2 A Reason for Murder (5 page)

"People that hate cats will come back as mice in their next life."

(Faith Resnick
)

Chapter Eight
.

I was tired and stressed by the time I arrived at the cheap Maitland motel. It looked nice from the outside, and the lady at reception was friendly, but my room was a disappointment. The room was tiny, and the bathroom was decidedly Spartan.

I threw my duffel bag on the decaying yellow bedspread, pulled some teabags out of a zipped section and boiled the jug. I had developed a weird liking for Lapsang Souchong tea during my recent visit to England. After I made a cup of tea and devoured the motel's sole cookie offering, I called Gavin King, expecting to get his Voicemail, but he answered.

"Hi Gavin, Misty Sales. I'm actually back in Morpeth. Thanks for the photos; the editor loves them. The magazine wants to do a big feature on Morpeth, so could we set up a time for me to interview you please?"

To my surprise, he didn't seem at all pleased. "Look, Misty, I'm a bit concerned. I've gone through some back issues of your magazine and saw you did a big article debunking ghost photos. How do I know you're not going to do something like that to me? I have a big book contract coming up and it's worth a lot of money to me."

I groaned inwardly. "Gavin, seriously, we're not that type of magazine. In that article you mentioned I simply pointed out some of the outrageously faked photos. Our magazine isn't into debunking; our magazine is about the paranormal. Our readers believe in the paranormal."

I hoped I had convinced him. I was wrong.

"You made comments to me about orbs on the tour the other night. You said they were not paranormal. I tell you, some of us have seen faces in the orbs."

It would have proven wise for me to keep my mouth shut at that point. Alas, I did not. The researcher in me just has to spew forth facts. "I'm sure you thought you could see faces in the orbs, but that is what's known as
matrixing
, the ability of the brain to attach familiar shapes to unusual objects, such as seeing familiar shapes in clouds or seeing a face on the moon. Just go to any paranormal website by actual paranormal investigators, and you will find that orbs have been debunked for well over a decade now. If a particle of dust or water is near the camera lens and outside the depth of field, that is, out of focus, it'll appear on a photo as a solid orb. If the dust particle is seen at a certain distance, the distance from the camera to the object being photographed where the object is in focus as accurately as possible, grows into a blur spot with increasing distance from it. Chromatic aberrations also come into play and modify the blur spot. Would you like me to explain chromatic aberrations?"

"No!" Gavin almost yelled. "No, please don't. I didn’t understand a word you said! This is a strange way to reassure me that you're not doing an exposé, sensationalist piece on me."

I mentally slapped myself. "No, I'm not, and the editor was very taken with the photo of you and the orb. She's always refused to let me write against orbs. It's a paranormal magazine. I'm just a journalist there, and my instructions are to do a feature on the ghosts of Morpeth. No exposé at all, seriously."

"Okay. I can meet you anytime tomorrow morning." Gavin still sounded a little wary.

One ghost tour guide down, one to go. I had no phone number for Scotty, so decided to do some research on the net to check out his story. I set up my laptop and again googled Baxter Morgan, but still uncovered not much at all and certainly no mention of any treasure.

After some digging, I hit the jackpot - finally, some information on Baxter Morgan. I discovered that Mr. Morgan had been friends with the Catholic Priest Fr. John Joseph Therry who'd arrived in Australia on the ship
Janus
on May 3, 1820. Fr. Therry had been the first to celebrate mass in Morpeth. Baxter Morgan also had a business relationship with the Anglican Edward Close and leased land from him.

From all accounts, Baxter Morgan had been a very wealthy man, so a treasure was not out of the question. I couldn't find a thing about his execution. It did seem strange that he was executed, given his wealth and position, and the little I could find spoke highly of him.

I tried the death records on the NSW Registry of Births, Deaths and Marriages website and searched early church records 1788-1945. Luckily it was a free search, as I couldn't find a record of his death. I searched for members of the Jewboy Gang, all of whom were executed on March 18, 1841, but could only find the death records of the gang members Edward Davis (spelled Davies in some newspaper accounts) and John Marshall.

