by Morgana Best
“South Beach Dental Surgery,” he said without missing a beat.
I smiled, and filed that away for future reference. I would google it later to see if there were in fact any jobs going. Come to think of it, there was no time like the present. I excused myself for a bathroom break. As soon as I was in the bathroom, I whipped out my phone and googled local jobs as dental hygienists. Sure enough, there was one advertised at South Beach Dental Surgery.
I bit my lip. That didn’t prove anything. If he was in town as a cover, then he would have selected an actual job. I then googled his name, along with the words, ‘dental hygienist.’ Nothing came up, but the mobile phone service in the bathroom wasn’t good and the page wouldn’t load. I’d have to look into that later. When I returned to my table, my meal was already there, and Sam had refilled my glass. I only hoped he had refilled his as well.
“What’s your favourite music?” Sam asked out of the blue.
I studied him for a moment without answering. I figured this was his way of questioning his would-be girlfriends. “I pretty much like anything and everything,” I said in a throwaway manner.
“What’s your favourite colour?” he asked.
I tried not to roll my eyes. “I don’t really have one,” I lied. “What about you?” I didn’t really want to feign any interest in him, but I didn’t want to answer his questions about me.
“The colour of your eyes,” he said, leaning across the table. He rubbed his foot up the back of my calf, and I promptly kicked him in the shins.
“Ouch!” He glowered at me. “What did you do that for?” He bent down to rub his leg.
“I told you—don’t get any ideas about me, Sam. I’m serious! I said we were here just as friends, so keep your hands, and your feet, off me. Is that clear?”
His face flushed red, with what I presume was anger, and he simply said, “Yes,” in a clipped tone.
After that, an awkward silence fell between us, but I managed to find several inventive ways to tip my wine into the potted palm at every opportunity. By the time the dessert menu arrived, Sam seemed to be back in good spirits. He selected rosemary croccante, quince, and Scottish oatcakes. I couldn’t resist the chocolate fondant with crushed meringue and bread and butter ice cream. All this sleuthing had given me an appetite.
Was it my imagination, or were his reflexes becoming a little slower? He’d had several glasses of wine by now, whereas I’d only had a few sips. On the other hand, the potted palm must be well and truly inebriated. “What day did you arrive in Lighthouse Bay?” I asked him out of the blue.
“Yesterday, of course,” he said without missing a beat. “You saw me as soon as I arrived.”
I shrugged. “Yes, I knew you arrived at Mugwort Manor then, but I thought you might have stayed in town for a day or two first.”
Sam frowned. “Why would I do that?”
“No idea. I thought you might be sightseeing in the area or something. You didn’t drive south down the coast road and check out any of those touristy towns before you came here?”
He shook his head. “No, I came straight here.” His face brightened. “So there are nice tourist towns in the area? Maybe you could drive me around?”
I rubbed my temples. He did seem to be telling the truth, and he had answered without hesitation. Then again, maybe he had his cover story ready. If he was the murderer, then of course it would be rehearsed. But what possible motive could he have? “So the other boarders, have you ever met them before?”
If Sam thought my question strange, he didn’t show it. “No. Like I said, I just got to town. They all seem nice enough, though.”
“So you’d never met Joseph Maxwell before?”
Sam looked genuinely puzzled. “Who’s he?”
I made a noncommittal sound. Either he was completely innocent, or he was a very good liar. Either way, it looked like this dinner had been a complete waste of time. He was persistent, though. I had to give him that. After I insisted paying half the bill, he put his hand on the small of my back once more and I had to slap it off. He tried to insist that I accompany him back to the manor in a taxi. When I, in turn, insisted I would drive back alone, he looked quite put out, sulky even.
“If that’s the way you want it!” he said, before storming off.
I eyed my car, which was parked in a well lit area on the street. I unlocked it with the remote, and then hurried over to let myself in, after first checking in the back seat. I had watched one too many horror movies where the murderer hides in the back seat. The short drive to Mugwort Manor passed uneventfully, but when I parked in the parking area directly outside the building, fear overcame me.
