Murder in the Outback

by Anisa Claire West

  “You’re a mother, aren’t you?” I guessed.

  “Guilty as charged. I have two little girls,” she shared with a proud smile. “Nina and Becky. They’re younger than you of course, but I guess I’m always in mama mode. You’ll see someday when you have children.” Her eyes crinkled with warmth. “Okay, let’s see. We do have one available room on the first floor. But there’s no view…”

  “I’ll take it,” I said hastily, sliding my credit card across the desk. “I’m just so relieved to be back in the city. I wouldn’t care if the room had a view of a garbage dump.”

  “You seem traumatized,” Heidi observed bluntly. “Did you have a bad go of things in the bush?”

  I lowered my voice until it was almost inaudible. “I found a body at Warrumbungles.”

  “Warrumbungles? You’re the one who found Corinne Foster’s body?!” Heidi exclaimed a little too loudly.

  “Shhhh, please don’t let anyone hear you!” I begged. “Does the whole country know about her death?”

  “Yes, of course! Foster Diamonds is one of the biggest jewelry chains in Australia and New Zealand. Her husband was a legend and now apparently, so is she.” Heidi lowered her head in a universal expression of grief.

  “From what I’ve read, she was a wonderful lady too,” I said as Heidi nodded vigorously.

  “Oh yeah, she had a heart of gold. She could have bought an island and sipped Mai Tais for the rest of her life with all the money she had, but she stayed in Adelaide and helped the community,” Heidi heaped praise on the murder victim.

  “Do you know anything else about her? Or about her family?” I ventured. Just because I was back in civilized Sydney didn’t mean I was giving up on exposing Corinne’s killer. I needed clues. Badly.

  “Not really,” Heidi sighed, handing me a magnetic card key. “She was pretty low-key other than for her charitable works. It’s not like she was a celebrity or anything.”

  “Right. That makes sense. Well, thank you Heidi. It’s good to be back here.”

  “It’s good to see you back here! Don’t take any more chances on this trip…those are explicit instructions from Mother Goose!” She laughed softly.

  “Mother Goose is a sage,” I quipped, bidding the benevolent lady goodbye with a smile and gratefully heading to my room.

  As soon as I set my bags down on the floor, I made a beeline for the telephone. The dial tone was like a soothing lullaby to my ears. The first call I placed was to my own missing cell phone. The call went directly to voicemail, meaning that either the phone’s battery had died…or someone had deliberately turned my phone off. Several new messages were waiting for me, including a handful from my parents and a disturbingly urgent one from my best friend, Amy:

  “Rita, I hope you’re checking your voicemails over there on the other side of the world. I really need to talk to you. I know it will probably cost you about a trillion dollars to call me from Australia, but you really need to. Trust me. I can’t go into detail except to say…it’s about Roger.”

  I got an instant migraine at the mention of my detested ex-boyfriend’s name. What did I possibly need to know about Roger? If something was wrong in his life, I seriously didn’t care and Amy knew that. So why was she pressuring me to make such an expensive phone call just to discuss that louse? Shaking my head, I deleted Amy’s message and disconnected from my voicemail.

  Grabbing my wallet, I slipped an important business card out of the slots and called the person I had wanted to speak to all day: Chief Patterling. His voicemail kicked in after several rings, leaving me flustered and tongue-tied. I hadn’t been prepared to leave a message. What could I say? That I saw some loser dressed in glow-in-the-dark workout clothes? It hardly sounded like a credible lead. So, I kept my message brief and bare bones: “Hi Chief Patterling; this is Rita Stanford. I’m calling regarding a possible lead in the Corinne Foster homicide. I also need to report a theft of my cell phone and digital camera. And I’m pretty sure someone tried to run me off the road earlier today. Please call me back when you have a moment. You can reach me at the Pacific Cove Hotel in Sydney.” Though spoken levelly, the words sounded surreal to my ears.