I googled until I fell asleep.

I awoke just before dawn, and realized my predicament. No coffee machine was in sight. The coffee shops in Morpeth would not open until nine, and I wouldn't last that long. Then it hit me. There would have to be a McCafe in Maitland. In fact I knew there was one just off the New England Highway. I hurriedly showered and dressed, and then drove south for my first caffeine hit. In Australia we call McDonald's
Maccas
. Every Maccas in Australia has a McCafe, which in Oz is an actual, full coffee shop. In fact, the first worldwide McCafe was in Melbourne, Australia, in 1993. Years later, McCafe extended to the USA, but not as a fully fledged, separate coffee shop like we have over here.

After a leisurely breakfast of three cups of coffee and three berry friands, followed by nearly getting wiped out by a car in the confusing exit from Maccas, I made my way to Morpeth.

The Tea Leaf reading lady Jennifer was friendly and welcoming. It was intriguing to see inside Eliza Cantwell's cottage, now a New Age gift shop filled with crystals, incense, various religious figurines, and the most amazing array of singing bowls. I selected a beautiful indigo one on a gorgeous blue cushion and Jennifer showed me how to make it ring, and booked me in for a reading in just over an hour.

I decided to fill in the time by going on the history tour in the covered, horse-drawn carriage drawn by the Clydesdale mare, Juliet, quite a hit with the tourists.

One of the pick up points was the Morpeth Trading Post, run by Christine, the wife of Dieter who runs the horse-drawn, the Juliet-drawn that is, history tours. Never in all my life have I seen so much second hand stuff packed into one spot. Antiques, pre-loved stuff, old tools, you name it, it was all here and piled up high. They could do a whole episode, well, even a whole season, of
Bargain Hunt
just out of this one store.

I could hear Juliet clip-clopping down the street when Gavin drove up. He got out of his car and signaled to me. I crossed the road.

"Misty, something's come up. Can you interview me now? Would that be okay?"

There went my carriage ride. "Where?"

"The Morpeth Pie Man? I haven't had breakfast. Hop in."

"That's okay, I'll meet you there. I know where that is, in Green Street, right?"

Gavin nodded and drove off. That was nicely convenient for me, as the Pie Man was next door to the Tea Leaf Reading lady.

Gavin was talkative, telling me of his alleged ghost sightings in between mouthfuls of two Beef and Burgundy Mash and Pea Pies which he scoffed in double quick time. I averted my eyes on more than one occasion. I made copious notes despite being sure it was all a load of trash, and boring to boot, but it suddenly got interesting after I made an aside about mistranslations in the Bible.

Gavin jumped on my idle remark. "Yes, do you know that most English Bible versions mistranslate Lilith as owl?"

No, I didn't, and shook my head.

"Isaiah 34:15."

I made a note.

Gavin continued. "It says, 'The wild animals of the desert will meet with the howlers, and the hairy goat demon will cry to its fellow. Lilith will settle there and find a resting place for herself.' Most of the English Bibles change Lilith to a screech owl or a night creature."

I was a little surprised that Gavin would know a Bible reference, let alone be able to recite it. "Do you know Hebrew? Do you mean Lilith as in the dark goddess?"

Gavin ignored my first question but pounced on my second. "Lilith has had a lot of bad press. She's the wife of Sammael."

I tried to recall some ancient history. "Sammael? Isn't he like, some evil dude or something?"

Gavin wiped some pie from his mouth before replying. "Sammael's had bad press too. He's not to be confused with Satan either." Gavin leaned across the table and lowered his voice. "There are Satanic rituals all over the Hunter Valley." He looked around theatrically, and then produced his expensive camera, and showed me an image of people in dark cloaks with hoods around a fire.

