by Morgana Best
“We don’t really have all the details yet, but I suspect that Laurence caught onto Scott’s illegal activities, and was about to expose him when Scott found something to implicate Laurence himself.”
“Do you know what Laurence did?” I asked him.
Ruprecht nodded. “Yes, but keep this to yourself,” he said in a conspiratorial tone. He and his wife pretended they were Catholic so their daughter could go to the Immaculate Conception Ladies College in North Sydney.”
“That’s it?” I said in disbelief. “Why would anyone care about that?”
Camino patted my arm. “You don’t have children yet, dear. That school is all but impossible to get into, and their daughter is there under a scholarship. She’d lose her scholarship as well as her place in the school if anyone found out that her parents weren’t Catholic.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t think of a suitable reply. “How did Scott find out that Laurence wasn’t Catholic?”
“I have no idea,” Ruprecht said. “And I’m sure you’re wondering how I found this out.”
I nodded.
“Laurence’s wife, Betty, is a long-term customer of mine. I called her yesterday and invited her to Glinda’s to see my new antique Chinese open-carved armoire. When I say ‘new,’ I mean new to my store, of course, as it was made in 1850 or thereabouts.”
Mint interrupted him. “Please tell Amelia what Betty said.”
Ruprecht nodded. “Ah yes. I brought the conversation around to the matter of Scott Plank, and she confided in me that he had been blackmailing the Burleighs for a year, and for a considerable monthly sum at that.”
“For enough money to give him a motive for murder?” I asked.
Ruprecht clasped his hands. “What are the usual motives for murder? Love, money, revenge, being in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Whether or not someone murders someone over money depends on the person’s own character. Most things, wars for example, prove to be driven by economics. Take Helen of Troy for example. While legend has it that the Trojan War was fought over the famous beauty, the facts are that Troy sat on an important trade route. Economics! There you have it.”
“Err, yes,” I said, looking at Mint for help.
“Grandfather, how do we follow up this lead on Laurence?” Mint asked him.
“By going straight to the source,” Ruprecht replied with a twinkle in his eyes. “I’ve invited Betty Burleigh for dinner tonight. And I’m inviting all of you as well.”
Chapter 21
We were sitting around Ruprecht’s ancient oak table. I was watching the candlelight play along the grain. Ruprecht had sprinkled powdered calamus and powdered licorice root under the chair in which Betty would be sitting. The five of us had just finished doing a spell to compel Betty to tell us the truth about anything that would lead us to the discovery of Scott’s murderer. Ruprecht looked at his watch. “Everything’s organized now. Betty should be here any minute.”
Right on cue, the doorbell rang, and Ruprecht presently returned with a short, cheerful woman. “This is Betty Burleigh,” he said, and then introduced each of us in turn.
I had set the table while the others had done the cooking. Sure, my baking had improved, but not to the extent of the food being edible. I smiled when the meal was placed in front of us, savoring the aroma of garlic and parmesan cheese. It was infinitely better than my usual frozen microwave fare. “Tagliatelle Bolognese,” Camino announced.
Ruprecht produced a bottle of red wine with a flourish. “Barbera anyone? It’s locally grown, in Mudgee.”
“A fine Italian wine,” Betty said, “and grown in Australia. Ruprecht, your taste in wine is surpassed only by your taste in antiques.”
Ruprecht gave a little bow before pouring everyone a glass. “It has a tart acidity and a cheerful cherry flavor.”
For a while, I zoned out as the conversation was all about antiques. “Ruprecht, I’m looking for a bargain oriental rug. There are so many imitations around these days,” Betty said sadly.
Ruprecht shook his head. “I don’t deal in fabrics at all, but I could give you the names of some contacts.”
“I’d like to buy an antique onesie,” Camino said to no one in particular. She was staring at her fork as she spoke.
I was startled. “I think they’re a modern invention, Camino.”
Camino set down her fork and smiled at me. “To the contrary, my dear, onesies were around in the eighteenth century, and then made a comeback in the 1930’s.”
