“I’m taking your advice for once!” she called back, jamming one finger on the elevator’s down button.
*****
Inspector Ward ushered Alicia into his office with barely a glance, waving her into a chair as he finished something he was typing on the computer in front of him. Eventually he paused and turned to her, giving his moustache a quick pat down as he did so.
“So, it’s the book club sleuth back again. Got more insights for me regarding Barbara Parlour?”
She dropped her bag to the floor and shook her head. “Actually, it’s about Arthur Parlour.”
“You heard about his homicide then.”
“It’s not possible to hear about anything else. Now the morning shows are camped out at his doorstep, trying to get the first pictures of the distraught daughter, it’s disgusting.”
“Aren’t you a journalist?” he asked, a glint in his eye.
“Yes, but I’d never do that. No amount of money would make me do that.”
“Glad to hear it. It certainly doesn’t help us do our job either. And nor do constant interruptions from the public.” The glint was now gone.
“Okay, okay, I’ll get on with it. I just wanted to mention something in case you don’t know and it turns out to be important. It’s about Wanda Birchin.”
“Who?”
“Wanda Birchin, you know Barbara’s friend, or ex-friend as the case may be? I mentioned her the other day.”
“What about her?”
“I’m not saying she’s a suspect or anything—”
“Spit it out, Miss Finlay, I really haven’t got time for this.”
She nodded. “Sorry. Um, it’s just that Wanda lives right next door to the golf club where Arthur’s body was found.”
His expression changed, he picked up a pen. “Wanda Birchill you say?”
“Birchin, Wanda Birchin.” She spelt it for him as he jotted the name down on his note pad. “I’m not saying she has anything to do with it, but she may have seen something. Heard something.”
“My men are questioning the neighbours as we speak, but that’s good to know. Now, if there’s nothing else, I do have work to get on with.”
“Well...” He gave her an impatient look. “I probably should have mentioned this last time I was here.” The look intensified. “I’m not normally one for gossip and you have probably already heard all of this but I think there might have been something fishy going on between Arthur and his housekeeper.”
“Rosa Lopez? How do you mean.”
“I think her and Arthur may have been having an affair, I don’t know what it means and whether it has anything to do with anything, but I figured I should mention it.”
He sighed, had obviously heard this rumour before. “Do you have any actual proof of this alleged affair?”
“Me? Oh, er, not exactly, but Wanda suggested it.”
“Wanda Birchin again. And what makes either of you believe Arthur and his housekeeper were intimate?”
“Well, nothing definitive. It’s just that they did seem pretty cosy last time I was there. He called her ‘baby’ and, um, Barbara had told us Rosa usually only worked a few hours in the middle of the day, but she seems to be there round the clock now. Or she was before Arthur died.”
“Perhaps, with his wife missing, Arthur employed her full-time to help out,” he suggested.
“Perhaps,” she agreed. “I’m just telling you so it’s off my chest.”
“Clearing your conscience so to speak? Okay Miss Finlay, if there’s nothing else, I really do have work to get on with.”
“Of course you do.” She jumped up.
As they walked to the door, he stopped and asked, “When did you last see Arthur Parlour?”
Alicia gave this some thought. “The last time I spoke to him would have been Monday evening when I called to get Wanda’s details. But I last saw him earlier that day at his house. Just after 1:00 p.m. I think it was— just before your people arrived to chat to him. As I told you, I had nagged him to call you and report Barbara’s disappearance. He seemed so reluctant to do it, which is why I suspected him. But now, to find he’s been murdered. How’s Holly taking it?”
“As you’d expect,” he said. “She’s staying with friends I believe.”
“I know one of our club members saw him alive and well around 11:00 a.m. on Wednesday.”
“Who?”
“Missy Corner, she’s a local librarian. Went over to Barbara’s house to look for a book she’d lost.”
Alicia knew this was a lie but felt like she needed to keep that bit of information to herself. He had already warned the book club members off once before.
