Any Given Sundae (Australian Amateur Sleuth Book 5)

by Morgana Best

  I put it on the coffee table and then pulled the coffee table closer to the fire. “Is this warm enough in here for you, Mr. Buttons?”

  Mr. Buttons shook his head. “You’ve got the fire going nicely, but I suspect the wood is green. This will probably be as good as it gets. Now, do you remember when we got Dorothy’s résumé and checked her last employer?”

  I nodded. How could I forget? Mr. Buttons had been sure that Dorothy had been the murderer of Lisa Summers. However, Lisa actually had been murdered by her husband, Greg, so that he could get his hands on a multi-million dollar property deal. Mr. Buttons had gone so far as to obtain CCTV footage in an attempt to prove that Dorothy was the murderer. He was wrong, of course. And then there was the murder of Sue, a boarder. Once again, Mr. Buttons had been convinced that the murderer was Dorothy, but it had turned out to be James, the leader of a ghost-hunting investigative group. On that occasion, Mr. Buttons had made me accompany him on a long drive to question Dorothy’s last employer. He was upset when James, rather than Dorothy, was proven to be the murderer, and it was small comfort to him that Dorothy turned out to be James’s aunt. He kept insisting that his tarot cards always provided portents of doom about Dorothy’s character.

  I looked up as Mr. Buttons spoke again. “All we have to do is find a lot of information on Roland Cavendish, and see if that connects in any way with Dorothy.”

  “And with any of the other suspects,” I said with a grimace.

  Mr. Buttons set down his tea cup loudly, clanging it in the saucer. “What other suspects do we have?”

  “Roland’s wife, Sally, and of course, Prudence Paget. I already told you that I saw Sally in Pharmidale with a man.”

  Mr. Buttons waved my comments away. “We already know that Sally and Prudence have connections to Roland. That’s obvious!”

  “Yes, and that’s my point,” I said. Still, I knew nothing would get in the way of Mr. Buttons’ convictions that Dorothy was the murderer.

  Mr. Buttons stared at the computer for some minutes, while I warmed myself by the fire. Suddenly, he stood up. “Look at this! Dorothy was in Sydney for three years. Roland was in Sydney at the same time!”

  “So were about five million other people,” I pointed out. “But remember, Dorothy’s real name is Samantha something.”

  “Samantha Dorothy Hicks,” Mr. Buttons said angrily. “I know everyone thinks James killed Sue because she threatened to expose that he’d faked his ghost-hunting evidence, and so he’d lose out on that big television deal, but I think Dorothy was in it with him.”

  I sighed. “Dorothy was the one who tipped us off.”

  Mr. Buttons nodded solemnly. “Yes, to cover her own…”

  “$#%@” said Max, finishing Mr. Buttons’ sentence for him.

  “How did you get in?” I asked him, and was at once met with a tirade of verbal abuse. I seized the bird and put him outside once more, then firmly latched the back door. When I returned, Mr. Buttons was cross-checking Dorothy’s original name against Roland’s name.

  “Anything?” I asked him.

  He shook his head. “I’ve drawn a blank.”

  “What about checking the name of Dorothy’s husband?”

  “That woman had a husband?” Mr. Buttons asked with exaggerated disbelief.

  “Yes, don’t you remember? On one of the occasions when you were so sure that Dorothy was the murderer, we came across a blog post where she said her husband had run off with another woman, and that’s why she changed her name.”

  “The man obviously had good sense,” Mr. Buttons said. He was about to say more, when there was a knock on the door.

  I opened the door to be met with a cold blast to my face. Tiny little pieces of sleet stung me. I wiped the sleet from my eyes to see Detective Roberts standing there, his hands on his hips.

  “Come in,” I said. I invited him in mainly because it was too cold to stand there with the door open. He walked past me, and so did Detective Henderson, who was standing right behind him.

  They wasted no time coming to the point. “I need to question you now,” Roberts said, and then he noticed Mr. Buttons sitting by the fire. The two detectives exchanged glances.

  “Good to find you here,” Henderson said to Mr. Buttons. “I was about to go to the boarding house to question you.”

