Dying Words (A Ghostwriter Mystery)

by C. A. Larmer

  He sniffed crudely and reached for his phone, which was attached to his apron. “Hang on, I’ll see where she’s at.”

  He moved away as he made the call and he clearly got through because she could see him gesticulating as he spoke. When he finally ended the call and returned to her side, his frown was still firmly in place.

  “Sonnie says can you meet her back at her dad’s place?”

  “Okay. She’s there now?”

  “Will be.”

  Roxy nodded, thanked him and was about to walk away when she had a thought. “You don’t know where Sondra was supposed to meet her dad for dinner the night he died, do you?”

  He stared at her. “Some dive in North Sydney. Why?”

  “Oh, I was just wondering. I heard it was one of Berny’s faves.”

  “Can’t think why. It’s a shitbox where they give you crayons to draw on the tables like you’re six.”

  She wondered how he knew about that but his deepening frown was not encouraging. Instead, she thanked him and walked back through the warehouse towards her car, a growing sense of unease causing her legs to feel increasingly shaky.

  Instead of heading to Berny’s house, however, Roxy decided to take a detour to North Sydney and the only restaurant she knew of where table drawing was de rigueur. There was one other thing they did there that was quite unique, and if her unsettling hunch was correct, it could very well crack the case.

  Chapter 34

  When Sondra Lane walked into the North Sydney restaurant an hour later, it was clear the kite was flat as a tack. She looked as anxious and as frail as she had just a week earlier when she’d first walked into Roxy’s life. Her lips were lurid red again today, yet they did little to cheer up her pale and drawn features, and she was wearing a long, tweed skirt with a cream silk blouse over it, her dark hair twisted behind her back in a messy pigtail. Her ears stood out, enhancing the startled appearance.

  She glanced around uneasily, first studying a group of diners who were huddled at one table, a wall of cluttered photos behind them, then looking back towards the far end where Roxy was seated, alone. Roxy held one hand up and Sondra nodded then slowly made her way across while Roxy quickly checked her smartphone again. She had left a long message for Gilda asking her to get to Giardineto’s restaurant, pronto. So far, no luck.

  “I got your text,” Sondra said as she approached, a small frown settling on her forehead. “I tried to get back to you but you were not responding. I thought we were going to meet at my father’s place.”

  “Nah, I thought this place might be more appropriate.”

  “But I’m not really very hungry.”

  “Good, because we’re not really here to eat,” Roxy told her and then said, firmly, “Sit down, Sondra.”

  The frown intensified but she did as instructed, pulling out a chair and slipping into it. She placed her hands on the table in front of her and looked at Roxy with an expectant expression.

  “You ever been here before, Sondra?”

  She glanced around and shook her head, no.

  “Really? That’s odd. Your dad loved this place. I’m the one who first brought him here, did you know that?”

  Sondra shook her head again.

  “I suggested it for our interview. I’ve only been here a few times myself, mind you. Thai’s more my thing, but it was halfway between your dad’s house and mine, so, well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. He fell in love with it instantly. Said he was going to make this his new favourite restaurant. You know what he loved most about this place?”

  Sondra was now leaning back in her seat, trying to look disinterested but there was wariness in her eyes and she had begun chewing on one of her fingernails. Roxy picked up a stubby, red crayon and started doodling on the white paper tablecloth.

  “He adored the way you could draw all over the table. Thought that was hilarious.”

  The wariness in Sondra’s eyes increased and, for just a second, she looked alarmed. Roxy dropped the crayon back onto the table and dusted her hands off.

  “Pity they don’t keep the tablecloths, though,” she continued. “It could have been a really lovely memento of our time together. But I already asked. They chuck them out after each sitting.”

  Sondra relaxed considerably as a petite waitress appeared with a tall glass of Coke. She placed the glass in front of Roxy and gave her a very short, sharp nod, flashing a quick glance at Sondra and away.

  “Do you want anything?” Roxy asked. “A drink? A settling cup of tea perhaps?”

