Nefarious Doings (13 page)

One hundred conversations resumed, but with considerably more energy. I was pleased to see that a number of people had joined Beth for support. Sharon, a black vest toning down her usual purple and orange, had bobbed down to talk to the children while Sam Emerson and Leon were both standing by Beth. As I watched she put a hand to her mouth and then folded neatly to one side, against Leon’s chest. He put his arm around her, held her close, as Sam patted a shoulder. My mother had now finished examining her cuticles and was fanning herself with a decorative oriental fan, complete with tassels. Uncle Jim still stood by her side, and they had been joined by a number of older residents.

The message hadn’t been meant for me at all, but for Yen. And the ‘both of you’, referred to her and Beth. Dustin Craig’s brother thought that my mother and Beth had murdered him together.

‘Nell?’ Fiona Ramage materialised by my left shoulder, looking a little anxious. However, as anxious was Fiona’s default expression, I didn’t pay much attention. Fiona worked part-time in the art gallery, supplementing her income with hand-crafted earrings that she sold through Renaissance. My favourites were the tiny little books, complete with spine and pages. A quiet, rather spiritual woman in her mid-thirties, she lived near the centre of town with her elderly parents, who were renowned for not having spoken to each other since Carlton beat Collingwood in the 1979 grand final.

‘Hi, Fiona.’ I flicked my gaze down to her lapel. Nothing.

‘Haven’t seen you for a long time.’ Fiona blinked at me. ‘Nasty this, hey?’

‘Yes. It certainly is.’

‘And I was so sorry to hear about your husband, too.’ She blinked again, and clarified. ‘Not that it was anything like
this
.’

‘No.’

Fiona regarded me pensively, then dived forward and grabbed my hand, holding it flat to peer at the palm. ‘You’re finding it difficult to move on,’ she said rapidly. ‘Because you need to
speak
to him. Get some closure. Without that, you’ll be stuck. Forever.’

The final word was said in such a foreboding tone that I nearly laughed.

‘This looks interesting,’ commented Ashley Armistead, staring over my shoulder. Fiona dropped my hand like a hot potato and flushed.

‘Fiona, this is Detective Sergeant Armistead. He’s investigating the murder. Murd
ers
.’

‘We’ve already met,’ said Ashley, still smiling.

A blotchy redness now stained Fiona’s neck. I looked from one to the other with interest. Surely not.

‘Everything okay?’ asked the detective, as the silence stretched.

Fiona blinked, nodded. ‘I’d better go. My mother needs to be taken home. Now.’

I frowned at her departing figure. By the car park I could see her mother, leaning on her walking stick, in conversation with Mrs Emerson and Grace June Rae. Clearly there had been no urgency from that direction.

‘I have that effect,’ said Ashley conversationally. ‘It’s like the opposite of a magnet.’

‘Which would still be a magnet. Just the repelling part, not the attracting one.’

‘Thanks. Good to know.’

‘That’s okay. So, what did you do with him?’

‘They’ve left.’

‘He thinks my mother did it, together with Beth.’ I turned to look at him. ‘Which is ridiculous … isn’t it?’

Instead of answering, he shaded his eyes to stare over at Leon, who was still comforting Beth. The cameraman now stood only metres from the grieving widow, every now and again dropping the shot to include the children. They looked as if they had been posed for a movie scene, all of them slim and good-looking – except for Sharon, who was like the comic relief.

‘It was him on my answering machine.’

‘Yes.’ He dragged his gaze back to me. ‘But there’s nothing to worry about. Really. He’s actually not a bad bloke, just devastated. And looking to vent.’

‘Gee, that makes me feel
heaps
better. Poor bugger. I’ll see if I can catch up with him later and give him my mobile number. What did he mean by knowing what Beth was up to?’

‘It’s not for me to say. But it does appear that Dustin Craig was a jealous type of bloke, and it wouldn’t have taken much for him to imagine something was going on.’ He glanced over towards Beth. ‘Not much at all.’

I sighed, although I wasn’t quite sure why. I thought of Berry Pembroke, and wondered whether her funeral would prove as popular. I steeled myself for the next question. ‘Any word on what’s happening with Berry’s dog? I need to get that sorted before my girls get too attached.’

‘No luck, I’m afraid. It seems her next of kin, a sister, is in a Bendigo nursing home, so her son’s taken over the arrangements. He barely knew Berry, and he doesn’t want the dog.’

‘Oh.’ I felt a sigh blossom within.

‘It looks like you’ve inherited him. Unless you’d like me to contact the pound?’

I thought of Gusto, behind bars, curled in the corner with blank, prison eyes. ‘No, my daughters would never forgive me. That’s what you get for trying to do the right thing.’

‘What goes around comes around. On a different subject, what’s going on with you and –’ he jerked his head in Leon’s direction ‘– him?’

