Forbidden Fruit (22 page)

I chose the furthest seat and placed my phone down on the table before sliding it across to her. She transferred it to the bench, beside the sketch.

‘Hands behind your back,’ she said briskly. ‘Just a precaution. Nothing to worry about.’

She fished inside a small backpack that was sitting on one of the other chairs, and brought out a plastic cable-tie contraption with two large loops at one end. It looked like a super-sized contraceptive device but I was fairly sure that wasn’t the case. I was also fairly sure I would only have one chance at preventing what was about to happen, and that chance was now. As she came behind me, I twisted, flinging my right hand up to clip her under the chin. But even as her head flew back, she brought the pistol down in an arc that ended abruptly on the top of my head. There was a sharp crack and my vision blurred with shock. Yet another time a hat would have been useful.

‘Mum!’ I could hear the fear in Lucy’s voice. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I
told
you there was nothing to worry about,’ said Clare furiously, dragging my hands behind my back again and then slipping them inside the loops. The contraption was immediately pulled tight, the plastic biting slightly against my skin. ‘You’ve only got yourself to blame.’

‘Sure I have.’ I closed my eyes, willing my blood to stop roaring within my head. It was deafening.

Clare ignored me. She gestured to Kate. ‘You there. Up on your feet and over here.’

I heard stumbling as Kate rose and realised that her hands had already been bound. She came around the side of the bench and Clare waved her towards the chair beside me. My mobile pinged loudly.

‘Who’s Scarlet?’ asked Clare, leaning across to read the text.

‘My eldest daughter.’ I focused through narrowed eyes. ‘Why?’

‘Apparently she’s in labour.’

‘Well,
that’s
not fair!’ wailed Lucy. She glared at me crossly.

Clare continued reading. ‘She’s dropping off Quinn on her way. Who’s Quinn?’

‘My youngest daughter.’

‘How many do you have?’ she asked with what seemed like genuine interest.

‘Five.’ I was trying to think but the rhythmic pulsing of my scalp was not making it easy. How could I get a message to Quinn to stay away?

‘That’s ridiculous.’ She looked at me with disapproval, then shook her head. ‘Ridiculous.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Never mind. Okay, this is what’s going to happen.’ She straightened, dropping the mobile into her backpack and drawing out a handful of the cable ties. She laid them on the table in front of Kate and me. ‘I don’t want to bind your ankles, but I will if I have to. Now I’m going back upstairs for my unfinished business. I’m sorry this has to involve you all but a price has to be paid, and it should be paid in the right place. Then you can go back to your lives. In the meantime, I’ll let you –’ she motioned to Lucy ‘– stay free. But if I come down here and find you gone, I’ll put a bullet through your mother’s head. Clear?’

Lucy nodded. She looked annoyed, but I suspected that was more about her sister having just gone into labour than the prospect of me being shot.

‘Is that the pistol your husband used?’ I asked, staring at the object in question.

‘No. Although they’re both Berettas. He had a bit of a collection.’ She gazed at the pistol for a moment and then visibly shook herself. ‘Okay, if this Quinn arrives before I am done, you tell her to sit and I’ll come back down.’ She looked us each in the eye, one by one. ‘I have no quarrel with any of you, so don’t do anything stupid. Again. This should all be over soon.’ She picked up the backpack and slung it over her shoulder before heading rather slowly up the stairs. I suddenly remembered that the woman was at least seventy. That did not make me feel any better about my thumping head.

I watched as she disappeared towards Lucy’s bedroom and a moment later I thought I heard a muffled cry. I turned back to the others. ‘Who’s she got in there?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Lucy. ‘What does that mean, about Scarlet? Like, isn’t she early?’

‘Yes.’ I turned stiffly towards Kate. ‘Did you see who? Was it my father?’

She was already shaking her head. ‘She was up there when we came in. We were talking and next thing she’s on the stairs, pointing that gun at us. What do we do now?’

