by Morgana Best
Angela chuckled. “Not as far as I know. Not legitimate ones at any rate. That man over there is his lawyer.”
“Bernard’s lawyer?” I asked for clarification.
She nodded, and I studied the man. He was tall and young, with black hair and a bushy black moustache, and even from a distance I could see he was pretentious. He was doing a stretch in an ostentatious manner, clearly to signal to all that he indulged in athletics of some kind. After he finished the calf stretch, he stretched his arm. I had never seen anyone do stretches in public before, only if they were outside a gym or in a park about to go for a run. This man was wearing a too-tight suit. He caught my eye and smiled at me. I at once looked away, but that didn’t prevent him from sauntering over to me. He held out his hand and I took it, intending to shake it, but he picked it up and firmly pressed it to his lips.
“I haven’t seen you around here before,” he said in honeyed tones. “I’m John Rugendyke, Bernard’s lawyer.”
“And I’m Detective Amelia Spelled, here to investigate Henry Vanderbilt’s murder.”
Rugendyke dropped my hand like a hot potato. His benign expression was quickly replaced by one of shock. “It wasn’t my client, I can assure you,” he said.
I arched one eyebrow. “Your client inherits everything?”
“Yes, but half of the estate should already have been his.”
“I heard that. Why didn’t he contest the will years ago when his grandfather originally left everything to Henry?”
Rugendyke shook his head, a look of disgust covering his face. “Money, or rather a lack of money, to be precise. Bernard was penniless, so he had nothing with which to initiate or fight a court case. These things take money, Detective Spelled.”
“I’m sure they do.” I nodded to Darius who was going from one window to the other, peeking out. “Henry obviously had enough money to fight the court case with Darius Dailey and win.”
Rugendyke picked up a champagne flute from a silver tray on an ornate burr walnut table. “That is correct.”
“So if the Vanderbilts were at odds with Darius Dailey, why did Bernard give the story to him?”
“And you call yourself a detective?” Rugendyke lowered his champagne from his lips and chuckled.
I didn’t follow his reasoning and said so.
“There was clearly no love lost between Henry and Bernard, considering Henry stole Bernard’s inheritance,” he said. “Sure, Henry let Bernard live here for free and provided him a stipend to manage the estate, but it’s not the same as actually owning half this place, is it?”
I narrowed my eyes. “So the two of them did not have a good relationship?”
Rugendyke snorted rudely. “Obviously! But if you think my client murdered Henry, you’re quite mistaken. He had plenty of opportunity to murder him over the years and in more private places than a hospital.” He nodded to Bernard in the wheelchair. “Besides, anyone would have remembered someone on crutches or in a wheelchair. It would have been hard, if not impossible, for Bernard to slip in unnoticed and do the deed.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Are you a criminal lawyer?”
He seemed to think my question funny. “You’re wondering if Bernard hired me to defend himself against a murder case? No. You’re completely wrong. He hired me some years ago. I was the one who told him he didn’t have enough money to pursue the inheritance case.”
“But surely he would have had a good case?” I said. “It’s only right that the two sons would inherit equally.”
Rugendyke crossed his arms over his chest. “The law has nothing to do with justice, Detective Spelled, and you would do well to remember that. Sometimes, it’s a matter of whoever has the most money to pursue a case. Henry had fancy lawyers. By the time his grandfather died, he was already a successful Hollywood actor. He had the money to hire a team of expensive lawyers. On the other hand, Bernard had no money at all.”
“Is that why he had to have a cheap funeral for his brother? Because he didn’t have any money to pay the expenses?”
Rugendyke frowned. “There is no such thing as a cheap funeral,” he said, chuckling again. “No, Detective Spelled, funeral expenses are permitted to come out of the deceased’s estate, according to Australian law.”
“How did Bernard access the money from Henry’s estate to pay for the funeral?” I asked him.
