by C. A. Larmer
“I gather it doesn’t normally face this way?”
“Of course not!” This is Dad again. He is as flabbergasted as my mother. “It’s a picture of the whole family, our favourite one. Why would I have it facing the damn wall?”
I watch with curiosity as Ruth scoops it up, glances at it and then frowns. She looks up at my folks and then back at the frame, her frown deepening. Why is she frowning? I feel something slither down my back.
Slowly, almost gingerly, she makes her way to the door. When she reaches Mum, she shoots her an inscrutable look, then turns the frame to face my folks, and only then do I see what all the fuss is about.
It may have been our favourite family photo, but the frame is now empty.
Chapter 20
I suppose my parents gasp. I know I do, but Ruth is looking animated. Another clue! Another culprit, perhaps.
“Who would take…?” My mother starts. Stops.
“I’ll kill ’em!” That’s my dad. Livid.
I can’t get my head around it. Was it taken as a memento? Some kind of ghoulish souvenir?
“I gather it was still in the frame before you left for Dubbo?” Ruth asks, and Dad rails again.
“Of course it bloody was!”
He’s really got to get his temper under control. He’s just lucky Ruth isn’t taking it personally.
“As far as we recall,” Mum adds more gently. “We can’t say for sure, can we David? We’ve all been rather distracted of late. Maybe somebody took it earlier? Maybe Peter took it so he would have a picture of us to take back to London.”
Dad scoffs at that, he does not agree, while I’m surprised once again by her clear thinking. Yet I too don’t agree. Instead, my head is reeling and I’m almost as excited as Ruth. This has to be another clue! There’s no other explanation. And it has to lead straight to the culprit. I don’t know whether they took the picture before I was killed or after, but if we find the photo, I just know we’ll find the killer.
Has anyone thought to frisk Vijay and see if he has it?
“Where are my boys? Are they still here?” This is Mum, and she finally sounds fraught, like the picture has just reminded her that she has other children, that it’s not all about me.
“One son was out by the pool earlier,” Ruth tells her, signalling for Kelly, who has been loitering out in the hallway. “I’m not sure about the other. We had to keep them out of this area. The crime scene officers are just finishing in the living room too, so that space is also out of bounds for now. I trust you understand.”
Mum looks at Ruth as though she doesn’t understand any of it, then glances at the empty frame one more time as Ruth hands it to Kelly, before sighing heavily and making her way towards the back of the house.
Dad watches her leave, then slowly follows.
When they reach the sliding door to the back deck, Mum glances around and does not see Paul at first. He’s half-asleep on the daybed under the pergola, the black splotch on the ground by his feet. Paul’s wife has vanished. She’s getting about a lot tonight.
“Peter?” Mum calls out. “Honey, is that you?”
The splotch stirs, shimmers, moves towards her. Paul looks up with a start and does the same. And then my heart breaks all over again as I watch my family embrace each other, or at least my family and the black blob.
All four of them find their way back to the daybed and fall into it. I think about what was happening on that bed just a few hours earlier. It seems a lifetime ago now.
Mum wipes a hand across her wet cheeks. I can see her hand is shaking. At last her true colours are showing. At last she’s acting like my mother.
“Do you know what happened?” she says eventually. “Did you boys see anything? Were you close?”
Paul shakes his head, looks away. “I wasn’t here. I’m sorry, Mum.”
The guilt in his eyes matches my dad’s. Mum reaches a hand to his and squeezes it, then they both stare towards the blob. A conversation ensues. I’m not privy to it, but I get the idea because Mum is now shaking her head, vehemently, while her hands are now calm and steady.
She holds one up like a traffic warden. “You cannot blame yourself, Peter. I will not allow it. I will not!” Her voice is strong. Her tone determined. “Maisie lived her own life, and she had a good life, really she did. You weren’t responsible for that, and you aren’t responsible for her death.”
