“I think that’s it,” said Dusty, pointing to a homestead style house as she slowed down and pulled the car off the road onto a bumpy track.
The homestead was situated on a rise at the end of a long driveway. The occupants must enjoy impressive views of the surrounding countryside including the hills, which Dusty referred to as pot hills. The house was also well positioned for those inside to spot anyone approaching the building long before the visitors arrived, especially if you were at the top in what appeared to be a studio with windows on every side. That was probably Brad’s artist’s studio.
Once out of the car, Dusty stood back and surveyed the ‘old lady’ for a few moments.
“You’re right,” she said. “Turquoise would be too modern for her. She’s perfect just as she is.” Placing a hand up to her lips, she transferred a kiss to the bonnet of the car.
If we had been spotted in our approach, no-one came to greet us. The gate creaked as we opened it and again when we closed it after us and then strolled along the driveway and climbed the steps. A large cow bell with a chain attached hung by the front door. Dusty pulled the chain. The bell was loud enough for anyone in the house to hear and probably any nearby cows as well. I half expected to see a herd of the bovine creatures making their way across the grassy paddock in answer to the call. However, when the bell ceased its peal, we were still alone on the porch.
“Come on,” said Dusty. “Let’s have a look around the back.”
Stepping over clumps of weeds and brushing past clinging bushes, we made our way along an overgrown path to the back door. We knocked and called out several times but without result. Somewhere in the distance a dog howled.
“Listen,” said Dusty. “The call of death.”
Seeing the look on my face, she explained. “When you hear a dog howl, it means a death is nigh.”
“Do we know whose death?”
She gave me a reproachful look. “No need to mock.”
“Sorry. But you must admit ‘a death is nigh’ is pretty vague.”
“Well, I just hope it’s not Brad’s death.”
With that, Dusty turned and marched back along the path to the front of the house where she wrote a note to Brad and slipped it under the door before we left.
“Just in case he’s lost his phone and not got my messages,” she said.
“As I said earlier, I’m convinced Brad has disappeared because of you,” I told her, as I swung the creaky gate open to allow her to pass through. Closing the gate after us, I followed her to the car. “He’s afraid of being interviewed by the one and only Dusty Kent.”
She leaned against the car, looking back at Brad’s house thoughtfully. “But he’d know he can’t stay away forever. Disappearing would hardly be an effective strategy.”
“Right. But people don’t think rationally when they’re fearful.”
“If you’re correct, he’s bound to turn up any day now. On the other hand –”
“He might be lying at the bottom of a gully. You really think the murderer knows that Brad knows something and has taken steps to silence him?”
Dusty’s eyes met mine. I saw genuine concern in them.
“Let’s keep our fingers crossed that he turns up soon,” she said, dangling the car keys in front of me.
I caught them in my cupped hands. My face must have revealed my pleasure at the prospect of driving her car because she grinned at me.
“Missing your motorbike?” she asked as she settled into the passenger seat.
I nodded. “I’d love to ride the road back to Byron on the Thunderbird. But this little beauty of yours will be almost as good.”
“Almost?” she said, eyes wide in indignation.
As we drove back through the township, I noticed a familiar figure slipping into The Hemp Cafe.
“I think that was your friend, Rose from the Beach Hotel, going into the cafe,” I said.
“Oh, really,” said Dusty, turning to look as we passed the cafe. “I’m not surprised. Somehow I can imagine Rose in Nimbin. She probably lives here.”
“She had someone with her. Can’t be sure, but it looked like Perry Doran.”
“Now, that is interesting,” said Dusty.
Once we were on the open road again, we lapsed into companionable silence. Dusty, apparently in a pensive mood, was enjoying the passing greenery which I fancied was not flitting by as rapidly as when she’d been driving. I was in a reflective mood myself. Although I hadn’t indulged in any of the available hallucinogens in Nimbin, the town itself had a loosening effect on my inhibitions. I had this sudden urge to tell Dusty how I felt about her; to just blurt it out.
“Dusty,” I said.
She didn’t hear me and in that fleeting moment while I waited for her to acknowledge me, my inhibitions started to reassert themselves. My timing was off. How could I declare my love for her when I would soon have to leave the country? It was only a matter of months before my visa would expire. Even if she didn’t rebuke me, even if, by some spectacular miracle, she accepted me, would that be fair? Given that she had some sort of deep-seated distrust of men, at least that was what I had guessed, entering into a relationship with someone who was bound to leave her was probably not what she needed. On the other hand, if I returned to Ireland without having spoken, I could be missing the opportunity of a lifetime. Further contemplation on my quandary ceased when I realised Dusty was speaking to me.
“Sorry,” I said. “I was off with the fairies. Sure I was.”
She smiled at me. “You were thinking about Ireland.”
“And what makes you say that?”
Her smile broadened. “You’re so transparent. When your accent becomes thicker and your speech becomes more Irish than usual, it’s a sure sign you have Ireland on your mind.”
“Right.”
This was my opportunity to tell her what else had been on my mind. That’s when my inhibitions clamped down on my free spirit, immobilised me and turned me into a coward.
