by Morgana Best
“You go ahead and open the back door for me,” I said. “Call out when you’re there, and then I’ll come.”
Linda nodded and ran out of the room. Soon I heard her call out, “Ready, Pepper.”
I was at her side in seconds, due to my enhanced vampire speed, but the dog was right on my heels. Linda flung the remainder of the cake on the paper tray at the dog, and we both slammed the door shut. We peeked through the window to see the dog viciously devouring the last of the cake as well as the paper plate.
I turned to Linda. “Let’s get out of here. Maybe Weston has another pet dog.”
Fuelled by that thought, we both sprinted to my car. Due to my vampire speed, I got there first. I was in the car and had the engine running before Linda even reached it.
“Did you get some personal concerns?” she asked after we had been driving in silence for a minute or so.
“Thankfully, I did.” I pulled the bag out of my pocket with one hand and showed her.
Chapter 10
The aunts had been excited about my success with Weston’s personal concerns, so they decided to get the next set from Francine Finnegan. With that in mind, they had invited her to High Tea and had implied they would donate to her charity.
Late in the afternoon, the four of us were sitting around the living room at Mugwort Manor, awaiting her arrival. The silverware had been cleaned within an inch of its life, and all the antique furniture had been thoroughly dusted and polished to a high sheen. The aunts looked as if they had swallowed one too many prunes, their lips tightly pursed. “Remember to keep that expression on your faces,” Aunt Agnes said. “Francine Finnegan is a terrible snob, and she won’t respect us unless she thinks we’re terrible snobs as well. Now if only we could name drop.”
“I know,” Aunt Maude piped up. “We do know a celebrity. Remember when there was that riding academy next door, and one of the members of a royal family travelled to Australia to instruct the members of the academy in showjumping? He used to come in here to use our kitchen and make himself some coffee, because there were no facilities at the riding academy next door. He was such a nice man.”
Aunt Agnes harrumphed. “A nice man? He got my best friend’s daughter pregnant. She was twenty, and he was married. They were having an affair the whole time he was here.”
I was conscious that my mouth had fallen open. “Did he pay child support?” I asked her.
“He paid them a huge sum in hush money,” Agnes said, “and bought my best friend an A-Grade showjumper. That’s a horse, by the way, if you were wondering, Valkyrie. Now, does that bone china look all right to you?”
I frowned at the segue and looked at the elaborate setting.
“The china is all Shelley, Green Daisy Chintz in the Oleander shape,” Agnes said. “It’s vintage.”
“What, not antique?” I asked in surprise. Agnes was usually a stickler for Victorian antiques.
Aunt Agnes snorted rudely. “Francine would not appreciate an antique. She’s lucky I brought out my good Shelley setting for her. See the gold handle, and the gold trim around the scalloped edge? It’s too good for her!”
“Now, now, Agnes,” Maude said in a soothing tone. “Remember that she’s only here so we can procure some of her hair.”
That appeared to calm Agnes. “Quite so.”
I had to admit, the three-tiered cake stands in the centre of the room were an impressive sight. Looking around the room, I felt I had fallen onto a film set of Downton Abbey or a Miss Marple movie. Beautiful roses topped vintage glass pedestal stands, and little sandwiches cut into quarters and minus their crusts adorned the bottom rows of the tiered cake stands. The middle rows held scones with jam and cream, and the top rows held every manner of cake: tiny cupcakes, pretty butterfly cream cakes, strawberry-topped pastries, and flourless chocolate cakes with cinnamon cream.
It was a mouth-watering assortment. I was doing my best to resist snatching one and popping it into my mouth, when the door chimed. “They’re here,” Agnes said, striding to the door. She presently returned with Francine.
Francine was wearing a too tight, bright red lace dress. Her lipstick was bright red, as was her blush. Her hair was pulled back severely at her forehead, but fell to her shoulders at the back. A huge silver contraption that looked something like a buckle perched on top of her head. I assumed it was responsible for keeping the hair from her forehead. I was relieved that her hair fell freely behind her, because that would make it easier for Aunt Agnes to take a strand.
