Live and Let Diet (Australian Amateur Sleuth Book 1)

by Morgana Best

  We both went back inside. Sandy promptly jumped on the sofa and went to sleep, seemingly unconcerned about being in a strange place, while I booted up my laptop. I knew about cyanide, having been married to someone who was a chemical engineer for a sodium cyanide manufacturing plant, and whose favorite, and highly boring, topic of conversation had been cyanide. I knew that cyanide was not available for sale to the public, and was very difficult to obtain. As Tim Higgins’ murderer had now made an attempt on my life, it was in my interests to find out as much as I could—from the safety of my home, that is.

  Ten minutes later, Sandy was snoring and I had not found out anything useful at all. I came across a story of a lottery winner who was a suspected cyanide victim, and the article said that cyanide was available to buy in India. I googled that and did find wholesalers of cyanide. Still, I expected that if someone had it brought into the country, there would be a record of it in customs and the police would be onto it.

  I did the only thing I could think to do. I called the ex.

  “What do you want?”

  I sighed. Perhaps this was a bad idea. “Hello to you, too. Look, I’m not calling about the settlement. I just want to know where to buy cyanide.”

  There was a long silence on the other end of the phone and I wondered if he had hung up. “Cyanide?” he said.

  I shook my head. I hoped he wasn’t going to make this difficult. “Yes, cyanide, you know, the stuff you make?” I was unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “The day I arrived here, one of the boarders was found dead. He was killed by cyanide.”

  “Fascinating, Sibyl, but I have to get back to work.”

  “Look, Andrew, I just want to know this. Where can you buy cyanide? I know it’s hard to get. I’ve found out you can get it from India.”

  “And Jamaica.”

  “Jamaica?”

  “Yes,” he grunted. “There was a spill in an Australian chemical factory there some years ago, and word on the street is that some people in Jamaica are still selling it. If you know where to look, you can buy it.”

  “Anywhere else?”

  “Probably, but I can’t think of anywhere off the top of my head. Is that all? Some of us have to make a living, you know.”

  I bit back my rude reply, and simply said. “Thanks. How’s Max?”

  “None of your business. He’s my cockatoo now. Do yourself a favor, Sibyl, and get over it.” With that he hung up.

  I looked at my phone and squeezed it tightly, resisting the urge to throw it across the room. So, cyanide was available in India and Jamaica. How did that help me? As far as I knew, it didn’t.

  I looked over at Sandy, only to see she was half way through eating a cushion.

  Chapter 12

  I had my first serious client. I had done many washes and clips before, but this was the first client for my fledgling Sibyl’s Mobile Pet Grooming business in my new van. I was fortunate that the client had known my sister, what with the dog show scene being such a small world here on the east coast of Australia, and I assured her that I had prepared many of my sister’s poodles for show.

  My sister had bred and shown toy poodles for years before she and her husband had gone to the United Arab Emirates to teach. I had learned to do a pretty good poodle show clip over the years, and that’s no mean feat as they are time consuming and complicated, so it was with relief mixed with trepidation that I learned that my first customer wanted a Scandinavian trim. That’s the show trim used outside Australia, and always on poodles under the age of twelve months here in Australia. I hoped the poodle had been trimmed recently, as otherwise, the time for scissoring could be up to five hours, and I sure wouldn’t enjoy that.

  The client did say that the trim shape was good and that she only wanted it shortened, but I’d heard that before. Still, it was always faster to shorten an already perfect shape, rather than to change a style or shape. I was glad that the van had a large stand dryer as it always takes hours of blow drying all the poodle hair straight before any scissoring takes place.

  “I can’t believe my luck having an experienced show poodle trimmer here in town,” Susan, the new client, said by way of greeting, as she peered inside the door of my van. “Don’t we ever need rain desperately? This is the driest season I can remember.”

  I introduced myself. We had only spoken on the phone previously. I cast my eye over her dog, a delightful black toy poodle in, thankfully, a reasonably good state of trim.

