Ghostly Hitchhiker Box Set

by Rodney Strong

He was slightly pleased at the compliment but couldn’t resist saying, ‘I thought con artists weren’t criminals?’

  ‘Grow up, Oliver,’ Alice said.

  (Ha, ha, she told you off.)

  The front door of the building was locked but they didn’t have to wait long for someone to open the glass door from the inside and hustle out onto the street, holding the door open for them.

  ‘So much for security,’ Oliver muttered. Now they were in between two doors, the inside one was still locked. He could see the foyer was small but brightly lit, with an elevator directly ahead of them. Beside it were stairs leading upwards. On the wall was a row of buttons with neatly printed names next to them. Oliver ran his finger down the list and found Rawlings next to 3F. Out of habit he pressed the buzzer, then looked down in embarrassment.

  For once Alice didn’t make a comment.

  The button for 3E didn’t have a name next to it, while the one for 3G had Ng. He pushed it and there was a long pause before a crackly harassed sounding female voice said, ‘Yes?’

  Oliver stepped aside as Alice went into full grandmother mode.

  ‘Hello, dear, I’m looking for my grandson. Nick was meant to meet me at the bus station but he didn’t show up and now he’s not answering his apartment. Do you happen to know if he’s home?’

  She sounded so frail that if it had been Oliver on the other end of the intercom he would have been half way down the stairs with a chair in his hands. 3G was proving to be a tougher customer.

  ‘Can’t help you.’

  ‘Oh dear. What am I going to do with all these banana and chocolate chip muffins then?’

  ‘Chocolate chip?’ said the voice.

  ‘Double chocolate chip.’

  There was no reply, but a soft buzz sounded followed by a click and when he tried it the internal door swung open.

  Alice headed for the elevator and when Oliver joined her she glanced down at his stomach, ‘Are you sure you don’t want to use the stairs, dear?’

  (Ha, ha, she called you fat.)

  ‘Quite sure, thank you,’ he replied, but when she turned back to the front he sucked his stomach in a little.

  (Ha, you’re calling yourself fat.)

  That’s enough out of you.

  After a short ride in an old creaking elevator they stood in a narrow corridor that disappeared around corners in both directions. Apartment 3E was directly ahead of them and 3F was in the corner to their left so they went that way. Around the corner they found the number they were after. Oliver knocked softly, because it seemed to be that sort of place, where excess noise was confined to late night parties, not during the day.

  The door swung open abruptly to reveal a woman that fit the voice perfectly. She appeared to be in her early twenties, tall and thin, wearing baggy tracksuit pants and a pale blue singlet top. Her brown hair was cropped short and her long fingers were wrapped around the biggest coffee cup Oliver had ever seen. There were dark rings under her eyes, and Oliver noticed the nails on the fingers gripping the cup were ragged and short, as if they had been the last thing the woman ate.

  The woman’s eyes flicked from Oliver’s face to the basket of muffins, and she licked her lips. Oliver shuffled slightly to the side just in case she made a sudden lunge towards the food. He had recently spent some time in the company of students and recognised the haunted “I’ve got finals coming up and forgot to eat” look.

  ‘Hello, dear,’ Alice said. ‘Would you like a muffin?’ She removed the cloth and held out the basket.

  ‘Well, perhaps just one,’ the woman said. She took a muffin from the top and her hand hesitated. Oliver could almost see her brain calculating the level of rudeness if she took a second one at the same time.

  ‘There’s plenty, dear,’ Alice said.

  The woman snatched a second one with her other hand. ‘Would you like to come in for a coffee?’ she said through a mouthful.

  Inwardly Oliver thought that more coffee seemed like a bad idea, but he smiled and said that would be wonderful.

  The apartment opened into one long room, with the kitchen tucked just inside the door, and a lounge area between them and a sliding door that led to a balcony. Two additional doors bookended the lounge while a third was immediately to their right.

  A coffee machine sat on the kitchen bench, with a half empty pot sitting beside it.

  (This looks like a cool place to live. Can we look outside?)

  Maybe later.

  (I know what that means.)

