Natural-born Grillers (Australian Amateur Sleuth Book 2)

by Morgana Best

  “No, Sibyl, it can’t be Susan. I just remembered something.”

  My heart sank. “What?”

  “Lord Farringdon selected her for the cleaning position. He’s a good judge of character.”

  I raised my eyebrows, but managed to keep my opinions to myself.

  Chapter 12

  “But it’ll be gay!” Cressida announced, much to my surprise.

  “Cressida, I don’t even know who or what Thunderbolt is. You telling me that he’s gay isn’t enough to persuade me to go a parade in his honor,” I admitted, shrugging.

  “Oh well, he’s not gay right now; he’s dead.” Cressida said thoughtfully, if a bit too bluntly. “But the parade itself is gay! You’ll enjoy it!”

  I didn’t really know what to make of that comment, so I let it slide. A gay parade for a since-deceased man named Thunderbolt? This was not only bizarre, but it seemed a bit too open-minded for what I had thought was a conservative town full of spotlighters—people who hunt at night with guns by spotlights—and hunting pig-dog owners. Yes, I know Australia has stringent gun laws, but every resident in town was packing heat. This was out in the country, after all. Almost every day I heard a tale of how some elderly woman in Little Tatterford had shot a snake in her yard. Still, maybe I’d misjudged the views of the people living here. “So it’s a bit like Mardi Gras?” I asked, hoping to get some clarification on the whole ordeal.

  “I’ve never eaten that, but I don’t think so,” Cressida replied, to which I sighed deeply. I figured I should try to get some more details before she inevitably found a way to make me go.

  “Cressida,” I asked, “who exactly was Thunderbolt?”

  “Oh, he was a career criminal. A bushranger.” Cressida acted as though this were the most normal thing in the world. “Captain Thunderbolt. His real name was Frank Ward. Why, he’s famous in these parts! Haven’t you seen his big bronze statue in town? You can’t miss it! They even have his gun at the local museum. He was the longest running bushranger ever in Australia!” she added with great pride.

  I’d heard of Ned Kelly, of course, but I wasn’t aware that there was a celebrated gay bushranger. I decided to press Cressida for more information. “And he was gay?” I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Not that it mattered to me if he was, but it seemed strange that I’d never heard of it until now.

  “Well, not always, of course. Nobody can be gay all the time.” Cressida said this in the most nonchalant tone imaginable. I had no idea how to react, but she continued. “He wouldn’t have been gay while he was dying, for example.”

  I was at a total loss as to how she’d reached that conclusion and decided to drop the topic altogether, but before I could get a word in, Cressida confused me even more.

  “He seemed to be at his gayest while robbing people.” She nodded as she spoke, as if it were an obvious truth.

  “Uh,” I stammered, “does that not strike you as a little strange?” It wasn’t a question I typically asked Cressida, but I was especially confused this time.

  “Of course it does. I couldn’t possibly imagine being gay while robbing people,” she explained.

  “At least we agree on something, I suppose,” I said, sighing again. “So what exactly happens at the festival?”

  “Oh, not too much, but it’s a big event for a small town like this. There are a few stalls set up selling paraphernalia and such—nothing too exciting, mind you—but it’s mostly about the parade itself. The highway is blocked off while the locals ride horses and celebrate Thunderbolt.”

  “The highway is blocked off for the parade?” I asked, astonished. “Doesn’t that strike you as inconvenient? Dangerous, even?”

  Cressida looked a bit put out when I asked. “I suppose it is, a little. It’s worth it, though. Thunderbolt is a legend around here.” She nodded so hard that her glasses fell off, but it didn’t do much to change my mind on the matter.

  “So it’s just a parade, and we’ll watch from the pavement?” I asked, less than excited.

  “Yes, exactly. It’s a nice hot day, too, so wear something light.” Cressida was acting as though I’d already agreed to come.

  “Isn’t that a little...” I struggled to think of a word that didn’t sound rude, but failed. “Awful? I mean, it sounds like we’ll just be looking at people riding horses in the heat.”

