Nefarious Doings (8 page)

‘Hoy, Nell!’

Except for Edward Given, of course. I watched him lumber down his driveway and then across the road, his pants belted above the curve of his rounded belly. I raised a hand in greeting.

‘Nell.’ He put one hand on my car as he caught his breath.

‘Correct. And you’re Edward.’

‘Actually …’ He took another few breaths. ‘I prefer Ned, thanks.’

‘Ned?’

‘Yep. It’s more – well,
friendly
. And I bet I know what you’re thinking now. What a shame we never became an item. Ned and Nell.’

‘It’s like you read my mind.’

‘Funny you say that. My mother always used to say I had a bit of psychic in me.’

I had a sudden image of a psychic-centred menu; roast leg of psychic with cranberry sauce, stuffed psychic on a bed of mash, psychic balls with spaghetti. I grinned.

‘Ah well, too late now.’

‘Yes, because I’m in my dotage.’

‘Oh, I didn’t mean it that way!’ He took a step back, clearly flustered. ‘Just didn’t want to give you the wrong idea. That I – we …’

I stared at him, my grin remaining for a few moments, rictus-like, and then slipping away as his reaction sunk in. Was that an actual
recoil
? I could feel my throat tightening, ridiculously, and knew I had to say something, soon, before he got the impression I was devastated. Which was not far off.

‘Nell?’ He blinked. ‘Are you all right? I never –’

‘Fine.’ The word came out in shards. I coughed, started again. ‘Fine. It’s just being here, in the street. Brings it all home, you know? About the murder. By the way, I got your message yesterday, about the ugly rumours. Thanks for letting me know.’

He smiled, clearly grateful for the turn in conversation. ‘Well, it’s the least I can do. Being such old
friends
. And I don’t believe for a moment that your mother would have done something like that to poor Dustin Craig.’ He shook his head. ‘She’s just not strong enough.’

‘Ah, yes. Of course.’

‘Though I have to say that I
am
a little cross with you, Nell.’ He smiled and nodded, his double chin compressing accordion-like against his neck. ‘You told me that the committee meeting was cancelled on Sunday afternoon. Which I passed on to
several
members, only to find that the information was incorrect. Tsk, tsk.’

‘Did I?’ I frowned, as if trying to recall the incident. ‘If that’s the case I do apologise, Ed – Ned. It was such a dreadful day I can barely recall functioning.’

‘Apology accepted. I’d ask you in for coffee but I’m about to head into town, have to catch up with Sam Emerson. Planning our Christmas function, you know. Busy times.’

‘I can imagine.’

‘Speaking of catching up, I saw you’ve been to visit the merry widow.’ Edward inclined his head towards Beth’s house. ‘At least she spoke to you. Wouldn’t even open the door to me yesterday.’

‘Perhaps she was too upset.’

‘Yeah.’ Edward gave a little snort. ‘She opened the door quickly enough for the police.’

‘Well, she’s probably eager for news. Answers.’

He smiled, and then shook his head. ‘Oh, Nell, Nell, Nell. I suspect that she already has all the answers. It’s the questions that she’s dodging.’

‘Which would explain why she opened the door so quickly to the police?’

‘Now you get the picture. To divert suspicion, of course.’

‘Okay.’ I closed my eyes briefly and decided that if I had to have this conversation, I might as well make the most of it. ‘Edward – I mean
Ned
, do you know anything about this dark sedan the police are looking for?’

‘Know anything? Why
I
was the one who reported it!’ He grinned. ‘Saw it about quarter past eleven, just as I was going to bed. Parked right over there.’ He pointed down the street towards the Fletcher house. Then he faced me again, with a peculiar smile. ‘Ask Jim Hurley if you don’t believe me. No doubt he would’ve seen it as he was leaving your mother’s house that night.’

