Mavis Levack, PI

by Marele Day

  ‘He could have grown one, it’s been a year.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Mavis. How could a garden gnome grow a beard?’

  ‘He sent them a postcard. If he could send a postcard, he could grow a beard.’

  Eddy rolled his eyes. ‘Was the postcard in the gnome’s handwriting?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t it be? Do you remember where it was sent from?’ Mrs Levack wished she’d looked more closely at the postmark.

  ‘I didn’t even see the postcard.’

  ‘It was a picture of a beach. Looked just like this one.’

  ‘There are beaches like this all along the coast.’ Eddy was keen to get on with the fishing. ‘Face the facts,’ he said, trying to move Mavis along. ‘Garden gnomes can’t write and they can’t grow a beard if they didn’t have one in the first place. Somebody was probably playing a joke.’

  ‘If it was a joke, then it’s gone quite far enough.’

  ‘Bill bought Freda a new gnome, what’s the problem?’

  ‘Freda was very attached to Norman. She said there’d never be another gnome like him.’

  Mrs Levack tried to peer in through the windows of the mobile home. ‘Not very neighbourly,’ she muttered, commenting on the closed curtains.

  Eddy wagged his finger at her. ‘I don’t want you annoying anyone over this gnome. There must be hundreds like it. They come out of a mould.’ But it would take more than common sense and a wagging finger to convince Mavis. ‘Look at it this way,’ said Eddy. ‘Norman has gone to a good home, he’s got a bunch of mates and he’s enjoying the great outdoors. Now, why don’t we do the same?’

  Mrs Levack thought he was looking a little shabby, a little grey and forlorn all by himself behind the maidenhair while the others were round the birdbath, but she wisely kept her opinion to herself. ‘Yes, Eddy,’ she said, ‘you’re quite right.’ Nevertheless, before they moved on, she managed to give the gnome a surreptitious little wave. ‘Is it really you, Norman?’ she whispered. The gnome didn’t answer, but Mrs Levack was sure his eyes followed her up the path.

  ‘What can I do for you, mate?’ Kevin addressed Eddy as if he’d walked into the kiosk alone. Mrs Levack rolled her eyes but what was the point of saying anything? You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.

  ‘Bait, mate.’ Eddy was doing it again—putting on the voice, a mixture of jovial and gruff, that he used when he called a man he hardly knew ‘mate’.

  Kevin handed him a packet of worms. ‘Got everything else you need, mate?’ enquired Kevin. ‘Don’t need any hooks or leads?’

  ‘No, mate, we’re right,’ Eddy assured him.

  ‘If you need a hand hauling the big one in, give us a shout,’ joked Kevin. Eddy laughed much louder and longer than Mrs Levack thought necessary.

  ‘Plenty of seagulls,’ said Eddy, looking into the bright blue sky. ‘That’s a good sign.’

  There were some very professional-looking people with long rubber boots and long rods fishing off the beach itself, but Mavis and Eddy joined the majority who were fishing from the breakwater. They found a couple of reasonably flat rocks and proceeded to bait up. Eddy offered to do Mavis’s for her but she insisted on doing it herself.

  ‘There,’ she said when she’d completed the task. Eddy had to admit she had done quite a good job of it. The tip of the hook was deeply embedded in the worm and the whole thing made a perfect J. ‘Casting off,’ she announced. She stood up and swung, but nothing happened.

  ‘Give it here,’ Eddy offered.

  ‘I’m quite capable,’ said Mrs Levack.

  ‘Of course you are, dear. How about—and I’m only making a suggestion—how about releasing the catch?’

  Mrs Levack released the catch, pretending not to have heard, had a few practice swings, then let the line go. A beautiful arc that would have made it into the water had the fisherman a little lower down the rocks not chosen that very moment to shift his weight from one buttock to the other, thus putting himself directly in Mrs Levack’s line of fire. The worm hit him on the shoulder.

  He must have thought it was a giant mosquito because he swiped at it, inadvertently pulling on the line as he tried to flick the blighter away.

  ‘Timber!’ cried Mrs Levack as she lurched forward, providentially breaking her fall softly against the fisherman’s back. But one person’s luck is another’s misfortune. The fisherman’s hat took up the trajectory and completed the journey into the water. It caused quite a splash.

  So much excitement and all before breakfast.

