Ill-Gotten Gains

by Evans, Ilsa

  I wondered how long I had before she told them of my presence. Maybe they would find my hat in the bathroom. I rather hoped so, because I liked that hat. I’d have to make a statement, explain why I had remained hidden. Perhaps I could say I fainted with fear. Or maybe I could just tell them the truth: that I had been kept in a state of terror for what felt like hours but was probably only twenty minutes, come within a hair’s breadth of being killed, been stalked and shot at, and then witnessed a miracle that I couldn’t get my head around, even now. All I wanted was to return to my family, sit without speaking, listen, nurse a glass of wine, or two, and let my heartbeat steady into something that didn’t hurt when I breathed. I wanted that desperately, almost as desperately as five minutes ago I had wanted to live.

  Nevertheless I remained where I was for quite some time, sitting behind a stack of cardboard boxes in an alleyway, listening to the music and merriment in the distance; unable to muster the physical and mental competencies required. And hoping, also, that the dog would return.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Love your work.

  The table occupancy had evolved, as it often did during functions like these. Ruby, Red and Lucy had moved to an adjacent, abandoned setting and were playing some type of bump-the-mobile-phone game with a few friends. They all laughed as Lucy’s pink-covered iPhone juddered its way across the table and then slowly mounted a white flip-top. Quinn was nowhere to be seen but the rides were still in full swing, literally, so I gathered she was at the oval. Yen was also absent, no doubt having infiltrated other company. Only Petra and Scarlet remained as original incumbents of our table, but they had been joined by Deb and Lew. The gleaming silver trophy sat in pride of place, containing two empty champagne bottles that told me how they had been spending their time.

  I stood by a floodlight for a while, watching them. Behind me the podium had now been turned into a dance floor and an energetic band was playing the closing bars of the Bee Gees’ ‘Stayin’ Alive’, which seemed quite apt. All they had to do was follow with ‘I Will Survive’. Instead they launched into a slow song and the gyrating couples either moved together or wandered from the dance floor, laughing. Two of those remaining, I now realised, were Yen and Uncle Jim. I wondered how his wife felt about that.

  It all felt a little surreal, almost sacrilegious, having so recently made eye contact with death to be now in the midst of a swirl of light and sound and gaiety. Leisl would be sitting in one of those echoing interview rooms, staring into a future so removed from my present that it was near impossible to imagine. No doubt she was also full of resentment for having not shot me when she had the chance. I shivered.

  ‘Nell!’ Petra was waving her arm.

  I took a deep breath and began to weave my way among the tables.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’

  ‘You’ll never guess.’ I sank into a chair and smiled at Deb and Lew. His cheeks were shining. ‘Hello, you two. Celebrating the award?’

  ‘We stopped celebrating that one bottle ago,’ said Lew as he poured me a glass. ‘Now we’re just celebrating life.’

  I took the glass and held it up. ‘I’ll drink to that.’

  ‘Where’s your hat?’ asked Petra.

  I put a hand up to my head, ran a hand through my hair. ‘I must have dropped it.’

  ‘So what won’t we guess?’ asked Scarlet, leaning forward.

  ‘Is it what I think it is? Is that how you lost your hat?’ Petra grinned, and then glanced at her watch. ‘Although you’ve been gone for quite a while. That seems a little, well, indulgent.’

  Deb raised her eyebrows. ‘This sounds interesting.’

  ‘Nothing like that,’ I said shortly. I took a sip of wine and then another. When I put the glass down they were all still looking at me.

  ‘Well?’ prompted Petra.

  ‘Ah, I went to the bathroom …’ I let the words tail off, not sure how to start. Or whether to start at all.

  ‘Breaking news,’ said Scarlet.

  ‘All this time?’ questioned Lew. ‘What the hell did you have to eat?’

  Behind us, Red broke into peals of laughter that faltered into a snort, and then the rest of her table joined in. I had another drink.

  Petra was frowning now. ‘Spit it out.’

  ‘Not literally,’ added Lew, pretending to recoil.

  ‘I went to the bathroom and then saw Leisl Akermann leaving with the police.’ I looked around the table and was rewarded by their expressions. ‘They arrested her.’

  ‘Oh my god,’ said Deb.

  Lew nodded slowly. ‘Yep, makes sense. I’m not that surprised.’

  ‘I told you he couldn’t have done it by himself!’ Petra sat back with a satisfied smirk. ‘I said he didn’t have it in him.’

  ‘And you were right.’

  Deb pushed back her chair. ‘You’ll have to excuse me. I’d better go tell James.’

  ‘Did she put up a fight?’ asked Scarlet. ‘Resist arrest?’

  I shook my head. ‘I couldn’t see much from where I was but it didn’t look like it.’