‘I’m not sure.’ I felt a little flattered that she thought I might have an answer, but overriding everything else was concern for whoever was in the bedroom, particularly if it was my father, and worry that Quinn would come bouncing into the middle of all this. Should I call out a warning, or would that put her, and us, at greater risk? These thoughts had barely crystallised when the doorbell rang. I stared, appalled.

‘Don’t move,’ said Clare from the top of the stairs. She levelled the pistol at me and then moved it across to Kate and then finally Lucy. The doorbell rang again and she started down the stairs, using the handrail for extra support.
Geriatric gradually murders entire family with occasional pauses for nanna nap. Victims showed extraordinary patience, say police.

‘Do you want me to …?’ said Lucy, shuffling towards the edge of the couch. It was nice to know I had raised such polite children.

‘Yes. You answer it. But remember I’ve got this.’ Clare waved the pistol menacingly.

Lucy nodded. She walked heavily over to the door and opened it. My sister immediately breezed through, holding a bottle of wine. ‘Well, it
took
you long enough! How are you feeling?’ She spotted me at the table and raised the bottle. ‘C’mon, break out the glasses. We’re celebrating! I know who the lover was!’

‘Clare Fletcher?’ I asked.

She lowered the wine, looking disappointed. ‘How did you know?’

‘Because she’s behind you, with a pistol.’

Petra whirled around, coming face to face with Clare, who was holding the pistol steady with both hands. She gestured towards the table with her head. The two of them walked sideways across the room.

‘Sit down,’ said Clare. ‘Hands behind your back.’ She grabbed one of the cable ties and secured Petra’s hands. ‘Are you Quinn?’

‘Certainly not,’ I said, affronted. ‘This is my
sister
. Petra.’

Petra was staring at me. ‘Nell, is that blood in your hair? Christ.’

‘Scarlet’s in labour,’ I hissed. ‘She just sent a message.’

‘And I’m not,’ added Lucy, rather unnecessarily.

‘Okay. Well, how about you all catch up in your own time? I’m busy.’ Clare moved away and began her steady ascent back up the stairs.

I turned to Petra. ‘How did you know? That it was her?’

‘I peeked through their lounge-room window and there was a big-arse framed drawing on the wall. It looked like a pair to the one you have. It had her initials in the corner.’

The doorbell rang again. Clare, who had almost reached the top of the stairs, turned to glare down at us. ‘Are you
kidding
me? What is this, Grand Central Station?’

‘It’s probably Quinn this time,’ I said worriedly. ‘She’s only fourteen.’ The last thing I wanted was the woman with the pistol to be irritated when my youngest came through.

Clare had already begun her descent. She waved the pistol at Lucy, who made a show of sighing as she rose cumbersomely and went to open the door. Amy Stenhouse stood on the threshold. She clapped a hand to her chest when she saw Lucy and let out a gasp of relief. ‘Oh, thank God. I thought I must have
missed
it. Oh my, what a scare.’

Lucy stared at her and then glanced at Clare, behind the door. ‘Um …’

‘I
know
I shouldn’t be here, and I am so
very
sorry,’ continued Amy. ‘I
hate
the fact we parted on such bad terms. But – oh look, there’s your mother. Hello, Nell!’ She stepped into the lounge room, waving cheerfully at me. From behind her, Clare pushed the door with some force and it slammed shut. Amy jumped.

‘Over to the table and sit down,’ said Clare, a little breathlessly. She brandished the pistol. ‘Now.’

‘Oh my lord.’ Amy took short little crablike steps across the room, without taking her eyes from the pistol. She dropped onto the spare chair. ‘Oh my.’

‘Hands behind your back.’ Clare used yet another tie to secure Amy’s hands. ‘So who the hell are you?’

‘She’s the mother of the father of my daughter’s baby,’ I answered, when it became clear that Amy wasn’t going to. If I had known it was so easy to keep her quiet, I would have purchased those cable ties myself.

‘This one, or Scarlet’s?’

‘This one.’