  ‘Just act like nothing has happened,’ said Eddy out of the side of his mouth. ‘We don’t want them to think we’re tourists.’

  Eventually the chap retrieved his soggy hat and climbed back up the rocks muttering, ‘That was one hell of a mosquito. Must be the genetically modified variety.’

  Though Mrs Levack was heartily sick of fish it was she who had caught the two whiting they cooked up for breakfast, so she was feeling pretty chipper as she made her way to the amenities block with the bowl of washing up. So chipper, in fact, that she started singing a little song, using the washing-up brush as a microphone.

  ‘You ought to go in the karaoke competition,’ said a woman who had just arrived at the communal trough. Mrs Levack laughed modestly.

  ‘No, seriously,’ said the woman who, after a bit of conversation, introduced herself as Bev. ‘You could win the meat tray.’

  Meat. After two weeks of fish, a meat tray sounded like ambrosia. At the bowls club back home they sometimes raffled a meat tray. But to win it on talent and not by luck! What a wonderful prize to take back home.

  ‘I might go and have a look,’ said Mrs Levack. ‘When’s it on?’

  ‘Tonight. At the bowls club.’

  The bowls club! What a good omen. In her mind’s eye she could see that meat tray. It had Mavis Levack written on it in big bold letters.

  Eddy wasn’t all that keen on Mavis doing karaoke but he did like the idea of the meat tray and a visit to the local bowls club, and eventually Mrs Levack persuaded him that two out of three wasn’t bad.

  ‘You’ll be able to entertain yourself for a while, will you, Eddy?’ she said. ‘I need to go and buy a dress.’

  On her way to the shops Mrs Levack passed by the mobile homes. The gnome resembled Norman but she couldn’t be absolutely sure. Eddy was probably right—they all looked very similar.

  She found the op shop as if she had a built-in radar system. It was not bad for a small country town and she chose three dresses to take into the change room. She had a little trouble locking the door. The bolt was very stiff but eventually she managed it. She took off all her clothes and tried on the green dress but it was too big. Next she tried the black dress but it was too small. Third she tried the gorgeous red-sequined number with shoe-string straps. Mrs Levack turned this way and that, admiring herself in the mirror. She was well past the age where she could get away with anything sleeveless but what the hell, the darling dress made her feel ten years younger. It was a little long, however. She didn’t want to trip on it, what a disaster that would be on stage. Perhaps she could buy a pair of red high heels to match.

  Mrs Levack unzipped the dress and draped it over the partition between her cubicle and the one next door. She put the other two dresses back on their hangers and started to put her clothes back on. She was still bare-breasted when she saw the red sequins disappear into the next cubicle.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she called. ‘That’s mine.’ She heard some rustling, but no-one answered. ‘I say, excuse me,’ she said, much louder this time. She tried to peer over the top of the partition but it was too high. She fiddled with the bolt again. The damned thing was really stuck, so she started banging on the door.

  Eventually someone came. ‘Are you all right?’ a voice enquired.

  ‘The bolt’s stuck.’

  ‘People don’t usually lock the doors,’ she was informed. ‘I’ll lean against it. Try it again.’

  This time Mrs Levack was able
to get the blessed door open. ‘That dress,’ she said, ‘with the red sequins. What happened to it?’

  ‘It’s just been sold,’ the op shop woman told Mrs Levack.

  ‘But it was mine.’ Mrs Levack was absolutely indignant.

  ‘Well,’ pointed out the op shop lady, ‘it’s not really yours till you pay for it.’

  Mrs Levack could feel a headache coming on. She was making far too much of this. Slow down. ‘Is there a beauty parlour here?’ she asked.

  ‘Over the road, at the end of the arcade.’

  Mrs Levack started to head in that direction.

  ‘Don’t you think you’d better finish getting dressed first?’ suggested the op shop lady.

  ‘So relaxing,’ Mrs Levack sighed as Wendy’s warm hands massaged orchid oil into her skin. She could feel the wrinkles positively sliding off her face.

  ‘A special occasion?’ the beautician asked.

  ‘The karaoke competition,’ Mrs Levack explained.

  ‘That’s nice,’ said Wendy dreamily.