  Scarlet began telling a story about a young woman in Fitzroy who had resisted arrest and ended up being charged with that rather than the original crime. Laughter continued to erupt at the nearby table and she kept glancing over, as if torn between them and us. Poised between youth and adulthood. She finished her story and gave in, scraping her chair over the concrete to squeeze between two of her sisters.

  ‘What a mess.’ Lew spoke in a low voice. ‘All for nothing. A bloody waste.’

  ‘I actually feel a little sorry for her,’ said Petra. ‘For them both. Despite everything.’

  Lew nodded, staring at his wine. Then he pushed his wheelchair away from the table. ‘Enough of this. We’re supposed to be having fun. Who wants to dance?’

  Petra grinned. ‘Dance?’

  ‘Yes, bloody dance. What, you think I can’t? Is that because I’m white?’

  She laughed. ‘But of course. So how about you prove me wrong?’

  And just like that I was alone. I refilled my glass and sat back, drinking in the ambience along with the wine. In the far corner, Darcy’s table was empty but for the centre candle, which still flickered fitfully. But it didn’t matter and I didn’t mind. There was too much else to look forward to. On Monday I would be given the chance to look through the shops, and I fully expected the rooms themselves to tell me whether we were a good fit. On Monday I would also be ringing James Sheridan, now that we were buddies, and suggesting something more to commemorate Sam Emerson and Ned Given. A perpetual trophy, even if it could double as a punchbowl, was not enough. I also wanted to find out what was happening about the cemetery, and the fact Petar was still alone. On Monday, finally, I would be getting rid of my collar. No doubt by then I would have paid yet another visit to the police station to give my latest statement beneath Ashley’s disapproving gaze. But when all was said and done, and being laboriously typed by Matthew, that was his problem, not mine. Ninety-eight per cent of people impressed as local woman ties up loose ends of baffling case. Uses double knot.

  This last police statement would also free me from direct involvement in the case. No doubt I would be called as a witness if Will and Leisl pleaded not guilty, which I rather suspected would be the case, but we were no longer playing hunt-the-killer. I didn’t know where I stood with Ashley, or even if there was anything on the table. Perhaps my recalcitrance had put him off. If it hadn’t, and the table was cleared (preferably in one grandiose sweep, just like in the movies), then I wasn’t even sure that I wanted more than a repeat of the other morning. Or maybe he himself was a complication best avoided. After all, I was about to become a grandmother and my moral compass should probably be lifted accordingly. Either that or it could stay where it was, relatively steady with just the occasional surge, and the grandkids, both the one who I would definitely see growing up and the one which I fervently hoped I would, would just see me living life. Grabbing opportuniti
es with both hands.

  The band switched to ‘We Are Family’, and I hummed along for a while, my foot tapping to what I thought, with my chronic tone-deafness, was the beat. I twisted to glance at the adjacent table. I loved seeing my girls together like this, joyful, without bickering. I hoped, as they got older, they would realise they had an instant support system in place. As annoying as Petra could be, she was also my closest friend and had been most of my adult life. My girls possessed that times four. It was a gift; one that each of them would need greatly at different times in their life. Ruby needed it now, and Lucy would need it soon.

  I turned back and played with the stem of my glass. Over on the dance floor, people were clapping along as the band thumped out the lyrics. We. Are. Fam-ily. I’d nearly died tonight. Somebody wanted to kill me. The words tasted bizarre. I should find Grace June Rae and ask her what her black dog had looked like, the one she had been feeding. Had it been stocky, with a greying snout and perceptive eyes? Had it looked just like the one in the photo, standing beside Petar Majic and Mate? And the one that was part of a family portrait a few years later, after he had gone, with Matija’s hand resting lightly on its grizzled fur?

  I wasn’t going to ask her, though, because I didn’t want to know. I preferred to believe, as incredible as it seemed, that Petar Majic’s dog had returned to guard his legacy. My life was saved as a favour, given I started the ball rolling. I knew it was fanciful, but so incredibly comforting. Not least because after the last two weeks, with all the unfolding research, I felt like Petar was family himself. Which was ironic, since I was probably one of the few people around that he wasn’t related to.

  Then there were Kata and Matija. Both had resonated, in very different ways. Lives that had been lived over a century ago. Their stories didn’t really matter anymore and yet they had come to matter a great deal. Perhaps because their fates had been peeled back to reveal the same vulnerabilities that had plagued women throughout time. I knew them well. Yet they had balanced loss with strength, misfortune with resourcefulness. I was going to get a copy of their portrait and have it framed for my own home. My new home. Somehow the thought that I had done right by them, after all this time, meant that everything would come right for me too.

  Epilogue

  The plane dipped one wing, as if paying respect, and Norfolk Island was revealed in all its panoramic glory. A narrow frame of frothy white rimmed the island, caressing the jutting outcrops and tossing against cliffs. Pine trees were everywhere, blanketing some areas and studding others as if holding them in place. The juxtaposition of vibrant colours was an assault on the senses. Sapphire seas patched with azure, coffee cliffs, puddles of emerald grass, forest-green pine.