  Mr. Buttons just glared at him.

  “Please accompany me now to the boarding house for questioning,” Henderson continued.

  “Why can’t you question me here?” Mr. Buttons said sulkily. “It’s too cold to go outside.”

  Henderson crossed his arms over his chest. “We will drive. We need to question the two of you separately. You could come down to the station, if you prefer.”

  Mr. Buttons’ face turned red at the obvious threat. “All right then, I’ll go with you, but please note that I am coming under protest.”

  He muttered some more words, and at first I thought Max had come back inside and was up to his usual language. My ears burned when I realized it was Mr. Buttons. As soon as Detective Henderson and Mr. Buttons were out the door, Detective Roberts walked once more to the fire and held his hands over it. “Your cottage isn’t very warm, is it?”

  “It’s warmer than outside,” I said, none too kindly.

  Detective Roberts did not respond, but pulled out the chair that Mr. Buttons had vacated and sat on it opposite me. “We have been informed that you were, in fact, having an affair with Roland Cavendish by someone who saw the two of you together. What do you have to say about that?”

  I flushed with anger. “They’re lying! That’s not true. I’ve already told you that, and if someone has actually told you such a thing, then they’re obviously the murderer, so I suggest you look at them.” I was beyond furious. I couldn’t believe that the cops had come to ask me a question on a tip off by someone who was probably the murderer. I mean, who else would have a reason to make up such an outrageous claim?

  “And do you still maintain that you and Mr. Buttons were walking and returned to your cottage to find the victim on the floor, along with an ice cream sundae?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what happened.”

  “And you and Mr. Buttons didn’t cook up that story?”

  I jumped to my feet. “I’ve told you the absolute truth, and Mr. Buttons would have told you the very same absolute truth, too. I had invited Roland’s wife, Sally, to my cottage for an ice cream sundae later in the day. When I got there, I found Roland dead.”

  Detective Roberts stood up and rubbed his hands over the fire once more. “And why would you offer anyone an ice cream sundae in this weather?”

  “I don’t know!” I snapped. “I happen to like chocolate, ice cream, and coffee, and I eat ice cream all through winter, and I drink coffee all through summer. Is that so strange?”

  “Yes, it is rather strange,” he remarked.

  “What is strange?” I was no longer intimidated by the detective—rather, I was angry. I knew that he was only doing his job, but from my point of view, I was quite irritated. I took a deep breath and tried to calm down. “Are you telling me you don’t drink coffee in summer?”

  “I’m not here to answer questions,” Robert said, although not unkindly. “It just seems awfully strange that you would invite Cavendish’s wife for an ice cream sundae in the thick of winter, with snow and sleet outside.”

  “Well, surely Sally Cavendish told you I had invited her?”

  The detective did not respond, but I could see that she had. Otherwise, I’m sure that he would’ve told me so.

  “And you were seen purchasing antifreeze the day before the murder.”

  That threw me. “Uh, what, what?” I stammered.

  “Antifreeze,” Roberts said. “Coolant, glycol, propylene glycol. You were seen in Little Tatterford purchasing the substance.”

  “So?” I said. “Doesn’t everybody? In this climate, the radiator cracks if you don’t put antifreeze in it. That’s common knowledge.” It took a mom
ent or two for the realization to hit me. Roland was poisoned with antifreeze, or at least that’s how it was beginning to look.

  Roberts continued. “Can you tell me about your friends?”

  I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I thought I should answer as best I could. “Cressida and Mr. Buttons are my two closest friends,” I said.

  “What about Sergeant Wessley?”

  I could feel my cheeks burning hot, and I knew for a fact that a guilty look had passed across my face. “What do you mean?”

  “Are you and Sergeant Wessley in a romantic relationship?” The question came out as an accusation, or so it seemed to me.

  “Um, err...” I stammered. What should I say? What if Blake had already denied it? I supposed he had not, as he himself was a police officer. “Well, we’ve had dinner together, so we’re sort of dating.”

