CHAPTER 1
“Persnickle, you have to be on your best behaviour today.”
The wombat, who also happened to be my familiar, fixed me with a frown. It was his usual expression. His face only lit up when I gave him a carrot treat or when he saw the colour orange. He loved one and hated the other. The fact carrots were orange in colour appeared to be lost on him.
Today was Oleander Blanch’s surprise birthday, and I didn’t want Persnickle to ruin the party. There were plenty of ways he could. The possibilities were endless.
I was waiting in the car for the East Bucklebury Retirement Home gates to open, while Persnickle sat in the back seat. The complex had been locked ever since a murder had been committed just after I moved to town. The security guard waved to me and opened the gate just as Athanasius arrived.
Athanasius opened the door and hopped in the car. “I’ll ride with you,” he said. “This is going to be an unmitigated disaster!”
Athanasius Chadwicke-Pryor, Oleander’s best friend, was not given to exaggeration, so his words sent a chill through my body. “Why? What’s happened?”
“Nothing yet,” he said. “You will note I used the future tense. Lemon tart?” He pulled a lemon tart from his pocket.
“No thanks,” I said as Persnickle shoved his head into the front seat and snatched the lemon tart. Athanasius only just managed to snatch away his fingers before they too became a wombat treat.
“Harriet Hemsworth has organised the whole birthday party.”
I shuddered. “Yes, I know that, but what can possibly go wrong? I mean, you don’t think she’ll show us that dreadful folder with images of horrible illnesses again, do you? If I’ve seen it once, I’ve seen it a hundred times and I really don’t want to see it again. Surely she wouldn’t pull it out at a birthday party and show everyone?”
Athanasius shuddered as Persnickle chomped happily away in the back seat. “I have no idea what that woman would do. I wanted to organise the party for Oleander, but Harriet wouldn’t hear a word of it. I tried to insist, but then I felt sorry for her.”
“Because she hasn’t procured any recent pictures of festering warts or gangrenous wounds for her folder?” I guessed.
He shook his head. “I feel sorry for her because she used to be a naturopath and now she’s living in the retirement home and isn’t able to treat anyone anymore. That used to be her whole life.”
I pulled into a parking spot and cut the engine. “Yes, I suppose so.” I was only half listening by now. I concentrated on clipping the leash onto Persnickle’s harness, which sat over his therapy wombat coat.
“I have a feeling of doom,” Athanasius said once more.
I pulled a face. “I hope nobody’s going to die. Three people have died since I moved here.”
Athanasius shrugged. “It’s not as if you murdered them. You can’t hold yourself responsible.”
“Of course I don’t hold myself responsible. I just don’t want another murder to happen.”
“Who does want a murder to happen?” Athanasius said. “Only murderers, I expect.”
“How’s this going to work?” I asked him.
“One of the residents is in Oleander’s apartment now. She’s pretending to tell her some problems, even though she doesn’t have any. I’m going to text her when everything’s ready and then she’ll ask Oleander to accompany her back to her room.”
Oleander’s apartment was on the east side of the retirement home with all the other independent living apartments, but Athanasius had bought a former staff member’s apartment, which was in the same complex as the assisted living section. I figured the resident’s room was in the assisted living section which also housed the reception rooms, so it seemed the plan was good. In theory, anyway.
We walked into the main reception room with Persnickle padding behind us. For a tubby thing he could be light on his feet at times. Perhaps he could sense there was more food coming his way.
“Wow, Harriet has done a really good job!” I exclaimed. A big banner proclaiming, “Happy birthday, Oleander,” was plastered across one wall and brightly coloured balloons bobbed across the ceiling. Assortments of cakes and other delicious food covered tables all over the room. I instinctively tightened my grip on Persnickle’s leash.
Athanasius must have thought the same thing, as he at once offered Persnickle a lemon tart. “I’m sure he’ll be on his best behaviour, Goldie,” he said, although his tone was filled with doubt.
Harriet Hemsworth hurried over to me, waving with both hands. “You’ve done a wonderful job,” I said sincerely. “Oleander will love this.”
Harriet looked doubtful. “I know Oleander doesn’t like birthdays.”
“Who does like birthdays?” Athanasius said. “Birthdays are a reminder that we are one year closer to death.”
Harriet emitted a raucous laugh and slapped Athanasius hard on his back. He staggered forward and would have fallen had I not put out my hand to support him.
“Wait until you see the cake!” she said. “I designed it and had my daughter make it.”
Athanasius and I exchanged glances. “That’s nice,” I said, trying to picture what sort of cake Harriet would have designed.
“My daughter is one of the best bakers in Logan,” Harriet said. “Lovely place, Logan. Full of talented bakers.”
I forced a smile and cast a surreptitious glance around the beautifully decorated room for her dreadful folder. I had been sure I would need therapy after I first saw her folder. In fact, I often awoke at night with those images in my mind.
“Goldie! Oh, and Athanasius.”
I swung around to see Detective Max Grayson. He looked as good as ever, tall, broad-shouldered, with the most handsome face that had ever been seen. Today, he was wearing a suit. He usually wore casual clothes, given that he was on leave, so I did a double take.
