1 A Motive for Murder (4 page)

He didn't seem the slightest bit surprised. "How do you expect to get there?"

"Aunt Beth's car. I got an International License before I left Australia."

Douglas leaned forward from the comfort of his chair. "Misty, that car doesn't go. Beth hasn't driven it for years. I have some free time over the next fortnight or so; allow me to drive you around and be your tour guide. I know the Hellfire Caves well and lots of other such sites."

"Oh, I couldn't impose," I blurted unwisely, before realizing that this was my only real option unless I went to the huge expense of hiring a car. Aunt Beth had offered me her car to drive; I had no idea she had been wrong about its working state.

"I insist," Douglas said, leaning forward and clasping my hand in his, yet again. "It's the least I can do for Beth."

I smiled. Tingles ran all down my spine. There was certainly a spark between us, at least from my side. I wasn't used to men finding me attractive these days; Steve had done everything he could to knock my self esteem down to a seriously low level, but I was getting my mojo back now. It could be worse - I was to have my own personal chauffeur and tour guide, and, better still, a man who looked like the romance cover model Jimmy Thomas.

Douglas took my smile as agreement. "Well then, when would you like to start?"

I shrugged and tried to think. "When would suit you? I'm free to go whenever you are."

Douglas looked relaxed for the first time since I had met him. "Is tomorrow too soon?"

I nodded. "Sounds perfect. I need to make a start."

Douglas stood up and walked over to the window again. He looked out before turning to me. "Where would you like to go first?"

I tried to make a decision despite the throbbing in my temples, warning of a headache to come. "Well, most of my articles will be on sites in the West Wycombe area, but my editor wants me to do an article on the Green Man of Fingest. I'd like to do that one first to get it out of the way, to leave me to concentrate on the others. Do you know where Fingest is? It's in Buckinghamshire."

Douglas laughed. "Not only do I know where Fingest is, I have some information for you, and you'll love it! How about I come for you at 1?"

After he left, I called the Flowermead Medical Clinic to ask if Aunt Beth had suffered a heart condition, but the receptionist informed me that she was not allowed to give out such information, even after Aunt Beth's death and even to relatives.

Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea.

(Robert A. Heinlein)

Chapter 5
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Douglas and I were on a narrow road speeding on our way in a deep blue Bentley turbo. I had no idea that English roads were so narrow, or that the gorgeous and green countryside was so vast. Australia is the same size as mainland USA, and I had always been under the impression that England was small and cramped. To my growing surprise, mile after mile of rolling fields gave lie to this assumption.

Douglas had met me at the house and handed me over a photocopied page, on the top of which someone had noted in blue pen, "Handbook to the Cathedrals of England, original edition, John Murray, Albemarle Street, London, 1862."

I was reading this now as we sped along. I didn't see the relevance. It was about a Bishop at Tinghurst stealing the land of his neighbors. "I don't get it; what does this have to do with Fingest?"

Douglas turned to me and flashed a smile at me. I had always thought "flashing a smile" to be a very silly expression, but when Douglas did it, it made perfect sense. He looked like a toothpaste commercial, sparkles and all. He must have spent a fortune on tooth whitening at the dentist. I made a mental note to see if he could frown. I'm not into guys that have been botoxed; call me old-fashioned.

Douglas reached across and patted my knee, interrupting my deliberations. "Tinghurst is the old Saxon name for Fingest. Christian influence has turned the pagan Green Man into the ghost of Bishop Burghersh."

Sadly, at this point, Douglas took his hand off my knee, but at the speed at which he was driving, this may have been a good thing.

I'd heard about the Green Man and wanted to impress Douglas with my knowledge. I was still a little embarrassed about telling him that I was a paranormal journalist. "Oh yes, the pagan Green Man. I did an article on him for the magazine last year and was going to tie this in with the Green Man of Fingest. I collected a lot of images for the article too. Most of the carvings showed him as a head with leaves growing from his face and hair and sometimes from his mouth. Two or three of them even had him with antlers. Seems he was everywhere in ancient times!"

