Words Can Kill (Ghostwriter Mystery 5)

by C. A. Larmer

  “We need to speak to the local police,” Roxy announced. “It’s time to get them on board.”

  Before Caroline could reply, the large American woman from the day before came shuffling through the front door of the café, her husband a few steps behind, still sweating as though he’d just stepped out of a sauna. It surprised Roxy considering the weather was actually quite mild; it was autumn here, after all.

  “Oh it’s you two again,” the American said loudly and Roxy nodded halfheartedly, not in the mood for small talk. “Vern, can you see, it’s these lovely Aussies.” She pronounced it O-sees.

  “Have they found something?” Caroline indicated the sky above.

  “Sounds like it, don’t it? Poor old Donald is beside himself.”

  “Donald Marlow? Have you seen him this morning?” Roxy asked, interested suddenly.

  “Oh, yes, darlin’, he’s havin’ breakfast down at the pier.”

  “Which restaurant?”

  “The one he’s usually at, love. What’s it called, Vern? Strange name, not Italian at all.”

  “You mean Ted’s?” asked Roxy.

  “That’s the one, Ted’s.”

  There was that restaurant again.

  The woman wobbled her doughy chin and rolled her eyes. “Now, who ever heard of an Italian restaurant called Ted’s?”

  “It’s short for something, my love,” Vern said, speaking for the first time.

  “Short on common sense, I’d say, and far too pricey for us! I says to Vern, I says, ‘Why pay the equivalent of six bucks for a coffee just so you can stare at some stinky old boats?’ I mean, we can get takeout and sit down by the pier and stare at the boats any time we like for free. O’ course, the coffee’s very good there, you gotta admit that, but I says to Vern, I says—”

  “Is he still there?” Roxy interrupted her.

  “Vern? No, darlin’, he’s right—”

  “No.” Roxy tried not to growl. “Donald Marlow.”

  “Oh, well, I can’t see why he wouldn’t be. I mean, he was just orderin’ when we passed. Poor man’s a bundle of nerves, what with all the helicopters passin’ overhead and it has been quite a few days now since his wife disappeared, so ...”

  Roxy jumped to her feet.

  “Where are you going?” Caroline demanded.

  Roxy glanced from the woman to Caroline and reached for her bag again. “I think it’s time we checked out this expensive coffee for ourselves. If you’ll excuse us?”

  The woman stepped back looking surprised, while the two Australians paid their bill and then headed for the jetty.

  “Can you slow down a bit!” called Caroline, puffing heavily as she tried to keep pace with Roxy.

  Roxy turned and stared down at the strappy cork wedges Caroline had chosen to wear with her high-waisted linen shorts and bright yellow shirt. She scowled. “What were you thinking, Caroline?! Why didn’t you just put some sneakers on like me, we’re going to do a lot of running around today.”

  Caroline looked mortified. “I am not running around the Italian Riviera in a pair of sneakers! Puh-lease!”

  Roxy rolled her eyes and resumed walking.

  “Anyway,” Caroline yelled out, “you’re the one who’s not thinking! We can’t just waltz up to the poor man and demand to talk to him.”

  “I don’t see why not,” Roxy called back. “This guy is central to all of this, to Max, his disappearance. We have to talk to him, we’ve got no choice. Ahh, there’s the restaurant now.”

  They’d just emerged from the underground tunnel and saw Ted’s Trattoria across from the jetty. The sleazy waiter was not at his usual post but the place was bursting with patrons this time, every table occupied, both inside and out.

  “How do we know what he looks like?”

  Roxy glanced around. “I guess we just ask.”

  She spotted the café manager, Maria, handing menus to a Japanese couple inside and walked straight across.

  “Hi, Maria.”

  Maria’s eyes were lined today with thick, black kohl pencil and they widened when she recognised who it was. “Oh. You’re back.”

  “’Fraid so.”

  Maria looked around her. “Sorry, no tables spare.”

  “That’s okay. We’re actually looking for someone.”