“I bought Oleander a gift,” he said. “I really could have done with some suggestions, though. Do you think she’ll like DVD sets of the last two seasons of Midsomer Murders?”
“She’ll love them,” I said.
“Shall I text now?” Athanasius asked Harriet.
“Yes, we’re ready for Oleander.” Harriet clapped her hands. “Everybody, hide behind the tables.”
The nurses helped some of the residents hide and helped those in wheelchairs move behind screens. It was a heart-warming sight, residents and staff alike going to so much trouble to make it a lovely day for Oleander.
We all held our breaths. There was not a sound in the room apart from Persnickle’s occasional grunts. The door opened and Oleander stepped in. “Surprise!” everyone screamed.
Oleander’s face turned white. I hoped she wouldn’t have a heart attack. Athanasius hurried over to her and took her arm. “Surprise! Happy birthday, Oleander.”
Oleander forced a smile. “How lovely,” she said. “Thank you everyone. Who organised this birthday party?”
Harriet Hemsworth stepped forward, still waving her arms in the air. “I did,” she said proudly.
“Thanks ever so much, Harriet. That was kind of you.” Oleander smiled widely but looked daggers at Athanasius, who stepped backwards. “I told you I don’t like surprise birthdays,” she hissed in his ear.
“It meant a lot to Harriet,” Athanasius whispered back.
Oleander smiled again and stepped forward to give Harriet a hug. “This is the nicest birthday ever,” she said.
“Wait until you see the cake!” Harriet said.
One of the nurses handed Oleander a card. “This is from all of us at the retirement home, staff and residents.”
Oleander opened the card. There was a piece of paper inside it. “It’s a gift voucher for Target!” she exclaimed. “Goodness me, I can’t believe the amount.”
She showed it to me and I gasped. “That’s very kind of everybody.”
Athanasius elbowed Oleander. “I’ll give you your gift later.”
Oleander looked secretly pleased.
Max handed her his gift box. She opened it and exclaimed aloud at the DVDs. “I love Midsomer Murders!” she said. She was also thrilled with my gift, a gift voucher to a day spa in Surfers Paradise.
One of the nurses brought out champagne and everyone who was able to drink did so. I kept an eye on Persnickle, as he had been known to drink on occasion behind my back.
Athanasius showed us to a big table with some of the residents. Oleander was beginning to relax and I was sure she was enjoying herself. “How’s your new real estate business going?” one of the residents asked me.
“I haven’t sold anything yet,” I lamented.
“Nonsense!” Oleander said. “You only just opened your business. It would be a miracle if you’d sold anything by now.”
“I only have one listing,” I said. “It’s Doug Greer’s house.”
The resident snorted rudely. “Not that old dump! It would be better to knock it down and sell it for the land value.”
I didn’t like to say so aloud, but she was right. After the resident took up chatting to the lady next to her, I turned to Oleander and Athanasius. “She’s right about that house. The owner wants way too much for it. I suggested he at least paint it, but he said he wanted the buyer to put their own stamp on it.”
“It sounds like the only stamp a buyer would want to put on it is the stamp of a bulldozer,” Athanasius said.
I nodded sadly. To make matters worse, the owner had insisted he write the house’s descriptions for the ads I was running. He was a retired journalist, and the ads were lengthy descriptions rather than snappy sales pitches.
Oleander patted my arm. “Don’t worry, Goldie. This is just the beginning. The journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step. Who was it who said that?”
“Grasshopper?” I offered.
“Confucius,” Athanasius said.
Harriet Hemsworth stood up and clapped her hands loudly. “And now, Oleander’s birthday cake!”
She hurried out of the room and returned less than a minute later with two nurses. They wheeled in a big trolley large enough to put two dead bodies side by side on it.
A dread sense of misgiving hit me.
A huge cardboard box sat over the trolley. I knew whatever it hid wasn’t going to be good.
With a flourish, Harriet indicated the nurses should take off the box. Harriet made the announcement. “I designed this cake myself. It’s a special cake for Oleander, and as we all know, Oleander, Goldie, and Athanasius have solved the last three murders in this town.”
While I pondered the relevance of murders to birthday cake, one of the residents muttered, “There have only ever been three murders in this town.”
The nurses exchanged glances with each other before removing the box.
Everybody gasped. Oleander clutched my arm so hard I was sure I would have bruises.
The cake was in the shape of a body, although all the internal organs were no longer internal but were sitting on top of the body. There was a knife through an eye sitting on the forehead right next to the brains, and a knife through an all-too-realistic heart sitting on top of the chest.
“It’s a cake in the shape of a dead body,” Harriet explained somewhat unnecessarily. “This cake body shows what happens when someone is murdered. You will notice the liver is yellow, because it has become jaundiced from poison.”
“Goldie, that liver isn’t yellow! It’s orange,” Athanasius said urgently.
I looked at Persnickle but too late. A deep, guttural sound escaped from his throat as he charged at the birthday cake. I lunged for his leash, but only succeeded in falling face forward on the ground, the tip of the leash slipping through my fingers.
I covered my eyes with both hands. From my position on the cold, tiled floor, I opened my eyes to see Persnickle’s sharp teeth closing around the orange liver.
“But it was a yellow liver,” Harriet said plaintively.
