by Morgana Best
I looked up to see Angela Bloom dressed as a spider. She caught my eye and hurried away, clutching her legs to her. In my view, she was a strong suspect, having had the motive and the opportunity.
Dr Steven Stylish had the same motive and the same opportunity. Still, a doctor was surely more noticeable than a nurse, since a doctor only made rounds once a day, whereas nurses were popping in and out of the rooms at all times.
Thyme grabbed my arm. “Amelia, I think some onesies are here.”
“How can you tell?” I asked her.
“Over there,” she said.
I followed her gaze. Two pumpkins were dancing with each other.
“They are either excellent costumes, or they’re pumpkin onesies,” she said.
“They are indeed pumpkin onesies,” I said, “but they’re not causing any trouble. They would probably cause more trouble if we tried to catch them. Let’s leave them alone for now, but we’ll have to keep an eye on them.”
“That’s not our only problem,” Alder said as a tall figure walked past us. The figure was a flashing green, luminous skeleton with a black cloud around him.
“It can be mistaken for a person,” I said hopefully.
As the ghostly figure walked past us, everyone around murmured that it was the best costume they had seen.
“I think that’s the one Camino made Dawson wear one Halloween,” Thyme said. “It’s controlled automatically. Remember, she gave him electric shocks?”
“I remember that,” I said. “Why are there so many onesies here?”
“There are only about three so far,” Ruprecht said.
Alder pointed behind me. “No, you’re wrong.”
I turned around and gasped.
Chapter 17
Five antique chair onesies ran out the door, followed by Boy George.
“I thought we’d trapped the Boy George onesie in my house,” Camino said with dismay. She took off after them.
“Remember, we said to leave the onesies here alone?” I called to her departing back. She did not respond. I shrugged and looked around for Dr Steven Stylish. Although it was supposed to be a masked ball, not many people were wearing masks. The Grim Reaper was, but his build was too slender to be that of Steven Stylish, who had the physique of a stormtrooper. Somebody was dressed as a pea, but I could not see her face.
I walked around the room and found myself standing next to Angela Bloom, who did not look pleased to see me. “Nice costume,” I said.
“I’m a redback spider.”
I nodded. “I can see that.” Her suit was shiny and black with a big red stripe across the back, and six extra pieces of black material hung from her shoulders. She had four red eyes across the top of her costume. I had never seen a redback spider’s eyes, but I doubted that was accurate—not that I had ever stuck around to examine a redback spider closely. I was usually running in the other direction.
“Can I help you with something?” she asked in a tone which clearly indicated she hoped the answer would be in the negative.
“I’m looking for Dr Steven stylish.”
She seemed to brighten up my words. “Oh, you want to ask him questions?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ve been looking everywhere, but I can’t find him.”
“He’s the evil killer clown talking to the zombie girl,” she said.
I followed her gaze and shuddered. I didn’t like clowns at the best of times. When I was a child, my mother always bought a brand of bubble bath for children and the label sported a clown’s face. I always had to turn the bottle around.
Dr Steven Stylish was dressed in crimson and black. He had something that looked like a crocheted lace doily around his neck and his collar was splattered with fake blood. He was holding a plastic meat cleaver. At least, I hoped it was plastic. No wonder I had not been able to recognise him. He wore a full face mask with a big red bulbous nose and wild black hair. He was terrifying.
I took a step backwards, but Angela tapped my arm. “Perhaps I shouldn’t say this, but I doubt Steven would tell you himself.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“I didn’t tell you before, and maybe I should have.”
I waited patiently for her to continue.
She looked over at the evil killer clown before continuing. “I think I told you that Henry, Steven, and I went to high school together?”
I nodded. She pushed on. “We all knew each other, and then we all went off to university. Steven, of course, went to medical school.”
I took a glass of bubbly from a passing waiter and nodded. “Of course.”
“You’ve probably realised by now that Henry had a cruel streak. He told Steven he needed to borrow money from him.”
I was surprised. “What? When Steven was in medical school? Surely, Steven would have been a broke student at the time.”
“Steven’s parents were wealthy,” Angela told me. “They always paid his expenses, or rather, they gave him a fixed sum per year. Henry visited Steven down at Macquarie University—that’s where he was in medical school—and told him a big story about how he was broke and his grandfather had cut him off. He begged Steven to lend him a large sum of money.”
I was even more surprised. “But why? Why would he want Steven to lend him money?”
Angela’s face turned as red as the stripe on her costume. “Because Henry was a very cruel man. Steven lent him the money, and Henry never paid it back.”
I gasped. “Did Steven see a lawyer?”
Angela shrugged one shoulder, causing three of her legs to shake. “No idea. I don’t know the details that minutely, you understand. I did hear that Steven told his parents, but they said he had to learn by making his own mistakes. Consequently, he spent the whole year broke and he nearly had to drop out of medical school.”
I tapped my head. “Sorry, I’m not making the connection. Why did he nearly have to drop out of medical school?”
