Dastardly Deeds (15 page)

‘Don’t tell anyone. She hasn’t told Darcy yet. She’s worried about his reaction.’

Petra gave a snort of laughter. ‘I’d like to be a fly on the wall there.’

Ashley was staring at me expressionlessly. ‘Okay, let’s all pause for a minute’s concern for Darcy. Actually, make it two seconds. Time’s up. Shall we get back to the matter in hand?’ He finished his wine and then leant back. ‘Either way, it sounds like an opportunistic crime. Not premeditated. The perp saw his, or her, target just casually taking photos and picked up a rock in a fit of rage. Afterwards they came to their senses, grabbed her purse to make it look like a robbery. But they’d be a bit panicked, which explains why they left the camera gear and the gold bracelet.’ He still hadn’t removed his gaze from me. ‘Never realising it wasn’t who they thought it was until later, when they saw you. I’m going to cancel my trip tomorrow. I’ll come with you.’

‘Don’t you dare. I mean that. If you do, I’ll make sure I go nowhere near you.’

‘Fine. Just what I thought. I’m going to get drinks.’

Petra watched him go and then turned back to me. ‘Have you told the girls about Tessa?’

‘No. Let’s leave it for now. Anyway, let Darcy tell them. It’s his problem.’

‘All right.’ She nodded slowly. ‘Shit, Nell. What if they
did
think it was you?’

‘They didn’t. It’s a stupid theory.’

‘Not necessarily. Afterwards, when everyone was standing around the bus, can you remember if anyone looked shocked?’

‘What, apart from the natural reaction to a woman’s body having just been found? With her head bashed in?’

‘Good point. In that case, did anyone
not
look shocked?’

‘I’m not even answering that. The whole thing is ridiculous.’ I pushed my chair sideways, scraping it noisily across the deck until I was facing away. I reached back to grab my glass. The theory
was
ridiculous. It caught at the base of my throat and pounded at my temples with its sheer preposterousness. But at the same time I could clearly see Kim’s supine body. Her hat a crumple of crushed velvet by her blood-soaked head. Her skin already cool to the touch. Maybe, just maybe, that could have been me.

The pathway seemed a lot clearer, and about halfway down I discovered the reason. A sandy-haired man, with
Majic Backyard Beavers
emblazoned across the back of his shirt, was busily whipper-snipping foliage. He swung the device like a metal detector, its sound rumbling along each sweep. Killing the engine as I approached, he turned to introduce himself as Bob. He pointed to a few patchy areas where scrub had been pulled free.
Thieves
, he said sadly.
Shocking
.

I nodded politely before continuing. After a few minutes I looked back and he was gone. I scanned the area with surprise. I was reminded of a
M.A.S.H
episode in which Hawkeye had been changing a tyre and a group of Korean villagers had straggled past only to abruptly disappear into the surrounding forest.
This is not good
, he had said to Radar. Moments later they had been under sniper fire.

This is not good
, I said to nobody in particular. I waited but there was no answer, which was something of a relief. I walked a little quicker, worried that I was running out of time to warn Kim. When I reached the end of the path I turned left before mounting the steps. The view was still superb but my focus was on the clearing. She wasn’t here. I must be early, and she was yet to arrive. Perfect. To while away the time, I went over to the edge and lifted my camera. It was a very nice camera, with a chunky hi-tech lens. I focused on the bay and began taking photos along the sweep of sparkling blue. Then, between the shutter clicks, I distinctly heard the crack of a twig from behind me. Somebody was there. I froze, flooded with the formaldehyde-cold realisation that I wasn’t early at all. In fact, I was just in time.

My eyes snapped open and I stared at the gloomy grey ceiling. Shadows dappled across the tiles. It took me a few moments to ground myself and realise that I was safe in bed and not about to have my head bashed in. I glanced at the clock. 5.10 am. Too late to go back to sleep, too early to get up. Yen and Uncle Jim would have just left Heathrow, their new flights having included a long layover in London. Petra snored quietly from the adjoining bed. One arm was flung from the covers, her fingers hanging as if she had just released a yoyo. I rolled over, curling into the foetal position, ignoring the call of the bathroom, trying to clear my mind and give sleep a chance. But thoughts crowded in, jostling for space. And my bladder was full.