Peter must start to say something because she holds both hands up now and almost snaps at him. “Enough, Peter! Enough!”
Dad says, “You weren’t to know, boy, you weren’t to know.”
Then Mum reaches one hand towards the shadow, and when she speaks again her tone is tender. “You need to let it go, my darling. It was not your job to protect Maisie, and she would not blame you. I know she would not.”
And then he must have let it go because the darkness slowly dissipates and my eldest brother shimmers into view. It’s the first I’ve seen of him since my death, and it sends my heart into a tailspin again.
Peter looks like a derelict version of himself, nothing like my handsome, swarthy oldest brother. His unbuttoned dinner shirt is smudged and wrinkled, his slick hair now dishevelled, his complexion raw and ruddy. It’s like he’s gone from polished timber to distressed wood in just one night.
Why was he beating himself up so hard? And why was he hiding himself from me? I assumed it had something to do with drugs, but maybe I misunderstood.
“How’s Gramps?” I hear Paul ask, and I want to know—now, desperately—so I try to let that go. I try to concentrate.
“Hanging on,” says Dad, who looks like he’s only just hanging on himself.
I wonder how they feel about that. About being by an old man’s bedside when they could have been home, saving their young daughter instead.
Is that mean-spirited of me? Does youth naturally take precedence? It’s funny how we worship the young and rescue them first, as though they are somehow more worthy. Why not the elderly? The people who have put the most in?
I’m trying to remember why I didn’t go to Dubbo this time to visit Gramps or the last time now that I think about it. I wasn’t working. I had nothing on my schedule. It can’t be because of my party; that was planned after my folks left the house.
Was I always a bad granddaughter? A selfish one?
“Does Gramps know about Maisie?” Paul asks, and Mum shakes her head.
He’ll know soon enough, I think. No, I know this. And it has nothing to do with them phoning him tomorrow or the fact that he’s ninety-five and in palliative care. I just know he isn’t long of this earth. It’s a feeling I get. I can almost sense his presence. He’s not far off. It’s like he’s started on this journey but hasn’t quite hit the road yet. Is still gathering his swag, pulling on his boots, checking for traffic.
I long for Gramps suddenly, like a yearning ache. I wish he were here to help me get through this. I’d rather him than Neal and Deseree and that poor, ravished girl. Or even Grandma if I’m being honest. I never really got to know Grandma May. She died fifteen years ago, before we started making regular trips back to Nevercloud. The only memories I have of her are fragrant ones—the waft of fresh roses and blueberry jam and cinnamon. Lots and lots of cinnamon.
“She’s a bloody good cook your gran.”
That’s Neal by my side again, but I am surprised by the comment, not his presence.
“You know my grandma? My actual grandmother?”
“Grandma Pickles and Pie? Of course! She makes a mean pumpkin scone too. To die for.” He sniggers at the pun, then rolls his eyes at my gaping mouth. “Everyone knows everyone; it’s not that big a deal, honey.”
“But how? There must be so many of you back there.”
“Not really. We’re just one cosmic force. It’s hard to explain. You’ll get it when you cross.”
“And when will that be? How long have I got?”
He shrugs. “How long’s a piece of string?”
My mo
uth is grimacing now, and he chuckles again. “In your case as long as you need. You get special privileges.”
“Really? Why?”
He smiles at me sadly. “Because of the way you died, honey. I can’t believe you haven’t at least grasped that bit yet. You need extra time to come to terms with it all.”
There must be a lot of Americans hovering between life and death then, I think, recalling recent statistics I read on gun deaths in the US. But there’s something else I want to know, something I recall.
“What did you mean when you said you needed to get your points up?”
“Sorry? You’ve lost me.”
“Earlier, when I first met you. You said—”
“I was just being a bitch.” He sighs. “It’s pretty simple. Once you do cross over, you have to help others across, it’s part of the program.”
“Program? What program?”
