by Morgana Best
“Murdered,” the man said. “Preston was my brother.”
“Cameron was trying to console me,” Donna said quickly. “I’ve been in a terrible state since Preston was killed at your establishment.”
It sounded as if she was trying to push the blame on me. I was sure she was simply trying to distract me with the murder, so I would not focus on the fact that I had walked in on something taking place between her and her dead husband’s brother. Their clothes were wrinkled and dirty, and there was a clump of grass stuck to the side of her head.
I held out the flowers. “Yes, that’s why I stopped by,” I said. “I wanted to bring you these. I know you had his funeral somewhere else, but I wanted to bring you these, and tell you I was sorry for your loss.”
Donna stepped forward and took the flowers. “They’re lovely. Thank you very much.” She sniffed them.
“Well, I was just leaving,” Cameron said, after having finally tightened his belt properly. He did not notice that a tall rose stem was sticking out of his hair, pointing toward the sky.
“Right. Thanks for stopping by.” Donna stepped forward as if she was going to kiss him, but caught herself in time and awkwardly patted him on the arm instead. She watched him go and then turned to me. “I was just about to put on some coffee.”
I wondered why she said that. I knew what she had just been about to do, and it had nothing to do with coffee.
“Would you like to come in for a cup?” she continued.
I couldn’t believe my luck. “Yes, that sounds lovely,” I said, and I followed her out of the garden.
The door opened up directly into a large kitchen. Donna set the flowers in a vase on the center of the kitchen island. I sat on a stool on one side of the island, while she busied herself with the coffee.
“I didn’t know Preston had a brother,” I said. I realized that my comment made it sound as if I knew the man. I did, of course, but only by speaking to his ghost, so I added, “I mean, we only spoke briefly.”
“Preston and Cameron were close when they were younger, but they had a falling out when their parents divorced. Each one sided with a different parent, and they could go months without speaking. It was sad to hear stories about them as children, and then see them so far apart. Cameron was upset about it. As was Preston,” she added.
I nodded.
“I certainly don’t blame you for Preston’s death,” she continued. “I saw that article in the Sydney paper, and I felt rather bad about it. I’ve been meaning to call you and tell you, but I haven’t had a chance to get around to it, what with everything.”
“Thanks for letting me know.” I smiled at her. “I thought you must have blamed the funeral home somehow, since you had the funeral somewhere else.”
“Mr. Dunne called me and offered me quite a good rate,” Donna said with a shrug. She handed me a cup of coffee.
I took a sip. It was disgusting. Instant coffee is against my religion. “I understand,” I said. “It would have been hard to be in the place where he’d been killed.”
Donna sipped her coffee and appeared to be lost in thought. Tears swam in her eyes. She reached up to touch her hair, and her fingers touched the clump of grass. “You should have told me!” she said in alarm.
“I didn’t want to embarrass you,” I said lamely. “Things like that often happen to me in the garden.” Well, that couldn’t be further from the truth, but I wondered what was going through Donna’s mind as her eyes widened.
“You know, Preston and I were thinking of divorce,” she said.
“Oh?”
Donna nodded. “We fought about money.”
“About money?” I asked, surprised. “This house is beautiful.”
“It is. Oh believe me, we had money, but it was all gone. Preston was spending it faster than he could make it. I suppose that sounds horrible. I’ve never worked, you see. Preston didn’t want me to, but in the last few years he sank so much money into his little project.”
Donna was looking up at the ceiling, so I took the opportunity to tip my coffee into the dead maidenhair fern sitting next to me in a fancy ceramic pot on the countertop. I wondered if it had been killed by other guests pouring their bad coffee into it. “What was his little project?” I asked.
“An album. At his age! He was recording an album. He hired a producer and bought time in a studio. All that’s so expensive. He was sinking us.”
I thought for a moment. “But now, without him, there’s nothing coming in. You’ll have to work now, won’t you?”
