Breakfast on the Way to Brisbane

by Ken Blowers

CHAPTER 5

  MURDER MADE EASY

  Mrs Pushy entered the public library and immediately saw what she was looking for, two ladies sitting at a small table with a large, blue and gold U3A banner displayed behind them. One of those ladies addressed her in friendly tone, asking 'Would you like a class timetable of U3A Adult Education? I'm Lillian List, your local U3A Coordinator and this lady is Vera Prima, our Italian tutor.'

  'Oh, thank you. I'm Jane Pushy and I know all about U3A. You see, I've been involved with U3A for, oh, something like fifteen years, or so. I think I’ve held just about every position on local Committee’s at one time or another. I’ve moved around a lot, you see. I was President of the last one. What's your Committee like? Full of the usual ‘old dead heads’ and desperate for new blood, I expect? Most U3A Committee’s are like that, or so I find.'

  'Well, nice to meet one so experienced,' said Lillian List, a bit taken aback by it all. 'That's our President over there,' she pointed across the room at a smartly dressed gentleman with an obvious military bearing.

  'Oh? What that red faced old bludger? Hmm, high blood pressure, I'd say. On his last legs, I shouldn't wonder. Think I'll have a quick word,' said Mrs Pushy, moving on, leaving the two ladies a bit bemused. She crossed the room and approached the President, who was engaged in conversation with another lady. 'Excuse me, I'm Pushy.'

  'Yes, I do believe you are! Still, it takes all sorts. How do you do? I’m Jones, Colonel Jones retired, of course, local President and all that, you know. This good lady here is Mrs Colleen Counter, our Treasurer. Now, can we take it, Madam, you're interested in something?'

  'Well, yes, I’d be interested to know how long you’ve suffered from that dreadful high blood pressure of yours. You poor man! You know this sort of thing you're doing now,' she indicated the paper work scattered on the small table, with a sweep of her hand; ‘is not doing you any good, you know. No good at all!'

  'I beg your pardon!' said the President, somewhat taken aback by her bold approach. 'Do I know you, Madam?'

  'No. But you would be feeling better and looking a whole lot better too, if you did! I'm a Herbalist, you see. Given a chance, I could have fixed you up years ago! But it looks like you may possibly have left it a bit late. However, my advice, Sir, freely given is that you retire immediately from stress inducing occupations, pastimes and amusements and make the most of what little time you have left. In other words, you really should leave all this stressful U3A stuff to others. You could make a sensible start, Sir, by sitting down and taking the weight of your feet and the pressure off your heart right now!’

  'Madam, I've been president of this U3A for ten years or more and I am as fit as a bloody bull! If it's my job you're after, you'll first have to join one of our classes,’ (and work your damn way up the chain like the rest of us! he thought). 'Now!’ he snorted, thrusting the programme for the next semester into her hand. 'There must be something suitable here, even for somebody as qualified as you obviously are!'

  'Huh! I'm not interested in attending one of your classes. I'll run my own thanks. I told you, I’m a Herbalist.'

  'Yes. Well then, that's different.' He picked up pen and paper and wrote down Jane Pushy; Herbalist. 'Ah... what do you intend to call it then, this proposed new class of yours?'

  'Murder Made Easy.'

  'I beg your pardon? Oh, no! No, you can't! Never heard anything like it, have you, Mrs Counter?'

  'It sounds er, well, a touch improper. I don't think our Committee would like it. Not for one moment.'

  'I shouldn't think the local Police would be too enthusiastic about it either!’ said the President. ‘Tell me, Mrs er, Pushy. What exactly are you proposing?’

  'It’s simple really. Poisonous plants! Rare and common, some more common than you might think. More surprisingly, widely available too, from nurseries and thus found in back gardens everywhere. Plants that can have a deadly effect if handled, shall we say, incorrectly.'

  'Oh, ah... I see! Hmmm. That's alright then, I suppose. Something new. Something that could, perhaps, be popular. Mrs Counter, what do you think?'

  'I can't say I'm completely happy, not with such a provocative title! It would almost certainly generate a high degree of interest. But of course, our Committee may not agree with the whole concept.'

