Nefarious Doings (23 page)

‘Poor Edward nothing. Most excitement that man’s had since Mavis Fletcher reversed her car into his bedroom.’ Yen finished the muffin, licked her fingers. ‘Besides, it was unavoidable; he had to be ruled out in order for us to move on.’

‘He actually proved to be the catalyst,’ said Petra to me. ‘See, he’d been hiding out because everyone made it clear he was the number-one suspect. So when Annie Oakley here turned up, he started bitching about the whole thing. Apparently he’d been getting nasty phone calls too. So she started regaling him with all the reasons why it had to be him, and
that
was when he said that Leon Chaucer had a lapel pin as well, that he’d seen him wearing it on his tie.’

‘Everything fell into place,’ said Yen, peering around for more abandoned food. She frowned, disappointed, and then fixed her eyes on me. ‘Although I have to say taking that pin from poor Berry was probably the stupidest thing you have done in your entire life. And that’s saying something. It never fails to amaze me that you get paid to give advice.’

‘This from the person who’s out on bail from shooting up the neighbourhood.’

‘At least I got results; all you managed was to nearly get yourself killed.’

‘Okay, okay.’ Petra put her hand up. ‘Long story short, Edward’s now being feted around town as a hero for supplying the missing piece so he’s as happy as Larry. Oh, and he’s also coming to dinner tomorrow night. Yen invited him.’

‘It’s the least I could do. Jim Hurley’s coming too. I’m cooking.’

‘Yay.’ I avoided looking at my daughters. ‘Okay, back to the story. What next?’

‘Well, as I said, when Edward said that about the pin, I knew immediately it was Leon because I’d rather suspected him in the first place.’

‘
I
never did,’ said Lucy. ‘He was so
cute
.’

Scarlet laughed. ‘That’s right. Because only the ugly ones kill.’

‘You so did
not
suspect him.’ I was still looking at Yen. ‘I think you thought it was
Beth
, and you were trying to protect her. You felt sorry for her. Plus you wouldn’t have encouraged me to go out for dinner with Leon that night if you thought he was involved.’

Petra was nodding. ‘And you rather enjoyed being a suspect yourself. Be honest.’

‘I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.
Any
way, as soon as Edward said that about the pin, we hotfooted it around to Leon’s house and I knew as soon as he opened the door,’ said Yen, collecting some crumbs from the empty muffin bag. ‘Can somebody get me something to eat? They don’t feed you on the inside.’

‘I’ll go, Grandma,’ said Red. ‘Anyone else?’

Everybody started giving their orders, so the explanations had to cease while Red wrote a list, and then borrowed my credit card to pay for it. I closed my eyes for a second and opened them again as the noise quietened. I looked over at my mother expectantly. ‘
How
did you know?’

‘I’ve raised two daughters and assisted with five granddaughters. I can tell when somebody’s acting. They always lay it on that little bit thick.’

‘So she shot him in the leg,’ said Petra, grinning.

‘As I said, time was of the essence.’

‘Hang on.’ I readjusted myself against the pillow, being careful not to tug the IV tubing. ‘Tell me exactly what happened.’

Yen sighed. ‘I’ve already had to go through this over and over. I knocked on the door, he answered, and I said, “Where’s my daughter, you fucking troll?” And he said, “Why, Mrs Forrest, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” so I shot him in the thigh. It’s meaty there. Then we could hear the police sirens so we knew we had to step it up a notch.’

‘Step it
up
?’

‘Jim took the gun off me and clunked him on the head but Jim can be a little heavy-handed so I got the gun back before he knocked him out. Then I pointed it just north of the thigh wound and Jim said, “You have three minutes to start singing, mate, otherwise the next one’ll make you a soprano.”’

‘What’s a soprano?’ asked Quinn.

‘He meant they were going to shoot his dick off,’ clarified Ruby helpfully.

‘So he sang,’ said Yen complacently. ‘Where’s that girl with my food?’

‘Mum, Dad says hi,’ said Lucy, reading from her phone. ‘And get well.’

I smiled slowly. ‘You can tell him thanks. Actually, you can tell him he kept me going.’

Lucy was now staring at me and I felt suddenly guilty for raising her hopes. Lucy had always been Daddy’s girl and she, out of all of them, had taken our separation the hardest.

‘He wants to come down for Christmas,’ said Ruby quietly. ‘Spend it with us.’

Yen snorted and then muttered something that included the word ‘gun’.