“Perhaps,” she said, sipping from her cup before she leaned forward and smiled. It was a predatory smile. “Between you and me, there’s a pretty big sum of money coming from Preston’s life insurance. It will be enough to set me up for the rest of my life.”
I nodded, and set down the empty cup. “I really should be going,” I said as I stood. “Thanks for the coffee. Again, I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” Donna hadn’t stopped smiling since she had mentioned the insurance money.
I hurried out to my car and drove down the road for some way before pulling off at a lonely gas station. I sat in my car and thought about what I’d heard. Donna and Cameron were having an affair. Preston Kerr had spent all their money. The insurance money was certainly a motive. In this case, divorce would not have been easier. Donna wouldn’t have been able to get anything from Preston in a settlement, because there was nothing to get.
I pulled back onto the road and headed for home. I had a new favorite suspect. My only reservation was that the police would have this information, but had not acted on it.
Chapter 16
It was Friday evening. It had been a long day. I had spent hours cleaning out the gutters at both the funeral home and Mom’s house, and as a result, I was covered with leaves and dirt. After the gutters had been cleaned, there were fifty more things to do. By the time I finally walked into the house, all I wanted to do was take a nice, relaxing bath. My mother, as usual, had other plans.
“Hurry up, Laurel!” she snapped as soon as I walked in the door. “Dinner’s almost ready. We’re having guests.”
I sighed. “I didn’t know you were having guests.”
“We are having guests,” she barked at me, waving a long silver spoon in the air. “I told you that. Don’t pretend you didn’t know.”
“I actually didn’t know, Mom.”
Mom snorted with disgust. “Hurry up and get ready.”
“Who’s coming?” I asked with some trepidation. “Not John Jones?”
“Ian, of course,” Mom said.
I should have known that Ian was coming. I saw him so much that I wouldn’t be surprised if he had moved into the spare room. “So John Jones isn’t coming?”
Mom shook her head. “I already told you that, Laurel. Weren’t you listening? John Jones is already here. He’s in the kitchen, praying and thinking over the food.”
I clutched at my head. I thought I was going to be sick. I made my way slowly to the stairs when Mom spoke again. “Basil Sandalwood is coming, too.”
I froze in horror and my heart raced. Basil? Why would Mom invite Basil to her home? “Basil?” I stammered. “Here? To this house? Here?”
“Yes.” Mom was quite smug, a fact which worried me. When she had that look on her face, she was always up to something. Something bad. Really bad.
I hurried upstairs. Instead of a nice, relaxing bath, I had a rushed shower. This was going to be uncomfortable. Basil and I had parted in an awkward manner. Then there was the fact that Basil and I were the only people who had ever set foot in Mom’s home who didn’t attend her church. And then there was the fact that Mom probably intended to fire Basil, with Ian’s support. The fact that she couldn’t do so would in no way stop her from trying. Whichever way I looked at it, this night was going to be a disaster.
I was walking down the stairs when the doorbell rang. I sighed. Here begins a night of embarrassment, I thought. I hesitated, hoping Mom would answer
the door, but she did not.
I crossed to the door and opened it. “Hi, Basil. Come in.” I tried not to meet his gaze. I looked past him and saw Ian parking in the drive that ran alongside the funeral home. I shut the door as Ian was climbing out of his car.
Basil appeared to be tense as well. Before either of us could say any more, Mom appeared. “Mr. Sandalwood, please come in. Laurel, you can wait there for Ian.”
Ian knocked only a moment later. “Didn’t you see me?” he asked as soon as I answered the door.
“Yes,” I said simply. I turned to walk to the dining room.
Mom and John Jones had already set hot food on the table. When John Jones saw me, he hurried over to me and puckered up his lips. I ducked and hurried around to the other side of the table. Mom introduced Basil to John Jones and Ian. To my dismay, she introduced John Jones as my date.
“He is not my date, Mom!” I said angrily.
Ian, John, and Mom all gasped. I thought I detected a flicker of amusement pass across Basil’s face. Mom pretended to cry and rushed out of the room.
