Nefarious Doings

by Evans, Ilsa

  I turned to look at her. ‘Are you going to keep this up? I need to know.’

  The other back door opened and Lucy jumped in. ‘I decided I wanted to come, after all.’

  ‘I don’t recall you being invited!’

  ‘Tick-tock,’ said Yen, without turning.

  ‘How the hell are we going to be surreptitious with a car full of people?’ I waited a few moments but nobody answered; the rear-seat duo were too busy making themselves comfortable while the primary passenger clearly didn’t feel that the comment was directed at her. I put the car into reverse and began backing down the driveway, and then slammed on the brakes as I heard Quinn’s shout.

  ‘You nearly ran over your daughter,’ commented Petra, rather superfluously.

  ‘Careless,’ said Yen.

  Quinn came up to the driver’s-side window. ‘Hey! Didn’t you see me?’

  ‘Are you hurt?’ I snapped. ‘No? Then obviously I saw you, eventually.’

  Lucy leant forward. ‘We’re going to go do some investigating.’

  ‘Really? Excellent!’ Quinn pulled open the back door. ‘Were you waiting for me?’

  ‘No, not the dog!’ said Petra. ‘Nell!’

  ‘Tick-tock,’ said Yen.

  ‘God! Just get in the car, quickly! Bring him!’

  Quinn gathered up the dog, his lead dangling, and clambered over her sister into the middle of the back seat. She dumped a wriggling Gusto on Lucy while she did up her seatbelt and then sat expectantly. Beside her Petra was now looking significantly less enthusiastic, and significantly more cramped. It was at moments like these that I wished I had more mastery over my mobile, because then I would have taken a photo. The Forrest family undercover, complete with offspring and pets. It would have been a keeper.

  *

  It was almost six o’clock by the time we pulled into the nursery car park and I was afraid that we might have missed the mystery woman, but the car park was empty apart from a wallaby by the nursery opening hours board. He looked as if he was checking them for future reference. He turned as our car scrunched across the gravel and then bounded leisurely off into the bushy section that flanked the road. After doing a quick circuit, I parked by the cobblestoned entry, furthest from the Lincoln Court side.

  ‘Anyone want a cracker?’ asked Petra. ‘Cheese? Chilli tuna dip?’

  I twisted around. Petra had a plastic tray on her lap onto which she was now loading supplies from my kitchen. She removed a small knife from the carry bag and began deftly slicing cheese.

  ‘Yum,’ said Lucy, restraining Gusto as she helped herself.

  ‘I can’t reach,’ complained Yen, without even trying. ‘Did you bring wine?’

  ‘Quinn, pass this to Grandma.’ Petra loaded some food onto a serviette. ‘And no, I didn’t bring wine. Can’t believe I forgot that.’

  I shook my head, staring out at the nursery entrance. There was a large conifer to the right that had been decorated with fairy lights surrounding an LED sign that wished everyone HAPPY HOLIDAYS AND A FESTIVE NEW EAR. I tucked my hair behind my humdrum old ears and pulled my scarf a little lower. If my hunch played out, then we could expect to see the mystery woman any moment. I wondered what Ashley Armistead would make of that development. Local woman uncovers vital clue to Majic murder. Police humbled.

  ‘How long’s this gonna take?’ asked Quinn, resting the dog’s paws on the side window so that he could see out.

  ‘If only Sherry Holmes were here,’ commented Yen, around a mouthful of cracker. ‘She’d know what to do.’

  ‘Mum, Red wants to know if you ever have your phone turned on,’ said Lucy, reading from her mobile. ‘Or check your messages.’

  ‘Of course I do. Tell her I’ll ring her tomorrow.’ I transferred my gaze to the rear-vision mirror, where I had a good view of the sweep of highway behind. Every now and again a car would come into view, and then pass without slowing.

  Petra leant forward to tap our mother on the shoulder. ‘Listen, Yen, I was just wondering where the Richard III Society got those little fleur-de-lis lapel pins?’

  ‘Grace June Rae got them from some online site for our coronation dinner. Why?’

  ‘Oh, I’m going to a dress-up party. The theme’s royalty. I thought it’d go well.’

