by C. A. Larmer
Later, as she struggled her way to sleep, it was not the lifeless face of Frank O’Brien that haunted Roxy’s dreams. It was Max Farrell, his eyes imploring, his hands reaching for her as she fled towards the dark gray beyond.
Chapter 18: Frank’s Best Friend
The phone rang many times and Roxy glanced again at the number she had scribbled down for S. Duffy, chewing on her lower lip nervously. She groaned and was about to press ‘end call’ when it picked up.
‘Hello?’ The voice sounded young, male and croaky, and she suspected that whoever it was, she’d just dragged him out of bed.
‘Oh, hello! Is Sally Duffy there please?’ Roxy crossed her fingers.
‘Hmm? Sally? No, mate, I’m Simon Duffy, I’m the only one here.’
Her heart dropped. ‘Damn, must have the wrong number. Sorry about that.’
‘No worries. But I know where you can find her.’
‘Huh?’
‘Sal’. Isn’t that who you’re after?’
‘Yes, yes! Is she a relative of yours?’
He laughed at this. ‘Crikey no! I wish. Nope, Sally’s a ring-in, rents a place sometimes on Chalmers Street.’
‘You don’t happen to have a number for her do you?’
‘No such luck.’
Roxy scowled. ‘Oh well, thanks anyway.’
‘But, you know, at this hour you’ll probably catch her down at Jenny’s, I think she hangs around there a bit when she’s bored.’
‘Where’s Jenny live?’
He laughed again. ‘Nah, mate, Jenny’s Fashion Empori-something or other. On the main street.’
Roxy thanked him then hung up and dialed the local directory for Jenny’s contact number. Before calling, she checked her watch. It was close to 10am and the buzz in the breakfast room that morning had made it perfectly clear that old Frank’s murder was now common knowledge. She knew these old towns: gossip spread like wildfire. If Sally had not known about Frank at 9am, she would surely know by 9.05, and certainly by now. Roxy called the shop.
‘Hello?’ a woman answered, her voice soft and barely audible.
‘Sally Duffy?’
‘Yes?’
‘Sally, my name is Roxy Parker, I’m a writer from Sydney. I’m really sorry about your friend Frank O’Brien.’
‘Oh?’ There was a sudden sob at the other end.
‘Look, I realize the timing is terrible, but I need to speak with you most urgently about him. It’s the reason I’m here, can we meet?’
There was an intake of breath, a pause and then another loud sob from the woman at the other end and Roxy gave her a moment to compose herself.
‘He’s...dead,’ she said eventually.
‘Yes, Sally, I know. I was the one who found the body. I had to speak to him about something and I got to him too late. Can we meet up? Now? It’s imperative. I know you were a good friend of his and I think we can help each other.’
There was another pause before the woman said, ‘Why are you calling me? How did you get my number? How do you know we were good friends?’
‘I’m a journalist, Sally, it’s my job to know.’
‘Well, how do I know you didn’t, um...’
‘I didn’t kill him, Sally, if that’s what you mean. I needed to speak to him about a good friend of mine who was also murdered. I believe he knew the murderer and that’s why he was killed. It’s too much of a coincidence otherwise. Sally, the sooner we talk, the better, both our lives may depend on it.’ It occurred to Roxy that if the murderer had spotted that postcard he would have deduced, as Roxy had, that Sally and Frank were good friends and may have shared their most intimate secrets with each other. In all likelihood, Sally Duffy was the next target. The woman was still hesitating so Roxy took a punt. ‘Look, if you’re not sure, call Chief Butler at the police station. He can vouch for me.’ She was not at all sure whether the police chief would vouch for her, but it was worth a try.
‘Alright,’ she said abruptly. ‘Meet me at the Speak Easy Cafe, corner of Flinders and Main Street. Give me ten minutes.’
As she hung up it occurred to Roxy that she did not know what Sally Duffy looked like. Fortunately, the cafe was empty when she arrived and, taking a seat near the back, she informed the manager, a middle-aged man with enormous ears and an inquisitive eye, that she was waiting for someone. Twenty minutes later a young woman, barely out of her teens, burst into the cafe and Roxy glanced at her and then away.
