by C. A. Larmer
Roxy was speechless for several seconds, but when she found her tongue she quickly asked, ‘It’s not abstract is it?’
‘Oh I don’t know anything about art, love, but she sure don’t know her colors. She had blue skin and gold eyes. Still, it seemed to work, ya know. Kinda pretty in a funny way.’
‘I’d find that painting and hold on to it, Cyril,’ Roxy told him. ‘You just might have a masterpiece on your hands.’
As she hung up, Roxy’s heart was pumping double time. She glanced across at Max who was watching her, intrigued.
‘What?!’ he asked.
‘You got a spare hour?’
‘Huh?’
‘Come on, grab your camera.’ She raced into her sunroom. ‘We’ve got some snooping to do. But first, I’ve got to make a stop in cyberspace.’
Chapter 26: Breaking In
Tall casuarinas cast eerie shadows across the street and Roxy hoped Max couldn’t hear her heart pounding beneath her thick sweater as they sat cocooned in her blue VW two houses down from Heather Jackson’s. In one hand she held a small Magnalite flashlight, and in the other a map of Heather’s sprawling mansion.
‘Now let me see if I’ve got this straight,’ Max said in a hushed tone. ‘You think Heather’s disabled sister is the one who’s got all the painting talent, and that Heather is passing her work off as her own?’
‘Absolutely. Don’t you see it makes perfect sense? It explains everything: why Heather’s so desperate to hide her past. If anyone finds out that it was Lilly who was the artist in the family, not her, then she’s sprung. There goes her credibility, her raison d’être.’
‘But maybe Heather was also into painting; maybe the disabled sister copied her stuff and the busy-body neighbor never noticed. I don’t mean to sound disparaging but she is well, you know, disabled.’
‘Doesn’t mean she can’t paint! Besides, the work is pretty crude, perhaps she has some use of at least one hand. It’s beautiful but it’s not fine brush strokes. Look, I know there are still questions which is exactly why we have to get in there and see for ourselves.’
‘But why do you think she’s in there? If she is being held, she could be almost anywhere.’
‘It’s just a hunch, but I sensed her when I was here earlier. I caught sight of what could be her wheelchair in one of the rooms. Trust me on this.’
‘Okay, but you seriously want to break into Heather Jackson’s house? Now? Why don’t you just call the cops?’
‘Oh, and tell them what? That I think Heather’s got her poor sister tied up in a dungeon and is forcing her to paint against her will?’
‘How do you even know Lilly’s doing it against her will? Maybe she’s all for it. Lilly paints, Heather’s the front woman.’
‘Fine, then why all the dead bodies? Somebody’s been killing people to shut them up and my guess is, it’s Heather.’
He sighed. ‘So, what’s your plan then?’
Roxy shone the flashlight on the map and pointed to a corner of the house where a greenhouse stood. ‘We have to make our way to the west wall of the house. There’s a gardener’s shed here.’ She indicated it on the map. ‘If we’re lucky the security won’t be as tight as the front or side gates.’
‘But you don’t know for sure?’
‘Fraid not. But it’s worth a try.’
‘Where did you get the map anyway?’
‘A fan’s home page, but it seems to be correct.’ She could almost feel him rolling his eyes in the darkness beside her.
Eventually he said, ‘And what if you’re wrong about all of this?’
‘Then I’m wrong. Big deal. I’ll look elsewhere for answers. Look, all I’m asking is that you stay handy with the car in case I need a quick getaway. I don’t expect you to come in with me.’
Max glared at her for several seconds and then reached for his camera bag. ‘No way, Parker. If you’re going in, then I’m going in with you.’
The moon was just a thin, broken fingernail in the sky ensuring a welcome cover of darkness as the duo scurried quietly past the front gate to the west side of the property.
‘It’s a big place,’ Max said in hushed tones beside her, but Roxy was deep in thought. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was hoping to do once she got inside the place, but she hoped that instinct would lead her in the right direction, towards the wing of the house where the door had mysteriously opened and shut the first time she had visited.