I stared, stunned at the question. ‘Nothing. We’re just friends.’

‘Good,’ he said, and then nodded. ‘That’s good.’

‘Was that a police question?’

‘Of course. I’m just trying to cover all the bases.’

‘O-kay.’ I swallowed a smile, and it tasted sweet. Edward Given might not want me, and Leon might just want to be friends, but my spider senses were telling me that this detective was somewhat interested. And whether or not anything ever came of it, that felt damn good. I thought about what Fiona had said, about needing to talk to Darcy in order to move on, and then I thought about the man standing beside me. Gazing out at the thinning crowd with a frown, as if deep in official, police-business thought, perhaps trying to balance out the fact he had just queried my availability. I felt the smile tug at my mouth once more, but this time I let it come.

About eight years ago, while attending an interstate conference, I was having a drink with a few other women when one said that your latest column described how to test breast sag by inserting pencils beneath (the more pencils held, the greater the sag). A few drinks later & we tested the theory. Little did we know that this would be the start of a wonderful friendship (now called the Pencil Club) & we still begin our get-togethers with a report of how many pencils we’re up to! (BTW, I’m 5.) So I’d just like to say a belated thank you!

Petra arrived in the late afternoon on Saturday, having attended a real estate lunch seminar in the city. After a varied career, and two failed marriages, Petra had slipped almost by accident into the renovation business. The Montrose project was the fifth house that she had bought in poor condition and then completely overhauled, usually making a hefty profit along the way. Not that Petra did any of the physical labour; rather, she managed and designed and lived in the properties until they were sold. Then moved on.

I was squatting in the shower stall of the main bathroom, scrubbing soap scum from the glass. I’d also cleaned the ensuite, no mean feat, and was up to my third load of washing. All of which meant I looked like a charwoman, particularly next to my sister, who was dressed in an ivory linen sleeveless dress and black stilettos. She regarded me with some amusement.

‘Love what you’ve done with your hair. It’s so … bird’s nest.’

‘Thanks.’ I lifted a soapy hand to push my hair back. ‘I’m going for the untamed look.’

‘Well congrats, you’ve nailed it. Do you want a cup of tea?’

I nodded, and then collected up the cleaning products before stepping gingerly onto the tiles. One glance in the mirror told me why Petra had been amused. I looked like
There’s Something About Mary
meets sixties afro. I shrugged. Gusto began barking and I could hear Quinn telling him off. I wiped my feet on the mat and padded out to the living room.

The evaporative cooler was the most effective in this area, with three outlets, and the drop in temperature was literally a breath of fresh air. Quinn was brushing Gusto, who was alternating between wriggling with glee and staring suspiciously at Petra. Even though I had little canine experience, it seemed rather remarkable how quickly this dog had made himself at home. Together with a strong sense of who belonged, and who didn’t.

‘Let’s skip the tea,’ said Petra, as the kettle began to boil. ‘The sun might not be
quite
over the yardarm, but I think we should celebrate its intention. Wine?’

‘Okay.’

‘Pushover.’ She removed a bottle from the fridge, examined the label and deftly popped the cork, pouring the wine into two glasses. I unloaded the cleaning products and took my glass over to the couch. Petra detoured past the doll’s house, bobbing down to look inside.

‘It’s great, isn’t it?’ said Quinn. ‘I helped Mum do the kitchen but she wouldn’t let me help with the living room.’

‘It was delicate,’ I said defensively.

‘Yes, I expect so. It’s amazing. And it tells me that you
really
need to get a life.’ Petra straightened with a groan and came over to the couch. ‘Are you planning to decorate that Christmas tree any time soon?’

‘Is there anything else you’d like to criticise?’ I frowned and then cupped my chin, tapping a finger against my bottom lip. ‘Do you know, you’re beginning to remind me of someone. Now who
could
it be?’

‘Grandma?’ suggested Quinn.

Petra laughed. ‘Point taken.’

‘Tell Auntie Pet about how we’re keeping Gus,’ said Quinn, rolling the dog over to brush his coral-pink, almost hairless stomach.

‘We’re keeping Gus,’ I repeated obligingly.

‘I thought you were dead against dogs?’

‘Yes, but this one sort of inveigled his way in. Left me no choice.’

Petra sipped her wine, closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Okay, fill me in. What’s new?’

‘I’ve told you everything already, on the phone. The only thing that’s happened since was that I spent the day cleaning. I can elaborate if you like.’

‘No thanks. Have you spoken to anyone?’

‘About cleaning?’

‘About finding Berry Pembroke.’ She glanced at Quinn. ‘You know.’

Instead of answering I watched Quinn play with the dog. I didn’t want to be reminded about finding Berry, and I certainly didn’t want to talk about it. Not yet. Quinn’s mobile vibrated and she flopped backwards to read the text, then jumped to her feet.

