Nefarious Doings (22 page)

I ran the memory through again, this time pausing on Darcy by the door. ‘Close your eyes!’ he said, a smile lifting each word. I rewound, played it again, and then frowned. He had been empty-handed. At the time this had added to the surprise because I hadn’t suspected a thing – but it meant he already had the things here.

‘Fiona, when the light was on, did you notice a cupboard at all?’

‘No. Why?’

I rewound the View-Master again. ‘Close your eyes!’ he said, and then … what? I knelt up, my chain rattling against the bluestone. I slowly ran my finger around the wooden slats of the bench until it dipped into a tiny alcove. Hardly daring to hope, I hooked my finger and levered the insert upwards. It came quite easily but then slipped and fell back. ‘Shit!’

‘Nell? What are you doing?’

I tried again, this time slipping my entire hand underneath as the insert rose. Now it was just a matter of lifting. On the other side of the bench I heard Fiona gasp and then the insert was tipping and I had to use both hands to haul it off. It was heavy, but not as heavy as I expected. I leant it against the stone and reached inside, my heart beating so loud it echoed in my ears.

‘What is it?’ whispered Fiona. ‘What have you done?’

‘Just a minute.’ I touched bottom and thought I would die of disappointment. There had to be
something
. I walked my fingers back towards me, leaning as far as I could go, and almost immediately felt something soft but lumpy. ‘Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.’

‘Nell! You
have
to tell me what’s happening!’

‘The top of the bench comes away.’ I spoke rapidly, the words tripping over each other. ‘And there’s something inside. You feel your side and see if anything’s over there.’

There was a rattling sound as Fiona manoeuvred herself towards the bench. I dug my fingers into the soft cloth to get a better grip and heaved the bundle up, dumping it in my lap as I collapsed into a sitting position. Even before I started to unwrap it, I knew what I had from the rattling sound of the matches. Never had anything sounded as sweet. I held the box in my hand and kissed it, then took out a match and struck it with a shaking hand. Light flared and I was looking straight at Fiona, pale in the flickering shadows.

‘I have a candle,’ she whispered, rolling it across. I lit the wick and sat it on the floor, waiting for the flame to settle. ‘My god, Nell. How did you know?’

‘Never underestimate the ingenuity of a middle-aged woman.’ I stared around the room, pausing at each object. I was
ravenous
for sight. Finally I lifted the candle and looked back inside the bench. There was an open packet of water crackers on Fiona’s side, plus two wineglasses from a set I had at home, one of which held an imprint of bright red lipstick against its etched rim, alongside a corkscrew and a condom packet. I blinked, realising quite suddenly that this was not the remains of
our
last picnic, where the latter had been most definitely absent, but a regular port of call. Never underestimate the ingenuity of a middle-aged woman, sure, and also the resourcefulness of a cheating arse.

‘Nell! Over your side! Is that a water bottle?
Please
tell me that’s a water bottle?’

Darcy was cast aside as I scrambled back onto my knees and pulled out a jar of pickles.
Loretta Emerson’s
Majic
Dill Pickles.
Most importantly, the plump juicy pickles were swimming in liquid. It might look like it had been collected from a swamp, but it was still liquid. I glanced over at Fiona, who was staring at the jar hungrily. ‘We have to be careful with this. Make it last as long as possible.’

She nodded, without taking her eyes away.

I turned the pickle jar over in my hands, delighting in the lumpy swish of juice as the pickles hit the glass. And also delighting in the thought that if we
did
die, then it would be obvious to Darcy that I had done so with the knowledge that he had entertained down here on a regular basis.
That
should be enough to riddle him with guilt. Nevertheless, it was a pity that he and his picnic pal/s hadn’t been more into tools, like a hacksaw or hatchet. Or battleaxe. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and pickles had never looked so good. They might have been more about
prolonging
our lives than saving them, but maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.

Do you ever go on holiday? Or get ill? I ask because I would like to volunteer my services for such times. I have a writing diploma and am trying to build up my portfolio. I also have some great ideas for your column. I enclose a bio and a sample of my writing and look forward to hearing from you.

At some stage we exhausted the animal alphabet game and started on place names. Then people’s names, and professions. We also spoke about topics as diverse as the current political landscape (tedious), to whether McDonald’s should be allowed to get a foothold in Majic (no), to people we would invite to our last dinner party (George Clooney, period). Every now and again we slept, but with no idea for how long.