Following a tall, rock wall, Roxy and Max walked for what seemed an eternity before they came across a side gate covered in vines.
‘Is this the gate you were talking about?’ Max asked.
‘Hope not,’ she replied, tugging at the chains that were holding it securely in place. ‘We’re not going to get through this.’
‘What about scaling the wall?’
‘With what? No, it’s too tall.’ Roxy peered through the darkness down the rock wall beyond. ‘There’s got to be another entrance. This one looks like it hasn’t been used in ages.’
They continued walking until they reached the north-west corner of the property, and then tried the back wall but it, too, seemed rock solid.
‘The map’s obviously wrong, Parker.’
‘There has to be another gate,’ she insisted, turning back to retrace their steps along the west wall. ‘I can’t imagine the gardener fronting up to the main gate every day. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘Perhaps he uses the delivery gate on the other side?’
‘There are no gardens that side. No, he has to have his own entrance. Keep looking.’
About a metre from the side gate, Roxy suddenly stopped. ‘Hang on a minute.’ She backtracked a few steps and reached into what appeared to be a mass of vines. Her hand was rewarded with a small brass knob. She turned it and gasped as the hidden gate swung inwards with a giant creak. ‘I knew it!’ she gushed.
‘How the bloody hell did you spot that?’
‘Women’s intuition,’ she replied with a wink. ‘Come on.’
Reluctantly, Max followed her through, leaving the gate slightly ajar for a quick getaway. Once their eyes had adjusted to the darkness, Roxy could make out a mass of bushes in front of them and beyond that, small glimpses of the lights that shone on the garden immediately fronting the house.
‘If we follow this wall around to the back of the house we won’t be so conspicuous,’ she suggested and began leading the way. Halfway along, she halted. ‘What was that?!’
‘I didn’t hear anything.’
‘Hmm, keep an eye out. There could be guards for all I know.’
‘Brilliant.’
‘Come on, we’ll be okay.’
Heather’s house loomed large, like a giant fortress in the dark and, apart from a few lights at the front, the back half was pitch-black and lifeless. Roxy shone her torch quickly on her watch. ‘1.05 am,’ she hissed, ‘they should be asleep now.’
‘Either that or they’re watching us on a monitor inside, evilly sniggering as they stroke a fluffy white cat.’
‘Huh?’
‘Never mind,’ Max said. ‘Too many James Bond movies.’
When they were directly behind the house, Roxy suggested they make their way to it through the bushes, rather than using the path and Max agreed. Anything to remain out of sight.
‘Once we get to the house, keep your head down and just follow me. I think I know where I’m going.’
‘Your confidence is comforting,’ he replied drolly and did as instructed.
There were several doors along the back of the house and Roxy chose the one closest to the corner, it had several pipes leading out from it and the window beside it was not curtained. It turned out to be what she thought it would be, the laundry. Another door, which obviously lead into the main house, was closed. She checked her map. They were just a corridor away from what the online article called ‘the secret wing’. She tried the handle and smiled when it turned easily. She opened the door and peered through. A low l
ight at one end revealed a long corridor, just as the map had said, and Roxy could just make out the words ‘No Entry’ on a door along one side.
‘That has to be where Lilly is. We’ve got to get in there,’ she whispered to Max who was breathing short, nervous breaths behind her.
‘What if it’s locked?’ he managed to say.
‘Then we’ll try the one to the right. But we’ve got to try.’
Timidly, they edged out of the laundry and down the corridor. A quarter of the way along they heard a door slam in another part of the house. They stood rock still, listening. Suddenly Max grabbed Roxy’s hand, ‘Quick!’ he pulled her back down the hall and into the laundry again, closing the door as quietly as he could.
‘What are you doing?’ she whispered.
‘Shh! Listen. I heard voices.’
They stood deadly still and waited. There was only silence. Roxy pulled the door forward just an inch and peeped through. Still nothing, and then out of the quiet they heard a muffled laugh. She jumped back, treading on Max’s toe and causing him to moan.