  New Age dolphin music wafted through the speakers and from the next cubicle an occasional ouch and agh. The woman in there must have been having a bikini wax. Mrs Levack let the sounds wash over her like gentle waves. At least up till the moment she heard the name Norman mentioned.

  ‘I keep telling Dudley we ought to have him put to sleep. He’s stone deaf. He doesn’t seem to relate to anyone. It can’t be much of a life for him.’

  ‘Everything all right?’ asked Wendy as she felt her client’s facial muscles stiffen.

  ‘Who’s that next door?’ asked Mrs Levack in what she hoped was a nonchalant tone.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  She didn’t know? Doesn’t everyone in a country town know everyone else?

  ‘I’m only working here during the holidays,’ explained Wendy. ‘Just relax and close your eyes while I apply the eyelash tint.’ She placed pads under her client’s eyes, then brushed on the tint. ‘OK,’ said Wendy, ‘I’ve set the timer. I’ll be back in five minutes. In the meantime, just relax and keep your eyes closed.’

  Mrs Levack’s eyes were closed but her ears were well and truly open. However, she heard no more talk about Norman.

  ‘There we are, Mrs Costigan, smooth and hairless. See you next time.’

  Come on, come on, Mrs Levack urged the timer. She wanted to at least get a look at the woman, for future reference, but if she waited much longer the woman would be dressed and out of the place. Mrs Levack swivelled herself off the massage table. Then she made her fatal mistake—she opened her eyes and blinked. ‘Ouch, agh!’ she exclaimed, as Mrs Costigan had only minutes earlier. The lash tint had got into her eyes and was stinging like hell.

  ‘There, there.’ Wendy gently wiped her client’s eyes with damp cotton pads. ‘There, there.’

  Mrs Levack didn’t get to see the newly waxed woman but she did have a name. Costigan. She made her way back to the caravan park, down the aisle of mobile homes. Norman seemed to have slunk even further behind the maidenhair. How easy it would be for someone to dig a little hole and bury him. There were so many gnomes, no-one would be any the wiser. It was possible that there had been a mix-up. That the woman in the beauty parlour didn’t live here and that she’d been talking about an entirely different Norman. Mrs Levack thought it unlikely, but she had better give the woman the benefit of the doubt. The mobile home was still shut up. Some of the mobile homes had the occupants’ name on the front door but this one had only ‘Emoh Ruo’.

  The letter box. Mrs Levack peered through the slot. A letter! If it was addressed to Costigan there could be no further doubt and Mrs Levack would have to take matters into her own hands.

  Mrs Levack was about to retrieve the letter when she heard, ‘Can I help you?’ A man was eyeballing her, a bucket of fish in his hand and a bemused expression on his face.

  ‘Ah, no. I don’t think I need any help.’

  ‘Do you mind telling me what your hand is doing in my letter box?’

  ‘My hand in your letter box? Why, so it is.’ She shrugged her shoulders and smiled, denying all responsibility for the actions of her hand then, without further ado, hurried away. It was probably better to let the matter of Norman drop for the time being.

  ‘You’ve spruced up well,’ Mr Levack complimented his wife.

  ‘Thank you, dear.’ She’d had to go back to the op shop, tail between her legs, and buy the black dress. It was all right once she’d let out the seams, but Mrs Levack couldn’t help reflecting that she’d have spruced up even better in the red-sequined dress. But she still had her voice. All afternoon she’d been practising her scales and gargling with salt water. ‘Go easy on it, Mavis,’ Eddy had said. ‘You’ll turn into a fish with all those scales and salt water.’

  The bowling club had attractive blue and gold carpet and maroon vinyl chairs. The dining room was full of people eating roast lamb, T-bones, or seafood baskets. Mavis and Eddy had eaten earlier—flathead that Eddy had got while Mavis had been out and about. She didn’t want to sing on a full stomach, you never knew what might happen.

  They sat at the bar with a shot of whisky each while the karaoke was being set up in the big room. Mr and Mrs Levack were by far the best-dressed people there. In fact Mrs Levack wondered whether she was overdressed, but no, she was a performer, it was impossible to overdress.

  Mrs Levack checked with one of the attendants to make sure her name was on the list of karaoke contenders. ‘Levack, Levack,’ the chap said, searching. ‘Ah yes, here it is.’

  Everything was right with the world.