  'Quite. Yes, well..., we'll see, won't we? Alright, Mrs Pushy. ‘Murder Made Easy’ it is then, for now. I'll put it to the Committee. Their decision, you do understand?'

  A few weeks later at the start of the new term and after some heated debate at the next Management meeting, Mrs Pushy joined the happy band of tutors at the local U3A.

  Ivan Inky, the Publicity Officer, added ‘Murder Made Easy’ to his weekly press releases and interest in the new class was both immediate and surprisingly strong. Though some people did at first jump to the erroneous conclusion that ‘Murder Made Easy’ was a new play group production! Mrs Pushy insisted on limiting her class to twelve members only and even those, she first interviewed individually to ascertain their general background and suitability.

  At the Management meeting held in the last term of the year, gossip around the table centred on the worrying revelation that four of the ladies in Mrs Pushys' class had recently become widows. The husbands of two more were known to be seriously ill! There were a few ‘ohs’ and ‘ahs’ and even a snide giggle or two.

  'Order... please!' called the President. 'I don't think this gutter gossip is getting us anywhere.'

  'May I suggest,' said Mrs Counter, 'that if we don't act, things could perhaps become, well, a bit dodgy...'

  'Yes, we could be in even more trouble,' said Vera Prima. 'For not doing anything!'

  'And big trouble at that!' added Lillian List.

  'That's all very well,' the President said. 'But what can we do?'

  'Cover our arses!' chipped in Ivan Inky. 'That's what! If you’ll er, excuse the expression.'

  'And what exactly does that mean?' asked the President.

  'One of us must go and have a talk with Mrs Pushy,' continued Ivan Inky. 'Point out how bad things look. Not just for her, but also for our U3A! We must insist she teaches all the proper safety points when handling these dangerous plants.'

  'She should give this Committee a copy of all the notes she gives out to the students,' added Lillian List. 'So we can evaluate the safety factor for ourselves.'

  'Here, here!' agreed Mrs Counter.

  'She must change the class name. ‘Murder Made Easy’ is far too provocative!' said Lillian List.

  'I suppose by ‘one of us must go’, you mean me? asked the President.

  'Who else has the authority?' questioned Vera Prima.

  'The charm!' suggested Lillian List. 'Come on, face it. We all know what a ladies’ man you are.'

  'I'm not this particular lady's man. We crossed swords the first day we met, remember?'

  'Oh, a simple misunderstanding, that was all. You, we, all know her better now. I must say, her students speak very highly of her,' said Colleen Counter.

  'Indeed. Especially those who have recently gained their freedom from a difficult marriage,' suggested Lillian List.

  ‘Not to mention, their insurance money' added Ivan Inky, with a bit of a smirk.

  'Please! Let's not slip back into the murky depths of gossip. If we are to discuss this matter formally then we must do so with a degree of decorum and dignity. I'll happily represent you in discussions with Mrs Pushy on the safety measures she adopts in her class vis-a-vis poisonous plants. Perhaps the Secretary will kindly record that in the Minutes. I'll report back at the next meeting. That should cover us against any suggestion of culpability, or dereliction of duty, or whatever with regard to the health and safety of our students and er, their families. Now, I suggest we leave it there and move on.'

  The next day, Colonel Jones opened his front door to admit Mrs Pushy. 'My dear lady,' he greeted her. How kind of you to
come over so quickly. As I said on the telephone, my car simply won't start, damned if I know why, I keep her well serviced. Cars are like ladies to me I reckon. Keep 'em well serviced and happy to boot and they should go on pleasing a man ad infinitum!'

  'Now then! Watch it! I've been warned you're a notorious ladies’ man.'

  'You have? Really? How extraordinary. Must be some mistake. A widower, not a womaniser, surely?'

  'Colonel, please...'

  'You don't have to say please, my dear, not to me. Pleasing you comes quite naturally.'

  'I thought you'd asked me over to talk about some U3A crisis.'

  'Ah, yes, of course. Best get business over first, I suppose. You're a clever woman, as well as a damn good looker.'

  'Er, and what exactly is the problem?'

  'Problem? Oh, no problem, dear lady. Not really. Just some, idle, gossipy thing about the number of husbands popping off, as it were amongst your class members. Nothing in it, of course. Just thought I should mention it. Well, actually, the Committee brought it up at our last meeting. Great ones for gossip, Committee’s are, but you would know all about that, what?'

