The Halloween Truth Spell

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The Halloween Truth Spell Page 6

by Morgana Best


  Bernard put both crutches under one arm and pulled a white linen handkerchief from his pocket. He jabbed at his eyes, which were already red. “Henry was the only relative I had left. His death was so unexpected. I wanted it over with quickly—I just wanted it all over. I would have become more anxious if I’d had to wait around another week for the funeral. I wanted it over with!” His voice rose to a high pitch.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said in soothing tones. “Anyway, we are keeping you from your guests. Thank you for your assistance.”

  Bennett inclined his head. He put his other crutch back under his arm and headed back to the guests who were staring at us.

  “You know, we should have had Camino here to represent her friend, the victim’s old nurse,” I whispered to Alder.

  “I was just thinking the same thing, but it’s probably less fuss if she isn’t,” Alder said.

  I nodded my agreement.

  The lady from the Black Hat Lady Funerals hurried over to Bernard and took him by the elbow. “Is the coffin the right height?” she asked breathlessly. “I know you said you wanted the bottom of it to be at ground level, but this is forty-five centimetres above ground level. I can have someone lower it, if you want.”

  “It’s perfectly fine how it is,” he said. “It’s perfectly fine.”

  “Are you sure? Because I can lower it a little, if you’d like.”

  “I told you, it’s fine like it is.”

  I thought the woman was rather fussy for someone who should be able to see that Bernard was already on edge. Still, she pushed on. “Like I told you earlier, there is sand in that box for anyone who wants to throw sand on top of the coffin,” she said.

  “You’ve already told me five times,” Bernard snapped. “Like I’ve already told you one hundred times, the coffin is at the right height, and we don’t want to throw any sand on top of it.”

  The woman nodded and hurried away. I noticed her suit was a little crinkled and had clearly not been pressed. I thought that rather inappropriate.

  I cast a look around the section of the cemetery in which we were now standing. The headstones were small, and it was one of the less grand areas of the cemetery. Since Henry was Bernard’s last living relative and since they were extremely rich, I would have thought Bernard would have given him a grander burial.

  A flash caught my eye. I looked over to see paparazzi over the hill. It was obvious to me that one man was photographing everything with a telephoto lens.

  Bernard was standing near the coffin and other people were seated under a small marquee, which had only around sixteen or so seats in it. Five people were seated in the front row, so Alder and I sat behind them. Bernard stood in front of the coffin. “Would anyone like to say anything?” he asked.

  When no one responded, he said, “I will now read my brother’s favourite Psalm, Psalm 91.” He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and read aloud. When he finished, he said, “Henry was a good actor. Of course, we all thought he would live for years. His death was most unexpected. Henry and I did not always see eye to eye as children. He pushed me over a bridge into a pond. I landed on a submerged tree which gave me spinal injuries from which I have never recovered.”

  A scowl covered his face. “Of course, children at times will do silly things like that, and Henry always made sure I was well cared for. Everyone who knew him said he was a kind person. I can’t say everybody liked him as he was murdered, so obviously there was one person out there who didn’t like him, unless it was a case of mistaken identity.”

  He paused for a moment, and then added, “Of course, it couldn’t be a case of mistaken identity, because he was a well-known actor. If anyone has any suspicions as to who it could be, there are two detectives here sitting at the back.” He pointed to us, and the people in the front row turned around and stared at us briefly before turning back to the front.

  Bernard nodded to a chair on the front row. For the first time, I noticed it had pink and red roses on it. “I would like everyone to come forward and take a rose and place it on the coffin. Feel free to say something to Henry if you would like.”

  The people in the front row got up and placed a rose on the coffin before sitting down.

  “Detectives, you can place a rose too. I expected some more people here, so there are some roses left over.”

  Alder and I exchanged glances. I felt uneasy, but Alder and I walked over to the roses. There were two pink roses left, so we each placed one on top of the coffin before sitting back down.

