The Agatha Christie Book Club

by Larmer, C. A.

  “So he should be, especially now they’ve found Barbara’s car,” said Claire.

  Wanda ignored this. “The police are starting to get extremely nosey. Even took him in for questioning this morning. That won’t do his political aspirations any good at all.”

  “Really, the police have questioned him formally?” said Alicia.

  “Don’t get too excited, darling, they haven’t locked him up just yet. But yes, they’re asking all kinds of awkward questions. I’ve just come off the phone from him. He’s furious. Blames you entirely.”

  “Me?” she said, stunned.

  Wanda chuckled. As she did so, Alicia noticed that very little of her face actually moved, revealing that she’d meddled with more than just her lips.

  “Oh yes, Arthur says—and let me see if I can get this quite right—he says you’re a ‘dreadful gossip monger’ and ‘a bloody nosy bitch who’s stirring up the pot!’”

  She laughed again and Alicia wanted to swipe the rigid smile from her gargantuan lips.

  “I’m not going to apologise for looking out for Barbara, somebody’s got to,” she retorted.

  “Don’t take offence, sweetie, I think it’s admirable of you especially in the light of the latest news. If I know Barbara, there’s no way she’d leave her precious Merc just sitting there for someone to pinch. And what was she doing up at Hornsby anyway? Not her usual stomping ground I’d say. Very suspicious if you ask me. Although, having said that, I also think Arthur has a point.”

  “About me?”

  “No, about Barbara. She could be a pain in the proverbial when she wanted to be, and very flighty at times. He believes she’s just taken off for a holiday.”

  “A holiday?! So why was her car dumped at Hornsby? Besides, wouldn’t she tell someone?”

  “She did, apparently. Before she disappeared she mentioned something to the housekeeper, that tramp. I honestly don’t know why Barbara employs these women. Baiting Arthur if you ask me.”

  “Hang on a minute,” said Claire, “are you saying that Arthur really is having an affair with his housekeeper?”

  Wanda glared at Claire then turned back to Alicia.

  “You really have no clue about any of this do you?”

  The younger women glanced at each other and back at Wanda.

  “Fill us in,” said Alicia.

  “There’s nothing much to say,” sighed Wanda. “Arthur likes to play up a bit. Big deal.”

  “So he was ‘playing up’ with Rosa then?”

  “I don’t know that for sure, and she’s hardly a spring chicken. No looker. Still, you wouldn’t put it past Arthur. He always did have trashy taste. Honestly I don’t know what Barbara was thinking, employing such a floozy. Me? I only ever hire fat old fraus. Much safer that way. Oh, speak of the devil!”

  Florence reappeared, her arms wobbling like loose dough under a tray of drinks, which she placed down without a word, a neutral expression on her face. She had brought Alicia and Claire a lemon squash each, and had added sliced lemons on the side. They thanked her but she didn’t respond, simply turned around and shuffled away. Wanda grabbed her gin and tonic, slurping down a good gulp as though her life depended on it, and then winked.

  “Don’t think I have too much to worry about there,” she said, indicating the maid and Alicia felt sick to her stomach. Perhaps it was best not to know how the other half lived.

  “Anyway,” she said, trying to steer the conversation back. “What did Barbara say to Rosa?”

  “Hm?”

  “You said she told the housekeeper something before she disappeared.”

  “Oh, yes, apparently—and this is third-hand from Arthur, so let’s take it with a grain of salt shall we?—apparently she told Rosa she was off to Europe or something.”

  “Europe?”

  “I know! Obviously the silly tramp’s got it all wrong. As if she’d just head off to Paris or wherever without any notice. No, Arthur tells me the police don’t believe a word of it. And it’s not like her car was found at the airport. No, no, they think something far more sinister has happened.”

  “What do you think?” asked Alicia.

  Wanda swirled the ice around in her glass then scooped a small chunk out, chomping down on it as she gave this some thought. “I don’t know what to think, but I can tell you one thing, Arthur’s right, Barbara is very unpredictable. You never know what she’s going to do next. She really could make such a fuss about the smallest of things.”