We doled out the supplies, making them last as long as possible. But the pickle juice ran out a long time before the crackers. After which we ate the pickles themselves, joking about how apt it was to have pickles as a last meal, and I felt sorry that I would never be able to tell Mrs Emerson just how good they were. Eventually our mouths grew drier and our throats became raspier, and words started to emerge with a husky edge that made them sound like gravel. But most of the time I tried to make myself think happy thoughts. Not just because they were required to balance out Fiona’s unremitting pessimism, but because I was convinced they would help me survive.

Perhaps Sally Roddom would return early with her heart set on a 1956 Cabernet Sauvignon. Or maybe there would be an earthquake that caused Sheridan House to collapse, leaving a gaping hole above the wine cellar. Or perhaps Ashley Armistead would do something more productive than flit around flirting. Something like figuring out that Leon was involved, from which it would just be a hop, skip and a jump to investigating all the places he had access to. How much time would that take? And how ironic that it felt like we had all the time in the world, and yet that was the one thing that was in short supply. As well as water.

Totally identify with everything you wrote about middle-aged invisibility. In fact, I think ASIO should recruit us. We’d make the best spies!

‘What’s it like, being a writer?’ asked Fiona suddenly. It was the first time she had spoken for a long while. And a definite improvement on her last conversation, which had been about an aardvark that was perched on the wall, apparently staring at her. ‘What do writers do about Christmas parties?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, they don’t work with people. So they don’t get a Christmas break-up?’

I ran my tongue around my lips. ‘No, they have them anyway. Only there’s less gossiping about inappropriate sexual liaisons.’

The silence stretched, and then her chains rattled as she moved in the darkness. ‘Do you realise my dream came true, about you having a picnic by candlelight? This was it.
I
was the tall person.’

‘I’m pretty sure you said it was romantic. No offence, but you’re not my type. With or without manacles.’

‘I read it wrong, that’s all. Perhaps it was supposed to be a warning.’

‘That might have been handy.’

She fell silent for such a long time that I thought it was the end, but then her voice came once more, gravelly in the darkness. ‘Nell, Tessa Sheridan didn’t wear red lipstick.’

‘I know.’

This time the silence stretched even longer, until it felt final. I didn’t think she had much longer because if I was feeling as bad as I was, then she had to be even worse. I smiled grimly at the fact my last ever conversation with another human being was about my philandering ex. But rather him, I supposed, than hers. Before the candle gutted, I had used the dead matches to spell out
Leon did it
both inside the bench cavity and out. I also laboriously wrote the same on top of the wooden insert with candle wax. This made me feel considerably better about what was in store. Of course, I still wasn’t
happy
, but at least I could try to ensure that Leon paid the price. Just in case I wasn’t reincarnated.

I knew the hallucinations would begin soon, because Fiona’s had started a long time before. I was actually looking forward to them, because I imagined they would provide some visual effects. At the very least they would counter the mind-numbing boredom. I kneaded my half of the torn cloth slowly between my fingers and began muttering my well-worn litany of names.
Scarlet, Ruby, Red, Lucy, Quinn, Yen, Petra.
I closed my eyes.
Scarlet, Ruby, Red, Lucy, Quinn, Yen, Petra
.

When I woke next, I knew that the delirium had started as there were repetitive explosions of noise. They were so loud that it hurt to listen, and they continued for a long time. I curled in on myself and pressed my hands against my ears. Suddenly they stopped, quite abruptly, and were replaced by an expanding strip of light in the distance. I blinked, because it was amazingly, blindingly bright. I knew what that meant. There were also people, one after the other. All men, and all tall and muscly with intense eyes. I smiled happily, because either heaven was everything it was cracked up to be or these were quality hallucinations.

‘They’re here!’ shouted Hallucination Number One, who looked oddly like Ashley Armistead. He started across the room.

‘We need the paramedics!’ yelled Hallucination Number Two, following him.

My smile widened, even though it hurt my lips. This fantasy was looking up, and it certainly shat all over Fiona’s aardvark on the wall. Hallucination Number One knelt beside me and took my hand. I peered at him. ‘Should I go towards the light?’

‘Not quite yet,’ he said. ‘Perhaps wait for the paramedics to look you over first.’

‘Fine,’ I said agreeably. ‘Do you like horses?’

‘Not particularly. How about we go sailing instead?’

‘Okay, it’s a date.’ I closed my eyes and opened them again to find myself being wrapped in tin foil, which seemed a little odd but I didn’t think I was in any position to argue. Then someone jabbed me in my arm and I jerked away, frowning. Were hallucinations supposed to be violent?