Ten minutes later I gave in. After visiting the bathroom, I grabbed one of the candlewick gowns and crossed to the sliding door to the balcony. I slipped outside, quietly pulling the door closed behind me. I curled in a chair, wrapping myself in the gown.

The ship was at anchor, with water lapping rhythmically against the hull far below. Lights twinkled magically in the distance, scattered in a semicircle that suggested we were in a bay. I guessed that I was looking at the Greek island of Santorini, our destination for today. I didn’t know much about Santorini, except that it was a tourist mecca perched high above the sea. I also knew that the cruise was coming to an end. Tomorrow would be a day at sea and then, when we woke the following morning, we would be back in Rome.

Real life seemed like another dimension, in another world. Soon I would have to return there, and would probably sit in my lounge room waving my cruise card, flummoxed when nothing happened. I would retire at the end of the day, only to find a bed still unmade and no mint on my pillow. I would fling open my drapes in the morning, staring nonplussed at the view of the back of the motel across the road. And perhaps a few grey wallabies, who would gaze at me unblinking.
Wallabies show little sympathy to woman suffering from First World problems. ‘Suck it up, princess,’ they say.

But then again, unless things had changed dramatically, there would be nobody wanting to kill me at home. I wasn’t quite sure that anybody wanted to kill me here either, but the residue of my dream seemed to underscore the possibility. I pulled my knees up to my chest, making sure the gown covered my ankles, and tried to think of something else. Tessa immediately popped into my mind, with her plump breasts and plumping body. No doubt the result would be daughter number seven for Darcy. He seemed to be an expert at making those.

I wrenched my mind away from Tessa and Darcy. It went straight back to the possibility that somebody wanted me dead. With a resigned sigh, I began to work through the list of suspects. I had known Michael Russo for years but we’d exchanged little beyond social pleasantries. Never flirted, or borrowed money, or pinched each other’s parking spot. There was absolutely no reason he would have murderous intent.

On the other hand, Lyn Russo and I had rubbed each other the wrong way at times. Nothing serious, just a difference of personality. But I knew it wasn’t her. There was no way that Lyn had mistaken cream pants for cargoes, or a crushed velvet hat for a felt one. That left Scott, Donald, Phoebe and Deb. And my money was on Donald. There was something a little off about him, and not just his eyebrows.

The sky was now a pewter-grey and I thought I could make out the hilly silhouette of the island. The lights were more plentiful, but less vibrant. When I had returned to the cabin last night, there had been a note from the captain apologising for any inconvenience caused by the tampering with my door. He assured me that it was being dealt with. I knew how it had happened. The doors were always left propped open when the cleaners were inside. If they were in the bathroom, then they wouldn’t even have seen the person pass by and, probably on the spur of the moment, use chewing gum to block the jamb. Opportunism seemed to be the name of the game.

I sat for a while, staring at the island as it took form. White buildings gleamed atop the hills. Athena wouldn’t have been bothered by somebody trying to kill her. She would have cleaved him in two while doing macramé and solving a complicated mathematical formula. Maybe I should write a column about her. Or maybe I should do the one on Istanbul that was scheduled. If I jumped up right now and brought my laptop out here, I would make sure I wasn’t distracted by emails or Facebook or the fact somebody wanted me dead. All it took was focus.

The donkey stared at the ground. Occasionally an ear would twitch but other than that, he might have been carved from stone. His back certainly felt like it. Scott and Phoebe trotted past, both laughing uproariously. I waved, trying to look as if being stationary halfway up a steep, zigzagging, donkey-excrement-littered path was just what the doctor ordered.