  “Like being beaten up?” Claire said, trying to contain her growing moral rage.

  “Beaten up? By whom?”

  “The husband, of course.”

  “Arthur? Beating up Barbara?” Wanda’s black eye lashes blinked several times and then she laughed that frozen laugh again as if she’d never heard anything so hilarious. Noticing the other women’s frowns, she threw one bejewelled hand to her mouth.

  “I’m sorry, ladies, but please! Arthur? More like the other way around. Barb could be scary when she set her mind to it.”

  This surprised them and they glanced at each other again, not sure where to go next. Both Wanda and Arthur seemed to be describing someone other than the woman they had met at two book clubs.

  “So you really don’t think he was harming her?” asked Claire.

  “I doubt it sincerely. He barely laid a hand on her; that was part of the problem I would suggest. No, no, no, Arthur might be a philandering fool but he’s not violent. Not at all.”

  “Well, we spotted a number for a battered wives shelter at her house,” said Alicia, “and she seemed pretty jittery when we met her.”

  Wanda kept shaking her head, swirling her glass around and around. “I really find this line of enquiry just too sordid for words. No, I just can’t believe it of Arthur. Now, the daughter, well, she’s a piece of work. She’d probably smack her mother around if she got half a chance.”

  “Really?!” exclaimed Claire again, nearly choking on her drink.

  Wanda stopped swirling. “I’m exaggerating, darling. Where’s your sense of humour?”

  “It went missing around the same time Barbara disappeared,” Claire snapped back and Wanda gave her the once-over then returned her gaze to Alicia.

  “Listen, I know you’re concerned, and I think that’s just charming of you. But I’m sure she’s perfectly fine.”

  “Even though her car’s been dumped?”

  She shrugged one shoulder, her kaftan falling down low across it, revealing leathery, sun-scorched skin.

  “So any idea then what might have happened or where she might be now?”

  “None whatsoever, and I’ll tell that to the police should they bother to call. I do know her parents are no longer around although I believe there’s another sibling lurking somewhere in the shadows. Yes, a younger one, causing all sorts of headaches if I remember right.”

  “Headaches?”

  “Money problems, that sort of thing.” She stopped and considered this for a second. “Can’t recall if it’s a brother or sister to be honest.”

  “Any idea where we can find him or her?”

  Wanda drained her glass dry and then looked around as if hoping Florence would materialise again. She glanced back at Alicia. “Sorry, can’t help you there either. You’ll have to ask Arthur. He’ll be thrilled to see you again.”

  Then she chuckled without moving a muscle.

  Chapter 12

  Arthur didn’t get a chance to be thrilled, he was nowhere to be seen when, 10 minutes later, Claire and Alicia knocked on his front door. Rosa, however, was there, this time in a stretchy black nylon dress that was low at the front and too high at the hem for a woman her age. Her apron was gone but the scowl across her face was firmly in place.

  “I no know nothing of family,” she told them. “Arthur too busy for this now. They find car, you know? He very stressed.”

  “Of course he is,” said Alicia, feigning sympathy. “Can you please just let him know we’ll give him a call
later.”

  The housekeeper flicked her lurid orange and black hair and closed the door in their face.

  “How rude!” said Claire. “It’s not like she owns the place.”

  “Certainly acts like she does.”

  Just then they heard a loud cry coming from one side of the house and Alicia imagined Barbara, blood gushing from a wound in her heart, staggering, half dead towards her. “Why didn’t you help me!” she was screaming. “What took you so long?!”

  She shuddered and followed Claire around to the side where, through the security fence, they could just make out the tennis court. There was no sign of Barbara but they could clearly see Holly, tennis racquet in hand, berating an older guy clad completely in white.

  “Must be the flirtatious tennis coach,” whispered Alicia but Claire was staring at Holly, mesmerised.

  “I’ve seen her before,” she said.

  “Yes, last book club, she was home, remember?”

  Claire shook her head. “No, I never saw her that day...”

  They edged forward to get a better look, bending down behind a hedge just in front of the court.