  I sat back as the plane straightened. It was going to be a week of relaxation, sampling the local produce, hiking up Mount Pitt, a little bit of fishing, a little bit of sightseeing, a little bit of sex. Probably not in that order. An unforeseen benefit had been the information, courtesy of my mother, that a few of our ancestors had been among the first settlers here, before being unceremoniously uprooted and sent to Van Diemen’s Land. But I planned on doing a bit of research while I was here. Taking some photos of the original habitations for the girls, along with a sense of their history.

  ‘Penny for them,’ said Ashley, proffering a bag of cashews.

  I took two and chewed thoughtfully. ‘The island’s so beautiful that I was just wondering how willing my ancestors were to leave. Maybe they always thought they’d return but were prevented by fate. Or the authorities. Maybe they even left traces, like a –’

  ‘Note left in a secret spot? Written in code?’

  ‘Ah, not quite.’

  ‘Oh god. Please don’t tell me we’re going to spend the week playing detective. Looking for a mystery.’

  I snapped on my seatbelt and then shrugged. ‘In all honesty, I don’t actually spend a lot of time looking for them. I don’t have to. They just seem to find me themselves.’

  Acknowledgements

  As usual, this book owes a debt of gratitude to a cast of many. First and foremost, Tricia Woodroffe, always the first to read a draft, and Caitlin Meadows, who gave such good advice regarding names, and David Woodroffe, for the photo shoot. Thanks also to Charlotte Evans, as always. And a massive thanks to all those who give me constant encouragement and support, too many to mention but I hope you know that I appreciate it every step of the way.

  Some belated thanks to Emmet, who is the real Gusto, and to Willow, simply because she can’t bear to be left out. Thanks also to the tribe of possums who have moved into my roof cavity, keeping me awake at night and resulting in this book being finished in a record amount of time.

  And thanks again to Joel Naoum of Momentum Books for ongoing support and to Ali Lavau, who – apart from a difference in opinion regarding smoked salmon bagels – is the type of psychic editor who makes a book sing.

  Lastly, a huge thanks to Nell Forrest, who let me back into her life. I enjoyed myself just as much as last time and hope that I haven't worn out my welcome.

  About Ilsa Evans

  Ilsa Evans was born in the Dandenongs, east of Melbourne, in 1960 and enjoyed a blissful childhood that has provided absolutely no material for writing purposes. Fortunately adulthood served her better in this regard. After spending time in an eclectic range of employment, from the military to health promotion to seaside libraries, she returned to tertiary studies and completed a doctorate on the long-term effects of domestic violence in 2005. She has now settled into an occasionally balanced blend of teaching, public speaking and writing and lives in a perpetually partially renovated house, not far from where she was born, that is held upright by a labyrinth of bookshelves.

  Ilsa is the author of eleven books in a variety of genres, including two murder mysteries in the Nell Forrest Mystery series. She also contributes to several newspapers and online journals on social issues and won the Eliminating Violence Against Women (EVA) Award for online journalism in 2011.

  About Nefarious Doings: A Nell Forrest Mystery

  Welcome to the sleepy town of Majic, where neighbourhood watch is a killer …

  For Nell Forrest, life in the little town of Majic is not going smoothly. One of her five daughters has just swapped university for fruit-picking, another is about to hit puberty, while a third keeps leaving aggrieved messages on the answering machine. On top of all this, her mother is infuriating and it's only been a matter of months since Nell lost her husband of twenty-five years. It's no surprise, then, that she is even struggling to write her weekly column.

  But the floodgates of inspiration are about to swing open, almost knocking her out in the process. Murder and mayhem, arson and adultery, dungeons, death threats and disappearances are just around the corner. Despite Nell's abysmal aptitude for investigative work, she manages to shine the light on the local Richard III Society and that's when things really start to heat up. Throw in some suspicious widows, nosy neighbours, a canine witness, plus a detective who is getting a little closer than he should, and it's clear that nefarious doings are well and truly afoot.

  Nefarious Doings is the first book in Ilsa Evans' new Nell Forrest Mystery series. The second is Ill-Gotten Gains.

  "Funny and heartwarming, Nefarious Doings kept me turning the pages until its surprising but entirely satisfying conclusion, when I found myself sad to leave Nell and the town. I'm eagerly looking forward to the next instalment."

  - Di Blacklock

  First published by Momentum in 2013

  This edition published in 2013 by Momentum

  Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd

  1 Market Street, Sydney 2000

  Copyright © Ilsa Evans 2013

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

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  A CIP record for this book is available at the National Library of Australia

  Ill-Gotten Gains: A Nell Forrest Mystery

  EPUB format: 9781743342824

  Mobi format: 9781743342831

  Print on Demand format: 9781743342848

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  Edited by Ali Lavau

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