He holds up a broken limb. “Now we’re getting distracted again, and it just won’t do. You might have all the time in the world, honey, but I’ve got people to see, places to go, scones to eat!” He winks at me. “Come on, let’s get our skates on.”
“What do you mean?” I ask. “What people? What places?”
He shakes his head and sighs dramatically. “Nope, no, this time I’m not biting. You need to focus, woman, focus on whodunit.”
“I already know who did it. I told Deseree that I know. You’re clearly not keeping up.”
He looks at me sideways. “You do?”
“Yes, it’s obviously that dodgy character Vijay. You heard what the cops said earlier. He was up on murder charges. And now that I think about it, it’s starting to make sense. He must have swiped that photo as a grisly memento, just like he swiped the envelope.”
Neal shrugs. “Oh Vijay’s not so bad. He got acquitted, remember?”
“Yes, twice, so he says. Doesn’t mean he didn’t do it.”
“No. No it doesn’t.”
My ears prick up. “So are you saying he did do it? That he was guilty of killing those women?”
He looks at me impatiently. “Yes, no, maybe, maybe not. Doesn’t necessarily mean he’s your man though. Not in this case.”
“Why not? It’s perfect! He’s a killer. He was at the scene of the crime. Surely it has to be him, surely no one else in my group could do such a thing!”
“And yet you continue to suspect them,” he says, his voice as smooth as ice. “Have you noticed the way you do that?”
“I’m trying to get it all straight in my head! I’m trying to work out who did this.”
“Then keep going,” he says. “It’s closer to home than you think.”
And again he vanishes like a rat into the night while I hover above with nothing to do but watch my loved ones implode.
I can see that Ruth is watching them too, biding her time. She has more questions for my parents, and she wants to get back to the station, but she knows the best time to get answers, honest, candid answers, is when the parties involved are wrung out. And my family is as wrung out as a wet dishcloth.
Louise has just shown Ruth something on Dad’s computer, and it’s set her into another tailspin. I didn’t catch what it was, but she snatched an item from the top of his desk and made a beeline for the back deck.
After a few more minutes, she coughs discreetly and catches my parents’ eyes.
“Can I have another word?” she mouths, glancing at my brothers before adding, “In private.”
They look at each other with matching frowns and then slowly get to their feet, following her back inside while my brothers watch them go, their eyes wary.
My parents are headed for the kitchen again, and I am about to follow when Paul makes an interesting comment.
“You weren’t here, Pete. Where did you go?”
Ooh, good question. Let’s hang around for a bit.
Peter frowns at him. “What?”
“After the party. You vanished.”
“Nah, mate. No I didn’t.”
“Yeah, mate, yeah you did.” His tone is mocking and impatient. “Cops said they couldn’t find you.”
“Couldn’t find you either, right?”
“That’s because I’ve moved house, you dickhead. Didn’t have my new address. What’s your excuse?”
“Oh just piss off, Paul,” Peter says, turning his back to him. “I don’t answer to you.”
This only infuriates my other brother. “Just bloody tell me! Why are you being so evasive? What were you doing? Pulling chicks again? Scoring a hit? What? Just tell me where you were!”
“Nowhere, I was nowhere!” Then he rubs a hand through his hair and says, “I was just… I was at Central Station. Okay? Happy?”
Paul looks mystified by this, his brow furrowing, and I don’t blame him. I’m equally mystified. Why would my oldest brother be loitering miles away at a grotty train station after midnight? It’s hardly his style.
“Central?” Paul persists. “What were you doing there?”
“Nothing! Turns out I was doing nothing, going nowhere fast, so just leave it be, okay? Please, just… just drop it.”
And Paul does, releasing a low growl as he gets to his feet, but I don’t want to drop it. I think it’s a really excellent question, and I’d also like to know why the word Nevercloud is being repeated over and over, like a broken record, inside Peter’s head.
What was my brother doing at Central Station at midnight, and why is he thinking about Dad’s property at a time like this?