I leant over my donkey’s neck to murmur encouragement but was not even rewarded by an ear twitch. He also smelt like mildewy suitcase. At least the view was superb. Santorini was actually an archipelago that spooned a vast volcanic crater in the Aegean Sea. It was picture-postcard beautiful. Ribbons of red, white and black lava pebbles curved along the azure sea. Soaring, layered cliffs crowned by clusters of whitewashed buildings, with the occasional blue dome adding a splash of colour. Every view was the scene of another painting, too perfect to be real, the type that adorned beach house walls the world over.

Shuttles had been employed to ferry us to the shore, where it soon became obvious that the rumours had been true. There were two main ways to reach the township itself: either via the chairlift that barrelled up the side of the cliff or on the back of one of the donkeys that patiently climbed the steep path. The fact that I eventually chose the donkey goes some way towards indicating my aversion to chairlifts. I had also thought my rattan sunhat rather lent itself to donkey riding. However, I was beginning to regret my decision.

A middle-aged couple of Asian appearance passed us on foot, breathing heavily, and my donkey suddenly came to life. His hooves scrabbled against the cobblestones as he accelerated and I screamed, grabbing a handful of mane to prevent myself tumbling off. The middle-aged couple glanced backwards, their eyes widening as they saw the donkey charging towards them. They shrieked something in a language neither I nor the donkey understood and then broke into a run, one to either side of the path. Without hesitation, the donkey chose the woman. She was now waving her arms and emitting short panicked squeals. When she made it to the stone balustrade, she dropped into a semi-crouch, hugging her head in her hands. The donkey slowed, jamming her against the stone with his flank as he passed. I felt my foot drag along her hip. She shouted something after us. It did not sound polite.

The donkey continued around the next bend and came to a halt once more. I felt sick. Apart from anything else, this was going to be a long journey if each burst of movement required the presence of a middle-aged Asian woman.
Racist donkey terrorises small section of the community. Behaves like proper ass.
I slid from the donkey’s back, my legs unsteady. He immediately trotted off with a steady rhythm that had been distinctly absent thus far. At some stage I must have lost my hat, no doubt now far behind me. That was another one gone. After about ten minutes, the middle-aged Asian couple came past, talking excitedly. Their shoes were coated in excrement and her jacket bore the dusty marks of the donkey’s fat flank. Fortunately, they did not recognise me.

I set off after them, climbing steadily. My thighs ached and my crotch felt bruised. I kept to the middle of the path, where the cobblestones were slightly cleaner. Every now and again a donkey passed me, its passenger bouncing cheerfully. It occurred to me that the animals might not be willing participants in the venture, especially as the day grew warmer. I felt quite noble about having given my mount some time off.

Half an hour later I reached the summit and paused for a few minutes to regulate my breathing and take in the view. I could see our ship far below, the shuttle boats like insects scurrying across the water.

Most of our group had wisely opted for the chairlift, and those few who had taken the donkey route were not anywhere to be seen. Ashley, Nick, Lew and Deb had left earlier on their tour. I wandered towards the township, emerging into a narrow, cobblestoned lane. Shops crowded higgledy-piggledy on either side, most two-storey, with thick chalky-white walls. It soon became clear that this lane was one of many that wound tightly along the cliff-top plateau.

I let myself be borne along by the stream of tourists. I bought myself a new hat, a floppy-brimmed number, and then found a children’s shop, where I purchased sneakers for Jack and Willow. They were white with beach scenes painted on the sides. Spurred on by this success, I began shopping in earnest. First matching batik scarves for Scarlet and Matthew, then matching beaded ankle bracelets for Lucy and Kate. That’d show them. Next I stumbled on a ceramic shop where I bought a gimlet-eyed owl for Quinn, a ‘Home, Sweet Home’ plaque for Ruby, and a glass mosaic trinket bowl for Yen. Finally it was a photo frame for Red and I had everyone covered.