Suddenly, I was afraid to get out of the car. There were bushes along the side of the cracked flagstone path to the manor. Was Sam hiding there in wait for me, or was it someone or something even worse? The front light at the manor was on, but the illumination did not extend far past the porch. I sat in the locked car and considered my next course of action. Clearly, I couldn’t stay here all night.
I called Aunt Agnes’s phone. “Valkyrie, are you all right?” she asked at once.
“Yes, but I’m parked directly outside the manor, and to tell you the truth, I’m too scared to walk up to the front door. Could you and the aunts all open the front door and stand there? If anyone’s lurking outside, they won’t be game to do anything.”
“Do you sense someone out there?”
I bit my lip. “I think so, but I’m not sure. It could just be my imagination, but I can feel danger.”
“Stay in your car, Valkyrie. Don’t get out until you see the three of us standing in the door.”
I heaved a sigh of relief. Within moments, the front door flew open and all three aunts stood on the porch, calling loudly and beckoning to me. I jumped out of the car and sprinted up the flagstone pathway, taking care not to trip. I locked my door over my shoulder as I ran.
Soon we were all standing inside and the door was bolted behind us. “Did you see anyone out there?” Aunt Maude asked me.
I shook my head. “No, and it could have been my imagination. I can’t explain it, but the air felt clearer somehow as if someone was there. I can’t explain it,” I said again.
“Come and sit in front of the fire,” Agnes said. “Dorothy, light the fire, won’t you?”
“It’s not cold enough for a fire, surely,” I said.
Aunt Agnes dismissed my words. “Fire is always comforting.”
I had to admit she was right. When we were sitting around the fire sipping Witches’ Brew, I told them all about my night. “And so it was a consummate waste of time,” I concluded.
“The murderer then is likely not Sam Innis,” Aunt Agnes said, “unless he is being very clever about it.”
“Most murderers are very clever and cover their tracks,” Maude said.
Agnes snapped at her. “That’s not what I meant, Maude, and you know it.”
To break the tension, I quickly said, “Harry Friar is looking the most likely suspect. We still have to check out that antique dealer and Joseph Maxwell’s ex-wife. She seems a likely suspect.”
“Perhaps too likely,” Maude said. “In cases of homicide, police always look to the spouse first. Surely she wouldn’t murder him right after an acrimonious divorce. That would make her look too suspicious.”
“Only don’t forget, it’s a copycat killing,” I said. “We should have a good close look at her. To me she seems more likely than the antique dealer.”
“Why is that?” Aunt Agnes asked me.
“Who murders someone over a bad internet connection? The homicide rate in Australia would be very high if that was the case.”
“But we don’t know if their screaming match was about the internet connection,” Aunt Agnes pointed out. “It could have been something else entirely.”
I tapped my chin. “I hadn’t thought of that. Where do we go from here?”
“I think you and I should purchase an antique tomorrow,” Au
nt Agnes said.
I looked around the room, crammed as it was with antiques. “Don’t you have enough antiques, Aunt Agnes? Surely you won’t actually need to buy something to get the woman to talk?”
Aunt Agnes shook her head. “Antique dealers are far more forthcoming if you buy something from them. Trust me, I’m speaking from experience.”
Chapter 14
I was creeped out. Antique stores always creeped me out, to be honest. It was my belief that antiques held some vestiges of their former owners, imprints somehow. I looked around me and shuddered. This antique shop, the Lighthouse Bay Antiques and Arts Centre, seemed worse than most. This was probably due to the fact that it had so many figurines. Antique dolls scared the heck out of me, and while thankfully I couldn’t see any antique dolls, I could see plenty of figurines.
There were African figurines that had been converted to lamps, Greek or Roman marble statues of women, some of them with their heads missing, an Egyptian woman, all mustard and pale blue in a contortionist position, a bronze woman holding a sword, scantily clad in gold leaf and standing on top of a marble clock, and Atlas, bearing the weight of the world—literally.