“I see. And this was around 11:00 a.m. you say?”
Alicia looked Missy’s number up on her smartphone and read it out to Ward.
“Yes, give her a call. She’ll tell you.”
Ward wavered. “It probably makes no difference at this point, unless she saw something suspicious.”
“Well she did say that Arthur had snapped Rosa’s head off.” When he raised his eyebrows she quickly added, “Not literally, of course.”
Alicia briefly described the altercation at the Woollahra house and Ward stroked his moustache and opened the door.
“A tiff with the servants doesn’t usually end in murder, Miss Finlay,” he said, the glint back in his eyes. “At least, not outside of an Agatha Christie novel.”
Chapter 21
The weather was still a little surly when Claire Hargreaves stepped out onto the tennis courts at Rushcutters Bay on Saturday morning, and she pulled her vintage Adidas jacket close around her as she eyed the rain clouds above, threatening to spill their load. She’d also chosen a tiny white wraparound pleated tennis skirt and felt conspicuous in it now. She didn’t normally reveal so much leg, Charlie didn’t go in for that kind of thing, but she imagined Jake Smith did, and she needed all the help she could get.
As if on cue, Jake appeared on the side of the court and bounded over to her, his eyes sweeping across her legs and up to her jacket. “Cool outfit,” he said, his eyes returning to her legs and staying there.
She laughed nervously. “Thanks for meeting me. I’ve been meaning to get my tennis back up to scratch for years.”
“No sweat, it was good to get your call. I thought we had a connection.”
He stared into her eyes now, one of those sleazy smiles lingering on his lips, and her nerves quickly dissolved, replaced by indignation and disgust. She had never liked sleazy men, found leering looks, gushing compliments, and even bouquets of flowers quite off-putting. Give her a reserved, up-right gentleman like Charlie any day.
She feigned a warm smile and continued to smile throughout the half hour lesson she had booked with the tennis coach. In fact, Claire didn’t need lessons at all, was a very adept tennis player, had learned back in England when she was young, but pretended to miss a few hits and giggled a little girlishly from time to time. She needed him to feel superior if she was going to have him eating out of her hands, but he wasn’t falling for her act.
“You’re a better player than you made out,” he said when the lesson was over and she’d insisted they share a jug of Pimm’s and lemonade up at the club bar.
They were seated on a wide, shady balcony looking out over the tennis courts and there were just two other tables occupied, one with a young couple who only had eyes for each other, and the other with a man in a business suit whose own eyes were firmly fixed on a small laptop in front of him. Perhaps he was the manager, Claire thought as she poured the icy drink into two glasses and offered Jake one.
“Oh, thanks Jake, that’s nice of you to say,” she said, trying hard not to bat her eyelashes. That would be overkill. “So, how long have you been teaching tennis?”
“Few years. Barbara gave me my first break.” He paused. “Hey, that was shocking news about Arthur, eh?”
She nodded. “Were you teaching him tennis as well?”
“Nah, he was s
trictly a golf guy. Suited me just fine.”
“You didn’t like him?”
He shrugged, picked up his drink and took a gulp.
“So how did Barbara help you?”
“Huh?
“You said she gave you your ‘first break’.”
Jake nodded, running a hand up the back of his neck. She had seen the manoeuvre before. He was showing off his sizeable biceps, and she couldn’t help smiling at his pathetic attempt to win her over. This only encouraged him and he smiled back. She hadn’t removed her engagement ring before the lesson, yet this didn’t seem to put him off, nor did she suspect that it would. If anything, it probably spurred him on.
“Yeah, you see, I’m a gardener by trade—bloody awful job, digging about in muck and manure, not exactly my idea of fun. Anyway, I’d been doing Barb’s backyard for a few months and I noticed that no one ever seemed to be on the court. You know, they’ve got that fancy court round the side?”
“Yes,” said Claire and his smile turned sly.
“’Course you do. You were spying on me just near it.”
Spying on Holly, actually, she wanted to say but bit her tongue and smiled slyly back.