‘Jim Hurley?
What?
’

‘Yep. Oh, I’m sure there’s nothing to it if that’s what you’re worried about. After all, he drops in
all
the time. He was probably just borrowing sugar. Or maybe Rita had gone to bed and he was feeling a little … lonely.’

I blinked, trying to keep my face noncommittal. The truth was that even though it was difficult to imagine my mother and Jim having clandestine late-night trysts, it didn’t disturb me in a moral sense; it was more that I felt blindsided. Not to mention the implications of the timing, given nefarious doings were afoot. ‘Then this must have been after the police came? About the altercation between my mother and Dustin Craig?’

‘That’s right. The police came about twenty past ten, and only stayed fifteen minutes or so.’

I wrenched my mind, and imagination, away from Jim and my mother. ‘But you didn’t see anyone in the car? Or around it?’

‘Unfortunately no. Had I known what was going on with poor Dustin, then I might have taken more notice.’ He sighed. ‘But as it was, I just went to bed.’

‘Let down by your psychic abilities when you needed them most.’

‘You’re right, Nell. I must have been tired.’

I walked around to the driver’s side of my car and sent him a brief, bright smile. ‘Lovely to catch up with you, Ed – Ned – but I’d better get going. Mountains of stuff, you know …’

‘Oh, of course. And rest assured I’ll be keeping an eye on your mother’s place for you.’

‘I don’t doubt it. It’s the only thing that helps me sleep at night.’

‘Excellent.’ He stepped away, beaming. ‘Glad to be of service.’

‘Yes. Thanks, Ned.’

He was still standing by the road as I turned my car into my mother’s driveway and reversed out, giving him a little wave as I passed. At the end of Small Dairy Lane I slowed to check left, right, then my rear-vision mirror and he was still there, a somewhat forlorn figure despite his bulk. I felt a surge of sympathy alongside a rather ridiculous dejection over his earlier rebuff. Did that mean I ranked even lower on the dating scale than Edward Given? Or maybe I just wasn’t his type. I slid my eyes across to my own reflection. Multi-hued complexion, eyes cupped by evidence of a bad night’s sleep, hair unable to decide between frizz and spiral, so going for a bit of both. Including one corkscrew that stuck straight up from the centre, like an antenna.

No wonder he’d recoiled. I adjusted the mirror as I drove, unsure whether to be relieved that I looked so pathetic, or embarrassed. Clearly, if I was going to continue being cavalier about my personal appearance, then I would have to start working on my inner beauty. Which brought me neatly around to my mother, who I would have thought somewhat deficient in both regards, particularly the latter. Yet Uncle Jim seemed to be drawn to her like a moth to a flame. A moth, in this case, who left his wife at home to wander next door for some late-night sugar. It appeared that the woman had neighbours popping in from all directions. And I wasn’t sure what concerned me most at the moment; the one who got what he came for, or the one who never left.

I’d just like to let you know that I am your Biggest Fan – but not in a creepy Stephen King/
Misery
type of way! Well, as long as you keep publishing one column per week, that is – otherwise I may have to take steps [mwa ha ha ha]
.

I turned into Main Street and kept going to the far end, where I pulled over in front of a trio of shops now boarded over. There I spent ten minutes applying some make-up and readjusting my hair, paying particular attention to my antenna. Mission accomplished, I drove back down the street and parked outside the police station. It was a squat sandstone building, with a narrow, pale-pebbled path and a sand-coloured mesh fence. The result was a vision in ivory yellow that would have been more at home near the seaside. The bright blue of the
POLICE
sign just heightened the effect.

The counter inside was unmanned, with strips of a two-way mirror running the length of one wall. Posters adorned the other walls, with pleas for lost pets, notices about various crime-stopper programs, meeting times for Neighbourhood Watch. In keeping with the town tradition of garish decoration, there was a silver Christmas tree in the corner, laden with glittery blue balls. Quite apt really. On the counter was a bell, just beside a carved declaration of love for someone called Tiffanee M. One would imagine that Tiffanee M. would have preferred a card.