  “Thank you for coming today to pay your respects to my brother,” Bernard said. “Henry was not a particularly religious man, so I didn’t want to have a service for him. Most of his life was spent in the limelight, so I thought it would be fitting to have a quiet, private service. This brings this service to an end. I’m going to leave now because I don’t want to see the coffin lowered. It would make me too upset.” His voice broke.

  Once more, Bernard leant on both walking sticks and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. “If anyone wants to stay and see the coffin lowered, please feel free to do so. I have instructed the Black Hat Lady Funerals to wait until I am out of sight before they lower the coffin.” With that, he walked away.

  Everyone else continued to sit, so I assumed they were staying for the lowering of the coffin. Alder tapped my arm and we walked behind Bernard. He made his way ever so slowly, and when he was free of the graves section, the Black Hat Lady Funerals lady hurried over to him. “I’ve checked and there is GST on the death certificate,” she said firmly.

  “I’ve checked with my tax accountant, and I can assure you there isn’t,” he said. “It’s $49.50, as I’ve told you several times. There is no GST on top of that.”

  “But I called the registrar at the Black Hat Lady Funerals’ franchise office and they told me we have to add GST to everything,” she said.

  Bernard made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. “You didn’t ask the right question! You’re not supposed to add GST to the death certificate,” he said. “For goodness’ sake woman, just call the Australian Tax Office!” With that, he walked away with the woman following him.

  “That’s a most inappropriate thing for her to say at a funeral,” I remarked to Alder. He readily agreed. “What do we do now?” I asked him.

  “Let’s stand here and observe the behaviour of the other people. The murderer is surely here.”

  I frowned. “Unless it’s one of the journalists. They’re not allowed here.”

  I looked up at Bernard, who was still making his way up the short, steep hill.

  “We will probably find more out more at the wake,” Alder said, “but I did find out something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

  “What is it?” I asked, intrigued.

  “One of the paparazzi, Darius Dailey, lost everything in a lawsuit that the victim brought against him.”

  “You’re kidding!” I said. “Is he in town at the moment?”

  “Yes, he is.” Alder pointed to a man with a camera standing behind the hearse. “I heard he followed Henry to Australia. I haven’t had a good look at that man, but from the photos I’ve seen on the net, I’m pretty sure that’s him.”

  I squinted and peered at the man. He was short and portly, and wearing a black suit and tie. “I didn’t notice him until now.”

  Alder nodded. “He’s sneaky. He had the opportunity and he had a motive.”

  “Those people sitting in front of us were doctors and nurses from the hospital, from what I overheard. Maybe one of them knows something.”

  “Keep your ears and eyes open at the wake,” Alder said. “And Amelia, don’t take any chances.”

  Chapter 10

  We approached the high steel gates of the Vanderbilt estate. “I never realised this was out here, and so close to town,” I said to Alder.

  “I’ve driven past it on occasion,” Alder said.

  “It looks like a house the Russian mafia would own
in movies.”

  The house sported high stone fences, and the entrance was through fancy iron gates. The house could not be seen over the fence, despite the fact the road past the house wound up a hill. The house was impressive for a house in country Australia. It did indeed look like something out of a movie set, wide and sprawling, with an imposing porch.

  Alder drove through the entrance and up the gravel driveway flanked with elm trees and flowering shrubs to the parking area. On closer inspection, I thought the gardens seemed rather unkempt.

  Before I could say anything to Alder, he voiced the same thoughts. “The lawns seem recently mown, but the gardens don’t look well tended,” he said. “Only the native plants seem to be thriving, which isn’t surprising since native plants always thrive with no care unless it’s a drought.”

  “Even the geraniums don’t look the best,” I said, pointing to some drooping purple and red geraniums flanking the driveway.

  Alder agreed. “Henry Vanderbilt did spend most of his time in Hollywood, but surely he left funds to maintain the grounds. And what about Bernard? I wonder if they share the estate.”

  “Ask him later. Pretend it’s part of the murder investigation.”