  “But it’ll be gay!” Cressida pleaded, and for a moment I was hit with a strong sense of deja vu. I decided just to give up and get it over with. “All right, all right, I’ll come along. Only because it’s gay, though, but I’m not sure why you keep bringing that up.”

  “Oh, don’t be like that, Sibyl. Everybody enjoys a gay day out. I’ll meet you there.” Cressida happily marched out the door and left me more confused than ever. Either the stress of recent events was really getting to her or I didn’t know Cressida nearly as well as I thought I did.

  I decided to dress as normally as I possibly could. I had no idea what to make of this parade, but the last thing I wanted was to wear something extravagant and turn up to a completely normal event. What Cressida had tried to explain sounded less than normal, but being underdressed seemed somehow safer than being overdressed, at least in this case.

  I headed out the door, and was on my way. When I arrived, I was shocked to see how many people had turned up for the event. And to think I’d always thought that many Aussie farmers were homophobic! Just goes to show how wrong assumptions can be.

  It took me a good ten minutes to find a parking spot, which was very unusual in this area. I decided that it would be impossible to find Cressida amidst the crowds, and called her phone, eventually managing to explain where I’d parked. I waited several minutes before she appeared from the crowd, beaming from ear to ear.

  “Hi, Cressida. Having fun?” I asked.

  “Oh, it’s great! I look forward to this every year.” Cressida was still beaming. “Have you seen much of the parade yet?” She had turned to look at the street, and spoke with her back to me. I’d only seen people do that in movies, and it occurred to me how unnatural it was in real life. Cressida must really like this parade.

  “No, I called you as soon as I arrived and I’ve been waiting right here ever since,” I admitted, feeling a little foolish for not seeing what all the commotion was about. “I know you didn’t say it was like Mardi Gras, but I still sort of expected something like that. This just looks like any old small-town parade.” I motioned to the street as I said it.

  Cressida looked at me blankly in response. “Well, yes, it is,” she said unhelpfully. “We’re celebrating Thunderbolt. What did you expect, exactly?”

  I had to admit that it was a good question. I supposed it was unfair of me to expect anything special just because the man had been a famous gay bushranger. Still, I expected some sort of recognition of that, considering how unusual it must have been back in the 1800’s. I simply shrugged at Cressida in response.

  “Oh well, no helping that. Let’s go get a closer look!” she exclaimed, grabbing my hand and leading me into the crowd of onlookers. It amazed me that Cressida could move so quickly, or push her way through a crowd so forcefully.

  We eventually arrived at the edge of the street, leaving a large crowd of angry bystanders behind us gingerly rubbing their arms that Cressida had bruised while pushing her way past them. She was practically giddy with excitement, though I couldn’t exactly empathize.

  The parade was certainly much larger than I’d expected. There was a long line of farmers mounted on top of stock horses, wearing nothing but ordinary everyday farm clothes. They all looked like traditional Australian stockmen and women. While I’d been able to see that it wasn’t an extravagant affair from where I’d parked, I didn’t realize exactly how casual it was until now. This didn’t strike me as anything but perhaps the celebration of casual Fridays, and maybe horses.

  There was a more impressive man leading the parade from the front. He was mounted on the tallest and most imposing horse, and what h
e was wearing certainly couldn’t be defined as casual or normal. He was wearing a modern Akubra hat, along with what I assumed were supposed to be representations of clothes from an earlier time period. Despite this, he was also wearing a gaudy fluro yellow waistcoat along with very shiny, new knee-length riding boots rather than any kind of traditional boot.

  I surmised that this man was probably meant to represent Captain Thunderbolt himself. I looked at Cressida. She was staring admiringly at the lead man, which confirmed my suspicions.

  We stood in the crowd and watched the horses pass by slowly. It was an impressive display after all, though I couldn’t help but wonder why there was so much celebration over this historical figure. I considered that it would be worth learning more local history. Cressida and I watched the parade for several more minutes in peace before I noticed them.

  I could just make out their faces in the reflection of a shop window across the street, but once I’d noticed it, they were unmistakable. Detectives Henderson and Roberts were standing almost directly behind us, no doubt to keep an eye on Cressida.