  “How long will it take?” she asked. “I’ve always done my own trims before, but I usually take several breaks, so I’ve no idea how long it takes to do it all at once. I stop for coffee, or a piece of cake, or to call a friend, as it can be boring, especially when I have to do several poodles at once.”

  When she paused to take breath, I took my opportunity to speak. “A wash, blow dry, clip and tidy up scissoring could take from two hours on up, depending on coat quality for drying and amount of hair to dry.” I stroked the poodle’s head and she licked my hand.

  “So, did you learn to trim from your sister?”

  I nodded. “Pretty much.”

  Susan nodded. “Really, only people who show poodles learn how to do the trims. Show grooming’s a much more specialized talent than the normal grooming they teach in courses. Most show groomers learn from friends or family. There are professionals who come to Australia and do seminars on the art, but no actual schools where you can go and learn. There are competitions for grooming, though. Did you ever win a prize at them?”

  I nodded. “Yes, I have, actually.”

  “Can I stay and watch?”

  I frowned. Susan was the talkative type, and I didn’t want to lose concentration. Besides, I didn’t want her looking over my shoulder while I was grooming her poodle. I tried to think of a way out of it. The first step was to wash and condition the dog, and then blow dry all the poodle’s hair straight and totally dry. Next was the clipping, including paws, face, and underneath. After that was the scissoring to shape the coat. No talking can happen while blow drying or clipping, as the noise level is too high. Talking is possible during scissoring, but I did not want to talk to Susan.

  “I have a policy of not talking while I’m grooming,” I said, hoping what I’d made up on the spur of the moment would be believable. “I hope you understand. It’s just that I can’t afford to lose concentration while doing something so important.”

  Susan hastened to agree. “Oh, yes, of course. Can I just stay while you’re shampooing and conditioning?”

  I sighed. “Okay then, but only while I’m shampooing and conditioning. You wouldn’t like me to lose concentration while doing the clipping, would you?”

  Susan shook her head. “Don’t forget, all the areas that require clipping are sensitive, and you have to make sure that the clippers don’t get too hot.”

  I raised my eyebrows, but Susan hurried to add, “Sorry about that. I know you know what you’re doing.”

  We went inside the van, and Susan was clearly impressed by the interior. “Oh, you have that expensive brand of shampoo and conditioner,” she gushed. “It’s the one I always use.”

  Susan handed me the adorable toy poodle, who was full of personality. I placed her in the hydro bath. I soon lost myself in what I was doing, Susan’s chatter receding from my consciousness, until she said, “Jamaica.”

  I looked up. “Jamaica?” I repeated. I stopped shampooing for a moment.

  “Yes, Cressida Upthorpe’s just returned from Jamaica. She said it was so lovely, the beaches, the people, the…”

  I didn’t listen to the rest as I was in shock. Cressida in Jamaica? She had just shot to the top of my suspects list.

  The next few hours were spent in deep concentration as I groomed, clipped, and scissored the poodle, and then delivered her to her satisfied owner.

  As I went back to my cottage, Mr. Buttons was standing at my gate patting Sandy who was slobbering all over his hand. Half of one of my socks was hanging out the si
de of her mouth.

  “Sibyl, Cressida told me you had a dog,” he exclaimed with delight.

  “I only got her yesterday,” I said. “Her name’s Sandy.”

  “Yes, yes, Cressida told me the whole story. Can Sandy come and stay with me sometimes?”

  I looked at Mr. Buttons, and for the first time realized how lonely he was. “Yes, of course. She can stay with you as much as you like.”

  Mr. Buttons beamed. “Thanks, Sibyl. Perhaps I could walk her every day, when you’re too busy?”

  My heart went out to him. “Of course,” I said.

  Chapter 13

  “Aren’t you cute!” I said to the King Charles Spaniel standing before me. He wriggled his bottom in response.

  “His name is Buttons,” his owner, a thin, nervous-looking woman, told me. “Are you sure you can’t shampoo him now?”

  I shook my head. “I have a dog booked in right now for a wash. In fact, he’s running late. He should’ve been here by now.”