I had fully expected to find Petra and the girls at some stage, particularly as the township wasn’t actually that big. But apart from Enid, whom I found admiring some seascapes propped on easels outside a shop, I saw nobody from our group at all. My phone was still missing so I couldn’t even send a message. Fortunately, I have never had a problem with my own company and, after two weeks spent in close confines with others, rather enjoyed the solitude. It helped that I was confident Petra would be keeping an eye on Quinn. She mightn’t be talking to me by the end, but that was a price I was willing to pay.

I moved along the narrow lanes, feeling a little like I had just stepped out of one of those ads where happy shoppers strode towards the camera, bags swinging from each hand. Except that those models were usually six foot tall, slim, and the right side of thirty. Odd really, given older women had more people to buy for, as well as themselves, and more disposable income. Exploring the irony might make for a good column.

‘Hello there. Been busy?’

I turned to see a beaming Donald. He was wearing his prescription sunglasses, which made his eyebrows look particularly energetic. ‘Ah, yes. Lovely. How about you?’

‘Bought myself a present.’ He held up a brown paper bag, which could have contained anything from a sandwich to a drug deal. ‘A tie. Silk.’

‘Lovely,’ I said again. Now would be a good time for Petra to find me.

‘Hey, you know how we were going to grab that drink? I’ve got a great idea! Why don’t we do lunch instead?’

‘Um …’ I searched for a compelling reason. ‘Sorry, but I’m actually looking for my sister. We’re having lunch together.’

‘That’s funny. I ran into her about twenty minutes ago at that hotel over there.’ He waved vaguely down the lane we were standing in. ‘She was with your two girls. Already eating. Must’ve forgotten about you.’

‘Clearly. Which hotel did you say?’

‘I’ll show you.’ He set off briskly and I hurried to catch up. We turned a corner and then descended a few steps into an alley before snaking back around. A hotel clung to the cliff face, with a staggered series of oddly shaped tiers offering a wonderful view of the bay far below. Donald led me onto the largest tier and then shaded his eyes as he perused the area.

‘They’ve gone,’ he announced. ‘Must’ve finished. So we might as well eat!’

‘Oh. Um.’

He strode over to a table by the balustrade and pulled out a chair. ‘Here you go. Be seated, m’lady!’

It seemed I had little choice. It occurred to me that the situation might actually be fortuitous. A conversational questioning of Donald might shed some light on the background to April’s death, which in turn might illuminate Kim’s. Even if he himself was the murderer, it was unlikely he would pitch me over the edge with so many witnesses milling around.
Middle-aged woman tumbles from cliff-top restaurant. Lands on angry donkey.

I examined Donald surreptitiously as he perused the menu. He might be a little off, but he just didn’t
look
like a murderer. I knew that this wasn’t very logical, but I watched too much
CSI
. There was usually something about their eyes, or their sneer, or some sort of facial tic. Never their eyebrows.

A cheerful waiter came bouncing over and took our orders for wine and souvlakis. He left with the menus tucked under his arm.

‘Have you ever
seen
such a beautiful place?’ asked Donald, gazing along the cliff face. ‘Unbelievable.’

I nodded. There were really no words. An awkward silence fell as we both stared at the view. Finally, I turned back to him. ‘So what do you do for a living then, Donald?’

‘Nothing interesting. Accounts manager at a building society. Boring.’

‘Ah. And your partner?’

He blinked. ‘No. That is, no partner.’

I felt a surge of sympathy for him. The relationship must have ended after all. I searched for another topic of conversation. ‘And you like Lego?’

‘Um … yes.’ He looked a little defensive. ‘A
lot
of people do. I suppose you think that’s stupid.’

‘Not at all. Some of the best hours of my life have been spent building Lego.’

His eyebrows shot up. ‘Really? Do you collect? In a club?’

‘No! I meant when my children were younger.’

‘Oh. Well, if you enjoyed it, why did you stop?’

‘Too busy,’ I said lamely. ‘You know.’

After a long moment, Donald transferred his gaze back to the view. ‘Too busy. Yep. People always say that.’