  ‘You can borrow mine, although you need more than a bloody pin. You should go as Eleanor of Aquitaine, seeing you’re named after her sister. And she’d have been, let me see, the great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother of Richard III, so it’s quite apt. No, wait, I forgot about the Mortimers. It’d be nine times great. I tell you what, I’ll speak to Fiona Ramage, she’s got a magnificent medieval queen outfit. Might be a little snug on you, but doable.’

  I readjusted the mirror to grin at Petra. ‘Doable. Sounds perfect for you.’

  ‘Mum, just think, if you’d married Alexander Graham Bell,’ said Lucy, watching her sister text a message, ‘your name would have been Nell Bell.’

  ‘Nah,’ said Quinn derisively. ‘Mum doesn’t like beards.’

  ‘Yes.’ I tried to straighten the mirror but it seemed to have become jammed. ‘That’s what’s holding me back.’

  Yen undid her seatbelt. ‘I’m going to pop around to my house, collect some things.’

  ‘Yen! What if she sees you?’

  ‘Quinn can come with me, with the dog. It’ll just look like we’re going for a walk.’

  ‘Excellent idea,’ said Petra.

  Lucy opened the back door and Gusto jumped out, thereby hanging himself by his lead for a moment until Quinn managed to scramble over her sister. Yen slammed the door behind her and the pair took off, walking diagonally across the car park towards Lincoln Court with Gusto straining on his lead. They veered right at the footpath. I tried tilting the mirror downwards but it seemed the problem was in the swivel motion itself.

  ‘Well done us.’ Petra met my eyes. ‘Now at least we’ll be able to rule one person out.’

  ‘Hopefully.’ I banged the side of the mirror with the heel of my hand and it budged, just a little, so I did it again. This time, however, the entire thing slipped sideways and, with a faint popping sound, fell off the glass and onto the dashboard. I stared at it.

  ‘Did you just break that?’ asked Petra, leaning forward. She tilted her head so that she could see the reflection. ‘Your roof’s grubby.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I picked up the mirror. ‘Fuck.’

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘Listen, Nell,’ said Petra, ‘has it occurred to you that our mystery woman may not be coming tonight? That maybe, just maybe, the thought of a serial killer in the neighbourhood dampened her ardour?’

  I held the mirror up so that I could see her face, and then adjusted my wrist so that I could see out of the rear window. ‘Or maybe that’s her now,’ I said smugly as a silver hatchback turned into the nursery car park. Both Lucy and Petra immediately whipped around, blocking my view. ‘For god’s sake! Act normal!’

  The hatchback hesitated by the entrance, as if both car and driver were surprised. Lucy and Petra turned back and then we all moved our heads slightly to the left. A seemingly choreographed movement that, in retrospect, probably looked more suspicious. The hatchback immediately shot over to the other side of the car park. I didn’t blame it.

  ‘Can you see who it is from there?’ whispered Petra.

  ‘I will as soon as she gets out.’ I held the mirror up against the windscreen, in its usual spot. At least it was far easier to adjust in this more portable mode.

  ‘Why are you whispering?’ whispered Lucy.

  I kept my head turned but stared sideways into the mirror, watching the car. After a few moments, the driver’s side door opened and a long, slim leg emerged, followed – fortunately for both Leon and the owner – by another. Behind me, Petra had dumped her tray of hors d’oeuvres and was using a compact to observe the proceedings. I flicked my eyes back and there she was, a tall woman, dressed in running clothes and dark sunglasses. But I knew instantly wh
o it was, just from the way she held herself.

  ‘Nice figure,’ commented Petra, passing the compact to Lucy. ‘Who is it?’

  I held up my spare hand and watched as Leon’s lover slung a small backpack over her shoulder and locked her car. She took a fleeting, surreptitious glance in our direction and then set off in a gangly jog towards Lincoln Court.

  Petra was leaning over the back seat. She laughed. ‘They should have come up with a better cover, because that woman is clearly no jogger. She looks like an inebriated giraffe.’

  Lucy was still staring into the compact. ‘Is that –?’

  ‘Fiona Ramage,’ I replied. ‘Owner of a magnificent medieval queen outfit. Works at the Majic Art Gallery. Leon’s assistant.’

  ‘Wonder if this is in her job description?’ Petra turned away, took a sliver of cheese. ‘Well, that’s disappointing. I was expecting someone married. Or driving a dark sedan. Then we could have tied everything up quite neatly.’