  ‘I’m Carol. Sorry I don’t have any milk,’ the woman admitted. ‘It’s Gretel’s turn to do the shopping and she forgot to buy it.’

  ‘Oh, no coffee for me thank you, dear,’ Alice said. ‘But I’m sure this nice young man would like some. Oscar wasn’t it?’

  ‘Oliver,’ he replied.

  ‘Sorry, dear, I’m terrible with names.’

  ‘That’s okay, I’m just the driver,’ he replied flippantly.

  ‘The taxi driver?’ their host said, pausing mid pour and looking at Oliver with a guarded expression.

  (Why is she looking at you like that?)

  I’m guessing she’s had a bad experience with a taxi driver.

  (What do you mean?)

  That’s a conversation for when you’re older. Ah, I mean…Sorry.

  Carol looked down at the half full cup of coffee, as if rethinking her offer.

  ‘As I said, my grandson didn’t pick me up from the station. That’s most unlike him. I only visit once a year and he was so looking forward to seeing me. Well, seeing my baking anyway,’ she paused for the expected smile, which came almost immediately. ‘You haven’t seen him have you?’

  ‘Tall guy, looks like a marathon runner? Yeah, we bump into each other in the hallway every now and then. Saw him yesterday morning as I was heading on a coffee run.’ She looked down at the pot in her hand. ‘Sometimes you need the real stuff, you know? I haven’t been outside today so haven’t seen him sorry.’ She frowned. ‘My roommate sent me a text though, said there were some cops hanging around his door earlier though. She saw one on her way to the gym, and a different one on her way to Uni.’

  ‘Oh my,’ Alice put her hand on her chest and swayed a little. Carol looked alarmed and Oliver reached out and steadied Alice with his hand.

  ‘Let’s sit down,’ Carol said, gesturing towards the couch.

  They had to move a three-week-old TV Guide, two text books relating to architecture, a pair of mismatched socks, and a blanket that was probably made around the same time that Alice was born. Finally there was space enough to sit.

  ‘Thank you, dear,’ Alice said to Oliver. ‘I’m fine now, I think you can go.’

  Oliver stood hesitantly for a moment, then nodded slightly. ‘There is the matter of my fare,’ he replied with a deadpan face.

  ‘Yes dear,’ Alice said, reaching into her handbag.

  ‘She’s just had a shock, can’t you let her off?’ Carol glared at him.

  He shrugged. ‘I’ve got to make a living.’

  ‘It’s fine, Carol, he was a good driver, although a little slow to react sometimes. Here you are, dear.’

  She handed him a fifty dollar bill, her eyes twinkling.

  ‘I don’t have any change,’ Oliver replied.

  ‘That’s your problem. You should do the right thing and let her off the fare.’

  (Wow, I’ve never seen fifty dollars before. What’s that picture on it?)

  Oliver nodded again and put on his best friendly smile. ‘Of course,’ he handed the money back to Alice. ‘I hope you can get home safely.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about me, dear. Tougher than I look.’

  Thirty minutes later Oliver looked up from his phone in time to see Alice step out onto the street. He’d been leaning against the building becoming increasingly bored and hot in equal measures.

  He noted that her basket was empty.

  ‘Lovely girl. She’s studying to be an architect.’

  ‘The
books were a bit of a giveaway. Sorry,’ he added when she gave him a look, ‘I’m hot and my legs hurt from standing for so long.’

  ‘You should have waited in the car. Aside from being a lovely girl (who has a crush on her roommate by the way) the visit was a bust. She wasn’t the one who called the police, and she doesn’t think Gretel did either.’

  Oliver frowned. ‘That doesn’t make sense. Wilson said the neighbour heard something.’

  ‘And they probably did, but not that neighbour. We need to talk to the person living on the other side, in 3E.’

  ‘But the name plate was empty.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean the apartment is. I knocked on the door but no one answered. You need to come back and check it out.’

  Oliver unlocked the car and waited until Alice slid slowly into her seat before answering. ‘I can’t. Thanks to you Carol thinks I’m a taxi driver. She’ll get suspicious if she sees me lurking in the hallway.’