‘Hello Sally, almost didn’t recognize you, how you going?’ The cafe manager called out and Roxy glanced back surprised. She had been expecting someone older, more Frank’s age. Sally spotted Roxy and came directly over. Now it was the cafe manager’s turn to be surprised and he followed her over, quickly pulling her seat out for her. ‘Can I get you something?’ he asked, darting quick, quizzical glances in Roxy’s direction.
‘A pot of tea, please,’ she said, blinking back tears. Roxy ordered coffee and, once the manager had disappeared out the back, turned to the young woman with a reassuring smile.
‘I’m Roxy Parker, obviously. Thanks for meeting me.’
The young woman simply nodded, clearly struggling to gain some composure. She was pretty in a plain, school-girlish way, and could not have been more than 20. Her ginger hair was tied into a ponytail down her back and her fair skin was splattered with freckles. Her dress was floral with a drop waist, and she wore a headband with the same matching print. She looked like a farmer’s wife in the making, and a good 50 years younger than Frank O’Brien.
‘I help Jenny out down at the shop from time to time,’ she announced suddenly. ‘If...if I hadn’t been working, I might have been with him, with Frank...he might not have died.’
Or you might also be dead, Roxy thought but instead said, ‘Sally, you need to pull yourself together, we need to talk about Frank, we need to work out who might have done this.’
‘The police...’
‘Have they questioned you at all?’
‘No, no, they want me to come in later. I can’t see why.’
‘They’re just trying to cover all the bases, don’t worry about them. Sally, how did you know Frank? What was your relationship?’
The young woman peeled a handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose loudly. ‘He was a good friend. I met him when a group of us were cleaning up the old church earlier this year. He helped us out. The others thought he was weird. I just felt sorry for him.’ She hid her face in the hankie and Roxy placed one hand gently on her shoulder. The owner arrived with their drinks then and eyed Roxy suspiciously as he placed them down.
‘You okay, Sal’?’ he asked dubiously.
‘F...fine, thanks, Johnno...I’m fine.’
‘I’m sorry about your old mate.’
‘Yeah...thanks, Johnno,’ she was pulling herself together again, madly wiping her eyes with the hankie. ‘I’m okay, now, no worries.’
Reluctantly, he wandered away and, now more in control, Sally took several sips of her tea. ‘Frank didn’t have an enemy in the world. Who would do this to him?’
‘I don’t know, but I’m working on it.’
‘How do you know him again?’
‘I don’t. I knew of him. He was a good friend of a woman I knew. I was writing her biography and, well, she suddenly turned up dead. I was hoping Frank might have some answers, that’s all.’
‘Beatrice Musgrave?’
The name caught Roxy by surprise. ‘You knew her?’
‘No, no, but Frank talked about her constantly. He was madly in love with her, you know?’
‘I thought as much.’ Roxy sipped her drink and grimaced. It was criminal what this town served up as ‘coffee’. ‘Had they been in contact recently, before she died, that is?’
Sally seemed surprised by the question. ‘Yes, of course, they were going to get married. She didn’t tell you?’
She sat back with a thud. ‘No.’
‘That’s all Frank talked about, he was getting the old hou
se ready for her.’
That explained the paint cans, and the expensive dinners in Sydney, and the jewelry bill. ‘When? When were they planning to wed?’
‘Early next year, I think. Frank said they had waited 50 years, another one wouldn’t hurt.’
‘Did he tell you anything about their daughter?’
She looked taken aback and her jaw dropped a little before she clamped it shut. She hesitated, as though wondering whether to trust the woman in front of her and Roxy didn’t blame her. She didn’t know her from Adam. She tried for her warmest smile. ‘Beatrice told me about it.’
The young woman nodded and eventually said, ‘He told me a little bit. He didn’t know much himself. Just that they had given up a baby a long time ago, when Beattie was “weaker”.’ She spat out that last word and then glanced quickly at Roxy and softened her tone. ‘That’s how Frank put it, not me. He said if she’d been stronger things would have been different. Back then she had to do what her parents wanted her to do. Frank wanted to marry her, you know? And apparently she wanted to marry him. They both wanted to make a family together.’