  I dropped the mirror in my lap and leant back, thinking. ‘So why are they sneaking around? They’re both single, unattached. She’s a little older, granted, but nothing shocking.’

  ‘Mum? Are you okay about this?’ asked Lucy, leaning forward to put a hand on my shoulder. ‘You know, because you … and him …’

  ‘What?’ said Petra. ‘What?’

  I held up the mirror so that we could make eye contact. ‘Absolutely nothing. We went out for dinner, as friends. Good lord, the guy could be my son.’

  ‘Only if you celebrated puberty by giving birth. Well, well, well.’

  ‘Shut up.’

  Lucy’s mobile broke into the conversation with what sounded like a fair approximation of a woman in labour, but was probably just the climax of a favoured song. She took the call and instantly Quinn’s voice could be heard, high-pitched and excited.

  I twisted around, dropping the mirror on the passenger seat. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Lucy held up a hand. ‘Quinn, slow down. Did you say a duck sat down near Grandma’s house?’ She paused, and her face cleared. ‘Oh, a dark sedan. I get it.’

  I fired the car up and shot backwards, all in one smooth movement, then hurtled towards the highway. Seconds later I was gunning it into Small Dairy Lane and screeching to a halt behind a pewter-grey sedan, parked outside Mrs Fletcher’s old house. Lucy was still on the phone.

  Petra coughed. ‘Um, far be it from me to be a killjoy, but do you think it was wise to make such a loud entrance? Given we are now parked directly behind the car that belongs to the prime suspect of at least one murder?’

  ‘Quinn said what the fuck are you doing?’ commented Lucy.

  I took a deep breath and then, with a little more circumspection, reversed just enough to swing the car out and around before coasting into my mother’s driveway. I could see her standing at the lounge-room window with Quinn, both watching with interest. She turned and said something to Quinn, who was holding her mobile to her ear.

  ‘Grandma said you’re an idiot,’ relayed Lucy helpfully.

  Petra was staring down the street. ‘Shit. There’s someone coming out of the Fletcher place.’

  ‘Lucy, get in Grandma’s house.’ I fumbled with my seatbelt. ‘Go on! Quick!’

  Wide-eyed, she jumped from the car and ran for the house. As she vanished from view, my mother appeared instead, walking steadily down her pathway and turning right, towards Maud Fletcher’s old weatherboard. I suspended my efforts to free myself, staring.

  ‘What the fuck is she doing?’ asked Petra.

  The man who had emerged from the Fletcher house was now standing by the dark sedan, as if examining it. He was middle-aged, a little overweight, dressed quite casually. He looked up, watched my mother stride purposefully towards him. Then she was there, and they were having a conversation.

  I undid my seatbelt, finally, and got out of the car to join Petra on the other side. Inside the house, both girls now stood at the window watching their grandmother, mobiles in hand. Between them, Gusto stood with his front feet against the glass, his mouth moving with muffled barks.

  ‘Not sure if I’d get over losing her this way,’ said Petra. ‘It’d be a little embarrassing.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  We set off down the path, both keeping our eyes on the owner of the dark sedan in case he made any sudden moves. Petra’s heels clip-clopped against the concrete and I was washed with a wave of irritation that seemed ridiculous, given the circumstances. But as we drew closer it became obvious that the conversation taking place was quite steady, even chatty. Yen glanced over.

  ‘There you are,’ she said as if she had been expecting us. ‘Noel, these are my daughters, Eleanor and Petronella. Girls, this is Noel Maloney. Noel is Mrs Fletcher’s son-in-law.’

  ‘Oh!’ I stared at him, blinked.

  ‘Noel’s just here to pick up his daughter’s things. She and a friend from university were going to stay here over the summer holidays but what with all the goings-on –’ she waved a hand ‘– they’ve changed their minds.’

  ‘Even if they hadn’t, I would have changed it for them,’ said Noel grimly. ‘I like to be able to sleep at night.’

  I frowned. ‘So they were here last Saturday night?’

  ‘Yep. Their first night. Not that it lasted long.’

  ‘Did you know the police are looking for you?’ asked Petra, with some abruptness.

  ‘Yep. Well, not till yesterday but I’ve spoken to them now. Misunderstanding, that’s all.’

