Murder and Mayhem (33 page)

“Oh! Poor Daphne!” Rosie handed
me her bag and hurried down the room.

I slid across to the empty chair next to Susannah, and
asked,
sotto voce
, “So what is she going to do now?”

“She’s going to get him back, of course!” she said as
though it were a foregone conclusion.

“But, I thought she didn’t want him.”

“She doesn’t–but that’s not the point. Her pride has
been hurt, not to mention her reputation and self-esteem. It’s all a matter of
who does what to whom.”

I nodded even though I didn’t understand the rationale
behind this saga of illicit sex and intrigue, and asked, “And how she going to
do that?”

Apparently the answer was quite obvious–to everyone
but me.

“The same way any red-blooded American woman would.
She’s going to spend a day at the beauty parlor, buy some new clothes and then
she’s going to be seen at all her husband’s old haunts flirting outrageously
with every red-blooded male in the place–on the arm of a new man.”

Sounds like a big ask to me, but hey, I’m just an
Aussie who’s been married to the same man for more than forty years, so what
would I know. “But what about her boyfriend, what’s he going to say about
that?”

She gave me one of those withering looks and said,
“Hell! He’s not going to know.”

“How could he not know?”

The woman shook her head at my naivety and heaved a
long drawn-out sigh. “Because they travel in different circles!”

I’m not sure if it’s the accent or the language I’m
having trouble with, so I just smiled and said, “Can you just explain this to
me one more time?”

Susannah took a deep breath and
let it out with a long exaggerated sigh. “Beats me how you Aussie gals hold
onto your men!”

“Maybe it’s our sunny disposition–and good looks.”

She looked me up and down, and said, “Yeah, right,”
with just a hint of sarcasm. Then she looked down the room to where Rosie was
standing outside the door doing her best to calm Daphne down.

Susannah shook her head. “Waste of time,” she muttered
then turned to me and said, “okay. Listen up. Here’s how it goes.”

“I’m all ears.”

An eyebrow shot up–then hiked its way back down again.

“When Daphne has stopped all this wailing and carrying
on, she’s going to pull herself together, get a complete make-over, and find a
new boyfriend.” Susannah looked at me to make sure I was paying attention. “Are
you still with me, Bee?”

I nodded. “So far.”

“Good. Now this here’s the tricky part… Once Daphne’s
got everything in place, she’s going to flaunt her new lover in front of her
husband to make him jealous. I would have thought that was obvious.”

To the old or infirmed maybe–but
until recently I was a blond. Maybe there’s still the odd strand of gold hiding
among the gray.

“But why not just flaunt her current boyfriend in
front of her wayward husband?” I was about to suggest a bullet in his pecker
would take care of the problem but thought it best to keep my own counsel on
that–so instead I said, “Why bother going to all the trouble of finding another
boyfriend when she’s already got one waiting in the wings?” I stand by my first
instinct–shoot the bastard.

Susannah seemed a little
impatient when she said, “
Jeez, Louise!
You obviously don’t get out
much, do you? The answer is as plain as the nose on your face. If Daphne
flaunts her boyfriend in front of her husband, when she gets him back–the
husband that is–she going to have to dump him, the boyfriend, I mean–not the
husband–as a matter of good faith. Daphne really loves this guy–the boyfriend,
I mean, not the husband, so she doesn’t want to risk losing him. The husband–she
can dump later.”

Or do a Lorena Bobbit, and take
a knife to his pecker,
I thought, but instead said,
“If
she’s going to dump him anyway why bother wasting time going through this whole
charade?”

Susannah sighed, loudly

“Because, she can’t have people going around saying
her husband dumped
her
. It’s called saving face-and pride-and that’ll
teach you to dump me, buddy. Otherwise word would get out and potential husband
number five will think there must be something wrong with
her
, and take
off, and then no man will want her.” She looked me in the eye and said, slowly.
“Do you understand now?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Yeah…well….kinda, I s’ppose.

Susannah heaved a loud sigh, and nodded. “Then when
hubby is feeling all nice and secure, Daphne will dump him for husband number
five–and her reputation will remain intact.” She added a smile.

Maybe this is why I’m still on husband number one.
Long term marriages seem to dumb up the brain–not to mention those annoying
strands of blond hair!

*****

The briny smell of the ocean clung to the air while a
salty mist settled unnoticed on their clothes and skin as they sat on the pier
and watched boats glide in and out of the harbor in the soft purple twilight.
Overhead a galaxy of stars started to shine in the darkening skies, and below,
a cheeky seagull snatched scraps of food from under the table. Nothing had
changed since the last time he was here–not even the gulls. 

 Nicola pulled a brochure from her bag and started
reading aloud.

“‘First settled by the British in 1632, Portland was
destroyed not once, by the Wampanoag people, but twice. It was destroyed again
in 1775 during the Revolutionary War, and again by fire in -1866.’” She looked
up and smiled. “Any wonder the town’s motto is Resurgam, I Will Rise Again.”

 Danny laughed. “I would have thought a more
appropriate name would have been Phoenix.”

The waitress took their order and returned a short
time later with a bottle of wine, glasses and carafe filled with chilled water.

Even though the last weeks of summer had gone, the
evening was surprisingly pleasant as they watched the moon rising above the
waves like a soft pale spotlight.

“Will you be late tonight?” Nicola asked as she
watched the fishing fleet leave the harbor and head out to sea.

“I should be back in a couple of hours.” Danny leaned
back in the chair, clasped his hands behind his head and watched as Nicola
stared dreamily at boats lit up in an almost festive air. When she turned her
eyes on him and smiled, he noticed how green they were.

“So…,” she said, “do you have any more interesting
stories to share or are you all talked out?”