  I held my breath, thinking that Roberts would cross-examine me, but to my relief, he pressed on. “Now to the morning of the murder. You say you woke up, got your dog, and went out to meet Mr. Buttons to take your dog for a walk?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the body was not there then.”

  “Of course not!” I said angrily. “Do you really think I did it?”

  “We have to ask questions of everyone,” he said, “especially of those who found the body and alleged they were out walking when the murder happened.”

  “What motive would I possibly have?” I asked him.

  He shook his head. “You’ve been watching too much American TV. We don’t have to have a motive to charge someone with murder in Australia. Would you like to tell me what happened?”

  I rubbed my temples. “I’ve already told you a thousand times.”

  “So what was it that pushed you over the edge, Ms. Potts? What was it that made you kill? I think I know. You were having an affair with a married man, Roland Cavendish, but your eye strayed to the person of Sergeant Blake Wessley. You thought you needed to get rid of Roland before he could tell Sergeant Wessley about your frequent assignations.”

  Just then, there was another knock at the door. I assumed it was Detective Henderson, but when Roberts made no move to answer it, I did so. It was Blake. My stomach reeled. “Are you looking for Detective Roberts?” I said at once, thankfully that I had been so quick-witted. I held the door back so Blake could see him.

  The two of them exchanged glances, and the looks were far from friendly. “I’m here on a personal matter,” Blake said after a lengthy pause. “Are you finished here?” The latter comment was to Roberts.

  “For now.” Roberts excused himself and hurried out the door. I unkindly hoped he would freeze on his way to the boarding house.

  Chapter 11

  “You look lovely.”

  I blushed, smiled, and took my seat opposite Blake in the restaurant. Blake had said he would meet me there at seven because he had to work until the last minute and thought he might be late. As it turned out, he got there before I did. He hadn’t stayed long after he had interrupted Detective Roberts questioning me, and had simply come to ask me to dinner that night.

  I had taken special care with my appearance even though I had to wrap up and add layers of coats and scarves. I was pleased that Blake had reserved a table right next to the roaring log fire. It might not have been the most intimate part of the restaurant, but it sure was the warmest. As usual, my stomach fluttered wildly in Blake’s presence and I forced myself to take deep breaths, albeit subtle ones.

  I shivered as I sat down, and Blake at once offered me his coat. I declined, saying that I would soon warm up. In fact, soon after I had taken off my coat, the heat from the fire became as overbearing as it was welcome.

  The normally overcrowded restaurant was rather bereft of patrons, and I wondered why. I supposed it was something to do with the weather, although I figured that the locals would be well used to it, more used to it than I was. Or perhaps there was something good on TV. Whatever the reason, I was grateful for the privacy.

  Before I even had a chance to look at the menu, Blake reached across the table and took my hand. My heart beat out of my chest, and I hoped he couldn’t feel me shaking.

  “Sibyl, there’s something I have to tell you.”

  All of a sudden I was terrified. A thousand different fears sparked like fireworks through my mind. Surely he wasn’t going to break up with me? Surely not. I mean, he was holding my hand, and we had only just started dating. A faint wave of nausea washed over me.

  “Sibyl, you’re the detectives’ main suspect.”

  A mix of emotions coursed through me. I didn’t know whether I should be pleased or upset. Sure, I was relieved that Blake wasn’t breaking up with me, but I wasn’t too thrilled that the police saw me as the main suspect. I had watched enough documentaries on the crime channel to know that innocent people were convicted of murder every day. Well, perhaps not every day, but it certainly wasn’t an uncommon occurrence.

  I nodded slowly. Blake continued. “And Detective Roberts tore strips off me for dating you.”

  “Why? That’s hardly illegal.”

  Blake shrugged. “That’s what I told him. I told him we started dating well before he considered you a prime suspect.” He held up his hands, which unfortunately meant that he let go of mine. “Rest assured, I told him in no uncertain terms that there is no way you’re a murderer.”

  “But he didn’t believe you.” I said it as a statement, not a question.

  Blake hesitated, but then shook his head. “I’m afraid not. He thought I was too involved and so had lost perspective. But don’t you worry, there’s no way I’m going to let him charge you for something you didn’t do, especially something as serious as murder.”