  “It is part of the murder investigation,” Alder said. “We have to know who stands to inherit Henry’s share of the estate.”

  “If Bernard owns a half share, then he’s already wealthy,” I pointed out.

  We had reached the door, and a man opened it. At first I thought he was the butler, but then I thought he looked suspiciously like Darius Dailey.

  He offered his hand at once.

  I shook it. “Aren’t you Darius Dailey, a member of the paparazzi?” I blurted out. “Are you allowed here?”

  Darius laughed, a high tinkling laugh. “Yes, Bernard Vanderbilt himself invited me,” he said in an American accent.

  Bernard appeared beside him. This time, he was in a motorised wheelchair. “I agreed to have one journalist present,” he said. “It was inevitable they would take photos, so I decided to sell the story to one of them.” To Darius he said, “These detectives are here to investigate the murder.”

  Darius’s hand flew to his chest. “Murder?” he said. Anyone would have thought that he was hearing about the murder for the first time.

  “Yes, Henry Vanderbilt was murdered,” I said.

  “Obviously, I know that.” He waved a hand at me. “Detectives, you say? Who is your main suspect to date?”

  “We are not at liberty to discuss the case,” Alder said firmly.

  “May I quote you on that?” One side of his lip curled up.

  “No. This is a federal investigation and any quoting of our words will attract heavy penalties.” Alder loomed over the man, who suddenly appeared afraid and stalked off in another direction.

  “I don’t like him,” I whispered to Alder.

  “That doesn’t mean he’s the murderer,” Alder said. “It is strange that Bernard has chosen to sell the story to this guy in particular, considering his brother won a lawsuit against him.”

  “Maybe there was no love lost between the brothers,” I offered.

  Alder agreed. “Bernard didn’t exactly sing his praises at the funeral.”

  “If Bernard was the murderer, then surely he would have lavished praise on his brother in a glowing eulogy as a cover-up,” I pointed out.

  Alder frowned. “Perhaps. Let’s mingle.”

  We had delayed driving to the wake to ensure everyone would get there before us, and indeed our plan worked. I saw a woman helping herself to sandwiches, and I walked over to introduce myself. “I’m Amelia.”

  She stuck out her hand and I shook it. “Angela Bloom. I was one of the nurses on duty when Henry Vanderbilt was murdered.” She sniffled into a tissue.

  I wondered why she was so upset. “Did you see the body?” I asked her.

  “No, it’s not that. Henry and I dated years ago,” she said. “We lost touch, but it’s very upsetting. We went to school together, here in Bayberry Creek.”

  “I’m so dreadfully sorry,” I said. “That must have been awful for you. Were you on duty in the ward when he was murdered?”

  She nodded slowly. “Isn’t that a coincidence! And so was Dr Stylish.” She nodded to a man whose name belied his appearance. He was dressed in a crumpled suit and his hair had too much product on it. He was awfully pale, and he reminded me of the Grim Reaper.

  “Dr Stylish knew Henry personally as well?”

  She nodded again. “The three of us went to school together. Steven Stylish and Henry were friends. Steven was doing his rounds in the ward when Henry was, you know, murdered.” Her voice ended with a gulp.

  “Yes, it was in the room of a coma patient, wasn’t it?”

  She nodded again. “Yes, she’s the only witness.”

  “There was a witness?” I said, almost dropping the watercress sandwich I had just put on my plate.

  Angela looked around the room and then leant closer to me. “When some coma patients wake up, they can recount everything that happened in the room. While they were in the coma, I mean,” she added in conspiratorial tones.

  “I’ve heard that,” I said. “Is it common?”

  “Well, it’s not uncommon.”

  “Does that mean when the coma patient wakes up, she might know who murdered Henry?”

  The nurse shook her head. “Only if words were exchanged. She could only have heard things, obviously, since her eyes were shut. She wouldn’t have been able to see anything. Of course, some coma patients wake up and then go back to sleep again.”

  “Then maybe she needs police protection.”

