by Nicola West
My eyes fell on a photo of Lily and me, our arms around each other’s waists, both smiling warmly. It was the only picture of me taken at the event and, to my surprise, I didn’t hate it. I had always preferred being behind the camera rather than in front of it, but there was no denying that it was an arresting shot.
I thought back to the moments leading up to the picture. I hadn’t wanted to be in it, but Lily’s dad had insisted. Even then, there was no denying his powers of persuasion.
CHAPTER 11
The show ball was held at the end of November, to raise money for the main event in late January. It was a special night in Kiama’s social calendar when the local leisure centre’s main hall was magically transformed from an indoor basketball court to an indoor basketball court sparsely covered with a few tacky decorations.
But it didn’t really matter how unimpressive the transformation was since the guests were always too plastered to tell the difference. Despite members of the show committee earnestly declaring that the night was all about ‘charity’ and ‘community spirit’, deep down they knew the only drawcard was the open bar.
Unsurprisingly, I’d never been to a show ball before, and having to attend my first one sober was akin to torture. I’d been shadowing the showgirls for the paper since the entrants had been announced earlier in the month, and had photographed them visiting farms, getting makeup lessons and hosting high teas. Each event was as tedious as the last, but nothing could compare to having to watch them that night smile politely as drunken locals groped them during photo ops. I couldn’t fathom what it must have felt like to play nice while your former primary school teacher ‘accidentally’ grabbed you on the arse.
Lily seemed to be the only one who escaped that kind of treatment. I’d love to say it was because they respected her, but it was far more likely due to her parents both being on the show committee (and almost always close by). It was interesting how the men were miraculously able to keep their hands to themselves when they were accountable, but I felt terrible for the other entrants.
I sighed deeply. I needed to get away from the locals and away from the show ball. I clearly wasn’t as courteous as the showgirls, and I was concerned I’d make a scene.
Thankfully, along with Sharon Williams’ winery, the hotel Dan worked at was supplying the booze that evening, and he and a few of his colleagues were tending bar. He and I had agreed to sneak into the leisure centre’s pool at a designated time. He’d bring the drinks and I’d bring the snacks. It was the only thing getting me through the night.
When the clock struck eleven, I made a beeline for the ambitiously named ‘canapé’ table. It was covered in supermarket deli platters containing delicacies such as mini frankfurts, cheese cubes and generic brand crackers. I placed my camera down on the table and began piling two plates full of food. If I couldn’t get my money’s worth in booze, I was going to make up for it in cheese.
Unfortunately, I was a little too enthusiastic and accidentally knocked over an empty wine bottle while trying to reach a particularly elusive cheese cube. With both hands otherwise engaged, I watched in horror as the bottle rolled off the tabletop and shattered on the wooden floor. So much for not making a scene.
‘Shit,’ I mumbled to myself as every person in the hall turned to face me.
‘I’m going to have to cut you off, Miss Robertson,’ a mellifluous voice murmured somewhere close to my ear.
Lily’s dad had always made me uncomfortable. It was the way he looked at me. Like he was drinking me in from head to toe. And yet, strangely, there was nothing sleazy about it. His eyes didn’t linger over specific body parts longer than others, and he certainly didn’t talk to my chest. Instead, when he looked at me, he seemed to be able to see everything I was and would ever be. It creeped me out.
Of course, I may have been slightly biased. I had never been a fan of shrinks, particularly after I was forced to see one after my mum died. My experience hadn’t even been that bad. I just didn’t like the thought of someone getting into my head. Unfortunately, that seemed to be Michael Williams’ favourite pastime.
‘The sad thing is, I’m not even drinking,’ I said, turning to face the voice in my ear.
‘Why not?’ Michael asked.
‘I don’t drink when I’m working.’
‘Interning,’ he corrected.
‘Even more so.’