‘Shhh! Sorry, but you’re right. Listen.’ They pricked their ears and could vaguely make out a conversation but it was too muffled, too far away. They heard a door open somewhere down the corridor and Roxy peeked out again. There was somebody down there but she couldn’t make out who it was. In any case, they were standing directly in front of the prohibited door, the one near the front entrance where Roxy had seen a flash of silver inside. It could very well have been Lilly’s wheelchair, which means it could also lead them to Heather’s sister, and the answers to all of Roxy’s questions. She had to get in there and find out.
‘Get some sleep, you need it!’ a woman’s voice said and still Roxy could not see who was speaking but the prickle that was now running like electricity down her spine told her she had heard that voice before, but not at this house. It was followed by the same laugh they had heard earlier. It was a strange, stifled laugh; more nervous than joyful. Then the figure shut the door and turned towards them.
Roxy nearly jumped out of her skin and fell back against the laundry wall, her eyes wide with shock.
‘What?!’ Max hissed. ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s Sally!’ she hissed back. ‘Sally Duffy, from Macksland!’
Chapter 27: The Studio
Little Sally Duffy, Frank O’Brien’s supposed best friend, was waltzing nonchalantly down the corridor like she owned the place. Roxy threw a finger up to her lips to implore Max to silence and waited for her to pass. Only when she had done so did Roxy allow herself to breathe.
‘Sally? The one who had her place trashed?’ Max asked, dumbfounded.
‘Yes!’
‘But—’
‘Shh! This is weirder than I thought. We’ll wait a few minutes then I want you to stay here while I go down and look in that door.’
‘No way I’m coming with—’
‘You have to stay here, Max. If anything happens, at least you can run away and get help. It’s our only chance.’
He was not happy but nodded reluctantly anyway, eager to have the whole ordeal over with. ‘But you still don’t know if Lilly’s through that door.’
‘That’s why I have to go and see. Let’s just hope she’s alone.’
They waited a good 10 minutes and then Roxy gave Max’s hand a quick squeeze and slipped out into the hallway. This time, she reached the door marked ‘No Entry’ without interruption and quickly opened the door and slipped in. Max watched her from his station in the laundry and felt his heart lurch. He should never have let her talk him into this, if either one of them was caught, they could be in some serious trouble. Deadly trouble.
Another hallway greeted Roxy, but this one was smaller and there were just three doors leading off from it, towards the front wing of the house. Roxy guessed that if Lillian was being held in here, she was most likely not in the first room. That was too close to the exit out. With her heart galloping at a record speed, she tried the second door. It opened easily and she stepped inside, enveloped by darkness. She swung the door shut and stood listening intently for several seconds but only silence sang out. Then she noticed the smell.
Methylated spirits, she said to herself. And paint. This had to be the studio. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness and gradually began to make out what were no doubt paint easels and canvasses piled up against every wall. She waited another second and then turned on her flashlight. The canvasses that danced beneath the light were truly magnificent. There were smiling faces, sad faces, purple faces and green. Some were almost finished, some barely begun, but each bore Heather Jackson’s trademark style—garish, colored mouths twisted oddly with brightly painted eyes and nostrils. Picasso meets Ken Done. It was just as she expected but there was something unusual about this room. She continued flashing the torch, careful not to let it face the open window, lest someone be looking. Then she realized what it was. The easels, of which there were at least four, were all set at a very low level. Whoever was painting these portraits was either super short or seated in a chair. Or, she thought sadly as she spotted a paint-splattered steel contraption in the corner, a wheelchair.
Old Cyril at Limrock Lane was right.
Roxy noticed, too, that a wide doorway lead into what looked like a disabled bathroom and beyond that another wide door, which she guessed lead to Lillian’s bedroom, the third room down. But Roxy had seen enough. She flicked her torch off and turned to leave.
That’s when the door swung open with a loud thud and the room was suddenly bathed in bright fluorescent light.
