Alder pulled up in a parking spot near my shop. Thankfully, no goats were in sight and no journalists, either. Thyme must have seen us coming, because the front door was open by the time we got there. “We haven’t opened the shop yet,” Thyme said by way of greeting. “Camino is here. You won’t believe what’s happened.”
I waved my finger at her. “I will believe it. We’ve just come from the police station.”
Camino hurried over to me, wringing her hands, followed by both Ruprechts. “Amelia, what have I done? The FBI agents have taken over the police station.”
I hurried to reassure her. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Camino. It’s my fault. I’m the one who did the spell.”
“Well, technically it’s my fault,” Marina piped up. “I’m the one who asked you to do the spell.”
Alder looked decidedly put out. “Marina, none of the spells you request work out well, if you recall.”
Marina met his gaze. “I requested this spell to help someone out. It’s not my fault that the spell went wrong. And besides, no one has come to kill Amelia this Halloween.”
“Not yet,” Alder muttered darkly. “That reminds me.” He pulled a jewellery box from his black coat and handed it to me.
I opened it and squealed. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” Inside was a tourmaline bracelet, the stones faceted in such a way that they brilliantly reflected the light.
“Black tourmaline for protection,” Alder said. “And I’m pleased to see you’re wearing the labradorit
e necklace I gave you the other day. Labradorite is also protective. I bought it because I knew Marina was coming to do the spell.” He glowered at her.
This time, Marina looked away.
Thyme cleared her throat. “Would somebody please tell me what’s going on? Camino ran in here saying the police questioned her and seemed to think she did it. She said FBI agents appeared and told her to leave at once. Is Dawson OK? What are FBI agents doing in Australia? Camino didn’t tell us.”
Camino drew herself to her full height. “I only didn’t tell you because Amelia and Alder came back. I would have told you, only I didn’t have time.”
“Now, now, don’t get upset, Camino,” both Ruprechts said, each patting one shoulder of Camino’s.
I rubbed my hand over my forehead. This was like a bad dream. I felt like I was a character in an Alice in Wonderland movie. I kept rubbing my forehead in the hopes somehow that would make it all right, but Camino spoke again. “Dawson will be fine. They’re FBI onesies.”
Thyme groaned. “You made FBI onesies? Why did you do that?”
Camino frowned at her. “You know I wanted to sell my onesies to the Australian government.”
“Yes, the Australian government,” Thyme said. “What does that have to do with the American FBI?”
“Australia doesn’t have any exciting secret agents,” Camino said. “I did make a James Bond onesie, but he’s escaped. I made several FBI onesies, because there is no single famous American spy like there is a single famous British spy—James Bond. Do you understand?”
“No,” we all said.
Apparently unperturbed, Camino pressed on. “I wanted to make a group of secret agent onesies with all sorts of concealed weapons and pockets for food. It seemed like a good idea at the time,” she added defensively.
Alder spoke up. “It seems the onesie FBI agents are protective of Camino. When Amelia and I went to the police station, one of them stopped us and said no one was getting in or out. They said they had the officers under house arrest. He also said Camino was clearly innocent. It appears they are holding Dawson, Chris, and all the cops because they questioned Camino, and as I said, the FBI agent was protective of her.”
“Chris’s phone is going straight to voicemail, and he’s not responding to any texts,” Mint said, her face pinched and white. “Do you think he’s all right?”
I hurried to reassure her. “He waved to us out the window, and he seemed quite fine,” I told her. “The FBI onesie we spoke with said they were keeping them under house arrest. Alder said they would look after them.”
“They’re following procedure,” Alder added. “The FBI agents will feed and look after the people under house arrest. Don’t worry about Chris. I’m sure he’ll be fine. Dawson, too.”
Mint and Thyme looked unconvinced.
“What do we do now?” Camino said. “As soon as you reverse the spell, the police will question me again. Maybe we need to find out who murdered Henry Vanderbilt, and we need to do it quickly.”
“That’s what Alder and I were saying on the way back here,” I told her. “What do we do next?”
“The last thing Chris texted me was that the funeral is tomorrow,” Mint said. “We should go there and see what we can find out.”
“I’m still surprised they were able to organise a funeral so fast,” I said. “I always thought they took a week or so to arrange.”
“No, it depends whether they can organise a site at the cemetery and whether there’s a service vacancy at the cemetery at the requested time. After that, it’s all up to the funeral director,” Camino said.
“And there isn’t going to be a church service,” Mint added. “Just the graveside, and Chris said that journalists weren’t allowed.”
I sensed Alder’s energy changing. “What is it?” I asked him.
He shot me a look of pure innocence. “What is what?”
I aimed a dark look at him. “You can’t fool me. I know you’re plotting something.”
He laughed. “You know me too well. I have an idea.”
“Out with it then!” one of the Ruprechts said.
“Since all the police are being held under house arrest by the FBI agents, I’m going to pretend I’m a police officer and question the suspects.”