Douglas swerved to miss a truck that was a little too wide for the narrow English road. "Quite so, and today many pagans know him as the Horned God. Gerald Garner, who was the father of modern Wicca, said the Horned God is the go-between between a supreme being and people."

Douglas paused for breath then launched straight back into his list of facts. "Actually, there was no god in ancient times known as a horned god, although some disagree over this. The anthropologist Margaret Murray wrote that the Horned God was worshipped by a European witchcraft-based cult, and that the medieval Church turned him into the Devil."

His voice was mellow and honeyed, and mesmerizing, but I interrupted. "You sound like a walking, talking Google! You're full of facts."

"I hope I wasn't boring you."

I giggled like a silly schoolgirl, thinking how absurd it would be that anyone would find Douglas boring. "It's fascinating," I lied. "But what does this have to do with Bishop Whatsit?"

"Bishop Whatsit took over three hundred acres of common land for his own use, and as you'd expect, this caused hardship for the community. After he died, the Bishop's ghost appeared to one of his friends." Douglas stopped speaking when I laughed. "What's so funny?" he asked.

"Well he couldn't have appeared as a ghost before he died, could he?"

Douglas said nothing and I was concerned that I had offended him.

Just then we turned right into a lane and pulled up outside the church at Fingest. Douglas leaned across and said, "Long story short, the ghost was not dressed in his bishop's clothes but was wearing a short coat of Lincoln green, carrying a bow and arrows and sporting a horn around his neck. The ghost reported that he was condemned to wander around, until the lands were restored to their former owners. The local papers are always full of sightings of the Green Man."

I hopped out of the car and looked around for ghosts. To my disappointment, the scenery looked completely normal and not in the slightest bit spooky. "Where do they see him?"

Douglas pointed to the church and then swept his arm outwards. "He's said to walk between the church and the site of the old manor house in that direction."

Sad to say, I couldn't see any ghosts, not that I really expected to, but I'm an optimist.

Douglas herded me into Saint Bartholomew's, the old Norman church. I was in awe. In Australia, European culture is only just over two hundred years old, although of course the indigenous population has been there for centuries. If Aussies see a hundred year old building, we get excited, but this building was something else.

Douglas seemed to read my mind. "It's eight hundred years old."

I had never seen such an old building.

Douglas fell into tour guide mode. "See, those surrounding walls are brick and flint. You'll see flint as a popular building material in these parts, particularly when we get to West Wycombe." He pointed upwards. "See those twin spires? That's pretty rare; they think there's only one other building like it."

With that, he ushered me inside the church. It smelled musty, and was far smaller than I had imagined it to be. I was surprised to know that church services are held here these days. I'd been brought up in a large Pentecostal church - you wouldn't fit many happy clappers in this church; it would barely hold the worship team.

I was busy staring up at the ancient woodwork in the nave, so was surprised to hear a thump then a child crying. A small boy had tripped over on the rough floor and cut his knee. His mother was soothing him. I turned to Douglas to remark that I hadn't noticed the other tourists come in, but my comment was prevented by Douglas's face which had turned white. He all but ran out of the building. What the? I hurried after him.

I found him bending over the car door, trying to catch his breath. I avoid the gym as much as I can, but even I wouldn't have been so breathless if I'd only run that short distance. "Douglas, are you alright?"

Douglas turned to me and I saw that the color had drained out of his face. He looked shocked, but only for an instant, and then his usual composure was back. "What do you mean?"

What does he think I mean? It irritates me when people answer questions with questions. "You ran out of the church!"

Douglas shrugged and then opened the car door wider. "I just remembered I had an appointment later today but I'd forgotten about it until now. Are you tired?"

I doubted he was telling the truth, but who was I to press him about something he didn't want to answer? "I'm a bit tired; the jet lag is still hanging around."

"How about I drop you home now and pick you up the day after tomorrow at say, ten, and we will head off to West Wycombe Park?"

I tried to hide my excitement. "That would be wonderful, but do you have time? I really don't want to impose."

"Yes of course, your Aunt would have wanted it."

I was crestfallen. Was that how he saw me, as a duty to Aunt Beth? I had thought there was a spark between us and at times he had seemed interested in me. Surely a man wouldn't waste his time acting as tour guide to a woman if he wasn't attracted to her?