“Yes. Ireland. That’s what I was thinking about. What was it you were thinking about?”
“I was thinking about Summer,” she said thoughtfully. “What if she’s afraid for Brad? Perhaps she knows something; knows Brad has information that could put him in danger.”
After considering this, I came up with another idea.
“What if she knows Brad is the murderer? You did suggest that she might have been involved in covering up the crime. Summer would not have refused Brad if he asked for her help.”
Dusty gave me a searching look but did not reject my idea.
“If she knows something, for whatever reason, she could be in danger.”
I felt the hairs lifting on the back of my neck at the thought of the beautiful, talented Summer lying dead somewhere. Dusty’s words came back to haunt me: a death is nigh.
“We can’t let anything happen to her,” I said.
“No, we can’t,” said Dusty, determination in the set of her mouth.
Chapter 25
During our rest period, Dusty discovered the thrill of hang gliding while I followed up my yen to try surfing.
Just after I arrived in Byron, I’d met a couple of surfers at the pool table who offered to teach me the rudiments of riding a longboard. I sought them out to take up their offer. The lessons did not go well, especially after I went into a wild panic at the sight of a shark’s fin in the water. It turned out to be a dolphin’s fin and no threat at all. That incident proved to be a source of unsuppressed merriment for my new friends.
Eventually, although I advanced to being able to remain upright on the board, their patience was sorely tried by my clumsiness. They suggested I book into the local surfing classes, which I did. However, I was frustrated by the gap between what I wanted to achieve – the effortless sailing over high waves – and what I was able to achieve; the effortless falling off the surfboard at the slightest ripple in the ocean.
Then it was time to keep our dinner date with Perry Doran. P
ierre’s Place with its solid wooden tables, blackboard menus, a well equipped bar, warm amber lighting and casually dressed waiters was a fusion of old rustic and Byron informality. Perry welcomed us as though we were good friends and ushered us to the back area and into a private dining room. The conversations of other diners and the clattering of plates were muted to a low hum as soon as he closed the door.
“You’re my guests this evening,” he said, holding out a chair for Dusty and gesturing for me to occupy the one across from her. He didn’t dine with us, explaining that he would join us for coffee and drinks after the meal. When the time came, he urged us not to order dessert until we’d tried the speciality of the house.
“You might not want dessert after this,” he said as the waiter appeared with a tray laden with three conical shaped glasses – each filled with a dark liqueur, a top layer of creamy froth and three coffee beans tastefully arranged near one edge of the glass.
The waiter, a man in his thirties wearing a T-shirt and jeans, served Dusty first. I noticed he was looking at her with a certain amount of awe. I decided he was probably star-struck. On the other hand, anyone working in hospitality in Byron would surely be used to celebrities. Although Dusty was a well known author, he would have served people even more recognisable than her; television and film personalities, for instance. Rather than star-struck because she was a celebrity, he might be a fan of her books.
“What is it?” asked Dusty, looking at the glass in front of her with anticipation.
“Espresso martini,” said Perry. “But not just any espresso martini. These are made to my own recipe; the specialty of the house. Some customers come here just for Pierre’s espresso martinis. You won’t get one like this anywhere else in Australia; anywhere else in the world for that matter.”
I’d tried espresso martinis before and found them too sweet for my taste. However, intrigued by Perry’s words and the gleam of pride in his eyes, I decided to give Pierre’s espresso martinis a try. I was pleasantly surprised.
“Mmm,” said Dusty. “You’re right. There’s something different about it. It has an interesting tang.”
Perry nodded and laughed. “It’s the secret ingredient that gives it that extra kick.”
“Whatever it is, it works. This is definitely one of the best espresso martinis I’ve ever tasted.”
“It’s excellent,” I agreed.
Perry’s expression was that of a proud father whose child has just won a gold medal at the Olympics. All attempts on Dusty’s part to find out the secret ingredient that gave his martini the edge in the taste battle failed.
“The only thing I will tell you is that Marcia helped me perfect this recipe. She was my taster.”
“Was this during your marriage?”
Perry nodded. “When I opened this restaurant just after I arrived in Byron, I wanted to create a signature dish, something that would be distinctive. We had food dishes unique to Pierre’s Place but we wanted something different. We hit on the idea of having a signature cocktail. Marcia had just discovered espresso martinis and suggested playing around with the recipe a little. Once we came up with the perfect secret ingredient, we just experimented until we worked out the right amount to add.”
“You’re not from this area?” I said, enjoying the cool smoothness of the cocktail in my throat.
“I met Marcia in Perth. She came into my restaurant one night with some friends, writers I think. I was bowled over when I saw her. She was one beautiful lady, and classy. You know what I mean.”
If Marcia’s children were to be believed, it was likely the aura of wealth that had really bowled Perry Doran over.
“She came in a few times,” he said. “Eventually, I extended her an invitation to come in as my guest. I couldn’t believe my luck when she accepted. We discovered we had a lot in common. She was a widow; I was a widower. We both liked good food, good wine, travelling and exploring new places.”