“Because he had to pay his accommodation and all the other expenses,” she said. “He had to get a part-time job and so he didn’t have enough time to study. Sydney is one of the most expensive places in the world to live, and he didn’t have any help from his parents for that whole year.”
“I see. So you’re saying Dr Steven Stylish had a motive to murder Henry?”
Angela backed against a table, “No! Not when you put it like that. I mean, sure he had a motive, but I’m only telling you this so you won’t think it’s him.”
The conversation with Angela was becoming more confusing by the minute. “I don’t understand how you think telling me Steven’s motive for killing Henry is helping his case.”
Angela pouted. “Because he won’t tell you all this himself, and then you might find out from someone else and think he was guilty.”
“I see,” I said, although I didn’t. Was Angela the murderer and trying to throw the blame onto Dr Steven Stylish? It certainly seemed that way to me. “Well then, thanks for your help. I’ll go over and speak with him now.”
One of her spider legs flew to her throat. “Don’t tell him I told you anything. Please!”
“I won’t,” I assured her. I had no intention of telling Steven Stylish what Angela had said about him, in case he was the murderer, and then he might retaliate against her.
I walked in his direction and then busied myself looking at trays of Halloween food on the table, and waited until Steven stopped speaking to the zombie. From what I overheard, he appeared to be chatting her up. As soon as she left, I jumped in front of him. “Dr Steven Stylish, I’m a detective…”
He interrupted me. “A detective? I thought you looked like a vampire girl. A hot, Victorian vampire girl.”
I pulled my fake ID from a pocket in my cloak. “Yes, I’m dressed at the ball as a Victorian vampire girl, but in real life I’m a detective, Amelia Spelled,” I lied. “Do you mind if I ask you some questions about the murder of Henry Vanderbilt?”
“I’ve already been through that with the
police, with the other detectives,” he said.
“They’re no longer working on the case,” I said. That much was true. “I’ve taken over the case.”
He gestured around the room. “This is neither the time nor the place.”
“It won’t take long.” It was all I could do not to shudder. I had never been so close to a clown before and I hoped I never would be again.
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
I put on my best fake detective voice. “I’m afraid not, Dr Stylish. This case is time sensitive.”
He raised one bushy clown eyebrow. “Time sensitive? How can that be?”
The man was beginning to annoy me. “I’m afraid I can’t discuss that matter,” I said. “Would you like to speak with me now, or would you like to do it down at the station?” I remembered those words from an Australian cop show on TV.
He sighed long and hard and crossed his arms over his chest. “All right. What do you want to know?”
I launched straight into it. “Our investigation has revealed certain facts, namely the loan which Henry Vanderbilt procured from you under false pretences and which he never repaid.”
I could not tell whether the doctor was shocked, covered as he was by clown make-up. “What of it?” he asked in steely tones.
“It’s a motive,” I said with a wave of my hand.
“I am sure if you google Henry Vanderbilt you will find he was a most unpleasant person, and you will find many people with motives for murder. I am sure half of Hollywood had a motive to murder him.”
“That might be so, but we’re not in Hollywood now,” I said. “We are in Bayberry Creek, and Henry Vanderbilt was murdered in a small hospital room. You were in the ward at the time, doing your rounds.”
“Yes, I was doing the rounds in that ward with a nurse, like I always do,” he countered. “I’m sure if you would take the time to check, you will find I was not by myself at any time.” He pointed to a figure dressed as a sugar skull. “That’s Sally Pryor. I was with her that day. You can ask her. I’m sure the other police already did.”
He made to turn away, but I cleared my throat. He turned back to me. “When did you last speak with Henry Vanderbilt?”
“Years ago,” he said. “When I was in my first year of medical school.”
“And you haven’t seen him since? Or spoken with him since?”
“No to both,” he said. “I did see his dead body after he had been murdered, but that is all.” With that, he marched away with long strides, leaving me staring after his back.
I looked around for the sugar skull lady once more and saw her standing next to a cheese platter. I made my way over to her. She was laughing with a group of people variously dressed as Superman, a pirate, Tinker Bell, and a pumpkin. I had to do a double take to make sure they were not onesies.
“May I have a quick word with you?” I asked her.
She looked surprised, but followed me over to a window. I pulled my fake ID out of my cloak pocket once more. “I’m Detective Spelled, investigating the murder of Henry Vanderbilt,” I said. “Did you know him?”
She looked horrified. “No! I’d never met him. I’m not a suspect, am I?”
I hurried to reassure her. “No, not at all. I was hoping you could help us with our inquiries.”
“I’ve just moved to Bayberry Creek from Tamworth,” she said. “I didn’t even know Henry Vanderbilt was from Bayberry Creek until I saw the report of his murder on the news.”
I nodded. “I wanted to ask you about the circumstances of the day of his murder. You were doing the rounds with Dr Steven Stylish?”
She nodded.
“And did you usually do the rounds with him?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s usually a different nurse every day.”
I tried to remember what the detectives had said to me on previous occasions. “All right, Ms Pryor, please go over the events of that day in your own words.”