‘Caitlin ’n’ I are taking Gus for a walk. Back soon.’

‘Not too far. In fact, just this street. And be back by –’

‘God, Mum. Like I can look after myself. Besides, I’ve got Gus.’

I looked down at the dog, who had managed to grasp his plumy tail in his mouth and was now stumbling in a circle, only pausing to growl a warning at his posterior. ‘Yes, most reassuring. Back by five-thirty please.’

Petra slipped off her stilettos and put her feet up on the coffee table. Gusto’s toenails clip-clopped noisily across the hallway tiles and then the front door opened, slammed shut. Petra pointed at the whiteboard.

‘I think having just Beth Craig and Scowly Young Man on your list of suspects is a mistake. You need to consider other scenarios. Like what if Berry Pembroke killed Dustin and then Maniac Brother killed her in revenge?’

‘Maniac Brother’s name is Evan. And why would Berry Pembroke kill Dustin?’

‘Why would SYM kill Dustin? Or Beth? Or the one person you haven’t included there?’ Petra raised her eyebrows. ‘The reason being, I assume, that she’s also living here.’

‘Yes. It did seem a little rude.’

‘And what about Beth Craig’s lover?’

‘We don’t even know if she
had
a lover. Although …’ I tried to remember Beth’s expression during the tirade at the funeral. But like everybody else, I had been focused on the abuser, not the abusee. ‘I think we should add him as a possibility. Or her.’

Petra sat up, clicked her fingers. ‘That’s it! Berry and Beth! It answers everything!’

‘No, I can’t be totally sure about Berry, but I am about Beth. I suspect she’s one of those annoying damsel types that change personality whenever men are around. Go all swoony.’ I got up to fetch the wine bottle but then paused by the bench, put it back down. I left the room, returning with the little fleur-de-lis in my hand. ‘Recognise this?’

Petra frowned. ‘It’s Yen’s, from the Richard III Society. Why?’

‘Because I found this one with Berry.’

‘So? Everyone had one.’

‘No, everyone in the
society
had one. Berry wasn’t in the society.’

Petra’s frown deepened. ‘O-kay. And when you say
found
it … um, what do you mean?’

‘Exactly what you think I meant.’ I met her eyes. ‘I found it with her body. It was in her hair, to be precise, as if it got stuck there when she was attacked from behind. When her head was pressed back against –’

‘Yes, I get it,’ interrupted Petra. ‘So you
took
it?’

I nodded, a little embarrassed about this part. ‘I don’t even really know why, except I thought it might be Yen’s, so I just … did it. Then it was too late to put it back.’

‘And
is
it Yen’s?’

‘I still don’t know. I’m not game to ask.’

‘I see.’ Petra stared at the pin. ‘At this rate I’ll be visiting both of you in jail, and no doubt you’ll be sharing a cell. It’ll serve you right. I think I need a refill.’

I took the bottle over and left it on the coffee table, then poured some rice crackers into a bowl. Petra passed me my glass as I sat down and put out her hand for the pin.

‘It could be anyone’s.’ She examined it, as if hoping for a handy engraving. ‘Not just the society lot either. For all you know there was a shop selling them ten for a dollar.’

‘Yes.’

‘Besides, for all her faults, I do
not
believe that Yen is capable of suffocating a grown man one day, and strangling a grown woman a few days later.’

‘No.’

After this last comment we both fell silent. I sipped my wine, watching the sun continue its long, slow summer descent. I wanted to forget about the fleur-de-lis, because without it I could just focus on young scowly and/or his hypothetical employer. This would not be Yen, of that I was certain, because she would never hire someone with such a laissez-faire attitude towards both hygiene and courtesy. I looked at Petra but she seemed to be thinking things through as well, turning the pin over in her hands. We probably would have remained there for some time, in mutual silence, had not the sound of tyres on gravel heralded the arrival of our mother, and her
actual
employee.

Petra grimaced. ‘So how’s Luce going at Renaissance?’

‘I haven’t asked.’ I felt my stomach tighten. ‘I’m avoiding the subject.’

‘Ah, avoidance. Your speciality.’

I frowned but was saved from having to respond, and Petra from needing to explain, by the sound of the front door. Yen’s voice was heard first, followed by her person, followed by Lucy. They paused to examine the scene and then strolled over towards the kitchen. It was like watching the evil queen, but with an apprentice.

Yen was studying the whiteboard as she put the kettle on. ‘Did you add anything? Like … me?’

‘Certainly not,’ said Petra, with a fake laugh. ‘As if.’

‘Then you’re not doing a very thorough job. I
should
be there.’

‘Fine.’ I leant over, picked up the marker and wrote
Bossy Older Woman
in large letters over the top of
Scowly Young Man
.