  The woman’s eye twitched, and she wrung her hands. She smelled of stale lavender perfume and wilted roses. “Please, please, can you wash my dog? My mother-in-law is coming to stay tonight, and she can’t stand smelly dogs.”

  I sighed. “Okay, I suppose I could wash Buttons after I wash the next client.”

  Buttons’ owner was clearly delighted. “Do you mind if I leave Buttons with you? Then I’ll be able to clean the house without Buttons getting in the way.”

  I sighed again, more loudly this time. “I suppose so. I have three crates in the back of the van. I’ll have to shampoo him after my next client’s dog. That is, if she actually shows up,” I said as an afterthought.

  With that, Buttons’ owner thanked me, handed me the leash, and was about to walk back to her car when she turned to me. “There’s just one thing,” she said. “Buttons really hates having his clothes taken off. It’s a real struggle to get them off.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” I said dryly, looking down at the four layers of coats on the dog. I was about to escort the spaniel into the van when Mr. Buttons appeared. “Hey, this dog appears to be named after you,” I said with a laugh. “Come on in! I have to put him in a crate.”

  Mr. Buttons clapped his hands and hurried inside the van after me. I left him speaking in baby language to the dog, and went back outside to see if my next client had arrived. If there was no sign of her or her Great Dane, then I would start on Buttons.

  To my surprise, the woman was marching up the road minus the dog. “Miss Potts, I’m so sorry,” she barked at me. “I would’ve called but I’ve had such a bad day, and I forgot to bring my cell phone. Terminator’s refused to come. He doesn’t like being washed.” I didn’t know what to say, but she pressed on. “I do still want you to shampoo him,” she said. “I was walking here with him, and he sat down three blocks away. I tied him to a fence post, because I can’t make him budge. Could you go and get him for me? He refuses to go in cars.”

  I looked at the woman. I knew that she had been a major in the army and was now retired. She still looked like she was in the army, and would brook no nonsense. In fact, she always introduced herself as ‘Major Janelle Stevens.’ I was trembling a little just being in her presence. It’s a wonder she wasn’t armed. “Well, can you go and get Terminator for me or not?” she snapped when I didn’t immediately respond. Her tone was commanding.

  I expected she thought I should salute. “I would go and get him if I had the time,” I said slowly. “It just so happens that I have to give Buttons a bath. It will take a while as well, given that he refuses to take off his clothes.” I felt silly for saying ‘clothes’ instead of ‘coats,’ but too late, the words were out.

  She put her hands on her hips. I knew the woman was to be trusted, and was a stalwart member of the community. In my stress that the morning was not running smoothly, I forgot that Mr. Buttons was already in my van. “All right then, I’ll fetch your dog if you can go into my van and mind Buttons. I don’t like to leave him by himself.”

  “Sure,” the woman said.

  I hurried down the road in the direction of town to find her Great Dane. It concerned me that the dog was tied to a fence post, but I suppose the major had no choice. If she’d had her cell phone, she could have called for help, but as it was, I figured she had no other option. I found the Great Dane three blocks away, as she had said. He was a beautiful Harlequin Great Dane, and he was sitting down looking as if he had no intention of going anywhere. I said his name and walked over to him. To my relief, he licked my hand.

  I untied his leash and tried to encourage him to walk. “Come on, Terminator,” I said. When he looked as though he were considering following me, I held a treat in front of his nose. That did the trick—he was up like a shot.

  Just then, as the treat was halfway to his mouth, a fat ginger cat ran past us. Terminator took off after it, jumping the white picket fence to which he had just been tied. I scrambled over the fence and flung myself at his leash.

  My fingertips just managed to grab the end of the leash, and once they did so, Terminator pulled me through a flower bed. I had a weird sensation of seeing rhododendrons, azaleas, day lilies, and gerberas flash past my eyes. Mercifully, the ginger cat climbed a tree and Terminator came to a stop at the bottom.

  I struggled to my feet and seized Terminator’s collar. “I see you found a burst of energy after all,” I said to the dog.