  I wasn’t sure how to react. On the one hand, I felt as though Cressida should know that they were watching, but on the other hand, there wasn’t really anything I’d be able to do about it, and knowing they were there could very well just ruin Cressida’s day. She was having such a good time, too. I struggled to make a decision for a minute, but eventually decided just to confront them myself.

  “I’ll be right back. Have fun!” I said to Cressida, though she barely seemed to register it. I pushed back into the crowd until I was face-to-face with the detectives.

  “Hello, Detectives.” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “Oh, hello Ms. Potts,” Detective Roberts said with a broad smile, and then cleared his throat as Detective Henderson shot him a look. “Are you enjoying the parade?”

  “Oh, come on,” I said, barely hiding the anger in my voice. “Are you following Cressida? What, do you think she’s going to ambush the mail with Thunderbolt?”

  Neither detective reacted to my question. “Ms. Potts,” Roberts said. “We’re here for the festival, like everybody else.”

  I sighed loudly. It was very hard to believe that the police assigned to the case would happen to show up to the parade and happen to stand directly behind us, especially given how suspicious of Cressida they were. “Just please don’t let her see you,” I pleaded. “She really seems to be enjoying herself. She won’t stop talking about how gay Thunderbolt is. I’ve had to listen to her all morning.”

  Both detectives raised an eyebrow when I mentioned it. “Gay?” Henderson asked. “Thunderbolt?”

  “Well, yes. I thought that must have been common knowledge that I was missing out on. After seeing his outfit, I suppose I’m not as surprised,” I admitted.

  “I don’t think Thunderbolt was gay, Sibyl,” Henderson said flatly. “What on earth gave you that idea?”

  Before I could respond, Cressida interrupted him. I jumped at her sudden appearance. “Of course he was gay! Some of the time, at least. Why would you think otherwise?” she demanded, not trying to hide her anger at the detectives.

  “Uh, fancy running into you here,” Roberts stammered.

  Henderson sighed. “Ms. Upthorpe, do you mean happy, or homosexual?” he asked bluntly.

  Cressida looked stunned, but not as much as I must have looked. Everything fell neatly into place, and I felt my face flush beet red. Of course, Cressida had meant happy—she was the most old-fashioned person I knew, except perhaps Mr. Buttons. Detective Roberts looked like he was trying to stifle a laugh, and Henderson continued to regard us blankly.

  “Happy, of course!” Cressida announced with no small degree of shock. “He was gay—everyone knows that!”

  I looked down at my toes to hide my embarrassment. I had to admit that while this made the entire day make a lot more sense, I was a little bit disappointed that Thunderbolt hadn’t been gay after all, despite his dress code.

  Chapter 13

  I was walking Sandy in the very middle of the dirt track through the dog park, as far away from the bushes as I could get. I was quite worried about snakes. I had been told to stand perfectly still if I came upon one, but I’m sure Sandy would have other ideas. She might think it was edible.

  I stared into every bush as I went, and kept Sandy on a tight leash. The wattle trees were already in bloom, clothing the area with masses of bright golden yellow. I looked under their dark, slender trunks for signs of snakes, and so far had not seen any. I walked on further where the ribbon grass was growing more freely, and again kept to the center track that narrowed in this section. The strong fragrance of eucalyptus wafted along on the breeze. It was a pungent scent, typical of the Australia bush on a warm day.

  There was a growing unease in the pit of my stomach, but surely nothing else could go wrong. I usually enjoyed my walks with Sandy in the dog park, using them as a time to relax, but today all I could think about was the two murders and the fact that Cressida was a suspect.

  Was someone trying to set up Cressida to take the fall for the murders? I doubted it; I couldn’t see what motive a person could possibly have for doing so. I figured that the mystery had to have something to do with the philosophers. I wondered why the police weren’t focusing on questioning them. Still, I supposed it was all but impossible to get a straight answer from a philosopher. And, for all I knew, the police might be questioning them. Perhaps Cressida wasn’t their main suspect after all.

  I shook my head, and stared into the bush as something made its way through it. To my relief, it was just a small blue-tongue lizard.

