There Must be a Happy Medium

by Morgana Best

  “I’m not sure I’m following you,” Alum said.

  “It’s probably nothing,” I said, “but I noticed she had an old oak dresser against the wall, there was a nice set of vintage Royal Doulton teacups on it. It took my eye because my mother has the same pattern, the primroses and violets. Mrs. Cornford would give a guest the Royal Doulton teacups, not the everyday ones, because those would normally be reserved for the family.”

  Alum frowned. “That’s quite a stretch, isn’t it?” He rubbed his chin, and then leaned back on the couch.

  “Possibly, but that’s the way the local townspeople of her age are. I know my own mother does that, and she’s about Mrs. Cornford’s age. My mother would never serve everyday china to a guest. Hang on a moment, I have to call Sally.”

  I hurried out of the room, tripping over Lily, who deliberately darted between my legs. I fell against the doorpost, hitting my elbow hard. I said a rude word.

  “Prudence, are you all right?” Alum called after me.

  “Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. I shot Lily a nasty glance. She just sat there, pleased with herself and licking one paw. I could swear she was smirking. When I reached my bedroom, I found Possum sitting on my laptop. I managed to retrieve it without being scratched, and took it back to the living room.

  It took me only moments to find Sally’s number. I set the phone to loud. She answered at once. “Hi, Sally, it’s Prudence Wallflower. Look, this might sound a bit strange, but you often had a cup of tea with Mrs. Cornford, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, every week.”

  “What china did she use?”

  Sally hesitated for a moment. “The Royal Doulton.”

  I nodded at Alum. “Every week? Are you sure?”

  “Quite sure,” Sally said. “And every week she’d tell me the same story, how it was a wedding present to her mother. Why do you ask?”

  “Sally, do you remember when we found Mrs. Cornford? That the teacups weren’t Royal Doulton?”

  “I don’t remember,” Sally said. “I was too upset and shocked. But I’ve never known her to give me anything but the Royal Doulton china.”

  I thanked her and hung up.

  “What do you make of that?” Alum asked me.

  I shrugged. “It’s probably nothing, but she always served Sally tea in Royal Doulton cups. However, she served whoever her guest was that day tea in the everyday cups, and that person was probably the murderer. That has to be a clue.”

  “And if you say she would’ve normally served everyday china only to her family, then that leaves the nephew, Boris McIntosh,” Alum said thoughtfully. “However, we must consider the fact that Sally was lying and that she herself was the murderer. It’s all a bit of a stretch, though.”

  I had to admit that he was right. “It is a stretch that Sally would go to such lengths to change the china, but Sally was the one leaving Mrs. Cornford’s house when I arrived, and she was the one buying the eye drops.”

  “Mind you, like I said before, not having a criminal record doesn’t mean anything. Something could’ve made her snap.”

  I was about to respond when my text tone sounded on my phone, which was sitting next to my coffee cup on the coffee table. I leaned forward and picked it up. “It’s from Larry,” I said to Alum in shock. “He says an elderly woman by the name of Ella Cornford has just been killed in another town.”

  Alum leaned forward. “You’re kidding! That’s a bit much of a coincidence.”

  I read the whole text, and then said, “So, Larry thinks our Mrs. Cornford might’ve been murdered by mistake—a case of mistaken identity. He wants me to go with him tomorrow to see if I can contact this other woman’s spirit.”

  Alum did not look pleased. “Is this what you really want, Prudence?” Before I could answer, he continued. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m really happy for you as far as the job goes. I’m just worried that you could put yourself in danger.”

  I understood where he was coming from. He had been shot and left for dead, and was still recovering from his near fatal injuries. He most likely was suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and no doubt was in therapy. It made perfect sense that he would overact to one of his friends being in danger, perceived or otherwise. “There’s one more thing,” he said.

  “What is it?” I was worried.

  “May I have some more pie? That was delicious.”