  “Again? I told you I have not seen—”

  “Oh, no, different man this time. We’re looking for Donald Marlow, you know, the man who lost his wife.”

  Maria’s eyes narrowed considerably and she stepped back. “Oh. I don’t think I’ve seen him.”

  “Yes, yes, Mr Marlow, he outside!” came a voice behind them and Roxy looked around to find the pretty young woman from last night, Sofia, standing there, a white apron around her shapely hips. She had swept her thick hair into a high ponytail and her claggy black eyes were now glancing out towards the patio.

  Roxy followed her gaze and was about to enquire further when she spotted a man sitting under an umbrella who caused her to do a double take. It was the fair-skinned fellow she had seen talking with Maria at the back of the restaurant last night, but this time she recognised him.

  “That’s not Donald Marlow over there, is it?”

  Before either woman could reply, she was making her way out to the patio and towards his table.

  “Donald Marlow?”

  The man looked up, startled. There was a laptop opened in front of him and, beside it, an empty champagne glass and the remains of something eggy on his plate. He was wearing a crumpled white shirt and the same Fedora as last night and, despite oversized black sunglasses—the kind you get from the Skin Cancer Council—he still couldn’t manage to hide his splotchy red cheeks. Staring down at him now, Roxy realised why he’d looked so familiar last night. She had seen his face on the television news, albeit between his fingers as he struggled to block out the flashing cameras. It was definitely Candy’s husband, and she wondered then, as she wondered now, what he was hiding from. She also wondered how someone as sporty looking as Candy could end up with this pale, limp-looking creature. He was more accountant-meets-computer geek than the outdoorsy type, but then perhaps that’s why Candy had reached out to the likes of Max.

  Roxy nudged the thought away and repeated herself. “You are Donald Marlow, right?”

  His voice cracked a little as he said, “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry, I know this is a really difficult time, but we were wondering if we could have a quick word with you.”

  He closed the laptop lid but not before Roxy spotted a website for the National Australia Bank. “Sorry, who are you?”

  “I’m Roxy Parker and this”—she waved back to Caroline—“is Caroline Farrell, Max Farrell’s sister.” She waited for Donald to register the name, but when he continued staring at her blankly, she said, “Like your wife, Max has also gone missing. Here in Riomaggiore. We’re very worried about him.”

  Was that anxiety that raced across Donald’s face then? It was hard to tell in those enormous glasses but when he spoke his tone was more sympathetic than anything. “Oh God, I’m sorry about that, but I’m not quite sure what this has to do with me.”

  Maria appeared then, no trace of sympathy in her voice. “There is no room for you at this table, ladies. I have one inside if you’ll—”

  “Oh we’ll manage,” Roxy replied, pulling a vacant chair from another table and sitting down. Taking her lead, Caroline sat in the chair opposite Donald.

  “Two lattés, thanks,” Roxy said, flashing her a smug smile before refocusing on the Australian man.

  An inscrutable look passed between Donald and Maria, then the latter pulled her lips into a tight smile, bowed her head and walked away. Roxy cleared her throat, wondering how to play it but the man was suddenly babbling away, his cheeks blushing even more crimson as he spoke.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your mate. Bloody hell, those paths are treacherous, aren’t they? What an amazing coincidence, two Aussies missing now, amazing. You are Australian, right?�
��

  Roxy caught Caroline’s eye. Was the man playing games or just plain stupid? “Yes, we are. We wondered whether Max might have been with your wife.”

  “My wife?” He looked at her like she was the stupid one. “Why would he have been with my—” He stopped short. “Oh right, yeah, I see.” He was now twisting his serviette into a tight knot, his head bobbing up and down. “I see, I see. You think your friend might’ve been the one who escorted Candy that day ... the day she ... you know.” His jaw tightened.

  “Yes, we do.” Roxy produced her iPhone. “This is Max.” She held the phone in front of his glasses and watched closely as he stared at it for a few moments, his expression unchanged. “You don’t recognise him?”

  “No, no, I don’t.” He looked from Roxy to Caroline and back. “Should I?”