‘Come on. Mark hasn’t met an open bar he didn’t bleed dry. I was under the impression it was the only perk of the job.’ He held out the glass of champagne he’d been holding. ‘It’s fresh, I was bringing it to Sharon before someone made a mess that I now need to clean up.’
‘Sorry, I’ll do it.’
‘Don’t be silly. And seriously, take this.’ He proffered the champagne once more. ‘I don’t know how anyone could make it through one of these things sober.’
I laughed and took the glass, allowing myself a small sip. Michael got on his hands and knees to pick up the pieces of the bottle while I found the nearest garbage bin and brought it to him.
‘What do you think of the new labels?’ Michael asked, holding up a large shard of the bottle. The torn label featured the top of the town’s lighthouse.
‘Uh, very Kiama-ish?’
Michael laughed. ‘Sharon despises them. Had to fight tooth and nail to retain her family’s original crests, but her investors were adamant she include the town’s iconic buildings as some branding push.’
‘I mean, that small town shit definitely sells, especially to the tourists.’
He nodded, seemingly satisfied. After I’d offered him a few napkins to wipe up the residue, the floor was once more fit for the under twelves basketball team.
‘Sorry again, Doctor Williams,’ I said as he got to his feet.
‘No, I should be thanking you.’ He leaned in close like he was about to tell me a secret. ‘Anything that gets me out of schmoozing with these pissheads.’
I laughed. ‘Well, in that case…’ I picked up one of the other empty bottles and pretended to smash it against the table.
He was shocked but then laughed heartily. ‘You’re full of surprises, aren’t you? Always a pleasure, Marlowe.’
I smiled and turned to leave. It seemed he hadn’t managed to get into my head after all.
Armed with my two plates of nibbles, I headed towards a fire exit that was, perhaps unwisely, disguised in tinsel. Hopefully Dan had left it propped open and all I’d have to do was push it to gain access to the pool. I took a quick look around the hall – everyone was preoccupied – before shoving the door with my hip. To my delight, it opened and I was pummelled with the harsh scent of chlorine.
The majority of the lights were off in the swimming area, save for a few along the walkway and an eerie glow from the pool itself. I could just make out Dan, sitting on the edge, his trousers rolled up to his knees and his legs dangling into the water below. He saw me and waved. I began moving the plates away from my chest and back again while bobbing up and down – a sad, landlocked version of breaststroke – and Dan’s laughter echoed around us. I shushed him, but it was too late. I heard the fire door opening behind me. I spun around, flinging cheese cubes in the process.
A foreboding silhouette greeted me. They were holding something that was reflecting the pool’s light. We were well and truly busted.
‘Forgetting something?’ Michael asked.
I didn’t know if I should have been relieved, but I was. I stepped forward. I was unsure if he’d noticed Dan and, if he hadn’t, I was determined to keep it that way. We were both technically working that night, but only one of us had been employed (and could presumably be fired) by a member of the show committee.
‘I know the food was your priority, but I thought you’d miss this,’ Michael said, holding up my camera.
‘Fuck,’ I muttered to myself, helplessly looking at my still-full hands.
‘Here,’ he said, stepping towards me, before stretching the camera’s strap out so he could place
it over my head.
I sheepishly thanked him and ducked into the loop.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ his voice boomed around the pool as he placed the strap over my neck, ‘presenting this year’s Kiama Showgirl.’
‘Ugh,’ I groaned, doing little to hide my disdain. ‘Just hang me with the sash instead.’
He smirked. ‘I was wondering why you hadn’t entered. I think I just got my answer.’
I realised what I’d said. ‘Probably not the best thing to say to a psychiatrist, hey?’
‘Not necessarily. You clearly feel strongly about it. Why is that, do you think?’
I wasn’t falling for it that easily. ‘Do you charge by the hour, doc?’
That smirk was back. ‘Look, I know the showgirl competition can appear archaic to a person your age, perhaps even inherently misogynistic. But I’m quite surprised that an intelligent and driven young woman such as yourself doesn’t see it for the opportunity it is.’