“Honey, I could fill a book with tales of my
adventures, both here and in Australia,” he said with a cheeky grin. He thought
for a moment…, pensive, then asked, “Would you like me to tell you about a trip
I took back home a couple of years ago?  It’s a sad tale but one I think you’ll
find intriguing.”

“I’d like that. You never talk much about your life in
Australia.”

Danny stretched his long legs, crossed his ankles, and
eased himself into a comfortable position. The chair groaned and protested
under his shifting weight, then settled. He took a mouthful of water followed
by a sip of wine, and began.

“Some years ago I was traveling through Victoria, a
small state in south eastern Australia after I’d picked up a bike in the small
town of Bright that I planned to restore. Being in no particular hurry I
decided to head home via the coast instead of inland.” He took another sip of
wine, leaned back in the chair and laced his fingers behind his head.

“So I looked at the map and noticed Bright wasn’t far
from the Great Alpine Road. But I knew that road would take me into high
country and, as it was the middle of winter, I figured there would be snow on
the peaks. So I dismissed it in favor of a more indirect route further north
that would take me through the town of Tallangatta where I could pick up the
Omeo Highway and head to the coast. Even though it was further, I knew in the
long run, it would be quicker.”

Danny took a sip of water, and continued.

“The map I had showed the Omeo Highway went through
virgin forest so I thought it would be a nice drive, and one would think if it
was called a highway the road would be in a reasonable condition.” His gaze
drifted to a sleek speedboat coming into the harbor.

Nicola turned around to see what had caught his eye.

As the boat disappeared into a mooring further down,
Danny turned his attention back to Nicola, and smiled. “Sorry, I got distracted
by that magnificent piece of machinery.”

“And possibly the willowy blond in the
barely-there-bikini, leaning against the handrail?” Nicola said.

Danny gave her a boyish grin. “Didn’t even notice
her,” he said unconvincingly. “But−, back to the story. So, I got onto
this, so-called highway, which was only a narrow two-laner and as I passed
through the last town on the map before entering the forest, there was a sign
that said last petrol–sorry, gas,” he added for her benefit, “for the next
hundred or so miles, but-nothing more. The SUV had a large tank and I’d filled
up before I left Bright so I wasn’t worried.” He drained his glass and refilled
both. “Not bad wine this.” He raised the glass to his lips.

“No, it’s not bad at all.”

“Pardon me,” a woman said as she squeezed behind
Danny’s chair with a small child in tow.

“Sorry.” Danny shuffled the chair forward with an
apologetic smile and waved at the small child clinging tightly to his mother’s
skirt.

“I’d only traveled a couple of miles when suddenly the
asphalt gave way to gravel but I figured they must have been doing roadwork so
I kept going expecting the surface to improve. But as I got further into the
forest, the road deteriorated so badly there were rocks and dirt from minor
landslides, and the surface was deeply rutted with potholes. I decided to turn
around and go back, so I kept my eye out for somewhere wide enough to make the
turn.”

Nicola leaned forward, her face alive with interest.

“But by now,” Danny said, “the road was really
narrow–barely wide enough for a single vehicle. On one side was the sheer rock
face of the mountain, while the other had a steep drop into a deep ravine where
I could hear the roar of turbulent water from a river, way below.

“All around there was nothing but forest, with no
houses in sight. There was no sign of human habitation anywhere.”

Danny took another sip of wine, and said, “Suddenly it
dawned on me that I hadn’t seen another vehicle since I’d left the last town. I
hoped and prayed one wouldn’t come careering around a bend, because there was
nowhere for me to go, and I do mean nowhere. There were no cut outs to pull
into to let anyone pass, and, don’t forget, I was towing a bike on a trailer.
Luckily I was driving a four-wheel-drive SUV,” he added for clarification,
“...otherwise I would have been really stuck.”

The waitress shuffled food in front of them, checked
if they needed anything and moved on.  They ate in silence for a while, and
then Danny looked over at Nicola and asked, “Where was I…?”

“The road was in a terrible condition and you were
worried another vehicle would come around a bend…” she prompted.

“Oh, that’s right…The road was getting worse with each
mile and I started to worry what would happen if I broke down. I tried my phone
but it didn’t work. Obviously I was out of range, so I knew that wouldn’t help
if there was an emergency. There was nothing I could do but keep moving
forward.” He concentrated on cutting into his steak, and ate with a thoughtful
expression on his face. “Good steak this,” he said pointing with his fork, then
picked up the threads of the story, and continued. “Suddenly I rounded a bend
as the road widened, and hit the brakes. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I sat for
a moment in stunned silence trying to take in the strange scene before me, then
cut the engine and climbed out.”

Nicola sat forward in her chair. “Why, what did you
see?”

“Crosses.”

“Crosses? What kind of crosses? Was it some type of
cemetery?”

“No. Well, I don’t think so. Not in the true sense of
the word.”

“Then what?”

“I’m not sure. But there was this one large cross–oh,
about seven feet tall, and, behind it, ninety-seven small white crosses–planted
in rows, like you see in military cemeteries. And off to one side a large
plaque attached to a post.”

“What kind of a plaque?”

“It told the story of a town where some time in the
early nineteen hundreds everyone in the town had perished and there was nothing
to show that either the people or the town had ever existed. Over the years,
the story said, the forest closed in around the town and reclaimed it for its
own.”

“So, what happened to the people?”

Danny shrugged. “It didn’t say. Maybe no one knew. But
what it did say was that sometime in the eighties a woman was visiting her sons
who were building a bridge in the area, and heard the story of the lost town
and its forgotten people, and decided to build a monument to acknowledge their
existence.”