“Well, you learn something new every day,” Thyme said with a chuckle.
The main course had come to an end, and the subject had not yet turned to the matter of Scott Plank. I was a little anxious, but had confidence that Ruprecht knew what he was doing.
Camino and Thyme left the table to fetch dessert. “It’s pavlova,” Ruprecht announced. “More wine, Betty?”
Betty giggled. “I think I’m already somewhat over-refreshed.” Nevertheless, she held out her glass for more.
When everyone was eating pavlova, Ruprecht spoke up. “Betty, we’ve heard that Scott Plank was a most unscrupulous man, an unsavory character.” Betty nodded. “I heard he cheated Kayleen over the sale of some land,” Ruprecht added.
Betty sipped her wine before answering. “That’s true. He sold her twenty acres out on the Recoil Road. Everybody knows that land’s worthless, but he convinced Kayleen to pay a tidy sum. He said it was a secret that the Council was about to put in a sewer pump station. She thought she was onto a good thing. Trouble is, Scott was lying. He said as much to my husband.”
“Why would he admit such a thing to your husband?” Thyme asked.
“Scott and Laurence used to be good friends,” Betty said. “They exchanged confidences. That was, until Scott must have thought he’d admitted too much to Laurence, and turned against him.”
Aha, I thought. That’s how Scott knew that Betty and Laurence weren’t really Catholic.
Betty was still speaking. “Oh course, Laurence didn’t approve of Scott’s dealings, not at all! He’d often come home from the pub awfully upset, after what Scott had confided in him.”
“Do you know who killed Scott?” Ruprecht asked bluntly, but Betty did not appear to take offense.
She shook her head. “It could have been any number of people. Scott wasn’t a nice man.”
I bit my lip. Betty was under the influence of a truth spell, so if her husband had killed Scott, and Betty had known, she would have told us. And by the way she spoke of their relationship, it didn’t seem to me that he’d keep such a thing from her. I really hoped that Fred wasn’t the culprit.
“Do you think Kayleen killed him?” I asked hopefully.
“I don’t think so. It’s possible, I suppose.” Betty looked thoughtful. “I also suspect Helen and Henry Harden might’ve had something to do with it. Goodness knows they had reason.”
Everyone around the table sat up straight at that pronouncement.
“Helen and Henry Harden?” Ruprecht said. “Please, go on.”
“Scott sold a large parcel land to Helen and Henry Harden for fifteen million dollars. Scott told them that the Council was about to change the zoning to allow it to be subdivided, and that they’d make millions on the deal, but he lied.”
“Fifteen million dollars!” Mint exclaimed. “Where would the Hardens get that kind of money?”
Betty looked surprised. “Didn’t you know? Helen’s father was very wealthy. He died not too long ago, and she was the only beneficiary. Scott moved in for the kill, so to speak. The probate was only just through when Scott sold them the land. They lost everything. They were devastated.”
“Do the police know this?” I asked her. “Surely Henry and Helen would be the prime suspects if they knew.”
“Laurence told the detectives,” Betty said, “but there was no evidence. The police didn’t find out anything, because the land was sold from an offshore account. The police would have no way to dig
into it and get the facts. The Hardens lost millions of dollars.”
“But surely the Hardens’ lawyer told them that the property couldn’t be subdivided,” I said. “Those things are always worked out prior to sale.”
Betty pulled a face. “Both parties used the same lawyer, and Scott told Laurence that he’d paid the lawyer a huge cut to do a cover up. That lawyer’s now living permanently in Belize, a country that has no extradition treaty with Australia. Anyway, the lawyer changed his name.”
“Is it actually legal to have the same lawyer acting for the buyer and seller?” I wondered aloud.
Ruprecht nodded. “Yes. It’s perfectly legal in New South Wales if both parties are agreeable.”
“And the police couldn’t do anything?” I asked Betty.
Betty shook her head. “No. They told Laurence they’d need the numbers of the offshore account, otherwise it was like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
Betty left soon after. Ruprecht showed her to the door, and the moment he was back in the room, we all erupted into discussion. Thyme was the first to speak. “Are we all thinking it was the Hardens?”