  “We have to tell him!” Holly was saying through clenched teeth. “We can’t keep this quiet!”

  “You don’t even know if it was me,” he replied, barely audible.

  “Of course it was bloody you!” she screamed, hitting the racquet against his shoulder while he winced.

  Alicia turned to Claire. “Wanda’s right, she is scary!”

  It was obviously too loud as Holly stopped suddenly and swung around.

  “Who’s there?!” she called out.

  The two women hesitated then looked at each other again, sighed, and straightened up as Holly came bounding towards them, the tennis coach close behind. She stopped when she reached the fence and stared, open-mouthed.

  “Oh. My. God. It’s the busy-body book club bitches again!”

  The girl could really pull off a tongue twister, Alicia thought, trying for a confident smile. “Hi Holly. Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb we’re just wondering if your Mum’s back—”

  “Yes you bloody did and no she’s bloody not.” Holly looked around “Who else is out there?” She squinted her eyes as if trying to see past them. “Is he with you? Is that why you’re here?”

  Alicia was confused. “He? Who do you mean? What are you talking about?”

  Holly stared at her and for a split second a look of complete vulnerability passed across her face. She looked as though she was about to cry and Alicia stepped towards her, reaching out a hand through the fence but Holly shook herself out of it and turned the look to one of rage.

  “Why can’t you lot just bugger off and stop spying on me!” she screamed.

  “Calm down, Hol’,” the coach said, reaching her side. “They don’t mean any harm—”

  Holly turned back on him. “Then why do they keep poking their ugly noses in where they’re not wanted?”

  He ignored her and stepped forward, holding on to the fence and smiling widely. He had boyish good looks although Perry was right, he had to be at least a decade older than his student, fine wrinkles just appearing below aqua blue eyes. His skin was deeply tanned, his brown hair streaked with blond tints, and he had the broad, muscular shoulders of an athlete. Only his nose, crooked from some schoolboy fight or rugby game perhaps, worked to sully the golden boy image he had going on. When he smiled—which he was doing now, and directing at Claire—his teeth gleamed as white as his tennis shirt.

  “Afternoon ladies, I’m Jake Smith. Tennis coach.”

  He held Claire’s eyes for a little longer than was necessary.

  “Hi Jake, I’m Claire,” she said awkwardly. “And this is Alicia. We’re from Barbara’s book club. We honestly don’t mean to spy on Holly, we’re just worried about her mother, that’s all there is to it.”

  Holly’s eyes scrunched together. “That’s really why you’re here? For Mum?” She looked as though she didn’t believe them.

  “Yes, Holly,” said Alicia. “We’re extremely worried about her. You must be very worried too, surely?”

  “’Course I am!” She sniffed loudly and wiped one hand across her nose. “Everybody thinks I hate my mother, but I’m sick as, man. It’s been three days, and now they’ve found her car all by itself which is, like, super-weird. She wouldn’t just dump her Merc, no way, and she wouldn’t take off for this long. Not without phoning me. I mean, where is she for God’s sake?”

  “That’s a really good question, Holly, and we’re trying to find out,” said Alicia. “Does your dad have any ideas?”

  “No he does not! And I don’t know why everybody thinks he does. He has nothing to do with this. It’s my bloody uncle you should be spying on.”

  “Oh?”

  “Oh yeah! He’s the one who’s going to profit big time by Mum’s death!”

  “You think she’s dead?” asked Claire.

  Holly stopped, looked flustered. “Oh, well, I don’t know...” she stammered, “but the police do and they’re asking Dad all sorts of stupid questions like he’s guilty or something. But I already heard Dad talking to his lawyer and I know for a fact that there’s no point him killing Mum because she’s left everything to her brother. Don’t worry about me. All that matters is fuck-knuckle Uncle Niles.”

  “You mean, in her will?” Alicia asked.

  “Duh!” Holly glared at her as though she’d never spoken to anyone quite so stupid before. “It all goes to him. Can you believe that?!”

  “You don’t happen to know where we can find him?” she asked.