‘And is it safe to assume we won’t be having any more visitors tonight?’

‘Apart from Quinn.’ I jerked forward. ‘Clare, please tell me. Is my father up there?’

She stopped at the foot of the stairs and regarded me with interest. ‘Why on earth would your father be up there?’

‘Because I know someone is. I heard them before. And I’m thinking it’s whoever you think was responsible for Dallas’s death. It wasn’t Paul Patrick, and it wasn’t your husband, and I can’t see it being Uncle Jim. And my father
did
see her that day.’

‘Yes. He did.’ She took a deep breath and then released it in a sigh that trembled. ‘She was beautiful, you know. Not just physically, but inside as well. I thought I’d lost her. All these years, I thought I’d lost her. And then to find out …’ Her voice cracked harshly. ‘To find out she wasn’t with him after all, she wasn’t playing happy families, that she was buried here. All. That. Time.’

The silence hung for so long that I felt compelled to fill it. ‘It must have been awful. Just awful. Is that when you thought Rex had been responsible?’

‘Yes. Of course. He’d always known about us, about how it went so much further than any other one. He had watched it get serious.’

‘But didn’t your affair only start during that Queenscliff weekend?’ asked Petra. ‘When everyone was there?’

‘No.’ Clare shook her head emphatically. ‘Oh no. We’d met months before. I only arranged that weekend so I could spend time with her. But it was wrong of me. She hated them, see. She hated … men.’

I was frowning. ‘But – my father?’

‘He was certainly persistent.’ She laughed, but without humour. ‘Thought he was some type of knight in shining armour. No, it was me she wanted. It was always me.’

‘She kept mementoes, you know.’ I wanted to give her something, despite the circumstances. ‘In a little tin. Two letters you’d sent her plus a cork and a shell. We think that’s why she came back here. To pick them up.’

‘And a cigar wrapper,’ added Kate. ‘Ritmeester.’

Clare had paled. She clutched at the banister with her spare hand. ‘Oh, god. I always wondered why. I knew she’d kept things but …’ She closed her eyes and then snapped them open, lifting the pistol as she stared at me greedily. ‘Where are they?’

‘I’m sorry, but the police took them.’ I drew back slightly, my eyes on the pistol.

‘What’s going on?’ wailed Amy Stenhouse suddenly. ‘What’s
happening
?’

Before anybody could respond, an incredibly loud thump came from upstairs and then Lucy’s bedroom door flew open. A figure stumbled out, hands secured behind the back, and continued blindly across the landing until hitting the far side of the banister. For a moment it remained upright before crumpling backwards and tumbling in slow motion all the way down the stairs. It came to a sprawled heap at the bottom, right beside Clare Fletcher’s feet.

I stared, certain the person was dead. Beside me I heard Petra gasp as she too leant forward. Clare had jumped to one side and was holding the pistol levelled at the recumbent figure. I could hear my heart beating, and it was the only sound in the room. Then the figure moved, just a leg at first, and then there was a groan as a head was slowly lifted to gaze piteously towards the table. It was Rita Hurley.

‘Help me,’ said Rita in a ragged voice. She shuffled herself away from Clare. ‘She’s mad.’

Clare’s shock at the unexpected turn of events instantly turned to anger. ‘
I’m
mad? You murdered a woman! In cold blood!’

‘It was an accident,’ said Rita. She struggled sideways, groaning, until she was half leaning against the wall. ‘I keep telling you it was an accident.’

‘Oh, well
that
makes all the difference.’ Clare waved the pistol. ‘Practically erases the past forty years where I thought she’d rejected me, the times I drove past her house in Ballarat just to feel like I was close to her. The fact that all this time we would have been together, happy.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t –’

‘Oh, and her children! I’m sure that must help balance out all these years when they thought she’d just run out on them. Not caring enough to make contact.’

‘She’s hurt,’ said Amy Stenhouse suddenly. ‘Look, she’s bleeding.’