Rugendyke nodded to a short woman with grey hair. She was clutching a cat to her chest. “That is Celia Hunt, Henry’s lawyer. I asked her to release the money and she was happy to do so, for the funeral expenses and for the gravesite, that is.”
“Is that normal?” I asked him.
He nodded. “Perfectly normal. I also managed to get her to release the funds for this.”
“You mean the wake?”
He nodded. “Quite so. And that isn’t particularly usual. It is usual for management to release money from the estate both for the funeral service and for the burial, but only for the flowers if the funeral director bills for them. That is to say, Bernard couldn’t buy flowers from a florist and expect to have the money provided for that, so I was surprised when Henry’s lawyer agreed to release funds for the wake. Normally, Bernard would have had to pay for the catering himself.”
“I see.” I wondered if there was any particular reason for that, something that could lead to a clue for Henry’s murder. I filed the information away in the back of my mind and intended to tell Alder about it later. I cast a look around the room for Alder and saw him standing next to Darius. They were both looking out the window.
“But what exactly did Bernard do for a living? Was he living here at the estate with his grandfather at the time of his grandfather’s death?”
“Yes, he was. Bernard has been on the NDIS, the national disability pension,” Rugendyke said. “That’s a mere pittance, in case you’re not aware of such matters. It hardly provides enough for one to live on week to week, let alone pay for a lawyer.” With that, he sauntered away.
Chapter 12
I bent down to stroke a particularly pretty cat that rubbed his head on my leg.
“That’s a ragdoll cat.”
I looked up to see Celia Hunt, Henry’s lawyer. “He’s a beautiful cat,” I said.
She readily agreed. “Ragdoll cats are lovely to look at and they have lovely, docile natures as well. Henry had five of them.”
“Five?” I shrieked.
She nodded. “Bernard has done a good job of looking after them.”
I immediately wondered if that was why she had allowed Bernard access to Henry’s estate funds for the catering, because he had done such a good job of looking after the cats. “Did Henry spend much time with the cats?”
Celia frowned deeply before schooling her features into a mask. “No, he didn’t return to Bayberry Creek much at all, very rarely, in fact. These cats are all twelve years old now. Henry bought them before he went to Hollywood and became famous.”
“So he was a cat lover?”
She shrugged one shoulder ever so slightly. “I wouldn’t say that. I think they were more for show than anything. He brought these from a breeder. They’re not rescue cats, you see. He paid a huge sum of money for them. He also had a pair of salukis.”
“Salukis?” I repeated.
She nodded. “Yes, those Arabian gazelle hounds.” I must have looked blank, because she added, “They look a little like greyhounds, only taller and they have some long hair on parts of their body.”
“Oh yes! Beautiful dogs. I remember seeing them in oil paintings. What happened to those dogs?”
“Henry sent them to a shelter when he moved to Hollywood, but I managed to find a wonderful home where they would be kept together.”
“That’s a relief,” I said. “I wonder why he kept the cats when he left Australia?”
“Because he knew Bernard was allergic to cats, probably,” she said. This time she was unable to mask the look of dislike that crossed her face. Clearly, Henry’s lawyer was not overly fo
nd of her former client.
“What’s happening with the cats now?”
“Bernard is keeping them. He’s become quite attached to them over the years.”
“But what about his allergies?”
Celia looked entirely unconcerned. “The cats have been here with Bernard and his allergies for twelve years. I don’t think them living out their days here will affect him in any way.”
Something occurred to me. “Henry’s will doesn’t say the cats should be sent to a shelter or anything, does it?” I asked in alarm.
The look of distaste that crossed her face now was entirely obvious. “I can’t discuss the terms of the will. But no, the cats are to be left with Bernard. I thought of that,” she added firmly. “And at least now the estate won’t be sold.”
Now it clicked into place. Celia Hunt was a cat lover and she respected Bernard for looking after the cats. She disliked Henry. I was now certain she had released the funds for the catering to do Bernard a favour, and I figured he had probably added some cat treats to the catering costs.