  Sondra shook her head firmly, and the waitress looked relieved as she rushed away. Roxy called out to thank her, then took a long sip of her drink and also sat back in her seat.

  “Look, what is all this about, Roxy?” Sondra said at last, her hands now fidgeting in her lap. “I’ve told you before, I’m extremely busy today. I just don’t have time for reminiscing about my father.”

  “Oh, that’s a pity. I thought you might like to see the photograph I have of him.”

  “The photograph? I’ve already seen that photograph—”

  “I’m talking about a different photo, Sondra. A more recent one.” Sondra’s eyes squinted. “You see, they might throw out the tablecloths here, but they keep the photos, which is handy.”

  “I’m still not following.” She was chewing on one nail again.

  Roxy waved a hand around the room. “But surely you’ve noticed all the Polaroid photos taped to the walls. They take your photo when you come here and, if you look back towards the kitchen there,” she waved a hand behind her, “you’ll see a photo of your dad and me, grinning from ear to ear. Now that is a memento worth keeping. You should ask them if you can have it.” Sondra didn’t attempt to look around and Roxy took another sip of her drink before asking, “So you’ve really never been here with your Dad, eh?”

  Sondra’s eyes squinted again and she seemed to be weighing something up. Eventually she said, “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Maybe?”

  “I mean, yes, sure, ages ago. I can’t remember when.”

  Roxy blinked several times. “You can’t remember having dinner here with your father two weeks ago?” Sondra paled a little then but still managed a nonchalant shrug so Roxy said, “Perhaps this will jog your memory: it was Father’s Day. Oh, and it also happened to be the night your dad got run over.”

  Sondra stared hard at her. “No, I’ve already told you. We were supposed to meet here that night but he cancelled.”

  “Really? That’s not what Renata says.”

  “Well Renata is a lying whore.” Her tone had turned bitter but there were nerves there, too, and she was clenching and unclenching her jaw, her hands now jittery on the table.

  Roxy took a quick glance at the front door. She really hoped Gilda would get here soon.

  “Fair enough,” she said. “So, if I start wandering around looking at all the photos on the wall here, I won’t find one of you and your dad, smiling happily on Father’s Day, as though neither of you had a care in the world?”

  Sondra stopped clenching and smiled very slightly. “No, you will not.”

  Roxy smiled back at her. “You’re right. I didn’t. There isn’t a photo of you two because you refused to take a picture that night, didn’t you? I just looked. The waitress helped me. You weren’t happy that night, you didn’t want a picture for posterity.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sondra’s hands were now fists on the table. “This is all very confusing and, I have to say, downright hostile, Roxy. I don’t know what you’re getting at but I wasn’t here that night and you can’t prove I was.”

  “Sadly for you, Sondra, I can. First of all, the waiting staff remembers you very well. Melanie over there,” Roxy gave a little wave to the waitress who was watching them with keen eyes from behind the counter, “has just confirmed that she recognises you.”

  Sondra didn’t bother looking around. “So? She remembers me from another time Dad b
rought me here.”

  “Nope, no, definitely Father’s Day. She says she doesn’t remember your dad very well because, well, there were lots of dads in that night, but she remembers you. Says you were in a foul mood. Can’t recall anyone ever being quite so rude and cranky with their dad. Especially on Father’s Day. Says she kept a wide berth and did not expect a tip that night. I don’t think she got one, either.”

  Sondra stared hard at Roxy, her pale face now blushing with anger. “Again, lies, all lies.”

  “A picture doesn’t lie, though, does it?” Roxy said, producing a small Polaroid from her lap. “You might not have posed for a happy snap that night, Sondra—and why would you, there was nothing to be happy about?—but you did get caught in the back of another one, I’m afraid.”

  Roxy placed the small Polaroid in front of Sondra who didn’t appear to want to look at it at first. Eventually, though, she forced her eyes upon it and saw a snapshot of a fat Italian man beaming happily, a chubby woman kissing his right cheek, a chubby boy kissing the other. And just behind them, at a different table, oblivious to the photographer, a surly looking Sondra Lane, glaring towards somebody who was just out of shot. Beside Sondra sat a man who looked a lot like her husband, Tony. He also did not look happy.