Before I could ring the bell, the swing door by the two-way mirror opened and a stocky policeman came through, chewing. I recognised him as the older of the two who had visited me on Sunday. The one who
hadn’t
been chatting up my daughter later. I smiled winningly, dropping my eyes momentarily to read his name-badge. ‘Good morning, Constable Reynolds. How are you?’

‘Good, good.’ He wiped a smidgeon of tomato sauce from his mouth. ‘And how can I help you, ma’am?’

I blinked, a little taken back by his flat tone. ‘Ah, do you remember me from the other day? My mother’s house was involved in a fire, and an … involuntary death.’

‘Of course! Small Dairy Lane. Dreadful business. You’re the younger Mrs Forrest.’

‘Actually, I’m the only
Ms
Forrest. But call me Nell. And yes, a dreadful business.’ I waited, in case he felt compelled to add anything, and then pulled the little answering machine tape from my pocket. ‘I received a threatening phone call last night. A man. Seems to be connected.’

‘Really? Well, that’s no good. What’d he say?’

‘“You’ll get what’s coming to you, bitch, just wait and see. Both of you,’” I recited, gratified to see that he was rather impressed by the obvious menace.

‘Well, that
is
no good.’ He took the tape, examined it. ‘Detective Sergeant Armistead’ll be wanting to hear this.’

‘I’ve already left a message for him but I haven’t heard back. And I don’t want to ignore this. It’s a little … scary.’ I stared at the tape for a few seconds, letting the voice reverberate up my spine, and then shook my head. ‘While I’m here, I wonder if you could … see, we’re all very upset about everything. And poor Beth Craig. In fact I’ve just come from there, nobody knows anything. So I wonder if you could fill me in on any developments?’

‘Well, you’re best off talking to the detective sergeant about that as well. He’s in charge.’ The constable paused to run a tongue around the inside of his mouth, as if searching for overlooked morsels. ‘He’s stationed at Bendigo but he’s due out here today.’

‘Ah, then could you at least tell me if cause of death has been established?’ I hurried on as he frowned. ‘Only because there seems to be a rumour he was stabbed. Even his little daughter believes it and she’s now having nightmares. I’d just like to set her mind at ease.’

‘Well, that’s
very
good-hearted of you,’ came a deep voice from behind me.

Horizontal strips of Ashley Armistead smiled genially from the two-way mirror over Constable Reynolds’ shoulder. I turned slowly. ‘Hello.’

‘Hello, Ms Forrest. What a coincidence. I was just talking about you on the phone.’ His smile broadened. ‘With Beth Craig.’

‘I see.’

‘Yes. And I’m about to drive out there now to give her an update.’

Constable Reynolds cleared his throat. ‘You might be interested in this though, Ash. The lady’s brought in a tape. Some bloke threatening her. Bit nasty.’

‘Yes, I got the message.’ The detective sergeant came over and put his folder down on the counter so that he could take the tape. After turning it over in his hand for a few moments, as if that might tell him something, he lifted a trapdoor section at the far end of the counter and passed through, heading towards the swing door. ‘Back in a second.’

I was left with Constable Reynolds once more. I searched around for a neutral topic of conversation but before I could find one, a familiar voice issued forth from the back room. ‘
You’ll get what’s coming to you, bitch, just wait and see. Both of you.
’ The constable looked uncomfortable. Moments later Detective Sergeant Armistead returned, clearly rather pleased.

‘Just needed confirmation, Ms Forrest. And you’ll be pleased to know I’m in the process of dealing with it. Nothing to worry about.’

I frowned at him. ‘What?’

‘The fellow’ll be in later to have a chat. Best I don’t say anything before that, but believe me, it’s under control. Besides, he’s all bark. No bite.’

‘Excellent. I feel better already.’

The constable grinned, and then looked to his superior. ‘Shall I leave it with you, Ash?’