  Flopping onto my stomach and propping up on my elbows, I proceeded to call the folks and assure them that I was okay. I had no idea what time it was in California, but I was relieved when my mother’s voicemail kicked in as well. “Hi Mom! It’s me. Sorry I didn’t call you sooner. Just wanted to let you know that I’m fine and having a great time Down Under!” I bit the inside of my cheeks, wondering if my wise mother would be able to hear the quivering in my voice and recognize that I was flat out lying. “Anyway, don’t worry if you can’t reach me. I’m fine! Things are really confusing with the different time zones, but don’t worry. Really I’m fine. Love you!” I hung up the phone, smacking my forehead.

  “How many times did I say I was fine?” I posed the rhetorical question to Pouf who cocked his head to one side endearingly.

  Debating whether I should call Amy or not, I finally decided that I needed to hear what she had to say. My best friend since eighth grade, Amy was the polar opposite of a drama queen. She was rational and level-headed, a perfect complement to my whimsical, occasionally reckless nature. So even though I didn’t care one whit about any ill that had befallen Roger, I dialed Amy and held my breath, hoping her voicemail would kick in too. It didn’t.

  “Hello?” Her perky voice warmed me from across the globe.

  “Amy, it’s Rita.”

  “Rita! Finally! Are you okay?” Amy sounded panicked.

  “Sort of. Well, not really. But what’s going on? What’s so urgent? You know I don’t want to hear about him.”

  Amy breathed a shaky sigh that sounded like howling wind blowing from the West Coast. “I know. I’m sorry to bother you with his garbage, but you need to know something.”

  A long, maddening pause followed as I snapped, “What? What do I need to know? Tell me!”

  “Roger knows you’re in Australia and he said he’s going to take a plane out there to find you.”

  Chapter 7

  My insides wrenched and twisted at the prospect of coming face to face with my ex in a place where I already felt so helplessly vulnerable. Roger hadn’t taken it well when I broke things off and had made numerous attempts to reconcile, all of which I definitively rejected. When I stopped taking his calls, he reached out to my circle of friends, namely Amy, pumping her for information about me. Grimly, I wondered if Amy had cracked and told Roger where I was. The thought of him harassing my friend like that made my temper boil like steamed milk.

  “You told Roger I’m in Australia?” I groaned.

  “No, of course not! He called me from a private number and stupid me, I picked up the phone. He made up some bogus story about being worried that he couldn’t reach you. Then he said that he went to your apartment two nights in a row and you weren’t there. He said he also went down to the magazine and one of your co-workers told him you quit. So he just assumed you had finally taken the plunge and gone to Australia the way you always dreamed of. I swear I didn’t tell him anything, Rita. You know me better than that,” Amy declared sincerely as I pictured her doe brown eyes unblinking and her peach lips stiff with honesty.

  “I believe you. And you didn’t tell him where I’m staying, right?”

  “No, but Roger knows his way around computers. I wouldn’t put it past him to hack into your email and find out which hotel you’re staying in,” Amy said uneasily as I swore under my breath.

  “I wouldn’t put it past him either,” I moaned. “Oh Amy, I’m really scared now. Someone has been following me---stalking me actually---and now I think it could be Roger! He always put down my idea of doing a photography expedition in Australia. I guess maybe I came here to prove to myself that he was wrong, that this wasn’t a ridiculous idea. But now I think he was right. Everyone was right!”

  “Whoa, slow down. You said you think someone is stalking you? Did you tell the polic
e?” Amy squeaked.

  “It’s a long story…”

  “I’ve got time. Tell me everything,” Amy implored as I inhaled a cleansing breath and spilled the whole frightful story---from my discovery of Corinne Foster’s lifeless body to the theft of my cell phone and camera from right under my nose.

  “Why don’t you just come home? There’s no reason for you to stay there, Rita. Don’t be stubborn about this. No one will see you as a failure. You tried something new. You went there. You did it! Now come home! Maybe you could even get your job back at Gourmet Girl…”

  “I know you’re speaking out of love, but I need to figure this thing out myself. Let me go now, okay? This call is costing me a fortune, and I’m unemployed, remember?” My feeble attempt at humor fell flat as a pancake.

  Gravely, Amy said, “You can call me collect anytime you need to. I’m here. Just be smart about this, okay Rita?”

  “Okay, I’ll talk to you soon. Promise,” I whispered before disconnecting the call.