  ‘I can’t come back,’ Alice replied.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because despite my go get ’em attitude I’m old and tired.’

  Oliver turned away to hide his red face. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.

  Alice laughed. ‘Just kidding. I’m thinking of running in the age group athletics event next month. I’m a shoo-in to win. I’m the only one in my age bracket: ancient to holy-crap-she’s-still-alive.’ She laughed again, which turned into a cough, which got Oliver concerned until she recovered and acted like nothing had happened.

  (My uncle Steve used to cough like that. Course he was always smoking cigarettes whenever he came around. She should stop smoking.)

  ‘Where are we going now?’

  ‘You don’t want to be dropped off?’ Oliver asked.

  ‘No, there’s nothing on TV today and I’m tired of beating all those youngsters at cards. Not a decent poker player among them. So what’s next, master detective?’

  He turned right, then right again and re-joined the main road. ‘I think we need to go have yet another chat with Beth and Barbara. I’d like to see their reaction to Nick’s death.’

  While they were waiting at a traffic light he fished his wallet out of his pants and found Beth’s business card. He took an extra moment to dial her number, earning an impatient toot from the car behind him after the light turned green.

  The conversation was short and to the point, as if Beth was afraid she was being charged per word. She agreed to meet at her parents’ house in an hour, which gave them enough time to surprise Barbara first.

  Only she wasn’t home. They sat outside the house for a few minutes, then Oliver glanced at his watch.

  ‘We still have thirty minutes before we’re meeting Beth.’ He switched on the car. ‘Debbie, can you show us where your special spot on the beach was?’

  (No. Cause I’m dead. But I can tell you where it is.)

  It was an extremely short drive, in fact Oliver felt foolish for not walking, then more foolish for forgetting he had a nonagenarian in the car.

  (What’s a…one of those?)

  Someone in their nineties.

  (Then just say that!)

  There were a couple of false starts finding the path between houses to the beach. Debbie tried to take them on a shortcut through a property, telling them that old Mrs White used to let them. By the look of the iron railing gates and a pleasant looking sign with the less pleasant message of enter at your own risk due to a ferocious dog, Oliver suggested that old Mrs White was probably less accommodating now. After a minute he spotted a sign and pulled into an empty car park. There was a gentle paved slope which merged with the sand. Alice stopped at the edge of the concrete.

  ‘I may come across as young and spritely, but loose sand is a broken hip waiting to happen. I’ll stay on solid ground while you go build a sandcastle.’

  (Yes! Can we? Please?)

  Oliver shot Alice a dirty look.

  ‘We don’t have time for that Debbie. Can you remember where your secret spot was?’

  (Duh. I only went there yesterday. Oh I guess it wasn’t.)

  Oliver opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again and waited.

  (It’s not out on Kapiti Island.)

  I didn’t think it was.

  (Then why are you looking at it? I can only see what you see.)

  He turned his head to the left, the beach stretching out in a straight line for a long way before gently jutting out.

  (Not that way.)

  He switched to looking right. A cold breeze came off the water and plucked at his t-shirt, while the sun beat down on his unprotected head, leaving him feeling a little like an ice cream cone, melting on top and freezing underneath.

  (Walk this way.)

  He took a couple of steps towards the water where the sand became more compact, then he turned right and walked along.

  (Stop!)

  He froze mid-step and wobbled for a moment before steadying himself by putting his other foot back on the ground.

  (Up there, by the fence.)

  Running along the edge of the beach was an old wooden fence painted what may at one time have been blue. Several fenceposts were all leaning one way, seemingly held in place by a single post leaning the opposite direction.

  ‘It looks like it’s been there forty years,’ Oliver commented. He picked his way past some drift wood and peered over the waist-high fence. The house was as well maintained as the fence.

  (There used to be a big tree trunk here, just by the corner. There was just enough room for us to squeeze between it and the fence. No one could see us. We could spy on people, especially Beth. It used to drive her crazy trying to find me when Mum told her to. It was so funny.)

  The tree trunk was gone, but Oliver stood where Debbie said it had been, and looked up and down the beach.