“Oh, I thought your husband, Frank, would be accompanying you,” Dorothy said in surprise.
Francine looked down her nose. “Frank has duties to attend to at home.”
We were off to a bad start. One way or another, I’m sure my aunts would collect some of Francine’s hair, but this meant we had to do something extra to obtain hair from Frank. And as far as mundane suspects went, he was at the top of my list.
Agnes showed Francine to a Victorian Grandmother Chair upholstered in pale blue velvet. Francine stooped over it, and then dusted the seat with one hand. I thought that awfully rude, but then again, she wasn’t a pleasant person. Whatever had Beckett seen in her? “What is that overpowering smell?” she asked in a strident tone. She spoke with a plumb in her mouth, in a highly affected North Shore Sydney accent.
“That’s Fiery…” Dorothy began, but Maude cut her off.
“That would simply be the open fire.” She gestured to it. Thankfully, Francine didn’t comment that the fire wasn’t burning.
I was already bored, and she had only just arrived. “Would you like a cup of tea?” Aunt Agnes said. “We have a selection: oolong tea, various black teas, and Royal Yunnan tea.”
Francine continued to look down her nose. “I don’t suppose you have Yin Long tea?” Her question was smug, as if trying to catch out my aunts.
Aunt Agnes smiled at her. “Indeed we do. It happens to be my favourite, the subtle flavours of peach with a hint of tartness. I’ll fetch some for you now.”
After she left the room, a silence so heavy it was tangible descended. Aunt Maude looked increasingly ill at ease. Finally, she spoke. “We happen to be good friends with a member of the royal family,” she said.
Francine appeared to be shocked, but then recovered. She did look awfully impressed. “My goodness gracious me,” she said.
Maude nodded. “We haven’t seen him in some time, but he used to give showjumping lessons when a riding academy was housed right next door to Mugwort Manor. There were only bathroom facilities there, so he used to come and go here as he pleased, making himself a cup of tea or coffee. We had lunch with him on many an occasion.”
Unfortunately, Dorothy decided to chime in. “Yes, and he got Agnes’s best friend’s daughter pregnant. It was a scandal, not because she was underage—she wasn’t—but because he was married at the time to Princess…. Ouch, Maude, why did you kick me?”
I hurried to intervene. “We are interested in your good cause, protecting the bandicoot,” I said. “That’s admirable work. Whatever made you decide to pursue the preservation of bandicoots?”
Francine did her best to recover from the shock. “Bandicoots are in danger,” she said.
I nodded, and waited for her to continue. She didn’t. “Do you have a particular affinity with bandicoots?” I prompted her.
“Yes.”
I tried again. “Are all bandicoots endangered?”
“My charity focuses on the Southern Brown Bandicoot,” Francine said in an overly posh voice. “Those are the most endangered of all the bandicoots. They exist only in two main populations, the first around the national parks of northern Sydney, and the second in the south eastern part of New South Wales.”
“A bandicoot bit me once,” Dorothy said. “It bit me right on my thumb. It bled and bled. I thought it was a rat fastening on me, of course, so I screamed and screamed. The bandicoot ran away. A neighbour was here at the time, and he said that it was a striped bandicoot, not
a rat. I was pleased of course, because I didn’t want to get the plague, and I know rats carry the plague. Or they used to, at any rate. Do you remember the Black Plague?”
Agnes had returned with a teapot, and shot Dorothy a withering look that managed to silence her. “Yes, you must tell us more about the endangered bandicoot,” Agnes said, pouring tea into Francine’s cup.
I wondered how she was going to get a strand of Francine’s hair, but at least Francine wasn’t wearing a fascinator this time.