  Roxy sighed. This was going to be harder than she’d thought. “Well, yes, actually. Max was up at Mt Pilatus with you guys.”

  He looked at the picture again. “He was?”

  “Hm-mm.”

  “So?”

  “So we think he first met your wife up there.” She scrunched her eyes together. “They became friendly.”

  Again he said, “So?”

  Her eyes widened. What was this guy playing at? “He was seen having breakfast with Candy last Tuesday morning at the Hotel Bellevue, then they went on a hike.”

  Donald sat back in his chair just as Maria returned with the lattés. Her smile was still stiff at her lips but it was clear she was worried and Roxy was sure she’d just given Donald an inquisitive look. He did not say a word as she handed the cups over and it wasn’t until Maria was out of earshot that he spoke again. This time he sounded a little more sure of himself.

  “I see what you’re getting at. Listen, I’ve told the police already. My wife liked to take her walks with other people. She always did, it meant nothing. Your mate must have accompanied Candace on one of those walks in Switzerland, perhaps they compared itineraries and decided to take another hike together here in Italy. I’m still not sure how I can help. Perhaps you should be telling all this to the police. I can give you directions if you—”

  “Oh for pity’s sake,” Caroline broke in suddenly, her own cheeks blushing with anger. “I haven’t got time for this crap! We know all about the affair, Donald, so don’t even try to give us the run around.”

  Roxy would have given Caroline a swift kick under the table were she not so startled by Donald’s reaction. He had leapt out of his chair, his face drained of all colour, and he was clutching his twisted serviette in front of him.

  “It’s ... it’s not true!” he stammered. “I love my wife, I would never do that. Never!”

  Caroline looked at Roxy, confused, then back at Donald and Roxy realised he must have misunderstood what Caroline was saying. She was about to set him straight when a piercing wail caught everyone by surprise.

  They all swung around to find a police patrol car with flashing lights and wailing siren attempting to make its way down the steep cobbled road towards the café, pedestrians and shop attendants scuttling in its wake. Roxy looked at Donald again and noticed that his colour had returned and his jaw was now clenched shut.

  Maria was standing beside Sofia, at the doorway of the café, shouting something to a police officer who was leaning out of the car as it made its way towards them. She suddenly swung around to Donald and said, “Donnie, quick!”

  “Oh, God,” he said very softly beneath his breath then collected his laptop and wallet, and began to make his way out, past the other patrons, most of whom were now staring at him, wide eyed and open mouthed. The whole time he didn’t give Roxy or Caroline so much as a second glance.

  And why would he? thought Roxy. Judging from the grave expressions on the policemen’s faces, he was about to get some very bad news.

  Chapter 19

  Back in the café, Roxy took a first sip of her latté. The American woman was right, it was good, so good in fact, she decided not to bother with the sugar. Yet for the life of her she couldn’t enjoy it. The police must have found a body, why else would they come rushing down the street to see Donald?

  But what if the body they’d found was not Donald’s wife? What if it was ...?

  She couldn’t finish that thought, felt nausea well up inside again, yet as she tried to calm herself down, it was clear Caroline was on a totally different train of thought.

  “What the hell was he on about?” she was saying. “He seemed to think I was suggesting that he had an affair. I was talking about his wife and Max. You got that, right?”

  Roxy tried to drag her mind back to their earlier conversation. She sighed, picked up the sugar dispenser and unloaded several shots into her cup.

  “But why would he think that?” Caroline persisted. “Unless ... maybe he’s deflecting. Trying to get us off Max’s trail.” She was shaking her head. “What a hideous little man. He was obviously lying about Max, right? I mean, yeah, sure he’s never seen him before. Like we’re gonna believe that!”

  “I don’t know, Caro. He did seem genuinely surprised by the mention of Max. Confused, even.”

  She scoffed. “Nonsense! He was lying through his itty bitty little teeth. Did you see them? They were so tiny and sharklike. And what about that skin. Eeew. Do you think he suffers from rosacea, or maybe hives?” She mock shuddered. “Horrendous man.”