  “Let’s sleep on this,” I sighed to Pouf as he snuggled at my side.

  A power nap couldn’t stop an unidentified predator from stalking me nor could it magically reveal the path I should take, but at least a few hours of slumber could help me think more clearly. My life was in a shambles; I had tangled my own way into this perilous spider’s web and now I had to weave myself out before the poisonous arachnid dished out a fatal bite.

  ***

  Hazy sunshine oozed through the window when I awoke with a dry mouth and jumbled thoughts. The “power nap” hadn’t succeeded in helping me clear my head at all; if anything, it had sent me plummeting into a bleary stupor. Slapping my face to wake myself up, I padded to the bathroom and turned the shower sprinkler to the coldest setting. Peeling my sticky clothes off, I stepped into the frigid water stream and screamed. I was definitely awake now.

  Scrubbing my body and washing my matted hair, I felt an intangible sense of renewal. Even though I had no clue what to do next, I didn’t feel as desolate as I had after my conversation with Amy.

  “I’m going to the opera tonight,” I announced to myself as I tracked watery footsteps across the hotel room. Slipping into a geometric patterned sundress and steep sapphire hued heels, I plotted out my night on the town in Sydney. First a bite to eat, then a ferry across the harbor to the opera house. Why not? It wasn’t like I could snap my fingers and be home in Santa Monica. I may as well make the best of my time in Australia. Even more so, I felt chin-jutting defiant against my stalker. Why should I wither away in a hotel room because some coward was monitoring my every move? A born rebel, I had little patience for being confined, especially at the invisible hands of a faceless saboteur.

  “Here’s your grub, Pouf,” I said brightly, placing his dish in front of him. “I’m going to the opera!”

  Dining alone at sunset didn’t feel awkward at all as I brought a copy of one of my favorite novels, White Fang by Jack London, with me as a trusty companion. The frozen Alaskan mountains and glaciers of London’s book felt like another galaxy away. I relished every wintry chill that emanated from the adventurous pages as sweat trickled down my face from the balmy Australian evening. After devouring an arrestingly spicy meal of fresh grilled prawns with chili sauce, I indulged in a bowl of Peach Melba for dessert before purchasing my ticket for the ferry.

  My tongue still burned from the chili sauce as the ferry set sail across Sydney Harbour. Like a fireball, the sun dipped below the horizon as a comfortable coolness settled over the air. The fiery sunset was blindingly intense; suddenly, I felt angry that I didn’t have my camera with me to capture the sight. Forget the fear of a silly shrinking violet. I was hopping mad that someone had violated my personal space and stolen my little treasure.

  As the ferry docked, I jumped out of my seat and fidgeted in a long queue of people who were equally eager to disembark. Up close, the Sydney Opera House was even more impressive, its layered architecture towering over me like a castle transported from medieval times and given an edgy, twenty-first century makeover. Excitedly, I made my way over to a ticket booth, hoping there would be at least one available seat. A couple might have a hard time finding seats at the last minute, but little old me all by myself? I felt confident that there would be a spot even if it was in the nose bleed section.

  “Good evening!” I chirped. “I’d like one ticket for tonight’s opera.”

  The peroxide blonde at the ticket window grinned and said, “There’s no opera tonight. Roxette is here!”

  “Are you serious?” I asked as my heart beat faster. The Swedish pop duo Roxette was one of my all-time favorites. I had been infatuated with the band ever since the first time I had watched Pretty Woman and heard them croon the heartbreaking ballad, “It Must Have Been Love.”

  “Yeah, it’s not just operas we have here these days. We aim to please everyone!”

  “Great. Do you have any tickets left?”

  “I’ve got one spot up in the balcony section, but you won’t be able to see much, I’m afraid,” the saleswoman said apologetically.

  “That’s okay! As long as I can hear everything!” I eagerly handed over my credit card, ready to coast to Mercury with glee. This surprise performance was exactly what I needed.

  For the next two hours, I stood rapturously in the balcony as Roxette sang all their 80’s and 90’s hits from “The Look” to “Joyride” to “Listen to Your Heart.” Yes, despite all the nastiness that had transpired since I landed in Australia, I was certainly glad I had listened to my heart and made the odyssey.