She looked up at the ceiling. “Well, we were doing the rounds, and then he briefly popped into each patient’s room, and then we popped into that woman’s room—I forget her name, oh yes, Nancy—and then we popped out, and we were still working our way through the other patients, when a nurse screamed out that somebody had been murdered. Then we both hurried back into the room.”
“So when you and Dr Stylish first went into the room of Nancy Newton, there was no dead body on the floor?”
She looked shocked. “Of course not!”
“And then you were making the rounds of the other patients when a nurse discovered the body, and so you and Dr Stylish both went back into Nancy Newton’s room?”
She nodded again. “Yes, that’s right.”
“And is it correct that in the interval of time between visiting Nancy Newton’s room on both occasions, Dr Stylish was never out of your sight?”
“No, he wasn’t!” she said firmly,
“Thanks for your help,” I said, mentally crossing Dr Steven Stylish off my list.
I was turning away when she said, “Oh, except for that one time.”
I turned back to her. “What one time?”
“When we got to the very next patient, the one in the room after Nancy, Dr Stylish asked me to go and see if the next patient’s blood results were in yet. I wasn’t away for long, though.”
“Exactly how long did you take?” I asked her.
“Three, maybe five minutes? I have no idea.”
“It would be a great help if you could remember,” I said.
She stared up at the ceiling once more. “I think it was probably five minutes. I had to go to the nurses’ station and then they said the results should have come back by now, so we had to look for them. We found the results, and then I took them to him.”
“Was anyone else around the ward at the time?” I asked her.
“No, it was pretty quiet. I didn’t really see anyone, just maybe a visitor or two, and a nurse and a doctor.”
“A nurse and a doctor? Were they together? And what did the visitors look like?”
She shrugged. “I can’t remember, I’m sorry, but I do know the doctor and nurse weren’t together. The doctor was leaving, and the nurse was going into another room.”
Something occurred to me. “Who was in the room next to Nancy Newton’s room? I know you mentioned the patient in the next room, but who was in the room on the other side of Nancy’s room?”
“No one at the moment,” she said. “It was empty. It was a man with a knee replacement and he’d gone home two days before the murder.”
“Thanks, you’ve been a great help,” I said.
I turned to the table and picked up a chocolate bat cake, which I popped into my mouth. I needed carbs to think properly. So, there was an empty room next to the room where the murder occurred. The murderer no doubt hid in there. That is, if the murderer wasn’t Dr Steven Stylish.
I reached for the bubbly, but my arm froze as a scream pierced the air.
Chapter 18
A tall, green pea shrieked and ran out the front door with Camino in hot pursuit.
Alder at once appeared by my side. I have no idea how he did that—seconds ago I had spied him over the other side of the room. “Amelia, we have a problem.”
“I know, right!” I said. “I have no idea why Camino chased that onesie. I thought we’d agreed to leave all the onesies at the ball in peace, unless one of them tried something.”
“Camino reached for the last triple chocolate cauldron cupcake, but the pea beat to her to it,” Alder said. “And Amelia, that pea is not a onesie.”
“Not a onesie?” I shrieked. “Are you sure?”
“I’m positive,” Alder said. “I’ve seen her at the local bank.”
We looked at each other and then hurried out the door, Alder in his usual dashing style and me in a frantic manner, waving my arms about me.
“Camino!” I called out as I saw Camino and the pea disappear into the bushes alongside the car park. “Th
at’s not a onesie!”
“She can’t hear you,” Alder said. “Let’s split up. I’ll go to the right and you go to the left.”
I was about to protest that when people split up in movies, they get killed, but Alder had already left. I turned to the left and hurried towards the edge of the bushes. When I got there, I could see Camino in the distance crash tackle the pea. The pea was yelling obscenities. I couldn’t hear what Camino was saying. She put the pea in an arm lock and marched her to the car.
I stopped. I stood still and screamed at the top of my lungs, “Camino! That’s not a onesie.”
Camino did not hear or see me.
I hurried over to her, the going made difficult by my tight vampire dress and my heels. I thought about taking off my heels, but broken glass littered the ground. All I could do as I tottered along on my heels was watch Camino tie the pea’s hands behind her back. She opened her car door and pushed the pea inside.
As Camino’s car screeched past me, I jumped up and down and waved my arms. Camino smiled and gave me the thumbs up.
Alder appeared at my side. “Where were you?” I asked him.
“I saw a shadow lurking around, so I followed it to make sure it wasn’t following you,” he said.
I pointed in the direction Camino’s car had gone. “It’s the pea! Camino tied her up and put her in the car.”
“Where would she take her?” Alder asked.
“Maybe back to her place? Or to our place?”
“Let’s hope so.” Alder took my hand and we sprinted to his car. He drove straight home. We hadn’t gone far when I yelled, “Stop! Is that the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man?”
We both jumped out of the car and ran behind some shops, but there was no sign of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.
“Maybe I imagined him,” I said.
Alder shook his head. “I’m sure you saw him. It’s good to know he’s still in town and isn’t hiding somewhere out of town. That means we have a better chance of getting Camino’s book back.”