  On her way back to the bar Mrs Levack stopped dead in her tracks. She couldn’t believe it. Her husband was deep in conversation with the man from Emoh Ruo, the one who’d caught Mrs Levack with her hand in the letter box. Eddy signalled her to join them, but Mrs Levack made a beeline for the Ladies’. What was Eddy doing talking to him?

  She heard someone coming and hid in a cubicle, closing the door firmly behind her. The tap went on, then Mrs Levack heard gargling. The gargler took a few steps backwards to get a better view of herself in the mirror and it was then that Mrs Levack caught sight of the swish of red sequins. She hurriedly tried to get out of the cubicle for a better look but the lock was jammed. What was it with this town and its doors? She finally managed to open it but the red-sequined dress had eluded her once again.

  ‘Mavis?’ It was Eddy, waiting at the entrance to the Ladies’. ‘The karaoke is starting.’

  Mrs Levack looked around for the red-sequined dress but the lights had dimmed. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, fellow bowlers,’ said the announcer, his bow tie bobbing up and down with his Adam’s apple. ‘As you know, Friday night is karaoke night and have we got a treat for you. But first, the star of the show, the meat tray.’ A young girl, dressed in practically nothing, held it up. ‘And what have we got here, Connie?’ asked the announcer.

  ‘Chops, a leg of lamb, the liver, kidneys, saddle, and for the health conscious, gluten-free sausages.’

  ‘Isn’t that worth winning? First up, we have a newcomer.’ He looked at his notes. ‘Mrs Mavis Levack.’ Everyone applauded loudly and there were even catcalls.

  Mrs Levack couldn’t help but be swept up in it all.

  She cleared her throat, breathed into the depths of her lungs, reminded herself to stay relaxed. ‘Now you’ve gone and left me,’ she sang throatily, launching into ‘Cry Me a River’, her favourite song. She swayed a little, you had to with that song, but she hoped Eddy would let it pass. She couldn’t see him, or anyone in the audience, the stage lights prevented that. She could have been alone in the bathroom back in the flat at Bondi.

  When she finished, though she couldn’t see anything, she heard resounding applause. She was born for this moment, she loved it, the crowd, the smell of the greasepaint, she was born to perform. She got so carried away with herself that the announcer had to come and drag her off the stage. Women were saying, ‘well done’, and men were giving her thei
r phone numbers as she made her way back to the table where Eddy was sitting.

  He made a circle with his thumb and forefinger. ‘It’s in the bag,’ he winked. ‘I can almost smell those chops on the barbie.’

  Mrs Levack felt so heady that she didn’t even register who the next contestant was or what he was singing. She was drinking whisky, even though Eddy had said, ‘Steady on.’

  ‘It’s all right, dear,’ Mrs Levack said. ‘I’ve done my number, now I can relax.’

  ‘What about if you have to make a speech?’

  ‘I’m sure I can manage a simple thank you for the meat tray,’ she said, taking another little swig.

  The next couple of performers were mediocre to say the least and as the night wore on Mrs Levack grew more and more confident.

  ‘And now,’ said the announcer, ‘your favourite and mine, Maureen Costigan.’

  The spotlight swung over to a table and lit up the man from Emoh Ruo and the woman in the red-sequined dress. The Costigans, the would-be murderers of Norman. Mrs Levack almost choked on her whisky.

  She watched the fat bottom of Maureen Costigan wiggling its way through a jungle of applause and catcalls, watched as red high heels stepped onto the stage. Mrs Levack was beginning to get a very bad feeling about all this.

  Maureen Costigan took the microphone, toyed with the cord in a professional manner. This obviously wasn’t her first performance. The music started, chords very familiar to Mrs Levack. ‘Now you’ve gone and left me . . .’ Mrs Levack could hardly believe it. The woman had stolen her dress, stolen her song and was about to have her friend’s gnome killed. She tried to block her ears to the lusty voice but it was impossible. She could still hear it after she’d started humming ‘Twinkle, twinkle little star’.

  Finally it was over. The crowd went wild.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said the announcer, taking up the mike again. ‘We’ve consulted the applause meter, and for the first time in the history of Mermaid Spit Bowling Club’s karaoke competition, we have a tie.’

  The audience gasped.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘so we are going to invite the two contestants in question back onto the stage for a second round. And they are . . .’ he paused for dramatic effect, ‘Janice and Maureen.’