“The Southern Brown Bandicoot is officially an endangered species,” Francine said in a monotone. “They are the size of a very large rat, with a relatively short nose and ears, yellow-brown or dark grey fur on its upper body, tail and feet, with a belly ranging from cream to white. They can be distinguished from the Long Nosed Bandicoot as it has a long nose, and they have a short nose. They are mostly active before dawn and after dusk. They eat underground-fruiting fungi, and…”
“Fascinating!” Aunt Agnes said loudly in what was clearly a lie. “Could I interest you in a delectable scone, Francine? And you must tell us how we can donate to your worthy cause.”
Francine delicately reached for a chocolate cake, and not so delicately shoved it into her mouth. A second one followed and then a third, and conversation halted as we all ate. After a while, I caught Agnes nodding slightly to Maude, who stood up and left the room.
I knew what was going to happen next. Maude was going to cut the power, and in the darkened room, Agnes was going to take a strand of hair from Francine. I was sure it wouldn’t go over at all well. I wasn’t keen to see how it would all play out.
The lights went out, casting the already gloomy room into pitch darkness. Agnes’s voice rang out. “I’ll just find the power. Excuse me if I bump into someone, because I have to feel my way out of the room. A few moments later, she said, “I’m terribly sorry. Who did I bump into just then?”
“It was me,” Francine said. “It’s perfectly all right, Agnes. Please continue on your way.”
Only a minute or so later, the lights came back on, and Francine looked none the worse for wear. I was surprised that Agnes had pulled off the whole thing so skilfully.
Agnes returned to the room. “It must have been the coming thunderstorm tripping the power,” she said.
“I haven’t heard any thunder,” Francine said with a frown.
Agnes removed the now empty three tiered cake stand from in front of Francine and replaced it with a full one. “Please, Francine, help yourself to another cake. Yes, the thunderstorms often skirt around here, but come close enough to the coast to cut our power.”
Francine did not appear to be listening, and popped another cake into her mouth.
“Poor Beckett was a great proponent of your cause,” Agnes said.
Francine jumped and her cheeks went bright red, an intensity of colour matched only by her lipstick. “He was the greatest contributor to the charity,” she said. “He will be sorely missed.”
Agnes nodded. “Yes, he will.”
Apparently, the mention of Beckett was too much for Francine, because she stood up. “Thank you for your hospitality, ladies. I’ve brought a brochure about the Southern Brown Bandicoot and where you can donate. Thank you again for inviting me.” She threw down the brochure, snatched up her handbag, clutched her stomach, and headed for the door.
As she turned around, I gasped. I had expected that Agnes would pull out one strand of hair from the woman’s head, but Agnes had cut a sizeable chunk, leaving a jagged gap. Half the back of Francine’s hair was missing.
Chapter 11
Once again I had enlisted Linda to help me. She didn’t seem too thrilled with the prospect.
“But he’ll be suspicious,” she complained. In fact, she had protested the entire way to the Finnegans’ property, which was a considerable way out of town.
I shook my head. “No, I’m sure he won’t be. He’ll really believe our story.” I hoped I sounded convincing, but I wasn’t too sure about our plan, either.
“Do you actually think he’ll believe we’re university students wanting to take hair samples to test for iron contamination in the population of Lighthouse Bay?” Linda asked me, a look of disbelief on her face.
I shrugged. “Why not?”
“Maybe because his wife has been complaining that a large chunk of her hair has suddenly gone missing!” Linda frowned deeply.
“Um, sure it’s hair,” I said slowly, “so there is that in common, but we’re not asking to cut a piece out of his hair. We’re only asking for a few strands of hair. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Linda folded her arms over her chest. “He might scream abuse at us and kick us out of his house.”
“Would that be so bad?” I said in a pleading tone. “Either he’ll kick us out, or he’ll give us a hair sample. Besides, you saw him at the funeral. He isn’t the type to stand up to anybody. He seems quite meek and mild.”
Linda snorted rudely. “Sure, with Francine, that is. He’s a total pussycat with her, completely browbeaten. He might be vicious with everyone else.”
I opened my car door. “I suppose we’re about to find out. Let’s get this over with.” I jumped out of the car, and to my relief, Linda did, too. She was still muttering to herself, but at least it looked like she was going to go through with it. Just as I walked around the car, Linda caught my arm. “Are you sure that dreadful Francine isn’t home?”