  Warmth flooded my bones, and it wasn’t from the fire. I was relieved that Blake was looking out for me. At that moment, I felt safe and protected. Still, I couldn’t shake the fact that the detectives really saw me as a suspect in the murder case. “Do you have any idea who did it?” I asked Blake.

  “Not yet, but I’m looking into it. Of course, that’s just between us. I’m not officially allowed to look into it.”

  I nodded. “Thanks, Blake.” I was dismayed that my voice was shaking. I wanted to ask about the antifreeze, but I didn’t want to put Blake in an uncomfortable position.

  At that point, I looked up to see a waiter hovering over us. I chose a Thai red curry. I always preferred Thai green curry, but it wasn’t on offer. Blake chose something with steak, fennel, orange, and beet. The animated waiter, with an accompanying wave of his arms, said something about it being a great combination of flavors and that it was aromatic. I wasn’t really listening, because I had more pressing matters on my mind. I silently lectured myself to forget about the murder investigation and the fact that I was a suspect for the night, and instead enjoy Blake’s company.

  We ate the meal in silence, and I had the uneasy feeling that Blake wanted to say more to me. I was proven right. He set down his fork, and looked up at me once more. “Sibyl, I don’t think we should have dinner again until the murder is solved.”

  “You mean we shouldn’t see each other?” If I had thought before I had spoken, I probably would have said something far more subtle, but at least this way I would get a straight answer.

  “That sounds bad when you put it like that,” Blake said. “I just mean we shouldn’t do anything to give the detectives a reason to…” He hesitated.

  “A reason to do what?” I asked him.

  Blake shrugged, and I jumped when the fire made a popping sound and a spark flew out. “I don’t really know. Roberts told me that it’s not appropriate for a member of the local police force to date a suspect.”

  “Sure, I don’t want to make things difficult for you,” I said, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice.

  Blake shook his head. “You misunderstand me. It’s not myself I’m worried about, I’m worried about you. I don’t want to make things more difficult for you.”

  I nod
ded.

  “The detectives are stumped in this matter,” he continued, “and because you found the body, in their eyes you’re the prime suspect. They don’t have anything else to go on. My concern is that they’ll think I’m covering for you. If we’re seen to be dating, then they might be harder on you.”

  I nodded again. Blake’s words made sense, but I was disappointed.

  Blake reached forward to take my hands again. “It won’t be long, Sibyl. I’m sure they’ll find the murderer soon.”

  “Not if they keep concentrating on me,” I said sadly.

  Blake appeared to be about to say something, but then returned to his meal. My excitement about what had held the promise of a great night had now turned to distress. On the bright side, Blake hadn’t broken up with me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he had. I wondered if that was the real reason that he had wanted us to meet at the restaurant. Logically, he was right that we shouldn’t see each other until the murder investigation was over, but logic wasn’t cheering me up at that moment.

  I excused myself and went to the bathroom. I was about to return when I received a text from Mr. Buttons. Tomorrow. Quoll woman. University of Pharmadale.

  I texted back to ask him what he meant. He responded at once. Prudence giving lecture on quolls. We must go 2 c if she had grudge against vic. We will snoop. I’m investigating someone other than Dorothy. U should be pleased.

  I smiled. That would take my mind off things, and who knows, perhaps we would turn up something to implicate Prudence. The only drawback was having to sit through what I anticipated would be a boring lecture.

  We continued to eat in silence until the waiter brought the dessert menus. I chose the first thing I saw, a fruit sorbet with chocolate ganache and meringue shard. The waiter was excited about my choice. He said it looked wonderful, was refreshing, and provided a superb finish to a meal. He said something about dehydrated grapefruit, but again, I wasn’t paying attention.

  The waiter was more excited about Blake’s choice. “A chocolate tangelo explosion!” he exclaimed. “It’s salty, sweet, sour, fresh, acidic, with the chocolate flavor front and center, along with the gingerbread and the flavor of tangelo. The texture ticks a lot of boxes!” He beamed, and then hurried away.