Douglas drove even faster on the way back, and didn't speak. He left the engine running when he dropped me back at the house, and simply said, "See you at ten," before revving up and heading off.

“I love cats because I enjoy my home; and little by little, they become its visible soul.”

(Jean Cocteau)

Chapter 6.

My boss had arranged for a pay-as-you-go mobile broadband dongle to be delivered to Aunt Beth's address before my arrival, and the package was sitting on the round antique table on top of a hideously large, crocheted lace doily in the living room. The package had been opened, but everything seemed to be there. I thought I had better get to work and write the article on the Green Man of Fingest and email it to Keith while it was all fresh in my mind. That would take my mind off the stomach-churning I felt about Douglas.

I set up my laptop at the small desk in the corner of my bedroom. The only alternative was in the living room, a room I was going to do my best to avoid.

The chair was comfortable, but orange plastic. Perhaps Aunt Beth had been color-blind. I was surprised that the mobile broadband installed rather easily and with the minimum of frustration. Technology doesn't usually run that smoothly for me. The converter plug I'd bought back in Australia was the right one, so maybe my luck with computers had changed for the better.

Diva jumped up on my lap and purred, causing her whole body to vibrate. I carefully tried to type over the top of her, worried if she could scratch me, but she seemed content just to sit there, although I had to be careful not to shift my weight. Doing so made her meow, which I had learned the hard way was a precursor to a swipe and a scratch.

After I attached the photos I had taken, I emailed the article. One of the photos was the one I had taken of the outside of Saint Bartholomew's, and one was a depiction of the Green Man I had found in Aunt Beth's living room on an enormous and bizarre piece of antique pottery which I recognized as Majolica ware. I was starting to notice images of the Green Man everywhere.

My stomach growled a few times but I wasn't hungry. I figured I'd go downstairs to look for the missing page. Perhaps that's why Aunt Beth's office was so messy - in desperation she had pulled everything out searching for the offending page. I'd barely stacked up one large pile of papers when the phone rang. I carefully reached for the phone so as not to upset Diva and checked the caller I.D.

"Hi Melissa, has Skinny gone out?"

"Yes, Skinny and Keith have both gone out. What are you doing?"

"I lodged a story on the Green Man of Fingest and I've met a guy!"

Melissa groaned loudly. "Oh don't tell me that. If we were in a romance novel you would've just blown the whole Bechtel Test."

"Say what?"

"The Bechtel Test. Haven't you heard of it?"

I shook my head then realized I needed to speak. "No, never heard of it." Melissa was writing a paranormal romance novel in her spare time. I think she spent more time researching the theory than actually writing.

"The Bechtel Test means you have to have two women characters who talk to each other about something other than men."

I snorted rudely. "You're kidding - well we would never pass the test then!"

"What do you mean? We often talk about things other than men." Melissa sounded mildly offended.

"True, but we do talk about men, or the lack of them, sometimes."

"Yes sometimes, but not often. At least we're both brunettes."

I knew I shouldn't have asked, but did. "Okay, what does that mean?"

Melissa was only too happy to tell me. "A major complaint about paranormal romance books is that the heroine is insecure about her appearance and keeps comparing herself to her gorgeous blonde friend."

"I didn't know that. I would have thought a major complaint about paranormal romance novels was that some of them have poor editing. I can't talk; I can't type to save myself."

Melissa chuckled. "Yeah, comma splices, split infinitives, dangling participles and all that. Skinny would go psycho."

"Whaddya mean 'go' psycho?"

We both laughed. I remembered at that point that there was something I had to ask Melissa. "Melissa, you know that article you did a while back on poltergeists?"

"Yep, what of it?"

"Well at first I thought it was my imagination, but now I'm sure that things are moving around."

"Like what, though the air?"

"No, I mean like I see something in a cupboard, then I leave the room and when I come back, it's out of the cupboard and somewhere else. My reading glasses seem to be in a different place all the time, but I always leave them next to my laptop."

"Is anything else happening?"

"Dreams - I'm having funny dreams."