“But isn’t that illegal?” Thyme asked him. “Impersonating a police officer and all that?”
“Sure it is,” Alder said, “but the onesies have come to life. These are unusual circumstances, so unusual methods will be needed. I’ll procure some fake police ID for Amelia too, and we’ll both question all of the suspects.”
“But what if the suspects know me?” I asked.
“I doubt you do know any of the suspects,” Alder said. “And if you do, we’ll simply play it by ear. We’ll go to the funeral tomorrow, and we’ll make a list of suspects and proceed from there.”
Ruprecht shook his head. “I don’t like the sound of that. As Heraclitus said, ‘One can not step twice in the same river.’”
The other Ruprecht nodded wisely.
Chapter 9
“How did you get these fake detective IDs?” I asked Alder as he parked at the Bayberry Creek Memorial Gardens Cemetery.
“Never you mind,” Alder said with a wink. “What you don’t know can’t hurt you.”
I got out of the car. “Where is it?” I had only been to one section of the Bayberry Creek Cemetery before, and now I realised it was bigger than I had first thought. I tottered on my heels.
“You wait here and I’ll hurry to the office and ask them.” Alder was already striding away on his long legs before he had even finished speaking.
I was admiring the beautiful gardens when he returned. “It’s over there,” he said, waving his arm expansively.
“Maybe I should have tried to look more official,” I said, looking at my heels. They were actually wedges and I thought they would look more like a detective’s footwear, but then again, I had never really studied a detective’s footwear before.
“You look good,” Alder said. “Are you ready?”
I nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
We made our way past the office and a small florist shop, and then had to take a sharp turn down a short but rather steep hill. Loose gravel was lying around the top of the hill, and once more I was afraid I would overbalance.
“I shouldn’t have worn new shoes,” I said. I was going to say more but stopped when I saw the people gathered down the bottom of the hill to the left. “There’s hardly anyone there,” I said to Alder. “They weren’t exaggerating when they said it would be a small service.”
I walked down the hill with Alder’s steadying hand at my arm. Three ladies dressed in black with large black hats barred our way. “We are from the Black Hat Lady Funerals,” the lady in front said in a stage whisper. “Are you here for the Henry Vanderbilt funeral?”
Alder told her that we were.
“Are you close family friends? This is a closed funeral. May I have your name?”
Alder pulled out his fake ID and nodded to me to do the same. As I held mine in front of the woman, Alder said, “I’m Detective Alder Vervain and this is Detective Amelia Spelled. We are investigating the death of Henry Vanderbilt.”
“Oh, I see,” the woman sputtered. “Does Bernard Vanderbilt know you’re coming?”
“I’m afraid I’m unable to divulge any information,” Alder said in clipped tones.
The woman stepped back and so did her two associates. Alder and I continued on to the gravesite. A large coffin with the AFL football colours of the Essendon football club sat on top of the lowering device over an open grave.
A man with two walking sticks made his way over to meet us. “I’m sorry, this is a closed service,” he barked.
I took the opportunity to study him. He was tall, slender, and stooped, with a slight five o’clock shadow, and long, straggly, thinning hair falling past his shoulders. His complexion was pale.
Alder once more flash
ed his ID, and I did the same. “I’m Detective Vervain and this is Detective Spelled,” he said. “Bernard Vanderbilt, I presume? We’re here to investigate the murder of your brother.”
Bernard was visibly shaken. “But do you have to attend his funeral?”
“I’m afraid we do,” Alder said.
Bernard continued to look taken aback. “Do you think the murderer is here now?” He looked around wildly, which almost caused him to fall over.
Alder hurried to reassure him. “Please don’t concern yourself. This is simply procedure. Detectives always attend the funeral of the deceased. Try not to alarm yourself.”
Bernard looked once more over his shoulder at each guest in turn. I think it hadn’t occurred to him that the murderer might be present at the funeral. “Sure. I’ll do whatever I can do to help,” he said. “We are having drinks at the house at, um, the Vanderbilt estate, afterwards. You’re welcome to attend.”
“Thank you for your cooperation,” Alder said.
Bernard gave Alder the address and he put it into his phone. While Alder was typing, Bernard added, “We’re going to the house as soon as we leave here. Feel free to follow me, or make your way there separately.”
“Was your brother an Essendon supporter?” I asked him.
Bernard’s face turned from a pasty grey to a blotched red. “Oh, the coffin? No, he supported Collingwood, but I didn’t have time to have a Collingwood coffin made. He didn’t mind Essendon, you see. It’s just that these cardboard environmental coffins take four working days to make, and I didn’t want to wait that long to have the service. This coffin had been cancelled, so it was available at once.”
I wondered who would cancel a coffin, and why. I was thoroughly mystified. All sorts of possibilities ran through my mind.
Alder pulled a notepad and pen from his pocket. I idly wondered why he hadn’t done that earlier to write down the address rather than putting it into his phone. “Was there any reason why you wanted the funeral so soon?” Alder asked him.