  I turned around to retrace my steps, and had not gone far when I saw something under a wattle tree. It looked like a black stick, so I gingerly edged forward. Sure enough, it was a snake. Thankfully, it didn’t move. I hoped it was as scared of me as I was of it. I clutched Sandy close and looked at her face, but she had not seen it. I waited for a while, but the snake still did not move. I was a fair way from it, but I had walked under that very tree only minutes earlier. It was either a black or a brown snake—I couldn’t tell at this distance, and I had been told that brown snakes came in all sorts of colors. It any rate, I knew it was a highly venomous snake. What other sort of snake did we have in Australia! Certainly not ones you would hug.

  I took a wide detour around the snake and that led me into a patch of slightly long grass. My heart was in my mouth the whole time, but finally I got back on the bare dirt track, and then I picked up speed, being even more vigilant than I had been earlier.

  I felt quite shaken after seeing the snake. As a child, I had gone on a school excursion to the Australian Reptile Park and had seen all sorts of deadly snakes as well as deadly funnel web spiders. However, this was the first snake I had ever seen in the wild and I realized that it wouldn’t be the last. Now that I was living in the country, I would probably see plenty more.

  Just as I approached my car, I remembered all the stories of people who had gotten in or out of their cars only to be fatally bitten by a snake that had made its way up into the underneath of the car. Of all times to remember that!

  I opened the car with the remote and then stood as far as I could from it while leaning over and banging hard against the side. Nothing ran out from under the car, so I crouched down on my hands and knees to look under the car. I still couldn’t see a snake, but all the stories said that the snakes get right up inside the car or above a tire. I opened the back door for Sandy and made her jump in from a fair way out. This was easy to do, as she was always eager to get in the car. I secured her harness, standing as far from the car as humanly possible, and then opened my front door. I leaped in from a distance and then slammed the door shut. I was quivering. I was shaking after seeing the snake, and was telling myself that I was silly. After all, snakes were as common as dirt in the country, and I was a country girl now. All I wanted to do was to go home and have a nice hot cup of tea with plenty of sugar.


  As I turned into the road to home, I saw an ambulance parked out the front of the boarding house. I drew up next to it, but no one was around. I debated for a moment whether to get out and find out what happened, but I would have to take Sandy out of the car, given the warm weather, so I drove the short distance to my cottage and let Sandy into the back yard. I sprinted back to the boarding house, still keeping an eye out for snakes.

  I was almost back there when two paramedics approached the ambulance, wheeling someone on a gurney. Walking behind the gurney were Cressida and Mr. Buttons. I let out a huge sigh of relief. Thank goodness they were both okay! I reached the ambulance just as it drove away.

  “It’s Professor Caweasel,” Mr. Buttons said.

  “Is he…?” I could not bring myself to say the words.

  Mr. Buttons shook his head. “He’s fine.”

  “He’s not fine!” Cressida exclaimed. “He was very sick! They say he’s been poisoned! And I don’t want to sound self-absorbed, but do you know what that means?”

  I shrugged.

  “It means the police will say I tried to kill him!” Cressida wailed. “Two murders and a third one poisoned! I tell you; the police will blame me!”

  I hurried to reassure her, but from the look on Mr. Buttons’ face, I could tell that he thought the very same thing.

  “Will he be all right? How bad is it?” I asked him.

  Mr. Buttons shook his head. “He’s not that bad, really. He’s talking and everything. He just feels awfully sick.”

  “Could it be food poisoning?” I asked, and then instantly regretted it as Cressida clutched her throat.

  “Food poisoning!” she repeated. “That will look like I did it!”

  “Did he eat anything that the other people didn’t eat today?” I asked her.

  Cressida peered out from above her tissues. “Not as far as I know.” She sniffled loudly. “The detectives will be here any minute to arrest me!” She leaned over to look at her cat. “What’s that you say? No, you’re wrong, I tell you! The police will arrest me for this—you just wait and see! Anyway, what would you know? You’re only a cat!” With that, she burst into a flood of tears and sprinted towards her house.