  “Not your best look, Sondra,” Roxy said. “In fact, you look ready to explode. Why is that? Why were you so angry that night, I wonder?”

  Sondra’s lip twitched slightly. “So, I was here and I was having a bad night. So what? What does it prove?”

  “It proves you lied about your whereabouts on the night your dad was killed. It suggests you also knew about your father’s gold mine and the fact that he had decided not to claim it. That’s why you were angry that night, Sondra. He’d just told you he was going to rip up that deed. I don’t blame you, I’d be cranky too!”

  Sondra pushed the picture away and went to stand up. “You have no idea what we talked about that night and I have had enough of all of this—”

  “Sit down, Sondra, I’m not finished!” Roxy barked. She was starting to feel angry, herself. This woman had led her on a merry chase and she was damned if she was going to let her waltz away without explaining herself. “You sent me off, searching for some photograph, but this is the photograph you need to take a good, hard look at.”

  Sondra had settled back into her seat and was chewing her nails again.

  Roxy continued: “Look at your face, Sondra, it says it all. This was the last time you saw your father, and look how angry you were. But regardless of that, Wolfgang has already told me that Berny planned a special dinner to break the news to you. He did it that night, didn’t he? He told you on Father’s Day.”

  Sondra rallied suddenly, her face blushing pink with anger. “Father’s Day!” she hissed. “What kind of a father does that to his daughter? After giving her nothing his whole life. Of course I was angry! He was never there for me and Mum, never! He was always away, months at a time, and when he was back, he was sucking up to the likes of Wolfgang and all his disgusting cronies. He finally had a chance to make it up to me, a chance to hand me the deed to a gold mine! And what does he do? He gives it away. Hands it to a billionaire in exchange for a prostitute!”

  “Prostitute?”

  “What else do you think Renata is? She’s certainly no housekeeper.”

  Roxy blinked several times. “So he did swap the gold mine for Renata?”

  She nodded furiously. “Wolfgang bartered her like she was a piece of meat! Like she was worth a gold mine!”

  “What about the $200,000?”

  “What about it?! You think that compensates?! We were set to make millions. Instead, Wolfgang has my father over for dinner, gets him blind drunk and sweet talks him into ripping up the deed to the gold mine in exchange for a measly two hundred grand and Renata. Apparently my dad had always had a soft spot for her, so he said, ‘Here, she’s all yours’ like she’s a bargaining chip. Like she’s worth an entire gold mine!”

  “Maybe to your father she was worth it,” Roxy said. “Maybe that’s all he really wanted? Some company, some intimacy. Maybe he understood that money couldn’t buy you that.”

  “How would he know?! We never had a chance to find out what wealth was like. He was a loser. Other men went up there and made their fortunes, set their families up for life. Not my dad. We had to go through all the pain—the long months left alone in a foul, foreign city, third world conditions—but we got none of the benefits. He never made any money, he was hopeless. The only clever thing my dad ever did was accept that bet from Wolfgang Bergman back in 1975. My mother thought he was a fool but it turns out he wasn’t. It finally came good and what does he go and do? He rejects it! Finally, he’ll make money from it, and he says, ‘No thanks, I’ll take the little cleaning lady!’ He could have bought a hundred Renatas if he’d claimed that mine. The fool. The stupid, old fool ...”

  She was shaking violently now and banging her fists on the table. Roxy darted a glance towards the entrance again, wishing Gilda would show. She had already prepped the waitress about what was happening and had asked her to look out for the police, but there was no sign of them and Melanie was now standing with the other patrons at the side table, as if for protection, and they were all staring towards Roxy and Sondra.

  Roxy ignored them. She needed to keep going, she had to draw Sondra out, so she asked, “Did you know about the gold mine before Father’s Day?”