  I turned to see an irate woman hurrying toward me. “Your dog chased my cat!” she said angrily.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “This actually isn’t my dog. A lady tied him to your fence because he refused to walk any further, and she sent me to fetch him. I’m sorry he chased your cat.”

  The woman calmed down somewhat. I couldn’t blame her for being angry. I apologized again and beat a hasty retreat, before she saw her garden. Yet before we had even reached her gate, Terminator threw himself down on the ground again and refused to move. I knew I had no hope of dragging a strong Great Dane down the road, and I didn’t want to reward his bad behavior. Nevertheless, I figured he wasn’t my dog, and I needed to get back to my van as soon as possible by any means.

  And so treats it was. I managed to get the dog ever so slowly back to the van. He was happy to walk so long as he was chewing a treat, which he ate slowly and delicately for a Great Dane, but as soon as he had consumed each morsel, he would sit down and refuse to move. It took some time for us to reach the van. Just as well I always kept plenty of treats in my pockets when working.

  Major Stevens must have heard me coming, as she stomped out of my van. “Great! You got him back here,” she said with a grimace. I wondered how she would look if she were truly pleased. “I thought you said you were in a hurry!”

  I was perplexed. “I am in a hurry,” I said. “Terminator refused to move and then stopped every few feet.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “Quite. Well, I shouldn’t have thought you’d have time for picking flowers.”

  I was puzzled by her words, until I ran my hands through my hair and pulled out a rhododendron. With that, several other flowers fell from my hair. I had no idea how to explain it, so I didn’t try.

  Major Stevens still seemed annoyed with me. “I thought you were in a hurry,” she repeated in a petulant tone, “so I took off Buttons’ clothes and washed him for you. You were right—he sure hated having his clothes taken off!” Then she smiled, a thin-lipped smile that looked as though it would cause her whole face to crack. “It’s kind of you to do that other work as well as your dog grooming business.” Her large, meaty hand clamped down on my shoulder and squeezed it.

  I cringed. “What other work?” I managed to ask through the pain of a crushed shoulder blade.

  “Your charity work,” she said, “with those less fortunate than we are.” I was no further enlightened, but she continued. “Still, I’m a bit puzzled that the state health services allow you to wash people in your dog bath.” She shrugged. “I suppose v
olunteers are hard to find.”

  By now I was convinced that the woman was stark raving mad. I had only heard around town that she was overbearing and bossy. Why hadn’t anyone said that she was a first-rate lunatic?

  “Anyway, because I caused you to be delayed, I washed Buttons for you. And like I said, you sure were right—he really didn’t like me taking his clothes off! He put up quite a struggle, but in the end, I managed to get them off. Once I did, he was no trouble to bathe at all.”

  I thanked her, but I was somewhat annoyed that she had taken it upon herself to wash the spaniel. I have insurance for that, and it wasn’t her place. Nevertheless, I wasn’t brave enough to point that out.

  She then marched off in the direction from which she had come, promising to come back in an hour to collect Terminator.

  I tempted Terminator inside the van with treats. There, in front of me, was a hideous apparition.

  I screamed.

  A suds monster sat in the dog bath. I was expecting to see the spaniel, but this creature was far bigger. As I gingerly edged forward to take a closer look, I saw Mr. Buttons sitting in the dog bath, bubbles surrounding him. He coughed, and bubbles frothed out of his mouth.

  “Mr. Buttons!” I said. “Whatever happened to you? Why on earth are you in the dog bath, and um, naked?”

  “It was that woman!” Mr. Buttons said. “She said you told her to bathe me.”

  Then it dawned on me. Major Stevens had confused Mr. Buttons, the human, with Buttons, the spaniel.

  I apologized profusely, but Mr. Buttons cut me short. “I was upset at first, but then I quite enjoyed it,” he said with a grin from ear to ear.

  I clutched my stomach as a wave of nausea hit me.

  Chapter 14

  I had just had my morning coffee and a bowl of microwaved oatmeal—I’d lost the taste for cereal—when my phone rang. I looked at it in disbelief. Could this be another client? I didn’t know the number; I hoped so.