Now I was on a stretcher, surrounded by a bevy of illusion-men, and being raised skywards. It was like cheerleading meets pantomime. I could see the ceiling and the overhead light and the doorframe. I closed my eyes and opened them again to find even more people crowding around and there was a flash of even more intense light, and another. Somebody shielded my eyes but the light still glowed through their fingers. It was painful, but wondrous. I realised that people were cheering, which seemed a little over the top but I felt so good that I wriggled one hand from the tin foil and gave my best interpretation of the royal wave.

Then my hand was grabbed, held tight.
Scarlet, Ruby, Red, Lucy, Quinn, Yen, Petra.
It seemed that they were all there, and it was wonderful.

Dear Nell, I am writing to thank you. Your common sense and humour and empathy helps me get through the dark spots in my life. Thank you.

I heard their voices a long time before I opened my eyes, which was how I knew for sure that I had survived. I just hadn’t been wicked enough for the afterlife to consist of my daughters bickering. I lay still, listening, washed by a contentment that was laced with joy.

‘How can you deny wearing my black tank top when I can see it under your shirt?’

‘I don’t know why either of you care. It’s frigging ugly.’

‘
You’re
frigging ugly.’

There was the sudden clap of hands. ‘Shut
up
, all of you! How the hell does your mother put up with this?’

‘What day is it?’ I asked, and the words came out as husks alone.

‘Auntie Pet, you’ve gone out with policemen before. What’re they like?’

‘Lucy, it’s not like they’re generic. They’re all different.’

I opened my eyes a crack, took in Quinn sitting at the end of my bed fiddling with her phone. She looked up. ‘I need a word that has like five letters, second letter P, fourth letter S, last letter M.’

‘Spasm,’ I croaked.

‘Prism,’ said Lucy. ‘No, hang on, did you say
second
letter P?’

‘What about spasm?’ asked Petra, from somewhere to my right.

‘Thanks.’ Quinn keyed it in and then grinned. ‘I got forty-eight points!’

Maybe I
was
dead. I swivelled my gaze and took in Ruby and Lucy sitting at a circular table by the door. As I watched, Red swung through the doorway bearing a cardboard tray of coffee cups and paper bags. My heart puffed like a balloon. She looked well, her red hair tamed into sculptured curls that were a lot longer than when last I saw her. She held out the tray and there was momentary bedlam as cups were distributed, paper bags thrown across the room, gratitude voiced.

I was in a hospital room, a private room it seemed, which was probably fortunate given the level of noise my visitors were making. I flexed my right hand and felt the pull of the cannula against my skin. But nothing could detract from the warmth, the wonderful, blissful warmth. I felt defrosted, almost liquid. Even my headache was just a dull memory of what it had been. Coffee would be the icing on the cake. And cake wouldn’t be bad either. I opened my eyes a little wider. ‘Where’s mine?’

‘Mum!’ Quinn launched herself at me, her cup tilting sideways and spurting hot chocolate over the candlewick bedspread. Now I was even warmer.

Lucy joined her. ‘Oh, Mum. You had us so worried!’

I felt my hands being taken, first one and then the other as the girls crowded around, now all talking at once. Given we were not an overly demonstrative bunch, I took this show of affection as a compliment. It might well have continued for a while, had it not been for the nurse who bustled in, pushing a mobile blood pressure monitor. It was Emily Martiner, who had nursed my mother back when all this started. She wheeled the monitor over to the bed and waited while the girls backed away, all except Quinn, who got off the bed but kept a firm grip on my hand.

‘Good to see you back in the land of the living, Mrs Forrest!’

‘
Ms
Forrest,’ I replied in my husky voice. But I could already feel it moistening. ‘How’s Fiona?’

‘She’s doing okay. Still in intensive care for now, but she’ll be fine.’ Emily checked the IV bag and then set up her monitor. ‘Now we’ll just check your blood pressure, shall we?’

‘I think you need to check my eyesight.’ I pushed myself up the bed a little. ‘I can only see one of you.’

She frowned. ‘There
is
only one of me.’

‘Then why do you keep calling yourself “we”? That’s plural.’

‘Christ,’ said Petra from the armchair beside my bed. ‘She’s come back as our mother.’

Emily flushed. ‘All rightie, just pass us – I mean me, our, I mean your …’ Then she stopped talking altogether and just strapped the blood pressure cuff to my upper arm. She pumped it up steadily and let it deflate, watching the monitor.

‘Red.’ I smiled at my middle daughter. ‘So lovely to see you. Did you have a good trip?’

‘Until I got to Tullamarine.’ A slight English accent tinged her words. ‘And everyone’d forgotten me.’