  Angela shot me a strange look. “Why would she need police protection?”

  I should have thought the answer was obvious. “You said it yourself—she might have heard the murderer say something to the victim, or maybe she did wake up?”

  Angela seemed entirely unconcerned. “It is unlikely, though. Anyway, how did you know Henry?”

  “I’m a detective investigating the case,” I said. “And that’s the other detective over there.” I nodded to Alder.

  Angela looked terrified. “Police? You didn’t say you were police.”

  I plastered a nonchalant look on my face. “Didn’t I? I’m terribly sorry. We’re here to investigate Henry Vanderbilt’s murder. What you said about the lady in the coma was helpful. Do you have any idea who could have murdered Henry?”

  Angela’s look of shock was replaced by one of anger. “Probably lots of people. He, no doubt, had enemies in Hollywood, so you should investigate to see if anyone from Hollywood happened to be in town when he was murdered.”

  “Yes, thank you, we are already following that line of investigation,” I said, trying to sound as much like a detective as possible. “You said he wasn’t well liked. Did anybody in particular have a grudge against him?”

  “Well, I was one of his jilted girlfriends,” she said, “and Steven Stylish had a falling out with him once. Of course, that doesn’t mean anything because lots of people have arguments. And we all heard how Henry took Darius Dailey to court and won. I followed that case at the time, you know, because I knew Henry and all that. The newspapers said Henry took Darius for every cent he had, and Darius lost his house and his career, and even his wife left him.”

  “Surely Darius didn’t lose his career, given that he’s still a journalist,” I pointed out.

  She shook her head. “I think he had to go freelance after that. He was working for one of the larger entertainment magazines at the time. Look, is that all? I want to go and mingle.”

  I shot her a wide smile. “Of course. You’ve been very helpful.”

  I watched her walk away. She had been very helpful indeed. So the paparazzi guy definitely did have a motive, and maybe even Dr Steven Stylish had a motive as well. And since Henry had jilted Angela at one point, maybe he had jilted someone else in such a way that she now held a grudge. I would have to find out.

  Da
rius let out a scream.

  Everyone hurried to his side.

  “Out there!” he screamed, pointing out the window.

  Chapter 11

  “The tree moved!” he screeched.

  I followed his gaze. Sure enough, there was a flowering wattle bush standing in an odd place, all by itself in the middle of the lawn. “And the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man ran through those trees!”

  “How much have you been drinking, Darius?” Bernard asked him with a laugh.

  “But it happened, I tell you!” he shrieked. “And those two bushes over there moved.” He pointed to two wild fuchsia bushes.

  I didn’t know what to say. The others chuckled and walked away. I turned around and walked straight into Angela. She had apparently changed her mind about talking to me. “Don’t you think it strange that Bernard would invite someone his brother hated to the funeral and wake?”

  I hesitated. “I suppose it is strange. Did Bernard and his brother have a good relationship?”

  She shook her head. “Not at all. Henry owned the entire estate, you see.” She waved her hands around the room. “It was left to him by his grandfather, Aurelius Vanderbilt. Henry was the sole heir.”

  “His grandfather?” I repeated. “Why would the grandfather leave it all to one brother and not the other?”

  Angela shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “I suppose Bernard inherits that the estate now?”

  She shot me a shrewd look. “You’re thinking motive?”

  There was no point denying it, so I nodded.

  “Yes, that’s what I’m thinking too. Their grandfather left the estate to Henry, so maybe Bernard saw his chance to murder his brother and inherit everything. After all, half of it was rightfully his, but he never got it.”

  “Has Bernard been living in Bayberry Creek all this time?”

  Angela nodded slowly. “Yes, as far as I know. The estate was left only to Henry, but because he was overseas all the time, he let his brother live here for free in exchange for managing the estate.”

  I thought it over. That didn’t give Bernard a motive to murder his brother, not if he was living there for free. Not after all these years. That is, unless Henry had decided to leave the estate to someone else. “Did Henry have any heirs?”

 

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