‘Oh, please, save me that “betterment of the community through the betterment of our girls” drivel. I’m intelligent enough to know that being forced to shove my hand up a cow’s arse before being lectured to about poise and etiquette is hardly an opportunity. I mean, maybe if you switched the makeup classes for self-defence ones? But that wouldn’t go down so well with your sponsors and their lecherous meet and greets, now, would it?’
‘You misunderstand me, Marlowe. I’m talking in purely pragmatic terms. The showgirl competition is just another bullet point on your CV. You may decry it, but there’s no denying its heritage. It holds weight far beyond rural towns like Kiama. It could even be the difference between getting a job or it going to someone else.’
‘Like Lily?’ I asked, reading between the lines. She’d just been offered her cadetship and the wound was still fresh.
‘Perhaps.’
‘And here I thought the only thing holding me back was not having a rich daddy with media contacts…’
The smirk had graduated to a broad and bemused smile. Michael leaned in and placed his hand on my shoulder. I instinctively recoiled.
‘Oh sorry,’ he said, sensing my discomfort. ‘Just trying to get that chip off your shoulder.’
I couldn’t help but smile.
‘Come on, Marlowe, you’re better than that. And, although it may not seem like it, you do have at least one thing over Lily.’
I raised an intrigued eyebrow.
‘Tenacity. You’re a fighter. Lily’s never had to be one. She’s lucky, but luck runs out eventually – a fighting spirit never does.’
I didn’t know what to say.
‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘I’ll let you get back to your little poolside picnic. I’ve wasted enough of your time so I can avoid going back in there. Tell your friend I’ll cover for him for the next hour or so, but we’ll need help cleaning up.’
I thanked him and he headed back towards the fire exit. Just as I turned towards the pool, he called my name.
‘Marlowe?’
‘Yeah?’
‘I’ll suggest the self-defence classes.’
CHAPTER 12
Needless to say, once Dan and I had returned from our chlorinated cheese binge, there was little I could do when Lily’s dad insisted I participate in the picture that now graced the photo lab’s window. At the time, it had frustrated me. He was clearly throwing his weight around because he knew he could, but I was now thankful for the image. It was a reminder that, as much as I had envied her success, we’d actually made a pretty good duo once. I was going to miss that. I was going to miss her. I took one final look at the photo and continued on my way to the terrace houses, passing by the town’s monolithic memorial arch and the surprisingly quaint masonic temple.
The crystal store was the very last shop on the so-called ‘historical sandstone walk’, and I had to navigate through clusters of immobile tourists on their Sunday strolls. The terrace houses were another oddly dissonant feature of the town, undeniably tied to its history but rarely utilised by locals. That had less to do with the stunning restoration of the nineteenth-century quarry cottages and more to do with the overpriced junk spruiked as ‘souvenirs’ by the inhabiting gift shops.
I finally made it to the end of the strip. The tourists’ interest had waned with each store, meaning that the eastern end was almost a ghost town in comparison to the west. I stepped onto the crystal store’s verandah before pushing through the beaded curtain that hung in the front door. The beads trickled over my body – mimicking the sound and sensation of rain. It was pleasant until I was overwhelmed by the cloying scent of incense.
There were two other customers in the store, a young couple. One was clearly into crystals, while the other was not. The latter looked at me pleadingly as I entered. He then attempted to use me as an excuse to leave but I told them I was only browsing and that there was no rush. If looks could kill, I would have been eviscerated on the spot. I glanced at the woman they were talking to, dwarfed by the crystal-covered counter. She was presumably the proprietor and looked exactly how you’d expect a crystal store owner to appear.
I walked to the back of the store, which contained a large bookshelf filled with alphabetically ordered titles. My eyes scanned the names. They ran the gamut from 1001 Uses for Crystals to Zodiac: A Beginner’s Guide. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was supposed to be looking for. After all, it was all bunkum to me. I zeroed in on a book on symbology while the couple finished up their purchase. They’d spent a ridiculous amount of money on nothing more than rocks. Sure, they were pretty rocks, but rocks, nonetheless.