‘We
were
in the middle of a crisis,’ said Ruby.

‘Where’s Scarlet?’ I asked, surveying my visitors. ‘And where’s Yen?’

Both Ruby and Red sent a fleeting glance towards their aunt. I frowned, but at that point Emily pulled the cuff away and jabbed briskly at the cannula. She seemed to have recovered her equilibrium. ‘All rightie then. How about I leave you all to it? But try to tone it down a little, let the leading lady get some peace and quiet.’

That was the last thing I wanted. I waited while she packed up the monitor and wheeled it from the room, then turned back to Petra. ‘Where are they?’

Petra crossed her legs, smoothed down her pants. ‘They’re down at the police station. Scarlet’s helping Yen get bailed.’

I blinked. ‘Why does Yen need bail?’

‘Because she shot Leon Chaucer.’

‘Only in the leg,’ added Red. She tipped a sachet of sugar into a disposable cup, stirred. ‘She should have finished him off. Or at least shot him
between
the legs.’

Ruby was shaking her head. ‘No, kneecapping is more efficient. That’s for life.’

‘Excuse me but I think
between
the legs would have a certain longevity also.’

‘I’m so proud,’ I said, still looking at my sister. ‘Now, how about you start at the top, when I didn’t come home. Someone get me some coffee.’

‘Okay.’ Petra leant forward, her smile fading. There was silence for a few moments and I realised she was struggling to start. This alone told me more than any hand clasp or hug. ‘I arrived at your place just after six. Lucy and Quinn were watching TV and there were some potatoes burning in the oven.’

‘I told you to
watch
those wedges!’

Lucy rolled her eyes. ‘Really, Mum?’

‘Anyway, we were just cleaning up when Uncle Jim and Yen arrived so she took over dinner.’ She grimaced. ‘The girls said you’d gone off to see Ashley Armistead so we waited for ages before we started to worry, thinking you were just, I don’t know …’

‘Vomit,’ said Quinn, readjusting our clasped hands so that she could prop herself on the bed. I pushed the wet part of the bedspread to one side. Ruby passed me the rest of her coffee and it tasted like heaven.

‘We tried to ring you several times but you never have your phone on so –’

‘Yeah,’ said Red with feeling. ‘Good luck with that.’

‘It wasn’t until about seven-thirty, eight, that we
really
started to think something was up. We rang the Armistead fellow and he said he hadn’t seen you. That’s when all hell broke loose. Within half an hour the place was swarming with police and he was there with another detective questioning the girls.
What did your mother say? How did she sound?
And there was all this confusion about horses and bridles and sex.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘To think I always thought you were the conservative one.’

‘Oh my god.’

‘We had
two
TV crews out the front filming,’ added Lucy happily.

I was having trouble moving on from thoughts of Ashley Armistead’s face while being regaled with the equine side of things, and the fact I was apparently pretending to have a liaison with him.
Grave fears held for local woman. Police investigate links with animal abuse and sexual fetishes.
I took a sip of coffee, nestling the cup awkwardly with my spare hand, and wrenched my mind forward. When had I last weeded the front garden?

‘Auntie Pet rang Scarlet and me about nine,’ said Ruby. ‘So we came straight up.’

‘Nobody rang me.’ Red looked up at the ceiling, shook her head. ‘As usual.’

‘I expect they thought there was no point worrying you,’ I said reassuringly. ‘Given you were stuck on the other side of the world.’

‘As opposed to being stuck at Tullamarine with no idea what’s going on?’

‘Ssh, Red,’ said Ruby. ‘Let Auntie Pet tell the story.’

‘
Any
way,’ Petra continued, ‘then they found your car opposite Fiona’s house, so Uncle Jim organised this search party. There were people everywhere but it was so damn dark that it ended up getting called off till the morning. That was probably one of the lowest points, waking up and realising how bad it looked.’ She looked around at the girls, and then went on. ‘Yen called a meeting for the Wednesday afternoon, but here’s the funny thing, Nell – it was at Sheridan House.’

‘So we were all there, discussing your disappearance –’ Lucy reached over to touch my leg briefly ‘– and you were right beneath us the whole time.’

‘But that’s when we started getting organised, instead of running around like headless chooks.’ Petra took my empty cup and tossed it with hers into the wastepaper bin. ‘The detectives came to answer questions but they weren’t sharing much. We found out later they’d already had Leon in for questioning but it was like there were two investigations going on, them and us. There was this sense of urgency, of time running out.’