  I laughed and went back to the kitchen. When I returned, Alum was lying on the couch, fast asleep. I stood there for a moment, wondering if he had dozed off lightly and would soon wake up. When he started snoring quietly, I realized he was out for the count.

  I fetched a soft blanket and covered him. As soon as I did, Possum and Lily jumped on him. Lily wasted no time kneading him with her paws.

  Chapter 15

  The other Mrs. Cornford had been murdered near a town I’d never heard of, a tiny town between Bellingen and the coast. I wasn’t enjoying myself. For one, Alum’s concerns about my safety, as thoughtful as they were, dampened my spirits, and Larry drove altogether too fast for my comfort. Sure, he was keeping to the speed limit, but the speed limit was too generous for the conditions.

  Right now, we were driving down the Dorrigo mountain, and I had my hands firmly clamped over my eyes. The Dorrigo mountain road is a treacherous stretch of road, notorious for landslides, falling rocks, and flooding, as well as the precipitous drop to the valley far below. The narrow road winds through thick World Heritage Listed rainforest in the mountains known as the Great Dividing Range. Progress is slow due large logging trucks and tourist caravans, which find the steep, sharp turns difficult.

  The recent heavy rain had caused waterfalls to splash over the road, and when I did peek out from behind my hands, I saw huge boulders by the side of the road. These hadn’t been here the last time I had driven this way, and I wondered what would happen if they fell on some poor unfortunate car full of passengers.

  I remarked as such to Larry, but he had merely said that this was nothing, that when he had been in a bus in northern India, he had seen several vehicles that had fallen over the edge of cliffs. That wasn’t exactly a comfort.

  I myself wasn’t scared of driving along mountain edges, but I was scared when someone else was doing the driving. Finally, we reached the bottom of the steep descent and I breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness! We were soon in the pretty town of Bellingen, nestled amongst rolling green hills and perched on the edge of a picturesque river that wound its way through the lush, green valleys.

  Thankfully, Larry stopped for take-out. I had a bathroom break and bought some sandwiches and coffee, and then waited in his car for him. That morning, when Larry had called to collect me, Alum’s car was still parked outside my house. In fact, Alum had been still asleep on my couch, still covered with the soft blanket, but as well as the two cats sleeping on his legs, the dog was sleeping next to him. I had left him a note and a fresh pot of coffee. Larry hadn’t commented on Alum’s car, but I’d felt the urge to explain to him that Alum had visited and fallen asleep on my sofa. Larry had raised his eyebrows and tried not to smile. I had no idea why I had explained myself, or why I felt like a naughty teenager.

  Soon we were on our way, and the picturesque scenery continued. I began to relax as I enjoyed the moss covered trees, glimpses of primeval water holes, and the wide, verdant valley. It wasn’t until Larry parked at the police station that my nerves skyrocketed once more.

  I followed Larry into the huge building, taking deep breaths and unclenching my hands. It was one thing to be known as a clairvoyant medium to Larry, who had actually seen what I could do, but quite another thing to disbelieving police officers.

  Thankfully, Larry simply introduced me as a consultant. The other officers did not ask a single question as to what my role could be. We were at once ushered into a large room. The yellowing light fell through half open venetian blinds which lay at an angle, giving the whole room an air of untidiness. The stale coffee pot reeked
of something akin to battery acid, so I refused the offer of a cup. None of the officers gave me as much as a curious glance, much to my relief.

  The detective who had met us showed us to a round table, and spread out papers in front of us. “Ella Cornford,” he said, jabbing his finger at a large photograph. The photo was of a woman lying at the bottom of a flight of stairs. I averted my eyes.

  The next photo showed the woman when she was alive. She was about the same age as Mrs. Cornford, and had the same short gray hair, but that’s where the resemblance ended.

  “It is a bit of coincidence that two elderly women who lived alone and had the same name died within days of each other,” the detective said. “Plus this victim also lived in a small town, in this woman’s case about an hour from here.”