The store owner saw us and broke into a wide smile. I figured this was due to the fact that Aunt Agnes no doubt had spent a lot of money in here. “Joyce, this is my niece, Valkyrie.”
“Pepper,” I said automatically.
“Do you share your aunt’s love for antiques?” She shot me a toothy grin as she said it.
I remained silent, wondering how I could answer tactfully.
Thankfully, Aunt Agnes answered for me. “Valkyrie is an antique fancier in the making. I’m showing her the ropes.”
Joyce beamed at me and then walked away to deal with a customer. She seemed an affable woman; I couldn’t see her angry, much less raising her voice at anyone.
Aunt Agnes grabbed my arm. “Valkyrie, look at that? Oh, the beauty! The magnificence! Have you ever seen anything quite so beautiful as that?”
I looked in the direction in which she had pointed, but couldn’t see anything that fitted such a glowing description. I looked around the store, and still came up blank.
“Why, over there, of course!”
I took a closer look at the object Aunt Agnes was now bending over. It was… well, there were no words to describe it, really. I could identify the colours more readily than the shapes. There was a red-brown, a navy blue, an unusual shade of green, and an even more unusual shade of mustard, and then were the patterns—many patterns. It seemed to have no practical use, so I assumed it was a sculpture, a sculpture in ceramics.
“What is it?” I said tentatively.
“Why, it’s Majolica of course,” Aunt Agnes said. “Most likely Minton.”
I had no suitable reply. I simply said, “Oh.”
Aunt Agnes was enraptured. She exclaimed about the pierced rim, the arched panels, the bulrushes, the trumpet shapes, the scalloped wells, the grapevines, and the putti holding a basket.
“How much is it?” I asked her.
Aunt Agnes peered at the label. “Why, it’s not even three thousand dollars!” She seemed delighted.
I gulped. “Where would you put it?”
“It would go with any of my other items,” Aunt Agnes said. “I could put it on my cedar chiffonier, or my marble washstand, or my Tasmanian Blackwood hallstand, or my nineteenth century cedar apprentice wardrobe, or my cedar Partner’s Desk, or my mahogany dumbwaiter…” She went on and on, cataloguing her antique furniture at a rapid pace.
“Aunt Agnes,” I began, when I managed to get a word in, “how are we going to ask Joyce about the argument with Joseph Maxwell?”
Aunt Agnes patted my hand. “Leave it to me, dear. I am the very soul of tact. Remember what I said? I’m going to buy some little thing, because that will help make Joyce spill the beans.”
“Not that, um, Majolica thing?” I asked with concern.
Aunt Agnes laughed. “No, of course not, Valkyrie. Something much cheaper. Oh, my goodness! Look over there! Have you ever seen anything so delightful?”
Again, I could not see the item she had in mind. “Look at that, Valkyrie! Those two glass arms with the basket suspended! The frilled base supporting the five trumpets!”
I spotted it. I had to admit that the colours were pretty, a lovely pink-red, a nice green, and an unusual shade of purple.
“This is a Victorian cranberry glass and uranium glass trumpet and basket epergne,” Aunt Agnes said. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” I said. “How much is it?”
“Two thousand dollars. Why, it’s a true bargain!”
“Should you buy something cheaper, you know, just to get her tongue to start wagging?”
Aunt Agnes’s face fell with disappointment. “I do suppose you’re right. What in here is nice but cheap?”
I shrugged. That indeed was a good question. “What about this thing here?” I pointed to a little red wine glass next to us.
Aunt Agnes nodded her approval. “You have a good eye, Valkyrie. That is a Victorian ruby wine glass.”
“It’s fifty dollars,” I said with relief.
Joyce materialised behind me. “I’m afraid I only have the one,” she said, and Aunt Agnes tut-tutted.
“I’ll buy it, anyway. It will look good with all my others.”
“It comes as a set?” I asked her.
Joyce nodded. “There should be six of them, but really, it’s a wonder that any antiques manage to remain unscathed until today. People didn’t know their worth, and threw them out because they weren’t trendy at the time.”
“All Victorian glassware has come down in price,” Aunt Agnes said.