  'Yes, yes. Go on.’

  'Well, it was thought best for me to have a quick word, don't you know. Nip it in the bud, that kind of thing. They just wanted an informal assurance that you are stressing to your students the need for absolute caution, when handling those damn poisonous plants and all that stuff. Know what I mean?'

  'Yes, of course. No worries on that score I assure you. But your concern is noted and appreciated.'

  'Oh, good girl. That’s it. If you'd be so kind as to drop me a copy of your class notes. We like to keep 'em, just for the record, you know. My God you're a fine looking woman. Strong as an ox, I bet and one not easily fatigued.'

  'My dear Colonel, you must excuse me for mentioning this, but I detect an increased colouration in your skin pigmentation. Nothing too alarming mind, but you really shouldn't get so excited the way you are now, over such little things of no great consequence. Now may I just suggest, darling, you lean back in that lovely recliner chair of yours, raise your feet and if you'll kindly tell me where you keep your liquor, I'll be most happy to get you a nice, relaxing drink alright?'

  'Good heavens, what a marvellous woman you are! A great catch for any full-blooded man, I reckon. Where the devil have you been all my life, eh? You gorgeous creature! You'll find the liquor in that cabinet, the one that looks a bit like a bookcase, near the door.'

  'Good. Now close your eyes and I'll get the drinks. Gin and tonic alright?'

  'Not half, old dear. Oh, I am enjoying this. We should've met years ago, you know. We could have raised Amazons, you and I, instead of those two scrawny little biddies I've got for daughters right now.'

  Mrs Pushy found the drinks cabinet and returned with two gin and tonics and placed them on the nearby coffee table. 'I didn't see any lemon and lemon is such an important ingredient for a decent G&T, don't you think so, darling?'

  'Oh, yes my dear. I really am sorry about that. I used it all up last night. Damn!'

  'That's alright. It doesn't matter.'

  'It doesn't?'

  'No. I just happen to have something just as good in my bag,' she said, searching through it. 'Yes, here we are, a few leaves from a lemon-flavoured herb that is absolutely wonderful. One just as good, if not better, than the real thing!'

  'Really? A bloody marvel you are and no mistake. Doesn't anything stump you?'

  'No, well, not often. I usually come out on top, in the end.'

  'Do you now? You want to be careful, my dear, or you'll be getting me over excited again!'

  'That's enough of that,' she said, passing him a drink. 'Now tell me what you think?'

  'Hmm. Well, not bad. Not bad at all. Has rather a nice piquancy to it. A bit acidic, perhaps.'

  'That's because you're unaccustomed to its delicate, more subtle qualities. But it does grow on you. Come on, drink up and I'll get you another.'

  'Right-oh, my dear. I'm in your hands, you lucky girl.'

  'Just close your eyes and relax, alright? Go on.. relax, relax…, relax…'

  The Colonel settled back in his chair, his eyes closed and was soon out to the world. Mrs Pushy took the empty glasses through to the kitchen, washed them thoroughly, and put them away; then went back into the lounge. She put on a pair of disposable rubber gloves, picked up the Colonel's portable computer and placed it on the coffee table. She switched it on and selected Microsoft Word, opened a new document, and began to type:

  RESIGNATION

  ‘Owing to failing health, stress etc and all that sort of thing, I very much regret that I must relinquish my position as President of our local U3A, as of...’

  She stopped there, leaving the statement unfinished, but left the computer on, so the message could be quite readily seen. Next, she took the Colonel by the shoulders and tipped him gently forward so that his arms spread out either side of the computer, his head on the keyboard.

  Before leaving, she took one more look back at the Colonel's sprawling, lifeless, figure. She sighed, and whispered: “There, darling, sleep your everlasting sleep. I did warn you I'd moved around a lot. Now you know why! For me, ‘Murder Made Easy’ is just a fact of life! But I must go now, my dear man, for I've got to be ready for the sad news when it comes; the news we need to elect a new President! Should anybody else want to run against me, that's fine. I wish them peace. In fact, I'll be only too happy to join them, for a little drink sometime.”