  She shrugged. “Nope, he can rot in hell. Come on, Jake, I wagged school for this, so let’s just get on with it!”

  Holly began striding back towards the tennis court and the two women turned to leave when Jake called them back.

  “Listen, I know where you can find Niles—Barbara’s brother.”

  “Oh?”

  “He owns a café down at Balmoral, somewhere near the water. Barb told me about it once. Called it the Money Hole.”

  “That’s not the name of it surely?” asked Claire and he laughed, running a sun-tanned hand through his hair and giving her a lazy smile.

  “Nah, something to do with sand or beach or something. Oh, that’s right, Just Beachy—crap, hey? Barb says he’s constantly asking for loans to prop it up. Drives her nuts.”

  “Jake!” screeched Holly from the court and he turned to go.

  “Thank you,” said Alicia. “You’ve been a great help.”

  “Anytime.” He gave Claire a last, lingering smile before jogging off in Holly’s direction.

  “Oooh someone’s got the hots for you,” Alicia teased as they made their way back to the car.

  She scoffed. “I get the feeling Mr Tennis Ace flirts with all the ladies, especially those he thinks he can get something out of.”

  “Like Holly Parlour?”

  “And maybe, just maybe, Barbara Parlour, too.”

  “You think?”

  “Well he seemed to know an awful lot of her business and did you catch the way he called her ‘Barb’? Bit friendly for the hired help, surely? Makes you wonder, that’s all.”

  Alicia’s eyes squinting slightly. “Maybe he was having an affair with the mother and daughter, and Holly found out and killed her mother in a fit of jealousy. We’ve already seen how violent she can get.”

  As they walked back to the car, Claire stopped and grabbed Alicia’s arm. “That’s where I’ve seen her before!” she said.

  “Who? Holly?”

  She shook her head. “No, well, yes. Listen, I recognised Barbara when we first met at your house and I couldn’t for the life of me work out where I’d seen her. She didn’t look like the type to buy vintage frocks. Not really her style. But now I’ve seen Holly I realise it was Holly who came in, and Barbara was with her. Oh this was six months ago at least.” She gave it some thought. “That’s right, Holly wanted to get into the ’50s mod look and her moth
er was trying to talk her out of it. Told her she wasn’t skinny enough, or something.”

  “Charming.”

  “That’s what I thought, but then Holly wasn’t very nice either if I recall correctly. She swore at her mother. I’ve never heard a child speak so rudely to a parent before. It was quite shocking; I’d never get away with language like that with my mother. Anyway, Barbara looked like she’d heard it all before, and they took off. But that’s not why I remember it. To be honest, I wouldn’t have picked Barbara in a line-up, but I’d recognise that whiney teenager anywhere.”

  They both laughed as they reached the car and let themselves in. As she started up the Torana and began to drive away, Alicia said, “I wonder what their little tiff was all about?”

  “Well Barbara thought her daughter wouldn’t suit the short hemlines—”

  “No, no, I mean Holly and Jake, the coach just now. You know, they were screaming at each other before they spotted us. I just wonder what Holly meant by ‘We have to tell him’? Tell who? And tell them what? Was she talking about her dad?”

  Claire tilted her head to one side. “All good questions. And what did he mean by ‘You don’t even know it was me’? That sounds very suspicious.”

  They thought about this for a few minutes, driving in silence before Claire sighed softly.

  “I wonder if we’re reading too much into it. They could be talking about breaking an expensive racquet or something. It mightn’t be anything. I can already vouch for Holly’s filthy temper—the way she leapt down her mother’s throat that day at the shop. It doesn’t take much to set her off.”

  Alicia groaned. “You’re right. I’ve seen her in action, too.” She told Claire about the episode in Barbara’s kitchen that day she hosted book club, how Holly had screamed at her mother for no apparent reason. “She clearly didn’t want us out there on the deck, invading her home. She’s obviously got serious anger management issues or something. No, we need to stick to the facts. That’s what Agatha Christie would do.”

  “So what now? Are you going to take a trip to Balmoral, check out the brother?”