  “Is that the only reason you’re suspecting foul play?” Larry asked him.

  The detective nodded. “When I spoke with you on the phone, you said you hadn’t uncovered any motives for your victim yet.”

  “That’s right,” Larry said. “It could well be that my victim was murdered, then the murderer realized his or her mistake, and tracked down the actual intended victim.” He shot me a glance, but I shrugged slightly. There was no way I would have a clue until I spoke to the spirit. “If you would give us the address, we’ll look at the crime scene,” he added.

  If the detective thought that an unusual request, he didn’t show it. “Sure,” he said. “Forensics haven’t finished with the scene.” He scrawled the address on a piece of paper and handed it to Larry.

  Moments later, we were back on the road. “What do you think?” Larry asked me.

  “I won’t know anything until I speak to the victim’s spirit,” I said. I had already explained the difference between being psychic and being a clairvoyant medium several times, but it took most people a while to grasp it.

  I was, in fact, a little uneasy when Larry’s car drew to a stop outside a cottage nestled between hills and surrounded by tropical undergrowth. This did have the same neglected air as the other Mrs. Cornford’s house, and even had a ramshackle old fence out the front with the same type of ancient gate that looked somewhat like an old iron bedpost. The house was typical of a 1950’s fibro house on brick foundations, with a flat roof and old wooden windows. The garden was unkempt.

  “That looks somewhat like Mrs. Cornford’s house,” Larry said, echoing my thoughts.

  I followed him out of the car. He showed his badge to the officers there and introduced me once more as a consultant. Again, these people didn’t question what type of consultant I was.

  I slowly followed Larry into the cottage, which inside had a completely different layout to the house of the Mrs. Cornford back home. The house was on one level, which I found strange, considering that this lady’s death was said to have been caused by a fall down stairs. I said this to Larry.

  “It’s out the back or something,” he said. “I can hear voices out the back of the house.”

  We both walked through the house and, sure enough, there were deep steps leading into the yard as the ground sloped. I was pleased to see that the body had already been removed. There were several police officers standing at the bottom, so we circumnavigated the area and stood near the clothesline, a vintage affair of two pieces of wire strung across two lean-to wooden posts.

  The yard was unremarkable. The lawn was overgrown; pots that belonged to a rockery were chipped; crisp brown weeds grew; remains of an above ground swimming pool, now the home of frogs, languished; the roof of the outdoor laundry room, attached to the garage, had collapsed.

  “Are you getting any vibes?” Larry asked me.

  I was indeed. “Larry, I’m going to ask the spirit questions, but let’s pretend I’m talking to you. Just don’t answer me. At any rate, no one else will be able to hear what we’re saying out here in the yard.”

  I wasn’t prepared for the look of fear that flashed across Larry’s face. I was so used to the paranormal, that I often forgot that other people weren’t as comfortable with it as I was.

  The spirit was coming through rather strongly, much to my surprise. “Mrs. Cornford?” I said, while Larry fidgeted nervously beside me.

  “You can see me?” she asked me.

  “No I can’t, but I’m aware of your presence. My name is Prudence Wallflower, and I’m a clairvoyant medium. I can sense what you say quite clearly although I can’t audibly hear what you say word for word.” I hesitated and gave her the opportunity to respond, because many newly departed spirits weren’t fully aware that they were dead, not at first anyway.

  “Is she speaking to you?” Larry said.

  “Yes, but I need to be able to perceive what she’s saying.”

  “Sorry,” Larry mumbled.

  “Am I dead?” she asked me.

  “Yes,” I said. “Sorry about that. Do you remember what happened to you?”

  “This is weird,” she said. “I was always afraid to die, but I can’t feel my arthritis at all. This isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Are you sure I’m dead?”

  “Most definitely,” I said. “See all these police officers? They think you were murdered. Can you remember anything about it?”