“I’m absolutely positive. She’s at the weekly lunch for the Country Women’s Association. Aunt Agnes is there, keeping an eye on her. She will call us if she leaves. It’s all perfectly safe.”
Linda glowered at me. “Okay then. I just hope he doesn’t ask to see ID.”
I must admit, I did feel somewhat intimidated walking up to the Finnegans’ house. It was more a mansion than a house, a truly magnificent late Federation, Gothic building that had been fully restored. Rumour had it that it used to be an orphanage, and before that, a gathering place for some sort of ritual magic. Some years ago, a developer bought it and turned it into several townhouses, and then the Finnegans bought it and converted it to one residence. The building was an imposing liver brick with pale cream brick and stone dressings. It was two storeys tall with a steeply pitched iron roof and featured several turrets. Everything about it screamed expense.
“It looks as though they should have a butler,” Linda said in awe, as we walked up to the front porch.
I raised the heavy iron knocker and knocked, before Linda pointed to an electronic button. I pressed that for good measure. I half expected a butler to answer the door, but there was no response. “Maybe no one’s home,” I said after I had pressed the buzzer for the fifth time.
“We should go around the back,” Linda said. “No one goes to the front door in the country. I’ve learnt that by now.”
“I don’t think that custom applies to mansions,” I said, “but you’re right. We should go around the back. Maybe Francine has him doing duties in the garden.”
We walked out along a hawthorn hedge, and into a formal garden surrounded by spectacular purple jacarandas and bright red, aptly-named flame trees. Frank was bending over a large urn on a paved area near an ostentatious water feature. He looked up, startled to see us.
“Hi, I’m Pepper and this is Linda,” I said, walking over to him. I wondered if he would recognise us from the funeral and wondered whether that would make matters better or worse. “We’re both studying environmental science at the local university, and we’re taking hair samples from the residents of the area, to check for iron contamination,” I said all in one breath.
“We only need one or two strands of hair,” Linda said.
I held out a plastic bag. “I’m terribly sorry to bother you, but would you mind just ripping out a bit of your hair and sticking it in the bag.” I fought the urge to break into hysterical laughter after I used the words ripping out.
Linda shot me a look. “Only one or two strands,”
she said with a wide smile.
“Did you say you’re from the university?” he asked us. He seemed as affable as ever.
We both nodded. “Yes, we’re going door-to-door asking for hair samples,” I said. “It’s completely anonymous. We just want to check for iron levels. We don’t label your hair or anything. It’s just so we can practise testing iron levels in hair, and we need a cross-section of the population in town.” The more I spoke, the more unbelievable it sounded to me.
“Do either of you know what a cane toad looks like?” he asked.
For a moment I thought I had not heard him properly, but he pointed to the ground. I spotted a rather ugly looking frog next to the urn. “Someone told me that frogs’ mouths turn up at the corners while toads’ mouths turn down,” I said. I took a closer look at the creature. “I actually can’t tell whether its mouth turns up or down.”
“I feel sorry for cane toads,” Frank said. “It’s not their fault that they were introduced to this country to eat the beetles that were detrimental to cane sugar production. Rabbits came to Australia with the First Fleet in 1788. I assume they were food animals, but some were released into the wild so people could hunt them. Foxes were introduced to Australia to be hunted less than one hundred years later. Now all three species are seen as pests, but it’s not their fault. Cane toads have a bad reputation.”
I pulled a face. “They’re poisonous, though.”
“Only if you eat them,” he said, “or if you get their toxin on you.”
“A lot of native animals do eat them,” I pointed out. “Cane toads are responsible for many deaths.”
Frank did not respond, but bent over the toad.
I took another look. “It could be a pobblebonk frog. I know they do look like cane toads. Don’t frogs mainly come out at night? I’ve heard that cane toads come out through the day, and it’s daytime right now. Still, I thought cane toads were only in Queensland.”