Darius let out another shriek. This time, nobody took any notice of him. “Those wattle trees have all moved!”
Celia caught my eye. She smiled. “I had better go and mingle.”
The cat I had been stroking ran over and hopped on Bernard’s knee when he paused his wheelchair for a moment. I walked over to speak with him.
“I hope it’s all right if I ask you some questions now? I do understand if you’d rather I not, given the circumstances.”
He waved one hand at me in dismissal. “That’s perfectly fine. Go ahead. It will be a welcome distraction.”
I opened my purse and pulled out a notepad and pen, doing my best to look official. Truth be told, my handwriting was unintelligible, even to me. I would have to remember what he said. “So, I heard you and your brother, Henry, were not always on the best of terms.”
He grunted so loudly that the cat jumped off his lap and stalked away. I saw Celia in the background, shaking a packet of cat treats. The other four cats appeared as if from nowhere. I turned my attention back to Bernard.
“My brother and I did dislike each other,” he said. “It all happened when my brother caused my disability.”
“He actually caused it?” I said.
“Well, I suppose it probably started before that. I was the younger, and Henry was convinced I was my grandfather’s favourite. It was entirely groundless. In fact, I can’t remember a time when Henry actually liked me. Henry used to bite his arm and show it to our grandfather, and then my grandfather would hit me with his leather belt and stop me watching TV for a week.”
“You’re kidding!” I said. “He actually did that?”
Bernard nodded. “And we were supposed to share chores, but Henry never did share. For example, we were both supposed to stack the dishwasher when we came home from school, but Henry never did. I always did Henry’s share for him. One day, I only did my share and our grandfather was furious with me. He said I shouldn’t be so selfish, that I should have done Henry’s share as well.”
“That doesn’t sound fair,” I said.
Bernard continued to nod, his face growing redder with each word. “And then, one day we were down by the dam. It has a bridge over it. It’s an ornamental dam, not a farm dam, you understand?”
I nodded, trying to picture it.
He pushed on. “It has a little stone bridge like one you’d see in English landscapes. Anyway, we were never allowed to swim in the dam because it had submerged logs. One day, Henry and I had one of our arguments, and I walked down to the bridge to cool off. Metaphorically, you understand—I wasn’t about to jump in the dam. Anyway, I was leaning over the wall when Henry appeared. We struggled, and he threw me over the bridge wall into the dam.”
I gasped. “Could you swim?”
“Yes, but that’s beside the point. It wasn’t that deep. I landed on my back on a submerged log and if my grandfather hadn’t appeared and pulled me out, I would be dead.”
“Did your grandfather punish Henry?”
Bernard made a strangled sound of the back of his throat. “No, not at all. Henry told him I jumped off the bridge despite his best efforts to stop me.”
I was incredulous. “Did your grandfather believe him?”
Bernard nodded. “My grandfather believed everything Henry said.”
“And so what were your injuries, if you don’t mind me asking?”
The ragdoll cat jumped into back into his lap and purred loudly. He stroked it and looked off into the distance. “My spine was compressed. I’m not wheelchair bound, as you saw the funeral, but it is exhausting to be out of the wheelchair for too long. I can walk fine if I can hang onto furniture or if I walk down a narrow corridor and place my hands on the walls. The main thing is that I’m slow getting about.”
I had no idea what to say, so simply said, “That’s terrible. Was your brother ever sorry for what he did?”
Bernard looked startled as if I had said something entirely preposterous. “Of course not! Henry was evil, rotten to the core. I suppose it’s a terrible thing to say about my own brother, especially now he’s dead, but it’s true. I’m not surprised somebody murdered him, truth be told.”
I remembered I hadn’t made a show of writing anything in my notepad, so I quickly scribbled some notes. I looked up and said, “And why did your grandfather leave the entire inheritance to Henry?”
A black look covered Bernard’s face. “Henry told my grandfather I wasn’t disabled at all. He told him I was faking it.”