‘Mr Poxleitner said if you were alive and somewhere without water, then we had till Friday night,’ said Quinn rather quietly. I made a mental note to thank Mr Poxleitner.

‘So we divided up the surrounding area. But we only included all the empty buildings, like old farmhouses, warehouses, even houses where the people were away, like the Roddoms and the Nightingales. No-one thought of
occupied
buildings.’

‘He was right there, too.’ Ruby shook her head, remembering. ‘Leon. The whole time. He even closed the art gallery on Wednesday so he could join the search.’

Petra nodded. ‘And we all thought it was poor Edward.’

‘Edward
Given
?’

‘Yes, it made sense. Not just because of the pin. We knew you’d received a text and it
had
to be from someone you knew. Otherwise even you wouldn’t be that stupid.’

‘So it was clear you were targeted.’ Ruby moved her chair closer. ‘Meaning it had to be because you posed a threat somehow, that you knew something. Most probably something you found out during that day.’

‘Which led straight to Edward Given.’ Petra took over again. ‘We knew you’d rung the police because of something you’d seen, and then Beth Craig told us how you’d said the police were idiots, which suggested you weren’t happy with their response.’

Lucy leant forward again. ‘And she also said the murderer was
Fiona
, so a few people went off on that tangent as well!’

‘How did you work it out?’ I looked from one to the other. This was better than any movie I had ever watched. I only wished I could have taped it, to replay later. Especially as my eyes were starting to feel heavy.

Petra answered first. ‘Well, by Friday night there was just this real sense of depression. Almost resignation. The TV crew had packed up, and your paper had sent someone up to do an interview, which they were going to run the next day instead of your column.’ She paused, remembering. ‘We were all sitting in your living room watching the clock because of that whole Friday night thing. It was like a wake.’

‘That reminds me,’ said Ruby. ‘Did you say Quinn and Lucy could toss a coin for the doll’s house when you’re dead? That’s not fair.’

‘First come, first served,’ put in Lucy sanctimoniously.

Red was frowning. ‘I wasn’t even here!’

‘Enough!’ said Petra loudly, sounding remarkably like me. She shook her head. ‘I tell you what, now that she’s alive your mother can do another four doll houses so you can have one each. Okay?’ She glanced at each of her nieces but avoided my raised eyebrows. ‘Now can we get on with the story? Thank you. So,
as
I was saying, it was like a wake. And then at about ten o’clock, Yen suddenly stands up and says –’

‘This is fucking ridiculous,’ said Quinn quickly, proudly.

‘And off she goes. Next thing we get a call from Uncle Jim to say he and Yen have been arrested, along with Leon Chaucer, and the police are on the way to Sheridan House.’

Red took up the story. ‘So we raced over there and police were barring the entry. We joined the crowd, trying to find out what was going on, and there were more people arriving all the time. I don’t know how they all heard.’

‘You can get snatched from a car park and no-one sees a thing,’ I commented, a trifle bitterly, ‘but a free show draws an instant crowd.’

Petra laughed. ‘They were breaking the wine cellar door down, which took forever. Then about midnight they brought Fiona out.’ Her smile faded. ‘I don’t think any of us had really allowed ourselves to hope until then.’

My hand was squeezed again so I squeezed back, but kept my attention on Petra. ‘You were just worried you’d be stuck with Yen.’

‘I’m not sure why,’ said our mother from the doorway, with Scarlet just behind. ‘I am perfectly capable of looking after myself.’

‘Mum!’ Scarlet hurried across the room and hugged me, standing back for a moment only to hug me again. ‘God, Mum, you gave us such a fright.’

‘Sorry.’ I looked past her towards Yen. She looked tired. ‘You
shot
Leon Chaucer?’

‘Someone had to do something.’ She moved into the room and made a brief gesturing motion to Ruby, who vacated her chair. ‘Uncle Jim sends his love; he had to go home.’

‘She also shot Edward Given,’ said Scarlet helpfully. ‘Well, shot
at
him.’

‘Time was of the essence,’ said Yen, examining the contents of a paper bag that had been left on the table. ‘And I only shot his lounge-room wall, which needed painting anyway. Is anybody eating this muffin?’

I stared at her for a moment longer, and then looked back at Petra. ‘Tell me.’

‘Well, it seems that Yen here decided to take matters into her own hands. So she went around to Uncle Jim’s place to borrow his gun and then they paid a visit to Edward.’

I suddenly had an image of the elderly couple strolling down Small Dairy Lane while loading their weaponry. I stared at her. ‘Good god. Poor Edward.’