“See what you’ve done, Laurel,” Ian said. “Your poor mother. How could you treat her like that?”
John Jones nodded his agreement, but stopped when I shot him a furious glare.
I wondered whether to run out the door. In fact, I would have left, only I couldn’t leave Basil there alone. Who knows what they’d say to him?
As soon as we all sat down, Mom poked her head around the door. “We need to say Grace,” she announced. “Ian or John will say it, as they are the men.”
I wondered what Basil was, if not a man. I was already mortified, and I knew it would get worse. I was only grateful for the fact that I was sitting opposite Basil, so didn’t have to hold his hand while Ian said Grace. I did have to hold John’s hand, but for once, I thought that the lesser of two evils.
By the time Ian had finished saying Grace and praying for all the misguided heathens and the person who was possessed by the Demon Alcohol—no prizes for guessing who that was—I thought the food would have gone cold. Mom wasted no time in saying what was on her mind. “Basil, I don’t think it’s appropriate that you work for us anymore. Ian and I have been talking about it, and it’s simply not appropriate.”
“Ian and you have been talking about it?” I said in a cold voice. “Well, Ian has nothing to do with the funeral home. Nor do you, for that matter. It is my funeral home. It is my business, and no one else has any say in it.”
Mom appeared unperturbed. “Basil does not go to my church,” she said smugly. “I’m sorry. Ian and I have been talking, and that’s our decision.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “You’ve been talking? Your decision? Let me repeat this, and I’m going to say it slowly so it sinks in. Ian doesn’t work for me. Ian doesn’t get to decide anything. And for that matter, neither do you. You work for me, Mom. And to be honest, I’m likely to fire you long before I’ll get rid of Basil.”
My mother looked at me with an open mouth. Ian put his hand over his heart in the most feigned display of surprise I’d ever seen. Basil seemed to be amused by the scene.
I was no longer embarrassed. Rather, I was furious, or to use an expression of my mother’s, I was ‘livid with rage’.
“It’s nothing against you, Mr. Sandalwood,” Ian said. “It’s just that Thelma is concerned because Laurel is New Age. I’m sure you can see that with Laurel running the funeral home and being New Age, we’re worried that you are a heathen as well. Surely you can see our concerns?”
“No,” Basil said flatly. He turned to me. “You’re New Age?”
I shrugged. “Apparently so. I have scented candles and crystals in my room.”
“Crystals?” John Jones gasped. “They are tools of the D-word himself!”
“The D-word?” I asked. This was a new one on me.
“I don’t glorify the D-word by saying his name out loud,” John said in the most sanctimonious tone imaginable. “And crystals are his tools.”
“But crystals come from the ground,” I said. “Didn’t God make them? Isn’t that what you said, Mom, that God made the earth and everything in it?’
Mom was flustered for a moment. “You always twist my words, Laurel, you little brat. Of course God didn’t make crystals.”
John and Ian nodded.
That floored me. I had no idea how to respond, so I just shoveled food into my mouth.
“You don’t share your mother’s views?” Basil asked me.
I signaled that I had food in my mouth, and then tried to swallow it quickly. That only succeeded in making me choke. John Jones leaped to his feet and placed both his hands on my back.
“Please don’t touch me!” I said, after I managed to swallow the food.
“I was praying for you,” he said in an offended tone.
“You didn’t need to touch me for that,” I protested.
“Oh yes, he did,” Mom said, as quick as a flash. “When you pray for healing, you have to place your hands on the affected part.”
Ian and John murmured their agreement.
“But what if someone has hemorrhoids?” I said without thinking. I mean, it sounded logical to me, and I wasn’t prepared for the reaction.
“Laurel!” Mom said loudly. “I will not have such words used at my table!”
Ian and John Jones gasped in unison and covered their mouths with their hands. I ignored them, and turned to Basil. “No,” I said firmly. “I do not share my mother’s views. I do not share Ian’s views, or John’s views for that matter.” I glared at the three of them in turn. “And, Mom, is this why you invited Basil for dinner, to try to fire him?” I turned back to Basil. “I’m sorry about this.”