  ‘Did you spy on anyone else?’

  (I told you, we spied on lots of people, and we’d make up stories about who they were and what they were doing. Like one day we saw this guy digging a hole in the sand and we said he was trying to dig a ditch so the mermaid that he loved could come up to be with him.)

  ‘So mermaids were popular back then as well,’ he murmured. ‘Did you see anything you shouldn’t have?’

  (Like what?)

  ‘Like people who shouldn’t have been together.’ Or like the guy digging the hole, he thought. What if he was burying something?

  (You mean like treasure? Wow, we might have seen a real life pirate. Only he didn’t have an eye patch or a parrot.)

  ‘Not all pirates had parrots.’

  (Ya huh, how else could you tell if they were pirates?)

  He chose not to argue with that logic.

  ‘How long before your…death,’ it still didn’t seem right to be talking to a child about her own death. ‘…did you see the man digging the hole?’

  (Ages, like five days or something.)

  Oliver began walking back to the waiting Alice. ‘And you don’t know who it was?’

  (No, it was dark, and he had his back to us.)

  ‘I still can’t believe your mum let you come down to the beach all by yourself.’

  (That time she didn’t. I snuck out. But why not? I wasn’t going to drown or anything.)

  ‘Are you further enlightened?’ Alice asked.

  ‘Absolutely. Completely solved the case.’

  ‘Good, let’s go home, my feet are getting tired.’

  ‘I was joking,’ Oliver said.

  ‘I know,’ she laughed, ‘but my feet are still tired.’

  They arrived at the house at the same time as Beth, and they stood outside the gate while Oliver made the introductions, sticking with the cover story of Alice being his grandmother helping out with research.

  ‘Do you know the first thing I did after I met you, Oliver?’ Beth said.

  He shook his head.

  ‘I did a full background check, which is how I know both your grandmothers are dead. Raising the question, who is this really and why are y
ou lying about her?’

  Bugger.

  TWENTY

  There was a long awkward silence before Alice burst out laughing.

  ‘Never bluff a judge, Oliver.’ She turned to Beth. ‘You don’t need to know too much about me, other than I’m involved because Oliver asked for my help.’

  Beth’s face showed she didn’t think that a plausible explanation. ‘And what exactly is your skillset? Do you have similar abilities,’ she stumbled over the word, ‘as Oliver?’

  Alice grinned. ‘God lord, no. I was, until I officially retired, the best con artist in the country.’

  Oliver wished he had his phone out to capture the expression on Beth’s face. Scepticism, denial, and amusement fought for dominance, all failing. She looked at Oliver who did his best to keep all emotion off his face.

  ‘Con artist. Even if that was true, why on earth would you tell a judge?’ Beth finally said.

  ‘Former judge. You’re retired, I believe. I can assure you it’s completely true, and I’m telling you for three reasons, one to show you I can be useful in finding your sister’s killer, two because you don’t know who I am and more importantly you can’t link me to any crimes.’

  ‘And three?’ Beth said in a faint voice.

  ‘Who’s going to believe you? Look at me.’ She gestured to her harmless grandmother outfit.

  Beth’s mouth opened and closed several times.

  (She looks like a fish. We had a class fish once, but Robert Maxwell ate him.)

  It was Oliver’s turn for his mouth to drop, but he quickly recovered. He suspected the judge was less used to being rendered speechless.

  (It was a dare.)

  Beth cleared her throat. ‘I either accept you at your word or assume you are suffering from dementia and are…’

  ‘Off my rocker? Funny saying really, I’ve never owned a rocker,’ Alice said.

  ‘I’m leaning towards the former,’ Beth finished. ‘Tell me, where were you in 1978?’

  Alice scratched her cheek then looked at her nails as if expecting to find bits of her face under them. ‘In 1978 I was in England for most of the year.’

  ‘Working?’ Oliver couldn’t help asking.

  ‘A working holiday,’ Alice smiled.

  ‘I may have to revise my assessment of you again, Oliver. You keep some interesting company. And it was you who went to see Graeme of course,’ she said to Alice who nodded. ‘Except I believe you used the name Agatha.’