“So anyway, one day I ask Barbs if she ever played. Hadn’t seen her even near the court, let alone on it. Well, she laughed like she’d never heard anything so crazy. Told me the court was all for appearances. She couldn’t hit a ball to save her life. I offered to teach her, and well, the rest is history.”
“So that’s when you set up your business?”
“Tennis Menace, yep, like the name?”
No, she thought, but said instead, “So how many clients do you have now?”
He gave it some thought. “’Bout 20 or so. Barbs helped me recruit all the bored ladies from the local golf club.”
“Ah, golf widows.”
He laughed. “Desperate housewives more like it.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Really? They try it on do they?”
He shrugged lazily. “Doesn’t bother me if a beautiful older woman has a flirt.”
Claire took a deep breath and asked, “Did Barbara like to have a flirt?”
The question caught him off guard and a dark look flickered across his blue eyes, but he rallied quickly and just shrugged, giving nothing away.
She took another breath. “So is she any good?”
His eyes widened. “What?”
“Barbara, is she any good at tennis?”
“Oh, yeah, um, she’s not bad. Took a few months but she got the hang of it eventually. I mean, I’m not going to enter her into Wimbledon any time soon, but she can pull off a decent hit and giggle and that’s all those rich socialites are after. The daughter’s harder. Holly doesn’t listen.”
“Sounds like a typical child.”
Claire hadn’t meant to emphasise the word ‘child’ but it seemed to have an unsettling effect. His smarmy smile slipped away and the dark look in his eyes was back.
“She’s almost 17,” he said flatly.
“A little young for you, then.”
“I’m teaching her tennis, Claire, not dating her.”
“Really? Because that’s not how it comes across.” He stared hard at her but said nothing, so she quickly added, “You were spotted kissing, Jake. That Sunday at Book Club.”
He looked away, shaking his head impatiently. “Jesus, you guys really are a nosy bunch. So what if we were kissing? We’re just mucking around, nothing serious.”
“Do you think Barbara would approve?”
“Barbara? What’s she got to do with it?”
“She’s your boss isn’t she? She’s also Holly’s Mum, and I know the type. They usually have a respectable lawyer picked out for their little darlings long before they’ve even hit private school. You think she wants the tennis boy fraternising with her daughter?”
Jake’s eyes squinted, his voice turned cold. “Well Barbara’s not around anymore is she? So it’s irrelevant.”
“You’re talking like she’s dead,” said Claire.
“You don’t think she is?”
Claire held her hands up. “I hope not.”
“Is that why you called me?”
“Sorry?”
He placed his glass down with a thump and the amorous couple looked around with a start. He leaned in, across the table and said, “Come on, Claire, I didn’t come down in the last shower. You don’t need tennis lessons, hell you could whop my arse on the court if you tried.”
She blushed. “I just wanted to get some practice—”
“You just wanted to find out what I know about Barbara’s disappearance. What, you think Barbs caught me with her precious little jodhpur girl and I smacked her over the head or something? Buried her under the tennis court?” He smiled again but it was laced with ice, and his hands were held in two tight fists on top of the table now as though ready for a fight. “Holly was right about you lot. You can go back and tell your book club nobs that the last time I saw Barbara she was alive and well.”
“When was that?” she said, knowing she was now pushing her luck.
The smarmy tennis coach had officially lost his charm and now looked more like a small-town thug, his eyes squinted together, his mouth in a mean snarl. Suddenly she could picture him grabbing that racquet and doing something very dangerous with it. Glancing around the balcony, Claire was disappointed to see the couple disappearing inside, but the man in the suit was still there, head up now and also glancing around, so she swallowed her fears and feigned confidence. Perhaps Jake noticed the man, too, because he also lightened up, loosening his fists and giving her a nonchalant shrug.
“Saturday morning if you must know. We had a quick lesson then she said she had to get ready.”
“Ready for what?”