‘But Beattie married Terence Musgrave instead.’
‘Yes,’ the young woman sighed. ‘What a fool! She chose money over love. I would never do that, never! It nearly killed him, you know? It was the reason he was so quiet, the reason everyone thought he was nuts. He wasn’t, well, maybe he was nuts for her. He never really got over her.’
‘So why didn’t they marry five years ago when Terence died?’
Sally considered this for a while. ‘I think Frank wanted to. But she said she needed to straighten out a few things first.’
‘So that’s why she was writing the biography?’
‘Yes. Frank said she had to get it all out in the open before they could get married, before they could move ahead, you know?’
Roxy nodded sadly. That was their mistake. ‘So what do you know about the daughter?’
‘Nothing,’ she said quickly. ‘Just what Frank told me...they had given her up a long time ago and, well, he never quite said it, but I think they were going to try to make amends, to look her up, you know? But they never did.’
‘Really?’
‘Well, not that he told me.’ She took a long sip of her tea. ‘It’s so sad. Frank seemed so happy for the first time, full of hope, you know?’
Roxy looked down at the murky brew before her. He had waited so long, and all for nothing. The fool.
‘Who do you think did it?’ Sally asked, anger clearly swelling up again. ‘Who would do this to poor old Frank? Who?!’
‘I don’t know, Sally, but I have a feeling it has something to do with the daughter.’
‘Why? Why would you think that? Maybe she’s got nothing to do with anything.’
‘Nah, I reckon she’s the key to it all. I need to find out who she is. You have no idea at all?’
Sally squinted her eyes, trying to think. ‘He never said, honestly, I don’t reckon he knew. In fact I’m pretty damn sure he didn’t know anything about her. He never even saw the baby.’
‘So he was never told her name or the name of her adoptive parents?’ It sounded inconceivable, but then those were very different times.
‘I...I don’t know. He never told me if he did.’
‘What about where she was born? Surely he knew that?’
‘Maybe Sydney. Or Adelaide. She was from South Australia you know? That would be my guess.’
Roxy shook her head. ‘No, no, I doubt she could have kept it such a tight secret if she’d had it in a city where she knew a lot of people. No, my guess is she hid away and had the baby here.’
‘Here?!’ Sally looked incredulous then shrugged and finished off her tea. Suddenly her eyes were glazing over again. She looked like she was going to resume her sobbing, so Roxy quickly paid their bill and shuffled her out, unwilling to draw more accusatory stares from the cafe owner.
‘What are you going to do now?’ Sally asked, her tears back in control.
‘I’m going to pay a visit to the local hospital. If Beattie had a child in Macksland, they should have it all on file.’
‘Oh, wow, I never would have thought of that. You’re really clever!’
Roxy waved her off. ‘Nah, just been around the traps long enough.’
They walked down one street block towards Roxy’s hire car when Sally grabbed her elbow. ‘Can I ask you a huuuuge favor? Before you go to the hospital? Please?!’
‘Sure, what?’
‘I had to close the boutique to come and see you but I really need to get back there and open it or Jenny will chuck a spaz. The problem is I also need to see the coppers. You know, make my statement and all that. Do you think...that is if you don’t mind...I mean...’
‘What is it, Sally, spit it out.’
‘Well, could you just keep an eye on the boutique while I run down to the copshop? I won’t take long, I promise. Twenty minutes max.’
Roxy wasn’t exactly in the mood to play shopkeeper but Sally seemed so desperate, so anxious, that she relented, and together they walked down main street past several blocks of shops, most with inscriptions pre-dating the 1900s. Jenny’s Fashion Emporium was one of these, a brightly painted storefront wedged incongruously between a butchers and a bike shop. There was an elaborate sign out the front and two glassy eyed mannequins in the window, each donning hip trousers and glittering silver tops. Sally unlocked the door and waved Roxy through.