"How did you get that?" I tried to sound impressed but it was obvious to me that he'd bought it from a royalty free photo library. "Is that going in your book, too?"

"Yes." He beamed from ear to ear, which was unfortunate as bits of pie were stuck to his teeth. "I might be able to give you one of the photos for your article."

"Great." I hoped that I sounded convincing. I failed.

"I'm not sure if you're being sarcastic, Misty."

"No, not at all." I tried my best to sound believable.

Gavin carefully placed his napkin on his plate, and placed his elbows on the table. His voice took on a somber quality. "Do you believe spirits can kill people?"

I was taken aback. "I don't know."

"There is no hope for some. If they cross the wrong person, a deadly power targets them. There is no escape."

I feared I was being threatened, and wondered if I should simply ask. Instead, I said, "Oh, look at the time. I'm booked in for a tea leaf reading next door."

I felt uneasy when I walked past Gavin to get to the door, but then the impression went away.

I've had a few readings in my time, but Jennifer the Tea Leaf Lady proved spine chillingly accurate.

"Hmm. I can see here that you're clairvoyant-medium, and that recently you've started to see spirits."

"Exactly!" I was impressed.

"There's a spirit trying to get through to you but he's been warded somehow," she continued. "He needs your help. There's a lot of deception around him; things are not as they seem. Be very careful with this. Evil arts are involved. I'm getting a connection to Africa."

Jennifer turned the cup around and peered inside. "There are lots of secrets around you. I also see clumps of change coming up for you. Change is all around you. I'm seeing a lot of deception, deception everywhere. People are not what they seem."

I nodded. "Yes, that's exactly right." I took copious notes. Jennifer was very detailed, giving dates and specific information.

Jennifer looked up at me. "I can see two men coming in and out of your life, all very secret. One is significant to you personally. He's a good looking man, and you're attracted to him. You will -"

I rudely interrupted her. "No, I'm not attracted to him!"

Jennifer appeared startled by my outburst.

"I suppose he's good looking, but I've never really noticed."

Jennifer looked at me in disbelief. She looked down at the tea leaves, and then back at me, frowning.

With that the reading came to an end. I wished I had kept my mouth shut and found out more of what Jennifer had to say.

When I left the Tea Leaf Reading Lady, I turned my phone back on and saw eight missed messages from Skinny. I walked across Green Street and sat down on the seat outside the Teddy Bear store. I called her with apprehension. Her screeching voice always sank my stomach and put me on edge.

"Misty, where have you been?" she shrieked. Her voice was like fingernails down a chalkboard. I shuddered.

"I've been interviewing people today so I've had my phone turned off."

"Whatever. Misty, you need to keep me updated at all times. This is not a holiday. I called to say I want you to focus on the treasure. Our readers will like it, and it's a little different from the usual. Interview that tour guide about the treasure, and tie it into ghosts. Take it to the next level."

Without waiting to say goodbye, Skinny hung up. Now I was horribly tense.

I called into several stores but no one had Scotty's phone number, and he didn't have a business card. He clearly ran his little ghost tour just as a hobby. Someone suggested trying one of the hotels.

No one at the Commercial Hotel had heard of Scotty, but they had all heard of his ghost tour. They were a friendly bunch.

I addressed the room. "Does anyone know about the treasure that Scotty mentions on his ghost tour?"

One man, clearly a farmer, clad in R.M. Williams boots and Stubbies (Stubbies are shorts worn by Aussie farmers when they're working), stood up, beer in hand, and walked over to me. "I've seen Scotty at the River Royal Hotel. What's this about a treasure?"

He was interrupted by another Stubbie-clad farmer. "Scotty only goes to the River Royal. He's always on about some friend of his being cheated out of a will or something. He's a strange one. He might just be talking about the will when he says 'treasure.' These old blokes can pull your leg. I mean, ghosts and all that. Have you seen those photos that Gavin King's always showing around town? Could they be more fake! Do they look real to you?"