Basil lifted his hands, a gesture either of helplessness or sympathy—I had no idea which.
Mom scowled at me. “Why do you always twist my words?” She used her whining voice, the one she used to gain sympathy. “You can see what she’s doing, can’t you, Ian?”
Ian shot me a glare. “I certainly can.” He turned back to my mother. “I don’t know how you’ve survived all these years with a child like that.”
I took a deep breath and held my head in my hands. I couldn’t have been more embarrassed. Whatever would Basil think of me now?
Mom made a big show of dabbing at fake tears with a tissue. “Laurel, I simply told Basil that I wasn’t happy with him. I thought inviting him to dinner would be a nice way to fire him.”
“Mom, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” I said loudly. “Who I employ is my decision, not yours, and definitely not Ian’s. I don’t care to hear John’s views at any time, and that’s the end of the conversation.” I slammed my open hand down on the table as hard as I could. It hurt like hell. I placed it back under the table, and gritted my teeth. Showing my pain would spoil the moment.
Mom, Ian, and John stared at me with their mouths agape.
I looked straight into my mother’s face and said, “And there had better be dessert!”
Chapter 17
It was a humid day. Humidity was unusual for the mountainous region of New England, Australia. The heat here was normally dry, but thunderstorms were invariably preceded by hours of humidity.
The storm was building. The thick black clouds looked angry, and still the sun beat down relentlessly. The air all but crackled with electricity.
I had trouble finding somewhere to park and had to drive around the block three times. Finally, I managed to wedge my car into a small space. I just hate it when drivers take up two parking spaces.
I texted Tara: ‘Almost there.’ I was looking forward to telling Tara all about the insidious dinner of the previous night. In fact, telling Tara my problems was like therapy, only free.
I arrived at the café’s al fresco area and looked for Tara. I didn’t see her in the first sweep. In front of me was a woman holding a sandwich in both hands. She reminded me of a possum, the way she was hunched over and nibbling her prize as if a b
igger possum would swoop in and steal it at any moment. Next to her were a young man and a young woman. Both were dressed very nicely for lunch, but were oblivious to one another. I figured they were on a date, but they were busy texting. Perhaps they were texting each other.
“Laurel, there you are!” Tara called out. “Over here!”
I made my way past the crowded tables to Tara. To my dismay, Janet was with her. “It’s so crowded here today,” I said as I sat down. “Perhaps next time we could try that new health food café.”
Janet snorted rudely. “Health food! Green smoothies break me right out in strange places. Have you ever had a rash on your…”
“The new healthy café would be great!” Tara interrupted shrilly. She had clearly had enough of Janet’s straight talking. “Anyway, Laurel, I ordered you a latte when you texted me, but I didn’t know what you wanted to eat.”
Janet poked my arm. “A celery stick, most likely.” She snorted so loudly that other patrons turned to look. “Laurel’s a human rabbit. We’ve got to get some protein into her. That whole lettuce and tofu thing just isn’t natural.”
I looked at the half-eaten burger on Janet’s plate. A charred beef patty, a fried egg, oozing cheese or some other yellow substance, bacon poking out the sides, not to mention all the fried onion rings. Janet’s lunch was as far from natural as it got. I could almost hear the cholesterol sloshing around in her veins.
Still, I dared not comment, as I knew only too well what fried foods did to Janet. She was quite outspoken about it. I did not want to hear about it again.
Janet stood up abruptly. “I have to go. This is getting boring.”
When Janet left, Tara slumped in her chair and sighed deeply.
“What happened?”
“You don’t want to know,” Tara said. “Anyway, tell me in detail everything that happened between you and the mysterious weirdo, Basil.” She leaned forward expectantly.
“He’s not a weirdo,” I said. When Tara raised her eyebrows, I added, “Okay, he’s a little strange.”