I saw the wineglass again, ruby-red lips against the rim. Like a fingerprint, with ridges and whorls. I blinked, breaking up the image, and realised I was being watched. ‘Tell him he’s more than welcome for Christmas dinner. Maybe he’d even like to have you lot around to wherever he’s staying for Boxing Day. But you’ll have to organise everything as it’s got nothing to do with me.’ I looked at each of them in turn. ‘He’s your father so he’s always welcome, but … that’s it.’

With perfect timing, Red came bustling back into the room with another cardboard tray laden with supplies. At this rate we would be paying for a new hospital wing just with our sustenance. Their father momentarily forgotten, her sisters dived forward to grab paper bags and coffee cups even as she tried to lower her burden. The tray tilted and now there were purchases toppling onto the table, with one blueberry muffin bursting free of its bag and being caught deftly by my mother. She began eating as her granddaughters bickered above her. I closed my eyes once more, letting their voices ebb and flow like the tide. They faded quickly, wonderfully. Of me, always, and yet apart.

While I was horrified to hear about your recent experience, I do have to admit that watching the updates on TV became rather addictive. Probably because I’ve been reading your column for so long that it was good to ‘humanise’ you despite the circumstances. Things like your messy garden, the daughter around the side sneaking a smoke, the other one who flipped the bird, your sister flirting, your mother driving over the reporter’s foot. So glad everything worked out okay, but I’m going to miss it! You should write a book.

Tourism to Majic increased exponentially over the following days, both in casual daytrippers and bookings for the school holidays. So many people wanted to see the wine cellar that the Historical Society began regular tours for five dollars a head. Cup of tea and Tim Tam included; free guinea pig optional. Petra, who promptly took a tour herself, told me that considerable effort had gone into creating ambience, with a single candle and suitably haunting music in the background. Our meagre supplies were also on display; the torn cloth, pickle jar, corkscrew, pair of wineglasses complete with lipstick kiss, and condom. Visitors were left to appraise the usefulness of these items, particularly the last.

Unexpected benefits were also experienced by Mrs Emerson, who fielded such a demand for her dill pickles that she was now taking orders for next August. Sam Emerson had suggested buying up all available pickles from the local shops and re-labelling the jars but she would have none of it, maintaining it was the
quality
of the pickle juice that had saved the day and she thus owed it to her fans to produce the real deal. I had three of these real deals beneath my Christmas tree this very minute, each prettily cellophaned and each holding a version of the same message.
Merry Christmas, Nell, here’s a little something for your next pickle!

They sat beside another present, tissue-wrapped and book-shaped, that had appeared a few days ago. It was anonymous, but fortunately my natural curiosity had led to me holding it up to the light and deciphering the title.
Fifty Shades of Grey.
I suspected strongly that the benefactor in this case was my sister, as it fitted with her sense of humour. To show my own sense of humour, I had since removed the book and replaced it with
Little Women
. And to show my appreciation I was giving her a five-year membership for the Richard III Society.

The tree was now decorated also, a sumptuous triangle of tinsel and ornaments, with lights blinking higgledy-piggledy amid the fake fir. Just in time, given Christmas was in less than a week. We were expecting extras this year; my five were a given, plus my mother and sister, but this time we also had Ned Given, who was literally dining out on his notoriety, and Uncle Jim, who had been cast into temporary bachelorhood by Rita’s sudden decision to visit her sister in Wagga Wagga. I still had no idea what was going on there, and decided I might be better served that way. Sometimes ignorance
was
bliss. Which was not the case with our last prospective guest – Darcy, who due to arrive on Christmas Eve, sans Tessa Sheridan.

It appeared that the soul-mate relationship, worth sacrificing his marriage of twenty-five years, had hit a rocky patch, leaving him with a two-year lease on a Gold Coast apartment and a revamped wardrobe that included skinny-leg jeans and a pork-pie hat. I cared – but not as much as I would have expected. It was more a dull feeling of regret, cushioned by grim gratification that the whole thing had lasted such an embarrassingly brief time. I wondered if I would have felt differently a few weeks ago, before my near-death experience. If so, what had changed? Was it spending what could have been my last days beside a wineglass with a ruby-red rim? Or waking in hospital beside everyone who mattered, and realising that was enough? Or perhaps it was just an awareness that life was short; and some people never change. Nevertheless I sincerely hoped that he enjoyed Christmas dinner, if only because I wanted him to have a sense of what he had thrown away. Perhaps I might lend him my new book.