“How soon after you met were you married?” said Dusty.
“Only a few months. I sold my restaurant and moved to Byron. It was easier than Marcia moving to Perth. I had no ties there. All her children were here. It just made sense.”
“You didn’t consider going back to Perth after you split up with Marcia?”
“Byron Bay’s a hard place to leave. Besides, it would have suited the Nixons too well if I’d walked off into the sunset. I reckoned the least I could do in return for what they’d done was to stick around as a constant reminder.”
“So they didn’t welcome you into the family then?”
Perry grimaced. “You’d have thought I was an evil villain creeping into Marcia’s life to take advantage of her. They were definitely not happy about Marcia and me. It didn’t matter a tot to them that their mother was happier than she’d been in years. All that concerned them was that I might get my hands on their money: their money. Lucy wasn’t as bad as the others but that was only because she’s pretty spineless. Monique was a bitch, but careful to play the role of polite and charming daughter when Marcia was around.”
I imagine Marcia’s heirs were a formidable combined force difficult for the likes of Perry Doran to overcome.
“What about Marcia’s sons?”
“Didn’t see much of Brad. There was some coolness between him and his mother possibly because of his lifestyle.”
“The casual artist lifestyle?” I suggested.
“Not so much that,” said Perry with a shake of his head. “Marcia was disappointed that he was… Well, not to put too fine a point on it, he preferred the company of men, if you know what I mean.” He finished the last sentence with a crass wink.
“That’s not how I see Brad,” said Dusty. “I think women would be only too pleased to spend time with him.”
“But does he have the same inclination?”
I knew Dusty’s reaction to Perry as a person had been lukewarm but it now started to heat up somewhat, for all the wrong reasons. I was sure the flush of her cheeks and the light in her eyes were evidence of anger seething below the surface. I could see the effort it took for her to hold her tongue. Had Perry not been in the privileged position of being able to offer insights into the Nixon family from an outsider’s perspective, I feel sure he would have received a severe tongue lashing from Dusty.
“Anyway,” said Perry, “whatever his proclivities, it’s no business of mine and he wasn’t around enough to cause any trouble. Unlike his brother.”
“Fergus didn’t welcome you into the family?”
Perry threw his hands in the air. “That’s an understatement. Right from the word go he did his best to poison Marcia’s mind against me. He played on Marcia’s insecurity about money and used it to paint me as a grubby gold digger.”
“Why was she insecure about money?” asked Dusty.
“It was a weird thing with Marcia. She was always afraid that her money would disappear, that she’d be duped out of it somehow. I believe it was some sort of intuition about her children, or at least about Fergus.”
“You think he’s a con man? That he’d try to swindle his own mother out of her money?”
“Let me put it this way, I think he would have if she hadn’t put up so many defences to protect her money. That’s what I mean about her intuition. I think she outsmarted him and used pre-emptive strikes that prevented him from carrying out any plans that might allow him to cheat her out of her money.”
I wondered what Marcia’s intuition told her about Perry. Or did love blind her to his faults?
“So there was already an uneasy relationship between Fergus and Marcia when it came to money before you entered the picture?” said Dusty.
“Too right there was. My presence just made things a whole lot worse. Before I came along, Fergus could at least console himself that he’d get the money eventually. Then he was afraid that Marcia would leave everything to me, or at least enough of it to drastically diminish what he and the others would get. He conned her into believing I was planning on
duping her out of her money.”
“And that led to your divorce?”
“Too right it did. In the end, Marcia and I had a barney. She was hurt because she thought I had only married her for her money. I was hurt because she thought that. We both said things we couldn’t take back. Things between us were never the same after that. I came to the conclusion the best thing was to end it. Before I left, I warned her about those vultures waiting to get their hands on her money.”
“Warned her? What did you say?”
“I told her straight up she should protect her money from anyone who might want to do her harm. When you’re old and frail, I told her, they’ll try to take advantage and get control of your money. It wouldn’t be the first time. Elderly women who leave their money to someone they love and trust have been known to end up dead soon afterward.”
What a nasty piece of work. He had deliberately planted poisonous seeds in Marcia’s mind, targeting her insecurity about money.
“So you believe Marcia’s children were capable of murdering her to get her money?”
“Too damn right I do.”
“You know Monique has been charged with her mother’s murder?”
Perry nodded. “She might have done it, too, but not on her own. Take my word for it, Fergus had a hand in it.”
“So you think Monique and Fergus plotted to kill their mother?”
“Makes sense to me.”
“How did Marcia react when you warned her she might end up dead?”
Dusty sipped her martini, effectively masking the expression of distaste that clouded her face when she referred to Perry’s vulgar threats.
“Angry. Furious actually. How dare you! That’s what she yelled at me before she stormed off.”
I caught a glint of smugness in Perry’s eyes. Marcia’s reaction probably told him he’d hit a nerve which was exactly what he had hoped for. He knew what he’d said would fester in Marcia’s mind. Dusty, still apparently enjoying her martini, casually threw in the question she most wanted to ask him.
A Devious Mind Page 16