‘Whenever I go to Sydney to visit the rellies, I always bring back some gear. Keeps it up-to-date, you know?’
‘Good idea,’ Roxy replied, ‘although I think it would be dangerous work for me. I’d go a bit mad with the credit card.’
Sally laughed then. ‘I know! I go mental. Anyway, have a look around, you might find something of interest. And if anyone comes in try to stall them. If not—’
‘It’s okay, I’ve done my stint of shop keeping. I can use a till, and I promise not to run off with the day’s earnings.’
‘Oh there’s not much there. It’s been a quiet week. I won’t be long!’ Once Sally had left, Roxy began looking around, sifting idly through the stock and pulling a variety of garments up in front of her to peruse in the mirror. She was surprised by the quality of the merchandise. There were only a few of the dowdy floral dresses that Sally clearly enjoyed wearing. This collection was mostly modern, the latest labels in the latest styles. Sally might be a country girl at heart but she clearly knew her designers. After sifting idly through the racks, Roxy perched up against the counter and began perusing the magazine collection, which was also contemporary. She scanned the pages of that month’s Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar before glancing at the clock. Almost an hour had passed. Frowning, she located her lipstick from deep inside her handbag and reapplied some to her lips, then scraped her fingers through her hair and wandered towards the door to peer down the street. That’s when Sally came bursting through, red-faced and puffing.
‘Are you okay, Sally? Come in, have a seat.’
‘I...I’m fine. Sorry it took so long. They were so insinuating...they made out like I could have done it!’
Roxy shook her head angrily. She wanted to throttle young Dougie. He clearly didn’t realize how upsetting his little game of Detective Morse could be. ‘Take no notice of them. They did that to me and I didn’t even know Frank.’
‘But I was his best friend, his only friend. Why would I do it?!’
‘Honestly, don’t give it another thought. I’m sorry they upset you. But I really need to get going now. Are you okay on your own? Is there someone I can call?’
‘No. No, I’m fine.’ She dabbed at her face with her hankie and tried for a smile. ‘Are you going to the hospital now?’ Roxy nodded. ‘I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding what you want. My neighbor Beryl Smith runs the records department and she’s just lovely.’
‘That’s a relief. Hospitals can be pretty stuffy when it comes to handing over information.’
As it turned out Beryl did mind. Very much. ‘Those records are sealed,’ she barked. ‘We can’t just have strangers wandering in off the street going through people’s private business.’
‘Oh, I completely understand.’
‘Only the parties involved may access them,’ she continued unabated. ‘So, unless you are the adopter or the adopted, and I suspect that you are neither, then you can not have a look.’
Roxy had expected as much. After finding her way to the hospital, a crumbly brick structure with several large chimneys at one end and a modern extension which now served as the emergency ward on the other, she had inquired at reception and been directed down two flights of stairs to the basement. Beryl was sitting at a desk behind a glass petition, sorting through files and color coding them with fluorescent pens. The mere sight of her confirmed Roxy’s fears. She had the look of a strict school mistress: starched helmet-style hairdo, spectacles hanging on a chain around her neck, and small eyes that squinted at you like she was trying to work out your game, like you might throw a punch her way at anytime.
Roxy tried another tack. ‘Oh dear, I came so far,’ she said, sighing heavily as she threw her hands in the air. ‘All the way from Sydney, you know?’ The woman didn’t blink. ‘And William Musgrave said I would have absolutely no problem.’
‘William Musgrave?’
‘You know, the owner of the Musgrave & Son department stores? I’ve been writing a biography on his recently deceased mother, you might have heard of her, Beatrice Musgrave?’ The woman stared blankly so Roxy continued. ‘Yes. Well, it’s her file I’m after. Just to get some facts straight for the book, you understand? I’m wondering if I should just call Will up and get him to give his permission here and now.’ She knew William would never consent but it was worth mentioning anyway.
‘Well that’s no use,’ Beryl replied smugly. ‘Only the adoptive parents or the adopted child can see those records. Other family members don’t count.’
‘Ahhh.’