Sure enough, both of Rita’s knees were badly scraped, the blotchy redness beaded with blood. She was wearing a loose cotton dress, patterned with trailing ivy, and one chunky-soled orthopaedic sandal. The other must have come off on her ungainly descent. Lucy stood but Clare instantly waved the pistol in her direction. She sat again.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked Rita gently. ‘How did this happen?’

‘It was an accident,’ repeated Rita. She appeared to be committed to this explanation even though it was doing her no favours. She shuffled along the floor on her bottom, flinching with each centimetre gained. At this rate she would reach the door in about three hours. Even then she would have to rely on somebody else to open it as her hands were still bound.

‘You all think I’m being cruel,’ said Clare suddenly, staring at us. ‘You think
I’m
being cruel.’

Petra glanced at the pitiful figure of Rita Hurley and then back. ‘Well …’

‘Tell them.’ Clare kicked out at Rita, who pulled her leg in. ‘Tell them what happened. Go on, otherwise I’ll end it right here.’

A large, mottled-blue lump had appeared on Rita’s forehead. She closed her eyes, not looking at all well. For a moment I thought she was going to simply drift into unconsciousness, but then her body juddered and she opened her eyes, took a ragged breath. ‘It was an accident.’

‘Yeah, we got that,’ said Clare impatiently. ‘Now for the details. I’m going to count to three and if you haven’t started talking, I’m going to shoot your foot. One … two … three.’ Without pausing, she lined up the pistol and pulled the trigger. The sound was ridiculously loud, deafening, ricocheting around the lounge room for seconds after the original shot.

Amy Stenhouse screamed and so, rather to my surprise, did Kate. I leapt up to check Lucy, my heart beating so hard in the base of my throat that my breath could not get past. She was fine, pale and shocked, but fine. From there I tracked my gaze across to Rita Hurley, who was not looking fine at all. She had scrambled backwards and was staring at a round black hole in the carpet between her feet. Smoke wisped around the edges.

‘So now I’m going to count to three again,’ said Clare, her voice holding a quiver that belied its conversational tone. ‘And then I’m going to actually shoot you. One … two …’

‘It was an accident,’ said Rita rapidly, her eyes fixed on the pistol. ‘I never planned any of it. And I never knew …’ She lifted her gaze to Clare. ‘I thought it was Harry and her. I thought I was going to lose my husband.’

‘Tell them how you killed her.’

Rita flicked a glance at us before dropping her head to stare at the hole in the carpet. ‘I watched the march with Jim. It drizzled all morning. The men were soaked through. Then we all went around to the cenotaph for the wreath-laying ceremony. Afterwards Jim was going to go help Lilly with the shop because she only had a couple of days left before the opening.’ Her voice hardened. ‘He was such a thoughtful man.’

‘Still is, I understand.’ Clare sent a thin smile in our direction. ‘For those not in the know, Rita’s dear husband has been sleeping with Lilly Forrest for over forty years.’

‘Oh my,’ said Amy Stenhouse.

Clare nodded. ‘But then Rita doesn’t like sex so she’d probably feel relieved, if anything. Tell us, Rita: when was the last time you had sex with your husband? Come on, tell us.’

Rita shook her head, swinging it slowly from side to side like a caged animal.

Clare lifted the pistol, lining it up with Rita’s crotch. ‘One … two …’

‘That same year,’ said Rita, the words shooting out like gunfire themselves. She continued defensively. ‘I lost my baby, you know. After that, I couldn’t … never wanted …’

‘You never did before then either,’ said Clare with a snort.

‘You haven’t had sex with your husband in over
forty years
?’ asked Petra. The sight of a gun-wielding stranger had barely ruffled her feathers, but this extended dry spell she clearly found shocking. I thought that probably said more about her than Rita.

‘Oh my,’ said Amy Stenhouse again. ‘That’s not very … oh, my.’

I felt a surge of sympathy for Rita. ‘But if you didn’t like sex, then why would get involved with all that stuff? The swinging and everything?’