Mint and I nodded, but Camino dissented. “It still could be Kayleen. The awful woman always cards me, even when she sees I’m home. She’s too lazy to deliver packages to me.”
Ruprecht took his seat. “I’m inclined to agree with Camino.”
“You are?” I hadn’t meant it to come out so forcefully.
Ruprecht nodded. “Not about Kayleen as such, but we now know that the Hardens had significant motive to murder Scott. That doesn’t necessary mean they are the perpetrators, although it is starting to look likely.”
I sighed long and hard. “You’re not still thinking it could’ve been Fred?”
“Fred, Kayleen and Craig, or the Hardens,” Ruprecht said. “I’m inclined to believe it wasn’t Laurence. That’s the one suspect I feel we can exclude. However, my focus is now on the Hardens.”
“Great!” I put my head in my hands. I was upset that there was still a possibility that Fred had murdered a man, and I was the one who had summoned him. “You know, this has just occurred to me. I was at Helen Harden’s having my back treatment just before Scott was murdered. She seemed cool and collected, normal, if you know what I mean. If she knew her husband was about to murder someone, wouldn’t she be acting weird?”
“Perhaps she didn’t know,” Thyme offered. “We know she wasn’t the one who actually did the deed. Perhaps her husband, Henry, murdered Scott and kept it from her.”
“And the police are ignoring one valuable piece of evidence,” Ruprecht added, “because they would need to know the numbers of Scott’s offshore account and evidence that it’s linked to him. All we need to do is find that out, and then go the police. That will give them evidence for Henry Harden’s motive.”
Camino yawned and stretched. “How do we find evidence of Scott’s offshore account? His lawyer’s now living in Bolivia…”
Mint corrected her. “Belize.”
“Oh sorry, Belize.” Camino nodded. “I’m sure his lawyer wasn’t silly enough to leave a paper trail.”
“But surely Henry kept records of his transaction with Scott,” Thyme said. “We need to find the numbers of the offshore account. Then it will be up to the police to investigate, but at least we can give them a helping hand.”
“Why can’t the police find the numbers?” I asked.
“Because they would need a search warrant and they don’t have any evidence to get one,” Thyme explained with a sigh. “We need those numbers.”
“But how?” I said, worried that it was somehow going to involve me. I was right.
“Amelia and I will break into the Hardens’ house…” Thyme began.
I cut her off. “Break in? As in break and enter? As in criminal offense with prison time? I don’t think so.” I shook my head furiously.
Thyme shrugged. “I’ve thought it all through. Mint can mind the store.” She looked at Mint, who nodded. “There’s a Council meeting tomorrow morning for all staff, so Henry Harden will have to be there. Amelia, you and I will look through the Hardens’ paperwork, computer, whatever. We’ll be quite safe, because Camino will book an appointment with Helen Harden, and Ruprecht will go to the Council meeting. Either will call us if one of the Hardens looks like they’re leaving. That will make it safe.”
Camino looked as unenthusiastic as I was. “What if I can’t get an appointment for tomorrow morning?’
“Just wait outside, and call us if she leaves.”
“Evil always turns up in this world through some genius or other,” Ruprecht said flatly. I knew him well enough by now to recognize the tone as one he used for quoting famous philosophers. I had no idea which philosopher this was, and I hoped he wouldn’t tell me. He pressed on. “I’m worried about this scheme of yours, Thyme. It seems to me that it could put both you and Amelia in danger.”
“Seriously, I think it will be fine,” Thyme said in her most pleading tone. “What can go wrong? The Hardens don’t have any kids, and you and Camino can make sure they’re both away from their home.”
“What if they have security?” Mint asked her. “Back to base alarms, that sort of thing?”
Thyme smirked. “There’s a scheduled electrical outage in their area all morning tomorrow. I know because I live near them. They won’t have any power. And Amelia, you said Helen told you they don’t have battery backup.”