  After a rousing finale and multiple standing ovations, the uplifting concert was over and it was time for me to trek back to the hotel for bed even though I felt like someone had injected me with caffeine. Feeling feather light, I moved out of the theatre and walked towards the ferry. The night had taken on an unusual briskness that made me wish I had brought a sweater with me. Shivering mildly, I boarded the next boat that sailed in and wrapped my arms around my chest to keep warm.

  “Rita!” A male voice called to me as my breathing ceased.

  I knew that voice…

  Chapter 8

  “Rita! I can’t believe it! We really need to stop running into each other like this,” Clive teased as I etched a partial smile across my face.

  “Were you at the concert?” I asked suspiciously.

  “Yeah! Wasn’t it brilliant?” He slapped his muscular thigh and grinned like the Cheshire Cat.

  “When did you get back to Sydney?” I asked with an arched brow.

  “Today! I was planning to come back in a few days, but when I heard that Roxette was playing at the opera house, I cut my trip in the Outback short. And man, was it worth it!” Clive spoke with the child-like zeal I had felt throughout the evening.

  But my fervor for the musical spectacle was rapidly being replaced by a stirring suspicion that Clive was the one who had been pursuing me. It seemed too coincidental for us to encounter each other at a national park, a dive hotel, and on a ferry boat. Clive was a charming stranger, to be sure, but his magical reappearing acts made me want to stay far away from the ledge of the boat.

  “Shall we sit together? Or would you like to stand and enjoy the moonlight?” Clive asked presumptuously as I gave him a blank stare. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to assume that we would spend the ferry ride together…but if you’d like some company…”

  Feeling trapped, I conceded, “We can have a seat inside. It’s kind of windy tonight.”

  A gale whipped across his wavy mop of hair and his eyes glinted under the crescent moon. “Great! Maybe we could grab a drink when we dock?”

  “Maybe,” I hedged. “Which hotel are you staying in?” I waited with suspended breath for his answer. If he’s staying at the Pacific Cove Hotel, I swear I’ll scream bloody murder right now!

  “I’m in one of the high rises downtown. You heard of the Sydney Regency?”

  I released my breath in a slow, relieved puff. “I’m not familiar w
ith it, but it sounds nice.”

  “It’s kind of cookie cutter. Once I walk through the doors, I feel like I could be in London or New York or really any city. Where are you staying?” He asked innocently as I began to warm up to him just as I had done in the park. But should I tell him where I’m staying?

  “The Pacific Cove,” I replied. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest move to share that confidential information, but if Clive really was my stalker, then he already knew where I was staying. Besides, I don’t know if it was the moonlight or the afterglow of the concert or a luminous light in Clive himself, but I felt organically at ease with the man.

  “Pacific Cove? I haven’t heard of it. Sounds charming, though,” he remarked as I carefully watched the expressions play over his features. His eyes didn’t roam as he spoke nor did his lips twitch. He seemed to be telling the truth when he claimed not to have heard of my hotel.

  “It’s pretty nice. Compared to the Wallaby Inn, it’s the Waldorf Astoria!” I snorted as Clive chuckled appreciatively.

  “Yeah, that place was a dump! The phone in my room didn’t even work! Can you believe that?”

  Astonished, I whispered, “Really? Mine didn’t work either.”

  “The whole bloody place needs to be torn down and rebuilt!” Clive asserted as the wheels spun in my mind.

  If Clive’s phone wasn’t functioning either, then the problem was probably widespread in the hotel. No one had tampered with my phone line as I had initially feared. My cheeks turned beet red as I wondered if the stalker only existed in my head. Maybe I had been paranoid when my Jeep careened off the road. Maybe the person in the other vehicle simply had a case of road rage or was in a rush to get somewhere. But what about my stolen camera and cell phone? Was it possible that I had lost them? In my frail state of mind after stumbling upon Corinne Foster’s body, maybe I had hallucinated a stalker into existence. Plus, I hadn’t really gotten over my jet lag; maybe I was delirious from sleeplessness and trauma.