‘Very mature. What on earth have you been doing to yourself? You look like you’ve been dragged through a bush backwards.’

‘You’ve got me there, Yen. Now you know how I spend my spare time.’

‘What’s for dinner?’ asked Lucy. ‘And where’s Gus?’

‘Nothing, and gone for a walk with Quinn.’ I was still staring at the whiteboard but now I tapped the marker a few times against Leon’s house. ‘Pet, you know how I told you about his lover? The Saturday night one?’

‘Yes, you’re so good at keeping secrets.’

‘You have no idea of all the stuff I’m
not
telling you. Besides, he didn't actually ask me to keep it in confidence. And also, you promised not to tell anyone.’ I realised that Yen and Lucy were listening with interest. ‘Could you both pretend you didn’t hear any of that?’ I turned back to Petra and lowered my voice. ‘Anyway, he seemed to get a bit of a buzz about it all being a little clandestine, if you know what I mean, so you’d think she wouldn’t be using his driveway. Which means …’ I drew the marker lightly down the road and into the nursery car park off the highway. ‘I bet she parks here.’

‘Most probably,’ said Yen. ‘And on Saturdays they close early so it’d be near deserted.’

‘But so what?’ asked Lucy, coming over. ‘So he has a lover who parks there? And don’t look at me like that, Mum, I’m not going to tell anyone. None of my friends’d be interested anyway – the guy’s like over thirty. I just want to know why this is important.’

‘It’s important because I’m going to wait and find out who she is.’ I looked at the clock and then jumped up. ‘She may well have seen something that night, but she’s not going to tell the police because she doesn’t want to get involved. But she might tell me.’

‘A stakeout!’ Petra drained her wine. ‘I’ll come too! We can be like Cagney and Lacey!’

‘Who?’ asked Lucy.

‘I think they’re dead,’ said Yen, turning off the kettle. ‘I suppose I’d better come too, make sure you don’t get into any trouble. We can get tea on the way back.’

‘Yen, you
really
don’t –’

‘And then you can be like Charlie’s Angels!’ said Lucy, delighted. ‘Go on, strike the pose!’

‘I think not,’ I replied, even as Petra did exactly that, narrowing her eyes and crouching down with her fingers forming a pistol. ‘Christ. It’s Cruella de Vil, with weaponry.’

‘You talkin’ to me?’ asked Petra in a deep voice, swinging her makeshift pistol around.

I grinned, and then glanced at the clock again. ‘Quick! If we’re going to do this, we’d better move. Meet you in the car in five minutes!’

‘Synchronise your watches!’ called Petra. ‘Five minutes! That’s five oh minutes!’

I ignored her, instead hurrying out to take a detour past my bedroom and change my T-shirt. As an afterthought I grabbed a paisley scarf to tie around my head. I flung open the front door just as Yen came strolling from the living room and went on past, nodding her thanks. I hastened over to unlock the car, gathering up all the paraphernalia from the back seat and flinging it into the boot.

By the time I slid into the front seat, Yen was already beside me, staring impassively ahead. Petra strolled out, back in her stilettos, with a carry bag. She jumped into the back and clicked her fingers.

‘Time’s a-wasting, fellow sleuths. Let’s away!’

I turned to look at her. ‘Are you going to keep this up? I need to know.’

The other back door opened and Lucy jumped in. ‘I decided I wanted to come, after all.’

‘I don’t recall you being invited!’

‘Tick-tock,’ said Yen, without turning.

‘How the hell are we going to be surreptitious with a car full of people?’ I waited a few moments but nobody answered; the rear-seat duo were too busy making themselves comfortable while the primary passenger clearly didn’t feel that the comment was directed at her. I put the car into reverse and began backing down the driveway, and then slammed on the brakes as I heard Quinn’s shout.

‘You nearly ran over your daughter,’ commented Petra, rather superfluously.

‘Careless,’ said Yen.

Quinn came up to the driver’s-side window. ‘Hey! Didn’t you see me?’

‘Are you hurt?’ I snapped. ‘No? Then obviously I saw you, eventually.’

Lucy leant forward. ‘We’re going to go do some investigating.’

‘Really? Excellent!’ Quinn pulled open the back door. ‘Were you waiting for me?’

‘No, not the dog!’ said Petra. ‘Nell!’

‘Tick-tock,’ said Yen.

‘God! Just get in the car, quickly! Bring him!’

Quinn gathered up the dog, his lead dangling, and clambered over her sister into the middle of the back seat. She dumped a wriggling Gusto on Lucy while she did up her seatbelt and then sat expectantly. Beside her Petra was now looking significantly less enthusiastic, and significantly more cramped. It was at moments like these that I wished I had more mastery over my mobile, because then I would have taken a photo. The Forrest family undercover, complete with offspring and pets. It would have been a keeper.