‘You
what
?’ exclaimed Amy Stenhouse. Her voice had risen several octaves.

‘That’s easy,’ said Clare. She turned to sneer down at Rita. ‘She needed someone to donate a baby to the cause. Isn’t that right?’

‘No! It’s not!’ Rita appeared more perturbed by this accusation than she had about the murder. She glared furiously at Clare. ‘My baby was Jim’s! He was!’

‘Yes. Total coincidence that your only pregnancy ever is announced a month after the Queenscliff weekend.’ Clare waved the pistol dismissively. ‘Believe whatever you want to, that doesn’t concern me. Go on with the story, though. Tell them how you killed her.’

Rita blinked, as if needing to remember where she was up to. ‘It had started raining again so everyone went off pretty quickly, mostly up to the RSL. I was going to my car when I see Harry suddenly stop, halfway to his shop, as if he’s seen something. Then he starts almost running. So I followed. When I saw her car I knew.’ She paused, swallowed. ‘I
thought
I knew what was happening. I was almost there when Harry comes out of the chemist so I ducked behind a tree. He goes next door and gets his cash register, puts it in the car and drives off. So I went up there. It was my only chance to persuade her not to do this. To go back to her husband and leave us all alone.’

I realised that Rita Hurley had only recently discovered that
her
truth – where Dallas had returned to Majic to reunite with Harry, thereby leaving Rita’s next-door neighbour, whom her husband happened to be in love with, totally available – was incorrect. She appeared to be having trouble getting her head around it.

‘She was standing at the window,
watching
him go.’ Rita announced this with evident disgust, as if Dallas had been caught in some lewd act. ‘So as soon as I entered the room, I said, “Don’t do this. It’s wrong. You’re breaking up families.” And she just shook her head, told me to mind my own business. I begged her, asked her to think about the children. I said that it was immoral, selfish. But she wouldn’t listen.’

Clare put up her other hand to steady the pistol, which was shaking. She had gone pale.

‘She laughed at me, told me to be thankful that I’d got what
I
wanted and now it was her turn. Then she turned away and I … I just wanted her to listen …’

‘You hit her,’ I said. ‘What with?’

‘My umbrella. It was a big heavy one of my father’s.’ Rita closed her eyes as if she could still see the sequence of events. When she opened them again, they shone with tears. ‘I swung it up before I even realised, like a softball bat, and it hit her on the back of the head. She fell forward and hit the windowsill. I couldn’t believe it.’

I was watching Clare. There was a good chance that this story would end badly – again.

‘I stood there for ages, waiting for her to sit up. But she didn’t. Then I took her pulse and she was dead. I had to do
something
.’ She looked up at us beseechingly. ‘I was going to lose everything. I had to do something for my baby.’

‘That wasn’t for your baby,’ said Lucy. She had shuffled around on the couch so that she could watch the proceedings. ‘That was for you.’

‘It wasn’t even necessary,’ added Kate. ‘It was nothing to do with you. You could’ve just left it. She wasn’t watching him leave, either, she was just trying to get her tin. And when you said what she was doing was immoral, she probably thought you meant
her
.’

‘What did you do with her car?’ asked Petra, ever practical.

‘I drove it round to old Jensen’s place. It was littered with car wrecks. He used to live just out of town, where there’s that new estate now. The one day of the year when he was guaranteed not to be there was Anzac Day. He was a World War I vet.’

‘What a stroke of luck!’ said Clare bitterly.

‘But surely he would have noticed another car suddenly appearing?’ asked Amy.

‘No. I stopped at my house on the way, put her suitcase in the back shed, got changed and took a screwdriver along. Then I parked it up the back at old Jensen’s, undid the plates and walked home. It was still raining, so there weren’t many people about. When Jim got back I told him I’d a few drinks, decided to get a lift home. He took me into town the next day and I picked up my car.’ An edge of pride had crept into her voice, which complemented the disturbingly methodological way she recounted the events. ‘I put her clothes into a plastic bag and dropped them off at an opportunity shop in Bendigo, dropped the suitcase at a different one, and I threw the numberplates out with the household rubbish the following week. Ten years later, when old Jensen died and the council was cleaning up his place, I was worried something would be said about the car, but nothing ever was.’