I was still having nightmares, and suspected I would for some time. Big, black affairs with shadows that loomed around corners and woke me at odd times, chilled by a sheen of sweat that felt like oil. I slept with a night-light now, something I hadn’t needed since I was five. I attended one of the counselling sessions recommended to counteract post-traumatic stress disorder but found it fairly unhelpful. I didn’t need to spend another hour silenced by the enormity of what almost happened; I had spent more than enough already. No, I trusted in time as the great healer, along with the little blue anti-anxiety pills I’d been prescribed.

I celebrated the first seven days of freedom by setting up a deckchair on the back patio. My column this week amounted to little more than an ‘exclusive’ interview conducted over the phone, with the scheduled letters segment being postponed until after Christmas. Along with my editor’s latest brainwave, which was the development of a blog to take advantage of the current surge in reader response. All of which meant busy times ahead, but right now I was going to make hay while the sun shone. It was certainly doing just that, with a blossoming warmth that felt therapeutic itself.

Yen was at the old Fletcher house, giving it a thorough clean with the help of Ruby and Red. Lucy was working at Renaissance, while Quinn had set up camp in the living room with Caitlin and a couple of other friends for an impromptu movies-about-vampires marathon.

I opened my book and read the first page, then read it again. The sunlight danced across the words, giving them an iridescence that sparkled like the filaments of a butterfly wing. I laid the book against my chest and closed my eyes instead, knowing that this wouldn’t help with sleep tonight, but not really caring.

‘Mum!
Mum!
’

I opened my eyes into thick confusion. ‘What?’

‘Mum! Are you awake?’

‘Of course I’m awake.’ I peered up at Quinn. ‘Why wouldn’t I be awake?’

‘Because you’re drooling?’

‘I am not.’ I reached up one hand and wiped my chin. All I wanted was to curl up and go back to sleep. ‘What is it?’

‘That detective is here.’

I lifted my sunglasses, as if that would help me comprehend, and then flicked my gaze to where Ashley Armistead stood with the sunshine creating something of a halo around his head. The only thing missing was the appropriate music and the scene could have come straight from a movie. I sat up a little straighter.

‘Thanks,’ he said to Quinn, then turned back to me. ‘Must be a good read if it sent you to sleep.’

I glanced down at my book, and my eyes widened as I registered
which
book. I shut it quickly and turned it over before thrusting it beneath the deckchair. I cleared my throat. ‘Ah, so how are you?’

‘Good, good. I just thought I’d drop around and see how you’re going. Fill you in. Oh, and I wonder if you’d autograph my paper?’ Straight-faced, he held out a copy of today’s newspaper. It was folded so that my replacement column was uppermost.
MAJIC HAPPENS
! screamed the headline, and,
See our exclusive interview with long-time columnist Nell Forrest
. My grimace deepened as I realised they had used my least favourite photo, which my editor thought made me look interestingly bohemian and
I
thought made me look like Sideshow Bob from
The
Simpsons
.

‘Yes.’ I tried to work out whether he was joking. ‘But don’t you already have my signature? On all those statements?’

‘True.’ He slapped his thigh with the paper, grinned. ‘How’ve you been?’

‘Lovely. Actually you’ve saved me a trip. I was going to drop in to the police station tomorrow, pass on my thanks for all your help.’

‘Just doing our job. Speaking of which, I suppose you’ve heard he’s been remanded?’

I nodded. ‘I also heard that he pleaded not guilty.’

‘Yes, but I wouldn’t worry too much. He’s going to have his work cut out for him defending all the charges.’ He bobbed down, dropping the paper by his side. ‘Did you also hear that Fiona Ramage has been to see him?’

I was surprised, but not particularly shocked. I visited Fiona when she was first discharged from hospital and suspected even then that a rewrite might be on the cards. As with Beth Craig, she was also busily making excuses for the inexcusable. I regarded Ashley thoughtfully. ‘Ah, you think she might forgive him. She can’t really change her testimony, can she?’

‘No. But she can become uncooperative, which makes you quite important.’

‘And I wasn’t already?’

He grinned, laughter lines fissuring. ‘Of course you were. Very much so.’

‘I thought you might have dropped in a little sooner. Given my importance. I haven’t seen you since you took my last autograph, with the statement in hospital.’

‘Thought I’d give you some space. Hell of a thing you went through.’

I nodded, but didn’t want to discuss that part. ‘Can I get you a cup of coffee? Tea?’

‘Actually I brought a bottle of wine.’ He plucked a piece of grass from between the patio pavers and twirled it in his fingers. ‘In case you felt like a drink.’