As the trickle of the beaded curtain signalled the couple’s exit, I wrestled the large symbology book off the shelf. It was covered in a thin layer of dust, assaulting my already incense-aggravated sinuses and sending me into a sneezing fit.
‘I was wondering when you’d come.’
I kept staring at the book jacket. Despite knowing that there was no one else in the store, I assumed the owner wasn’t talking to me.
‘The seeker of truth.’
Again, I ignored her, but I was feeling decidedly unnerved.
‘Your pretty blonde friend looked at that book too.’
I spun around, perplexed. The crystal store owner was clearly pleased with herself, a wry smile gracing her features. I walked over to the counter. I looked into her eyes but I realised she wasn’t looking at mine. Instead, her gaze was lower. She was looking at my chest, or – more specifically – my necklace. She recognised it and, therefore, recognised me.
‘It’s a beautiful piece,’ I said, gesturing to the pendant. ‘I was delighted to receive it.’
‘I’m pleased to hear that. She agonised over it. She said it needed the perfect stones to help you with your task.’
‘My task?’
‘Solving the mystery.’
My eyebrows knitted in confusion. I felt like the beaded curtain was running over my body once more.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
She looked confused. ‘She asked for a stone that would help someone solve a mystery – something that would allow them to see the truth beyond deception – while also protecting them. She said she had a friend who needed it. A writer who was going to expose a horrible secret.’
I felt like the store was closing in on me. ‘She knew,’ I mumbled. ‘She fucking knew.’
The woman looked concerned. ‘Are you all ri–’
‘She died last night. She was killed.’
Her eyes widened. ‘The body at the showground? I only heard about it on the radio.’
I nodded.
‘Jesus. I – I didn’t know, I swear.’ She looked me up and down. ‘Are you a cop?’
I shook my head and she looked relieved.
‘Look,’ she began, ‘I don’t live here. I’m just a shop owner. I don’t believe in any of this stuff. I’m just trying to make a living off tourists and cashed-up new agers. I thought she was the latter. When she was talking about ‘mysteries’ an
d ‘secrets’ I just assumed she thought your boyfriend was cheating on you. I humoured her.’
I sighed. The book was about to slide out of my fingertips. I held it up to the owner. ‘Why was she looking at this?’
‘She was asking me questions about symbols. She had photos of them.’
I put the book down on the counter and pulled a piece of paper out of my pocket. I had attempted to draw the markings I’d photographed on Lily’s body. They weren’t a perfect match, but they were close enough.
‘Did they look similar to this?’ I asked, holding the drawing up.
She shook her head almost immediately. ‘No, they were bigger than that and less letter-like. It was kind of like a bunch of circles that sort of looked like a flower. They were carved into something.’
My blood ran cold. ‘Skin?’
She looked horrified. ‘No! Wood, I think?’
I asked her to show me the symbols in the book, but she told me they weren’t in there.
‘There was one that was similar, in a different book about sacred geometry.’
‘Can you show me?’
She shook her head. ‘Your friend bought the only copy.’
‘When was the last time you saw her?’
She took a moment to think. ‘It’s been a few weeks, give or take. Your necklace was the last thing she bought. So, before Christmas?’
I nodded. No new crystals had appeared on Lily’s desk since then, so the shop owner was likely telling the truth.
‘What was the significance of the stones she purchased for herself?’
The store owner’s gaze dropped as if she could no longer bear to look me in the eye.
‘They were all stones for safety and protection,’ she admitted.
CHAPTER 13
I asked the store owner a few more questions, but she was clearly not the symbology expert I’d anticipated. She also didn’t seem to know anything else particularly pertinent to Lily’s death, or the reason why she had clearly feared for her life.