Once more, I was shocked. “And your grandfather believed that?”
Bernard nodded vigorously. “Yes, he believed it all right. He believed everything Henry said. Henry could do no wrong in my grandfather’s eyes. You see, our parents died in a plane crash soon after I was born. We were raised by a nanny.”
Of course, the nanny, Camino’s friend. “And couldn’t your nanny defend you to your grandfather?”
He shook his head. “My grandfather hardly ever spoke to the nanny. He had that old-fashioned mentality—he saw her as a servant. They rarely spoke. In fact, he just set down rules for the nanny to follow and that was about it. He rarely spoke to me, either. Of course, when Henry went running to him with some lies about me, I certainly saw him then.”
“That’s terrible,” I said once more. And indeed it was. Darius let out another shriek, and Bernard went over to him.
Alder appeared at my side. “You were having a good talk with Bernard,” he said. “Did you discover anything interesting?”
“I sure did.” I told him everything Bernard had said.
“Then Bernard certainly has a motive for murdering his brother.”
I agreed. “The only thing is, why murder him now? And Bernard has to be in a wheelchair or on crutches. Someone would have seen him at the hospital. Why murder Henry at the hospital instead of here at the estate? That doesn’t make sense.”
“Yes, otherwise Bernard would be at the top of my suspects’ list,” Alder said. “Also, I discovered that Henry had to visit the estate once a year under the terms of his grandfather’s will. That means Bernard would have had a chance to murder him on a yearly basis.”
“Then who else do we investigate?” I asked him
He gestured around the room. “Darius Dailey, Angela Bloom, Dr Steven Stylish.”
“Maybe his old nanny, Nancy Newton, will come out of the coma and remember something that happened in her room,” I said to Alder. “The nurse told me that some people in comas remember everything that happened in the room.”
“It’s a shame we can’t get someone to guard the nanny,” Alder said. “If the murderer knows that, she could be in danger. Is she expected to come out of the coma soon?”
“I don’t think anyone knows,” I told him. “I think she is expected to come out of it spontaneously, with no warning. Also, some people have come out of comas for a few minutes and slipped back into them.”
&nbs
p; Alder tapped his chin. “This is a mysterious case. A mysterious case indeed.”
My handbag shook. It took me a moment to realise my phone was inside it and was vibrating. I opened my handbag to see a missed call from Camino. I called her straight back.
“Amelia, is Alder with you?”
“Yes, we’re at Henry Vanderbilt’s wake.”
“You have to come to the hospital quickly. Nancy Newton woke up.”
Chapter 13
“Something just occurred to me,” Alder said as we approached the hospital. “We are assuming Nancy Newton is still awake, but did Camino say she woke up and then fell back into a coma?”
“Camino didn’t say much at all, and then she hung up,” I said. “I called her back, but she didn’t answer.”
Alder leant out the window and pressed the button for the parking ticket to the hospital. “This is a rip-off,” he muttered to himself. “The cost of parking here is exorbitant.”
There were plenty of parking spaces and they were all close to the lifts. We took the lift up to the floor of the nanny’s ward.
“This hospital doesn’t have that disinfectant smell that most hospitals have,” I said to Alder with a shudder. I particularly disliked hospitals.
Alder agreed. “And they have visiting hours all day and night too. That will make our job easier.”
“We don’t need it, considering we have fake detective ID’s.” I realised I had said that too loudly, so looked around, but thankfully no one was in sight.
We walked past the nurses’ station which was decorated with Halloween items: a skeleton and a skull, both of which I thought somewhat inappropriate for a hospital, a plastic crow in a plastic cage, and a green plastic broom along with a sparking black witch’s hat.
The room numbers were not in a logical sequence. We walked down one corridor, retraced our steps and turned right, to see Nancy’s room number in front of us. The door was open and I could see Camino sitting in a chair. She jumped nimbly from the chair and raced towards, us her index finger to her mouth.