He shrugged again. “Beats me. She looked excited, said something about another lesson she was having.”
“Lesson? Really? Where?”
“No idea, just mumbled something and left me down at the court. I saw myself out. That was the last I saw of her. I’ve told the pigs all of this, just ask them. They called me yesterday arvo.” He paused. “Apparently someone’s been feeding them gossip.”
The icy look was back and Claire held her hands up defensively.
“Hey, Jake, I haven’t said a thing to the police. Honestly I haven’t.”
“Yeah, whatever.” He stood up, grabbed his racquet and cap. “I’ve had enough of this shit. I don’t have to answer to you or anyone.” He glanced at his oversized sportswatch. “Besides, I’ve got a real client to teach.”
“We’re just looking out for Barbara, Jake, just worried, that’s all.”
“So you keep saying. But as far as I can tell, it’s Arthur that’s dead, not Barbara.” He leaned in, inches from Claire’s face, his voice barely a whisper. “Maybe Arthur was the one who needed looking out for. Ever thought of that?”
And then he turned and marched away.
Claire took a long gulp of her Pimm’s and tried to calm her shaking nerves. She was more wound up than she realised, her heart thumping wildly beneath her jacket. Jake had certainly rattled her, she could see a dangerous side to the man, and was glad the guy in the suit had never left the balcony.
Perhaps things would have been very different if he had.
Claire pulled her mobile phone from her sports bag, took a deep breath and called Alicia, telling her what Jake had just said. Alicia was stunned.
“What?! Is he saying that Barbara has something to do with Arthur’s murder? That we should be pointing the finger at her?”
“That’s what it sounded like.”
“Do you think he knows something?”
Claire stared down at the courts where Jake was now showing a middle-aged, skimpily dressed woman how to serve. She could hear her giggling like a schoolgirl.
“I honestly don’t know, Alicia. But he’s a shifty character and he could just be saying that to get us off his scent.”
“So you th
ink he may be involved?”
“Maybe.” She told Alicia about his career change from reluctant gardener to entrepreneurial tennis coach. “It seems to me that he has Barbara to thank for all those high-paying clients. If she really had caught him at it with Holly, maybe she threatened to ruin him, call her golf friends and destroy his business. It’s one thing for a tennis coach to sleep with a few bored housewives, it’s another to meddle with their precious daughters. He was playing with fire, and maybe, just maybe, Barbara’s the one who got burnt.”
“So where does Arthur fit into all this?”
Claire bit her lip, trying to think. “Maybe they both caught him out. Maybe he’s killed both of them, we just haven’t found Barbara’s body yet.”
Alicia shuddered. “It’s one possibility I suppose, although it seems a little extreme to me. I mean, surely there are more desperate housewives out there he can coach? Even if Barbara did threaten to call her mates, it’s not like he can’t source clients elsewhere.”
Claire sighed. “I know, it’s so unlikely. Still, I found the man quite scary, a little threatening even.”
“Did he actually threaten you?”
“No, not quite. It was just his demeanour. He was not happy with my questions, seemed very defensive. There was one other interesting thing he told me, though.”
She explained how he had given Barbara a tennis lesson the day she disappeared and how she had mentioned heading off to get ready for some other lesson.
“Hm, that is interesting. What do you think Barbara meant by that?”
“If only we knew... there are so many cryptic clues that make no sense at all.”
Alicia agreed and wondered whether it was even true, whether Jake was feeding them red herrings to throw them off his scent. If so, it was very Agatha Christie of him.
“As far as I know,” she said, “the police have no record of Barbara going to any other lesson or seeing anyone after the jewellery shop, at least not that they told me.”
“Oh dear, I’d better go,” said Claire, her voice hushed. “I might be paranoid but Jake’s staring up at me now with dagger eyes.”
“Yeah, get out of there, Claire, we don’t know what that guy’s capable of. And thanks, that can’t have been easy. Now, I just wonder how Perry is going...”
The Agatha Christie Book Club Page 15