‘Thanks, mate.’ Detective Sergeant Armistead picked up his folder and held it against his chest, regarding me intently. ‘I’ll let Beth Craig know about your concerns, shall I?’

‘Ah, yes. I take it she said something about me?’

He nodded. ‘You could say that.’

‘In my defence, I only went over there to pass on my condolences, nothing more, nothing less. Did you know she let those kids watch
Psycho
?’ I was pleased to see his eyebrows rise, just slightly. ‘That’s right. The one with the shower and the knife and the blood swirling down the drain. Apparently it was to cheer them all up.’

‘To cheer them up,’ he repeated. ‘People never fail to amaze me.’

‘Did she actually ring you to complain about me?’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I called to let her know I was going to drop around. I think she was just venting.’ He looked at me, clearly amused. ‘Never criticise a woman’s parenting. I thought you of all people would’ve known that.’

‘Why me of all people?’

‘Well, with that column thing of yours. All the advice and … stuff.’

‘Stuff. Yes, that about sums it up.’ I grinned, suddenly realising that I was enjoying the easy exchange. Maybe Petra had been right after all – I
did
need to make an effort. Build confidence. ‘Well, if you can’t tell me about the tape yet, then could you at least tell me if there’s been any word on the cause of death?’

‘Suffocation. That is, there were other injuries but death was the result of suffocation.’

‘Suffocation!’ I stared, surprised. ‘Oh, do you mean from the fire?’

‘No, it appears he was already dead, although not for very long. We believe he was unconscious when dragged into the garage and then the body was partly hidden behind some Christmas decorations. In particular, a Christmas tree.’

I frowned, trying to follow the logic. ‘But I still don’t get …’

‘He was face
down
in the Christmas tree, and it seems he suffocated.’

I followed this scenario through with a grimace. I wondered if Dustin Craig had been a festive type of guy, who might have appreciated the irony of being killed by a Christmas tree, but I suspected not. ‘You mentioned other injuries?’

‘He sustained a significant blow to the head, which is what rendered him unconscious.’

‘It really wasn’t his night, was it?’

‘You could say that.’ The detective sergeant watched me for a few seconds longer and then cleared his throat. ‘Okay then, my turn. Could I ask you a few questions?’

‘Sure,’ I replied quickly, initially thinking that a rapid response would underline my complete innocence, but then, as the word shot from my mouth like a bullet, realising it was more likely the opposite. ‘Sure,’ I said again, this time so slowly that I sounded like John Wayne.

‘Oh. Good. Um, let’s start with your mother. Has she told you anything that you think might help the investigation?’

‘Do you mean like a confession?’

‘No, just information. Anything.’

I shook my head. ‘In that case, no. Sorry.’

‘Anybody else? That, say, you may have run into around there this morning?’

I stared at him. ‘You make it sound like I spent the morning investigating.’

‘Do I?’ He smiled with the corner of his eyes. ‘That’s just my clumsy way with words. You have to remember they’re not my stock in trade.’

‘Sure. Are you going to ask me about the car?’

‘No, why? Should I?’

‘Well, no … I just thought you might think I know something.’

His eyes creased a little more. ‘Not at all.’

‘Ok-ay.’ I regarded him narrowly, trying to work out if he was being clever. ‘Does that mean
you
know something?’

‘Let’s just say that inquiries are continuing.’

‘So the dark sedan is still the number-one suspect?’

‘D’you know something?’ He leant a little over the counter so I followed suit, my stomach tightening with anticipation. ‘All my training,
plus
my intuition, is telling me that it’s
not
the dark sedan.’

‘Really?’ I stared at him, fascinated.

‘Yes, really. The culprit’s
much
more likely to be human.’

I blinked, watched the grin spread across his face, and then stepped away crossly. ‘Very amusing. And you obviously haven’t watched the Transformer movies.’

‘Touché.’ His smile remained in place for a moment and then fell away, as if he had just remembered that he was on duty. ‘With regard to the car, I can only tell you that inquiries are continuing.’