  ‘And you’ll have another chance,’ I said, as a police cruiser coasted to a halt behind the infamous dark sedan. Constable Matthew Carstairs emerged, leant against the roof of his car. ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Everything’s just fine, thank you. And how are things with you?’ replied my mother. On the other side of the road, Edward Given’s curtains twitched.

  ‘Um, good. Hello, Mr Maloney.’

  ‘Hey, mate.’

  The constable gave us all a smile, having clearly decided that our impromptu meeting was not suspicious, and got back into his car. He probably would have driven away if not for Lucy, who chose this moment to emerge from the house and wander down to the letterbox to check for mail. Predictably, Matthew Carstairs leapt out again and went over to join her. I rolled my eyes, turned back to Noel Maloney.

  ‘So you picked them up on Saturday night?’

  ‘Dropped them off and picked them up. The wife got a phone call about half nine saying that there was some bloke next door carrying on, screaming at his wife, kids crying, that sort of thing, and can they get picked up? We live over an hour away so I was pretty peeved at the time, but Christ was I glad when I found out what happened later. What a business!’

  ‘What time did you get here?’

  ‘Oh, around eleven or so. I was in a filthy mood, I can tell you. Was going to go give the bloke a piece of my mind but it’d gone quiet by then so I just picked up the girls and left. Only thing I saw was this old guy walking up the road.’ He gestured towards the Hurley house. ‘I’ve told the police all this now. Didn’t realise I was a suspect!’

  ‘Well, it is a bad business,’ put in Yen. ‘And we’re very sorry that your daughter and her friend had such an unpleasant stay. Normally, it’s a much more … friendly place. What does Maud plan on doing with the house?’

  ‘The house? Oh, it was going on the market in February, after the holidays, but now we’ll have to move everything forward. Don’t want it to sit empty too long. Hopefully all this doesn’t impact the market.’

  ‘Let me know when you decide.’ Yen was now staring past him towards the old weatherboard. ‘I may be interested.’

  ‘Hey, okay. Sure.’

  ‘And next time you visit Maud, do tell her Lillian Forrest says hello.’

  He nodded, then nodded again towards Petra and me. You could almost see the calculations taking place behind his eyes; all the advantages of an early sale, without working bees or renovations or having to drive back and forth
. We said our farewells and left him there, still thinking.

  ‘Really?’ I asked our mother. ‘You’re looking to your investments at a time like this?’

  ‘It’s not like it was Maud who got herself murdered, so why shouldn’t I? Besides, then I could arrange for early settlement and move in here while my own house gets repaired. Spare you the torment of my prolonged presence.’

  ‘It’s not torment! I, ah, like having you there.’

  ‘What absolute crap.’

  I opened my mouth to argue the point but decided to let it go. There was too much else. Matthew Carstairs was still standing by the letterbox talking to Lucy, but they began backing away from each other as we neared. The effect was rather theatrical, as if one of them was about to reach out an arm and recite, ‘Farewell, farewell, parting is such sweet sorrow.’

  ‘C’mon, Lucy, I want to get going. Go grab Quinn.’ I opened the car door and got in. Petra jumped in behind me while our mother continued on into the house, presumably to grab those few items she was after.

  ‘You spilt the snacks,’ said Petra, gathering up crackers. ‘Crazy driver.’

  ‘So that’s one suspect off the list.’

  ‘Which moves the SYM up the top. With the question of the pin put to one side.’

  I tracked my gaze down the other side of the road. ‘Or maybe there’s some squatter staying in the Roddom house while they’re away, or maybe Mark Tapscott isn’t all he seems, or even his wife.’

  ‘Yes. Perhaps that pregnancy is a product of a tryst with Satan.’

  ‘Or Edward Given,’ I continued, ignoring her. ‘He might not be capable of a lot of physical stuff, but maybe that’s where the SYM comes in. I tell you, I think there’s something a little malicious about Edward. Ned. Whatever.’

  ‘There always has been,’ replied Petra, staring at his house. ‘But there’s also a matching sliver of desperation. And that might be even more dangerous.’

  Quinn clambered into the back seat, holding Gusto, and sat directly on the platter of food. There was the crisp sound of crackers crunching, which stopped as she froze, and then started again as she moved her butt experimentally. ‘Shit.’

  ‘Don’t,’ said Petra. ‘You’ll just make things worse.’