‘Roxy Parker!’ came a surprised voice and she looked around to find Sally Duffy standing, wide-eyed in the doorway. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
‘I could ask you the same question,’ Roxy replied, squinting from the sudden brightness.
‘I live here,’ she spat back, her voice now missing its innocent, girlish tones. She looked older, too, her childish pig tail replaced by slick, straightened strands, her freckled face powdered over, and her floral drop-waistline dress substituted for a pair of black hipster pants and a bright pink, V-neck tight-T. ‘What’s your excuse?’
‘Oh I just thought I’d drop in, say G’day,’ Roxy said, feeling her stomach tighten as the reality of her situation sunk in. She straightened her glasses with a burst of renewed confidence. ‘So, your cute country girl persona was all an act? I should nominate you for an Oscar.’
‘Thank you, I even impressed myself. Of course I visited enough times to see how it was done. Mum showed me the rest.’
‘Heather’s your mother?’
She shrugged her assent and sauntered inside the room, stopping to press a nondescript white button by the door, before walking through the bathroom and testing the door on the other side. It was locked. She smiled with what looked like relief and then took a seat in the paint-splattered wheelchair, pulling a packet of cigarettes from her pants pocket. ‘Ciggy before she gets here?’
‘No thanks. I prefer my lungs carbon neutral.’
‘Pity,’ she said, lighting one up, ‘we could’ve called it your last.’ She sucked on the stick and breathed the smoke out through smiling lips.
‘Oh, I see,’ Roxy replied, edging her way towards the garden louvers. ‘You’re going to kill me the way you killed your grandfather Frank?’
‘Don’t call him that!’ Sally spat. ‘He deserted my mother at birth, he deserves no titles.’ Then, appearing to lighten up she added. ‘The fool never even suspected a thing, you know? Thought I was happily praying behind him. Praying! Moi?!’ She sniggered. ‘’Course I should have made it look like suicide. I got a bit carried away, I’m afraid.’ She sounded as though it were all a game; it sent a chill down Roxy’s back. ‘No, I guess Mum’ll think of some way of getting rid of you.’
‘Faulty brakes perhaps?’
Sally’s eyebrows shot up impressed. ‘We have been doing our homework, haven’t we?’
‘I know all about it,’
Roxy replied. ‘And so do the police. They have my full report. Anything happens to me, they’ll know where to look.’
‘You’re bluffing.’
‘Try me.’
Sally shrugged again and continued smoking. It didn’t look like she cared one bit, and that was even more chilling.
‘So you were the one who snuck in and ditched the hospital file? While I was conveniently minding the dress shop, right?’
Sally smiled proudly again. ‘I know! And you didn’t have a clue, right? Then—hilarious!—I had to help you break in all over again. You must have got a mega surprise when you found the folder was empty!’
‘Yes, Sally, yes I did.’
‘And you never suspected me? Really?’ The look in her eyes was imploring. She genuinely needed to know she’d pulled it off. Roxy replied, ‘You’re sneakier than a rat, Sally. Your Mum would be proud. So that means you also trashed your own place to make it look like you were the next victim?’
‘Yep, made up the whole story about the intruder. Although I can tell you I was stunned to find that guy loitering in my yard when we got there. God knows who that was! Bloody lucky break for me, though.’
Roxy was about to tell her it was Max when instinct shut her up. Sally didn’t need to know she had allies who might just be lurking in a nearby laundry. It occurred to her, though, that she needed to buy some time, give Max a chance to get back out onto the street to find help. That could take him ages. She felt another flood of panic. What if they had caught him, too?
She quickly asked, ‘But why’d you have to kill old Frankie?’
‘Oh puh-lease, don’t get all sentimental on me. The guy was a fruitcake, it’s not like anyone was going to miss him. If you hadn’t showed up he would’ve been rotting away for months. No-one gave a shit about him, you know? Better off dead.’
‘Well if you hadn’t killed Beatrice, she might have—’