‘Well, can you at least tell me if it’s got anything to do with my threatening phone call?’

‘Not a thing. Sorry.’

The police station door swung open, bounced off the wall and then banged shut behind a whiskery young man. Scowling, he approached the counter. ‘Here to report.’

‘Which you can do as soon as I’ve finished here,’ said Ashley Armistead, turning back to me. ‘Now, Ms Forrest, I’ll be needing to speak to your mother at some point today. Will she be at your house?’

‘No, she’s at work. Just down the street at the bookshop. Renaissance.’

‘Listen, mate,’ said the scowly young man, slapping one hand down on the counter, ‘I’m in a bit of a rush here. Got a job interview this arvo.’

‘Sure you have. But you’re still going to have to wait your turn.’

‘I’d better go, anyway,’ I said, not just to appear charitable but because young scowly was distinctly pungent. ‘Thanks for all your help.’

‘My pleasure.’

I backed away, and then turned before I could make myself look foolish. Had we been flirting?
Yes. Yes you had,
whispered a rusty little voice.
See? It’s like riding a bicycle. Bugger Edward Given, he doesn’t know what he’s missing
. I felt warm and light and validated. I opened the front door and cast one last look over my shoulder as I exited, half expecting him to be watching me, so that perhaps we could exchange … something. Instead he was already heading through the swing door, passing his pot-bellied colleague on the way. Disappointed, I turned just as I hit the doorframe with my right shoulder, so hard that the nearby window reverberated within its frame. I bounced off and pushed my way through, horribly embarrassed. My shoulder was throbbing.

Outside I came face to face with Berry Pembroke, both of us as surprised as the other. Berry stepped back and then glanced behind her, towards the main street. She was a small woman, quite top heavy with slim, almost stick-like legs. Poor Berry, people called her behind her back, with that grossly unfair, patronising pity reserved for women who lived on their own. And Berry certainly qualified there, having been widowed while still in her twenties, over forty years before, and never remarrying.

‘Berry!’ I moved forward, rubbing my shoulder. ‘Let’s swap places. Are you going in?’

‘No, no.’ She took a step back, so that it now looked like we were performing a choreographed routine. ‘Um, hey, how are your guinea pigs?’

I frowned, as the only pigs she could be referring to were the pair I bought from her for Ruby’s eighth birthday. ‘Ah, dead … given it was about fifteen years ago.’

‘Of course! How stupid of me! Don’t the years just flow into each other, hey?’

‘Not for the guinea pigs.’ I studied her a little more closely. ‘Are you okay? You look pale.’

‘Oh yes, can’t keep a good woman down as they say. So … you’re not in the market for more guinea pigs then? I’ve got a new litter that are beauties. Abyssinians with sable colourings. Both sexes.’

‘No thanks. Though they do sound gorgeous. How’s business anyway?’

Berry shrugged. ‘Not as good as it once was. I’m competing with all those virtual pets, that’s the problem! But if things go belly up, at least I’ve got a regular source of food, hey?’

‘You have?’

‘You know, like in the Andes, where they eat them.’ She grinned at my horrified expression. ‘Relax, I’m just joking.’

The police station door swung open behind us and the scowly young man came through, looking even more annoyed to see us blocking the path. Berry backed up and I followed, until we reached the main footpath. Then Young Scowly put on a burst of speed and got through, setting off down the main street. As he passed the Majic Art Gallery, about six or seven shops away, he nearly collided with Leon Chaucer, who chose that moment to emerge. Words were exchanged, unnecessarily heated on one side and rather stunned on the other. With a final obscenity flung over his shoulder, Young Scowly ran diagonally across the street, past Sam Emerson and Edward Given, who had just emerged from a cafe with takeaway coffees in hand. The latter raised his coffee container towards me. I wasn’t sure if he was extending an invitation or toasting me.