Back in the kitchen, my parents are seated at the breakfast table again, which will forever be an interrogation desk to me now, and Ruth has produced a white slip of paper. It’s the boarding pass I spotted on Dad’s desk earlier tonight.
What has that trip to Vanuatu got to do with anything?
“Can you tell me about this?” Ruth says, passing it straight to my dad.
I’m expecting him to laugh and say, “What of it?” but he does the opposite. He stares at the pass like it’s poison, no, worse than that, like it’s porn, his face riddled with what looks to me like guilt again, but this time it’s laced with disgust. He darts a look at Mum, who sits stony-faced beside him.
“What… what about it?” Dad manages.
“You took a recent trip to Thailand, Mr May.”
It’s a statement, and I expect him to dispute it, but he does the opposite. He nods.
She says, “Can you tell me why you were there?”
What’s she talking about? Dad hasn’t been to Thailand. She must have mistaken Peter’s name for Dad’s. She must have her wires crossed.
Dad glances back at Mum, who is staring straight ahead, glaring at the aqua-blue splashback, a garish metallic glass that she never liked and Dad never got round to replacing.
He says, “I just needed a break, that’s all.”
A break? Dad? That makes me laugh. Dad never needed “a break” in his life. He wasn’t the “R&R” kind. And if he did want some rest and recreation, he’d head straight to his favourite place on earth (yes, Nevercloud), not some tacky resort in Koh Samui or wherever the hell he went.
I wish I could see that pass more clearly. Dad’s covering most of it with his big lumpy paw. Does it really say Thailand?
“You went for three days? Alone?” Ruth asks, flashing a glance at my mother, and now his guilt turns to what looks like panic. His face has drained of colour, and his eyelashes are batting madly.
While he sits there, looking skittish, I try to recall the last time Dad went anywhere alone for more than a few hours. It was to Dubbo, wasn’t it? Yes, that’s right, last month, something about the farm and crisis management. I remember feeling sorry for Dad and relieved at the same time. At least Mum and I had escaped that particular road trip. Now I’m wondering if that’s when he snuck off to Thailand.
Then something even more disturbing smacks me in the head.
Someone else went to Thailand recently, Bangkok if I remember right. Someone with blond hair an
d legs up to her eyeballs. Somebody who flirts with older men, preferably the married kind. My stomach turns. My head pounds. My heart reaches out to my mother.
“And it was just a holiday was it, Mr May. Just recreation? No other reason for your—?”
“Boss! You’re gonna wanna see this!” That’s Kelly, the only one with the guts to interrupt Ruth Powell midinterrogation.
She turns her glare upon him.
“Sorry,” he adds quickly. “It’s important.”
She looks back at my parents with a stiff smile. “We’ll discuss this later.”
Then she gets up and walks out of the kitchen while my dad visibly slumps and Mum continues staring at the splashback.
Ruth continues glaring at Kelly all the way from the kitchen to the living room, where I notice several SOCOs gathered around the couch. It’s been pulled out from the wall, and someone is taking photos of something on the other side.
The flash is sharp and unsettling, but it wipes the glare off Ruth’s face. Now she just looks curious.
“What’s the story, JJ?” she says, striding across, and the tattooed SOCO looks up from her camera and then nods back to the carpet.
Ah, now I see it! Now I see what all the fuss is about.
There’s a stash of hundred dollar bills splayed out between the couch and the wall. So that’s where all that money got to!
Chapter 21
If my parents have any clue as to the origins of that money—$775 as it turns out—they’re not letting on. I think Dad’s hiding something, but I’m not sure he even knows what it is he’s hiding. He looks as puzzled as I feel.
Ruth has returned to the kitchen, cash in hand (well, in an evidence bag, if you must know), and she’s smacked it down on the table before them. It’s all very dramatic, like a scene from Law & Order, but they both just blankly stare at the bag.
“We found this down behind the sofa, the one in your living room. Any idea what it was doing there?”