I stared at him. He was right. I had thoroughly enjoyed the Lego phase that each of my five went through. In fact, complaints that I was ‘taking over’ had been rife. On one occasion, unable to resist, I had stayed up till the early hours of the morning finishing the construction of a castle and then had to quickly pull it apart before the child with whom I was meant to be building it awoke. Yet, as an adult, it would never occur to me to buy myself a set. Interesting. There might even be a column there, too. The ideas were just tumbling over each other today.

The waiter returned with two glasses of wine and a wicker basket of bread. Donald held up his glass and we clinked. I searched for a way to get the conversation started again. ‘And you didn’t like my column?’

‘The Lego one? Not so much. Why change what isn’t broken?’

I leant back, glass in hand. ‘Ah, you’re a traditionalist. Fair enough. So I gather you wrote angry letters when they ditched the original gender-neutral Lego in favour of gendered marketing?’

‘That’s not the same. A company has to evolve, change with the times.’

‘Exactly.’

He blinked. ‘There’s no place for rabid feminism there. Totally unnecessary.’

‘Rabid feminism?’ I grappled with a surge of annoyance. ‘You do realise that feminism simply means that girls should be treated equally? So you
don’t
think there’s a place for equality in Lego? That while boys get all these aspirational figure-things—’

‘Minifigs.’

‘Whatever. So while they get scientists and astronauts and explorers, girls just get princesses and fairies and houses to clean? While boys get all the colours in the natural world, girls just get pink? And any attempt to challenge this, any attempt to even the playing field, is
unnecessary
?’

He was staring at me. ‘But hang on, the pink stuff sells. So if that’s what girls want, then why not give it to them? Besides, Lego
have
released a new range of minifigs for girls. They
are
addressing the issue.’

‘You can’t have it both ways! It’s either an issue or it’s bloody not!’ I put my glass down before I spilt it. ‘And if you drown girls in a vomit of pink princesses, then yes, they’ll think that’s what they want. But if you give them scientists and archaeologists and pilots, then they might just aspire to something a little more. As for the new range, why the hell do you think they’ve done that? Because of the pressure! Because of columns like mine!’

He opened his mouth and then closed it. ‘You’re very passionate about this.’

I was still trying to catch my breath. It occurred to me that I was probably not going the right away about getting my subject to relax and spill some secrets. After a few seconds, I said simply, ‘I have five daughters.’

‘Fair enough. Anyway, I quite like a bit of passion.’

With excellent timing, the waiter appeared with our souvlakis. I thanked him enthusiastically. Fortunately, Donald must have been hungry, as he dropped the unexpected turn of our conversation in favour of hearty praise for the food, along with the view and the wine and the service.

I saw Darcy and Tessa pass by the restaurant, pausing to check out the menu by the entrance before moving on. I exhaled with relief. Darcy had looked quite content, which probably meant that she hadn’t shared her news yet. I folded my serviette and then treated Donald to one of my widest, friendliest smiles.

‘I have to say, I am absolutely
loving
this cruise. Do you know, I never thought of myself as a cruise person before this, but now I’m hooked. What about you?’

‘It’s okay.’ He pushed his plate away. ‘Just … well, it gets a little boring at times.’

‘But you’re with your friends!’

‘Yeah.’

I tried not to look too interested. ‘That doesn’t sound good.’

‘Don’t get me wrong, it’s been great catching up with them.’ He grimaced, which rather contradicted his words. ‘But maybe next time a shorter cruise.’

‘Ah.’ I hesitated, then decided just to go for it. ‘I did sort of wonder … that is, you’re all
very
different. I suppose what happened with April didn’t help things.’

‘No.’ He gazed at his glass, then picked up his serviette and wiped away a smudge on the rim.

‘What was she like? April, I mean.’

‘Loud, outgoing, opinionated.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘You’d have liked her.’

I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment. ‘It must have been a shock.’

‘Sure was. I never would have picked her as the type.’ He scrunched up the serviette and threw it on his plate. ‘And the night before, she seemed on top of the world. Having a few drinks, flirting with everyone.’

‘With you?’