"Do you dream about one person in particular?"

I shuddered. "Yes. I don't see him close up but it's definitely a man. I've also heard him speak, I think."

Melissa's voice was firm. "Then you have a ghost. That house is haunted."

"Haunted! Do you think I should leave?" As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized there was no chance that Keith would pay for me to go to a hotel.

"Leave? Are you crazy? This is good material for another story."

I groaned. "Anyway, this is the most important thing I have to tell you. I'm beginning to think that Aunt Beth was murdered."

I expected Melissa to scream down the phone as she usually did when excited, but she merely asked, "On the basis of what evidence?"

I counted it off on my fingers. "One, when I arrived, a man ran out of her house and nearly knocked me down. Two, there was a big note on the wall with a doctor's name and number. He came and said there was no need to call the police. Three, her own doctor had no knowledge that she'd died. Four, the note with the doctor's name on it vanished from the house."

Melissa didn't answer, so I said, "Melissa?"

"Oh sorry; I was thinking. Come straight back home; you could be in danger."

I was exasperated. "But you told me to stay here and get my stories."

"That was before you told me all that." Melissa sounded worried.

"So you think Aunt Beth was murdered too?"

"I don't know, but it sure sounds suspicious. Her own doctor didn't attend? And had no knowledge of her death? And her own doctor still held her medical records?"

"Yes, yes, and no. Oh I mean, no, no and yes. Her own doctor knew nothing of the doctor who came. His name and number were on the notice board above the phone, then the note went missing pretty much straight after. But who would want to murder an elderly woman?"

"I don't know." Melissa's tone was firm. "But something doesn't add up."

I knew what Melissa was going to say next so I said equally firmly, "I'm going to stay here and solve her murder."

I thought Melissa would try to talk me coming back, but I was wrong. "Well, be careful. You don't know what she could have been involved in. Have you seen The Bourne Legacy?"

I thought hard, but couldn't remember any elderly ladies playing a part in that movie. I had actually seen the movie about ten times as my former flat mate, Fiona, had a crush on Matt Damon. "Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"It was about the government killing off their agents. I mean, you are in England and she might have been a retired spy for all you know. England's full of retired spies. She might have known too much."

I shrugged my shoulders and pulled a face. "I suppose anything's possible."

After our phone call finished I realized that I hadn't told Melissa about Douglas.

I was looking forward to my nightly bubble bath, but when I walked to the bathroom, I saw that the unlocked room was now no longer locked. I would have walked straight past, but I noticed that the door wasn't quite shut properly.

I had tried that door several times and it had definitely been locked; now it wasn't. I pushed the door and turned on the light.

This room, like the office, was in a terrible state of disarray. I no longer thought Aunt Beth was messy; clearly someone had been searching for something. I debated calling the police, but was sure they wouldn't do anything. I thought I should call in on them after the funeral and at least make a report, for whatever good that would do.

I was also quote shocked that my suspicions were now confirmed: Aunt Beth had certainly being into something paranormal. Piles of incense were strewn all over the floor - dragon's blood, frankincense, myrrh, and sandalwood. Candles were everywhere. I saw a beautiful silver wand with an amethyst at the end, and a golden ritual dagger. The bookcase over the far side of the room held a huge array of herbs in bottles, the ones still standing all clearly labeled. There were masses of various crystals, but most of these had been knocked to the floor.

* * *

That night the weird dreams came again.

I dreamed I was standing in a ritual chamber. Arcane symbols were laid out on the floor. Ahead of me was the disturbing image of a phantom, a man with the number thirteen written on his forehead. I looked down and saw I was standing in circle.

The spectral figure was raised on a low platform, and suddenly, right behind him, two giant cards popped up. I recognized them as Tarot Cards. On the left was the Queen of Wands and on the right, the King of Cups. Just as a cold breeze passed right through me, the cards morphed into human figures, figures who looked familiar. At their appearance, the phantom man uttered a horrible cry of anguish and despair, just the one word, "Help."

I awoke in a cold sweat, clutching the sheets up to my neck. Alone and terrified, I heard the words whispered again and again in the dark:
The page, the page
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