  The spirit seemed to be surprised. “Murdered? No, I wasn’t murdered. The last thing I remember is that I slipped at the top of the stairs. I don’t even remember landing.”

  “Are you sure you weren’t pushed?” I asked her.

  “Absolutely sure!” she said. “My hips have been playing up lately, and I’d run out of my arthritis medication. I was going to get some, but as I hurried down the stairs with my rifle, my hips gave way and that’s what made me fall.”

  “Why did you have a rifle?”

  “I was shooting at those fruit bats!” Waves of anger emanated from the ghost. “It’s illegal to kill them, but they make such a mess! They eat all my fruit, and there have been Hendra outbreaks here. It’s fatal, you know—there’s no cure!”

  I didn’t like to point out that she was no longer in danger of catching the Hendra virus from bats. “I’m sorry to ask you again, but are you one hundred percent sure that you weren’t pushed?”

  “Yes, I’m positive.”

  Larry was looking at me with interest, which was somewhat distracting.

  “And you haven’t seen any strangers around lately and nothing suspicious has happened?”

  The spirit said that nothing of the sort had happened.

  “And have you had any visitors lately?”

  The spirit again said that she hadn’t, and she started to fade.

  I turned to Larry. “She said she wasn’t murdered—her fall was an accident. She’s absolutely positive of the fact. Her bad hip gave way and she fell. She ran out with her rifle to shoot at bats. That’s why she fell. This is definitely not a murder case. She’s not acting anything like a spirit who was murdered. They don’t usually come through so strongly. Larry, is there anything you want me to ask her, because she’s fading fast?”

  Larry appeared to be thinking it over. “Oops, too late,” I said. “She’s gone.”

  “Can you ask her anything again, later on?” Larry asked me.

  “Sure,” I said, “if we stay here long enough. But is there any point? She’s absolutely positive it was an accident.”

  Larry sighed long and hard. “I was hoping this was an easy answer to our Mrs. Cornford’s murder, but it looks like we’re back to square one.”

  I nodded. “What will you tell the police here?”

  “Nothing. They’ll find out it was an accident when they get their results back.”

  Chapter 16

  When we got back to the car, I looked at my phone: a missed call from Alum, and a long text apologizing once again for falling asleep, and saying he’d make it up to me.

  I texted back, as Larry started the drive home. We hadn’t gone far before Larry had a call. He pulled over to speak to the caller.

  “We finally have a suspect who does have a motive,”
he said gleefully, after he ended the call.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “A realtor, of all people. Have you heard of Robert Wrench?”

  “Yes I have, and I’ve heard nothing good about him,” I said. “He’s widely disliked all over town.”

  Larry nodded. “Well, apparently he’s been trying to buy Mrs. Cornford’s house, because he owns the vacant acreage behind it and he’s been granted planning permission for a big subdivision.”

  I tried to think it through. “But why would he need Mrs. Cornford’s house?” I asked Larry. “It doesn’t provide access to the subdivision, does it?”

  “Not as far as I know, but if he’s going to sell plots for people to build beautiful new homes, then her home would be an eyesore, and it could deter buyers.”

  “I see.” I thought for a few moments longer. “But would that be enough reason to murder someone?”

  Larry shot me a quick glance. “You’d be surprised to hear the motives I’ve come across in my time.”

  I had no answer for that.

  “Besides, he’s the only suspect that has a motive so far,” Larry continued, “and he’s quite aggressive in business dealings.”

  “Does he have a criminal record?” I asked him.

  Larry shook his head. “No, but for all we know, he paid others to do his dirty work for him.”

  I was not convinced. “But what does this have to do with her renovations?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mrs. Cornford said she remembered that her death had something to do with the renovations,” I pointed out. “This doesn’t seem to have anything to do with renovations.”

  Larry shrugged. “Maybe you should go back and ask her. If you tell her the realtor’s name, then she might remember something.”

  I agreed. I thought that was a good idea.