  Sondra took a few deep breaths. “I knew he’d won some mine in some bet all those years ago but he never spoke of it. My mother was furious and never forgave him. I didn’t give it much thought. To be honest I began to think of it as a family myth ... until that night. Father’s Day.” She spat the words out as if they were repulsive. “First he told me what had happened, how he’d scored the mine and knew it was worthless but didn’t care, he just did it for the fun of it. The fun of it?! Then he told me how Wolfgang had recently informed him it was now lucrative, and how he had decided not to take it ...”

  She was playing with her cutlery now, turning the knife over and over in her hand, and stray strands of hair were flying about her face. “God, I was so furious! Of course I was angry that night. Who wouldn’t be?! Tony and I work our guts out just to scrape by, up before dawn, dealing with rude florists and bitchy brides. That’s not the life I wanted to lead. Then bloody Tony goes and expands too fast, signs too many contracts, gets too many overheads. We struggled to keep up. But here was our chance! Here was my chance to get ahead of our debts, to start again. And Dad was going to give it away ...”

  Her fingers were clenched around the knife now and it was pointing towards Roxy. “We tried so hard to change Dad’s mind that night. We tried to make him see, but he was adamant. We said, ‘You can have the mine and still keep Renata! Wolfgang doesn’t own her, if she wants to marry you then so be it!’ But he said, ‘A deal’s a deal.’ He said, ‘Wolfie was drunk at that Survey Congress and he never should have done it.’ Like Sir Wolfgang needed protecting!” She banged the knife on the table.

  Roxy tried not to look at the knife as she asked, “So why, if your father didn’t want the mine, did he suddenly tell you where the deed was that night he was dying?”

  “Because of what I did—” She stopped suddenly, her face paling again, and looked away.

  She had dropped the knife to the table and Roxy felt emboldened. “Because you ran him over?” she prodded. “Because you tried to kill him?”

  Sondra’s eyes darted back at Roxy and they were glossy with tears. “I didn’t mean to! It was an accident.”

  “Just tell me what happened. Please.”

  Sondra swallowed hard and brushed the hair back from her face. When she spoke she was a little calmer. “We met Dad at the restaurant after work, and after that horrible dinner, we gave him a lift home.”

  “In one of your husband’s white work vans?”

  She nodded. “I could barely talk to Dad, let alone look at him. I was so furious, blind wit
h rage.” She sniffed again. “Tony got out to help him into the house and ... well, Dad was just standing there, in front of the van, staring at me with this ridiculous smug smile like I was the fool and one day I would understand. Oh God I was so angry. I just jumped in the driver’s seat and rammed the car into him!”

  She held a quivering hand up to her mouth, choking back sobs. “I didn’t mean to kill him. I wanted to hurt him, that’s true. I wanted him to see how much he hurt me. But I didn’t mean to kill him. You have to believe me!”

  She grabbed Roxy’s hand and gripped it tightly, her face contorted, her eyes frantic. Roxy glanced back towards the door and noticed that one of the men at the other table was getting to his feet. She shook her head very subtly.

  Not yet, she thought, not quite yet.

  “I do believe you, Sondra. I just don’t understand why you left him there. Why didn’t—”

  “We thought he was already dead! If I had known he was still alive I would never have left him, of course I wouldn’t! But Tony said he wasn’t breathing. We panicked. Tony jumped in and I drove away. Then, about an hour later we got the call from the hospital. They said he’d been in an accident, was hanging on by a thread but was conscious and wanted to see us. I was never so terrified in my life. When we got there I thought he was going to blow the whistle but he didn’t ...”

  She swiped a sleeve at her nose and Roxy handed her a tissue which she used to wipe her nose and dab at her waterlogged eyes. She took a few steadying breaths. “Afterwards, when the police spoke to us it was clear they had no idea what had happened and so we pretended we hadn’t seen Dad that night, that he’d cancelled dinner.”

  She shook her head furiously. “We didn’t expect to get away with it! Not for one second. We fully expected the police to hear from the restaurant, to hear that we’d been with him that night, and bring us in, but when they didn’t, we realised that they didn’t know. They really did believe us. They thought somebody else had done it. Some stranger. They didn’t even consider us suspects.”