For the first time I realised that he was wearing cargos and a T-shirt rather than his customary trousers, shirt and tie. ‘Are you off duty?’

‘I thought it would be more appropriate.’ He began shredding the grass. ‘Given I wanted to ask you out.’

‘Well, in that case I think a glass of wine is definitely called for.’

He dropped the grass and stood in one fluid movement, which was only spoiled by one of his knees emitting a loud crack. He grinned. ‘I’ll get it. You stay there.’

I watched until he disappeared from sight, then ran my fingers through my hair and tied it back with an elastic from my wrist. I could feel several corkscrew tendrils escape immediately but fancied that only made me look romantically dishevelled. While there was no mirror around to tell me different, that was what I was sticking with.

Ashley returned bearing two glasses and a bottle of very nice white. Gusto burst from the back door at the same time, heading straight for his favourite tree, where he cocked a leg and let loose a stream of urine that just went on and on. Ashley pulled over a chair from the outdoor setting and then poured the wine, passing me my glass with a flourish. ‘Quite the gathering happening in there.’

‘Which is why I’m out here.’ I watched the dog as his pee finally decreased to a dribble. He shook his leg fastidiously, had a good sniff of the fruits of his labour and then wandered over to rest the same snout on the detective’s leg. It left a wet patch. I took a sip of the wine. ‘Nice.’

‘Speaking of Leon, why didn’t you tell anyone about Dustin Craig being his father?’

I took another sip and regarded him thoughtfully. ‘So you know about that?’

‘Fiona included it in her statement.’

‘Oh.’ I was disappointed, and it probably showed. ‘It just didn’t seem relevant. I mean, he wasn’t aware of it until after. It wasn’t a mitigating factor, or a motivating one either.’

‘Except with regard to his attempted murder of you,’ said Ashley quickly. He was ruffling Gusto’s fur. ‘As soon as he saw those trophies and put two and two together, your days were numbered.’

‘I prefer to think it was my canny investigative skills.’

Ashley grinned. ‘Okay, let’s say it was your canny investigative skills. This is a man who just tried to kill you; why protect him?’

‘I’m not protecting him,’ I said defensively. ‘It’s more that I didn’t think it served any useful purpose. I might not be crazy about Beth Craig, but does she need that knowledge on top of everything else? That she slept with her husband’s son? That her girls’ brother is also their father’s murderer?’ I shook my head. ‘Anyway, it’s like he’s almost an
accidental
murderer. Like this whole chain of events sprang from coincidence. Timing.’

‘I hate to tell you this, but most of them do.’ He shrugged. ‘Plus I don’t know that sleeping with one’s neighbour can be classed as coincidence. Unless they just happened to be wandering around the neighbourhood naked and ran into each other. Literally.’

I laughed, and then tried to find the right words. ‘I mean the murder itself was sort of accidental. Something spur of the moment that spiralled out of control. And yes, I know Berry’s death and what happened to Fiona and me was fed by Leon’s self-centredness and so on. But … I don’t know, to find out you just killed your father when you’d been searching for him for years, that’s so huge. He’ll live with that forever, and I’m not sure even he deserves everyone else knowing as well. Not when it’ll serve no useful purpose other than a lot of headlines that use the whole Oedipus angle.’

‘It
is
pretty amazing. If you read it in a book, you’d think it was over the top.’

‘Maybe.’ I finished my wine, rather surprised at how quickly it was affecting me. I felt warm, and bubbly, and a little fuzzy around the edges. ‘So what’ll happen? I suppose the information will come out in court.’

‘It’ll be up to the DPP, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they use it as leverage. If he’s so desperate to keep it under wraps, it might even change his plea.’ He topped up our glasses, then sat back and patted his knee. Gusto immediately resumed his position. ‘Did you know that the teenage pregnancy was the reason the Craig family moved away? His brother told us. They were worried pressure would be put on Dustin to marry the girl down the track.’

‘What charmers.’

‘Yep.’

Silence fell, placid and pleasant. A kookaburra laughed in the distance, a rollickingly jovial sound that, oddly, only added to the tranquillity. I examined the detective through my sunglasses, wondering if it was true he was a player. And whether this knowledge added to his appeal. Maybe I was masochistic? Certainly I was finding him very attractive at the moment, significantly more than when I had first met him. But that might also have something to do with a growing suspicion that if I wandered into my bedroom right now, and picked up my little vial of blue anti-anxiety tablets, I would find the words
Not to be taken with alcohol.
Another glass of wine and I would probably find the dog attractive.