“Yes, years ago it would have brought quite good money, but these days no one is interested in it, more’s the pity.” Aunt Agnes and Joyce engaged in a heated discussion about the lack of taste of modern people, until I managed to catch Aunt Agnes’s eye and raised my eyebrows.
“Did you know that my niece Valkyrie, here, was the one who found the body of that awful man, Joseph Maxwell?” Aunt Agnes said without so much as a segue.
Joyce regarded me with new interest.
“His cousin, Harry Friar, is boarding with us at the moment,” Aunt Agnes continued. “He was worried that the police might suspect him, because he hated his cousin, and he is the only beneficiary.”
“Who didn’t hate Joseph Maxwell!” Joyce said vehemently.
“You didn’t like him either?” Aunt Agnes asked her. “Did you have problems with him because of the internet?”
Joyce nodded. “Yes. I sell antiques online as well, and last year, he told me that I should do away with my landline because the NBN was coming soon. He said I’d have plenty of data if I used a mobile broadband device. Well, let me tell you, it’s been nothing but trouble ever since! My online business income has gone down to practically nothing. That horrible man was responsible for a significant loss of income for me!”
Her face turned bright red and she clenched her fists. “And you know what! He came in here to tell me that the NBN won’t be coming for a few more years. Can you imagine that? A few more years! But when he came in last year, he told me it would be here by August. What’s more, I wasn’t able to get my landline back because there’s an NBN Hold on the area. Can you believe that! It’s like a circus, a complete circus.” She let out a long string of language that made me blush. I wondered if she had called Joseph Maxwell those names to his face.
Aunt Agnes murmured her sympathies. I could understand why Joyce would be absolutely furious with Joseph Maxwell, but did anyone really murder somebody over bad internet service? I wasn’t sure. Upon reflection, it did seem like a reasonable motive to me.
Aunt Agnes interrupted her. “Is that dog hair on your jacket, Joyce?”
Joyce’s face went white. She brushed herself furiously. “Probably. I only live around the corner, and I often pass the same people walking their dogs every day.”
“You d
on’t own a dog?” I asked her.
She shook her head. “No, but I love dogs. I’m never home, otherwise I’d get a dog.”
Aunt Agnes and I exchanged glances. Surely someone didn’t get covered with dog hair just by walking past a dog. That is, unless she patted the dogs, but she didn’t say that. Was she a Shifter wolf? I knew there would be no way to find out. And if she was a Shifter wolf, had she killed Joseph Maxwell by herself, or was she involved with the rogue pack?
“Do you have any new pieces since I was last in?” Aunt Agnes asked her.
“Oh yes!” Joyce’s beaming smile was back. “I bought a deceased estate only the other week. Most of it wasn’t much good, mostly just second hand stuff, but I have a dealer who often takes that type of thing off my hands. You know—the vintage stuff, the retro. I did get some good enamel signs and some century-old toys. Now, I know they’re not your thing, Agnes, but they do sell well. But come and see this. I bought some lovely sterling silver.”
She led us over to a locked, glass-topped cabinet. Even I exclaimed at the beauty of the contents. Joyce pointed to each piece in turn. “Look at this lovely spinning locket, and this locket. And that’s my favourite, the silver Albertina.”
I could certainly get used to looking at antique jewellery, but I would be concerned about wearing it, given how I felt about people’s accompanying vibes with their items. And jewellery was more personal than most.
“And did you get all these lovely items locally?” Aunt Agnes asked her.
Joyce shook her head. “No, I got these down at Laurieton.”
“Oh, you travel that far south, do you?” Agnes shot me a sidelong look.
“Yes, I go up and down the coast on buying trips,” Joyce said. “I do it at weekends and keep the shop open through the week.”
When we left the store and were safely out of earshot, Aunt Agnes turned to me. “What did you make of that, Valkyrie?”
“I find the dog hair suspicious.”
Aunt Agnes nodded. “So do I. Of course, she said she’s a dog lover, and if she sees the same dogs every morning, then it’s likely that she does pat them.”