“You really have thought this through, Thyme,” Ruprecht said with undisguised admiration.
I held up my hand. “I’m not doing it! It’s a crazy idea—no offense, Thyme. I won’t do it! I just won’t!”
Chapter 22
Thyme and I crouched in a thick wattle bush, a prickly bush at that. We were both wearing black, which Thyme said would make us less noticeable, but I thought made us look like bank robbers with poor taste in clothes.
The Hardens’ house was at the end of a long lane. It was an unremarkable house, broad blue weatherboards above a deep red brick base, and could have been pretty with a little care and attention—and a lot of paint. As it was, it appeared to be entirely neglected. Withering jasmine had constricted the down pipes. Yellowed lace curtains hung from dreary windows. The only sound was from native birds and two curious sheep that peered at us through the wire fence.
Thyme handed me a pair of gloves. “Put these on.”
I did as she asked. I was still puffing from cutting cross-country. “What do we do now?” I whispered to Thyme.
“We make sure no one is watching us,” she whispered back.
Given that the Hardens’ house was down the end of a lane, so I couldn’t see who could be looking at us, apart from some wood ducks, birds, and the two sheep. I pointed this out to Thyme, and she agreed that we could proceed. Just as we moved off, a kookaburra in the eucalyptus tree above us laughed raucously.
We hurried around the side of the house, and found an open window. This was no surprise, given that people in the country as a rule did not lock their houses, not in by Bayberry Creek anyway.
Suddenly, a man appeared in front of me. I screamed. Thyme clamped her hand over my mouth.
“Great Dark Witch, how may I assist you?”
“Please go away!” I said when Thyme removed her hand.
“Have I done something to offend you, Great One?”
“Aren’t you supposed to do what I say?” I said. “Go away, right now.”
Fred vanished. Thyme patted my back. “You got rid of him easily that time.”
“I just have to figure out how to get rid of him for good,” I said. “Can you give me a boost? I think I could fit through that window.”
Thyme looked doubtful. “Don’t you think I should do it?”
I frowned. “Why?”
She shrugged and then pushed me hard through the small opening in the sash window. “Amelia, have you put on weight?”
“No!” I lied, thinking of my back cleavage. “I’ve gain
ed muscles, not fat.”
Thyme sniggered and then tried to disguise it with a cough.
With one more shove from Thyme, I landed hard on the floor. “Ouch! That hurt!”
“Quick, let me in through the back door!” Thyme whispered.
I picked myself off the shag pile carpet, a particularly hideous shade of burned orange that looked as though it needed a thorough clean, and hurried to the back door. I was thankful I didn’t encounter any dogs. I had some treats in my pocket just in case, but so far it didn’t seem as if I’d need to use them.
“This house is so 70’s,” I said, looking at the orange countertops and the patterned tiles.
“We’re not here to look for evidence of decorating crimes,” Thyme said smugly as she walked into the kitchen.
“I don’t want to be here at all,” I reminded her.
“You’ll thank me when we find evidence that it was Henry and not Fred who killed Scott.”
I nodded, wiping my hands on my jeans. I was in a cold sweat, and my heart was beating out of my chest. “Can you check your phone again, Thyme?”
She sighed. “It’s still on, just like it was the last time you asked me a minute ago.”
I pulled a face. “I don’t fancy going to prison.”
“Well then, let’s get out of here as fast as we can. Do you have your USB on you?”
I pulled it out of my pocket and waved it at her. “I don’t know what good it’ll do. I don’t know his passwords, and I’m not a hacker.”
Thyme ignored my remark. “That looks like an office through that door. How about you go in there, and I’ll take the bedroom and the rest of the house?”
I hurried into the office. It was a depressing room, musty and dimly lit. The only light was provided by a small sash window over which were draped the most hideous curtains I had ever seen -- paisley patterned in shades of mustard. I pulled open the desk drawer, which thankfully wasn’t locked, and looked through the papers. They were mostly electricity and phone bills, along with some tax papers.