‘I cannot believe you never got caught.’ I shook my head. There were so many points where it should have ended differently, yet the mystery had endured for over forty years.

‘Nobody was looking for her, that’s why,’ said Clare, the bitterness still ringing each word. ‘Nobody was looking for her, or the suitcase, or the car.’

‘But what about the body?’ I asked Rita.

‘I put it in the wardrobe before I left.’ Rita was staring at the carpet again. ‘She was so small. Then I went back two days later. I couldn’t face it before then.’

I glanced across at Clare. Her face was flat, hard.

‘I brought a spade with me. Dug a hole in the back corner of your father’s yard.’ She sniffed wetly and then looked at Petra and me. ‘She’d wanted to be with him, see. Not Paul.’

‘She’d wanted to be with
me
,’ hissed Clare, bobbing down so that she could make eye contact with Rita. ‘
Me!
’

‘I didn’t know that then! I really didn’t!’

‘You were pregnant.’ Petra was staring at her. ‘How on earth did you dig the grave?’

‘I was worried about that,’ admitted Rita. ‘But the ground was so soft. It was autumn, see, and we’d had so much rain. The hardest bit was carrying her …’ She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. ‘Carrying her down the stairs. I arranged her nicely, you know.’ She transferred her gaze back to Clare. ‘With her hair neat and her handbag and all.’

‘Oh, excellent.’ Clare stared at her balefully and then straightened, looking across at us. ‘So do you still think I’m cruel? Do you?’

‘No,’ said Kate. ‘Not at all.’

‘I don’t think you’re cruel exactly,’ said Amy. ‘But I do think that these are the sort of occasions where we need to ask ourselves, “What would Jesus Christ do?” And the answer to that is, of course, to show her mercy. It’s the Christian thing to do. To err is human, to forgive divine.’

‘Who are you again?’ Clare held up her spare hand. ‘No, don’t bother telling me. You’re an idiot. After I shoot her, I’m going to shoot you too.’

‘How did you know it was her?’ asked Petra, over the top of Amy’s gasp.

‘Process of elimination. I was so sure it was Rex that I never went any further than that. Once that changed, and I discounted your father, she was the only one left.’

‘Can I say something?’ My arms were beginning to ache and I could feel the plastic ties digging into my wrists. ‘I think you’re absolutely justified in killing her.’

‘Nell!’ said Amy, shocked.

‘But I also wonder if you’ve considered that you’re letting her off easy that way.’

Petra was already nodding. ‘She’s right. If you kill Rita, she becomes the victim despite everything. But if you let her live, then she has to stand trial for murder. Everything she has tried to protect will come tumbling down. And she’ll have to watch.’

Rita had been looking from my sister to me as we put our case. Her face was the colour of ivory, with the smudgy-blue lump on her forehead standing out in sharp relief. ‘No.’

Clare was also watching us, but with more enthusiasm. ‘What if she gets off?’

‘Mum?’ called Lucy from the couch. She waved a hand to get my attention.

‘She might,’ said Petra. ‘It’ll be manslaughter for starters, but she’ll have a choice. Plead guilty and avoid everything coming out – the affairs, the baby, the jealousy – or fight the charges and have all the dirty laundry aired. Either way, she loses.’

‘Do you know what I don’t get?’ I was staring at Rita. ‘He didn’t love you any more. You were young, attractive, you could have found someone else, had a whole quiverful of babies. Why didn’t you?’

Her face hardened and for an instant I saw the woman who had surged across the room, heavy umbrella drawn back. ‘And let them be happy? Let them
win
? Never.’

‘Well, aren’t you a charmer,’ said Kate. She seemed to have taken a strong dislike to Rita.