  Roxy hadn’t even noticed the man’s teeth, wasn’t sure what his skin condition had to do with anything and suddenly felt like they were barrelling along the wrong track. “Caroline, that man has lost his wife. They might have just found her body, might be telling him right now.”

  “So?! Whose fault is that?”

  “Well, we don’t know ... yet.”

  Caroline shook her head at Roxy. “What’s got into you?”

  “I don’t know. Now that I’ve met Donald Marlow, I’m just not convinced he even knew Max.”

  “Oh come on, Roxy! The guy is a weasel. He’s up to no good. I can tell! Looks familiar, though. Was he here last night, as well?”

  Roxy thought about this. “Yeah, he was talking to Maria at the bar. So why, then, would Maria act like she doesn’t even know his wife?”

  “She said that?”

  “Not in so many words, but that’s the impression I got.”

  Caroline eye-rolled her. “Maybe she was just consoling him, doesn’t mean she knew his wife. Honestly, I can’t understand you at all, Roxanne. You seem to have it in for her, yet act like the grubby hubby is all innocent and light!”

  She went to defend herself and stopped. What was the point? Caroline was clearly in a bad mood today and she didn’t have the energy to argue with her. Instead, she finished her coffee and looked up the road, noticing the large American couple talking to a police officer. He was holding a hand up as though trying to direct them away.

  “Speaking of light,” Roxy said, “let’s see if we can shed a bit more on what the police have found.”

  By the time they’d paid for their coffees—Maria not bothering to hide her sneer as she snatched their euros from them—the officer had disappeared and the American woman was waddling down the road towards them, her husband in his usual spot at her rear end.

  “Oh, look, Vern, it’s the O-sees again. Hey, gals, did you hear the news?!” They sidled up to her, shaking their heads. “They found a body! Washed up on a beach somewhere.”

  She sounded excited and Roxy couldn’t believe the woman’s insensitivity, like she was chatting about a plotline from an Agatha Christie novel. She glanced at Caroline who was suddenly looking stricken, her eyes wide, her arms folded tightly around her chest.

  “Do they know who it is?” Roxy asked and the woman snorted.

  “Well, who else is it gonna be, darlin’? Donald’s being taken there now.” She leaned in closer. “To identify the body.” She snorted again. “But it has to be her! Of course it’s her. I mean, who else?!” She gave them another of her “knowing” looks before waddling
past them and away.

  “I can think of at least one other person,” Caroline said hoarsely and Roxy reached for her hand.

  “It’s not him, Caro. He’s okay.”

  Caroline snatched her hand away with a huff. “Is that what helps you sleep? Blind optimism.”

  Roxy frowned. “Who says I’ve been getting any sleep?”

  “Well you seem particularly relaxed today. Suddenly you’re trying to say that guy is all innocent. Like Max just wandered off on his own and all is fine with the world. It’s like you don’t want to find him or something.”

  Roxy stared at her, confused. “What are you on about?”

  “I want to know why you’re so calm. Like none of this matters.”

  Roxy bristled. “Of course it matters. I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “Sure, but why? I mean, you didn’t even want him around, did you? You wouldn’t move in with him.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Back in Sydney! Maybe if you had, he might never have taken that stupid bloody job in Berlin—”

  “Stupid? You were so excited for him.”

  Her mouth widened, her hands dropped to her hips. “Oh so now it’s all my fault?!” Caroline’s voice was rising and Roxy held both hands up to placate her. They were still standing on the street outside the restaurant and Sofia was now watching them keenly, a mobile phone at her ear, while several shop owners and tourists were staring towards them, one or two looking amused.

  Roxy took a deep, settling breath and lowered her voice. “It’s nobody’s fault, Caroline. We don’t even know what’s happened yet, so we can’t lose our heads. Not yet.”

  “No, you never lose your head, that’s the problem.” She turned away and began striding back towards the underpass en route to their apartment, and Roxy sighed and followed her.

  She was feeling waves of anger now and was trying to deflect them as she raced to keep up with Caroline who was moving swiftly despite the ridiculous heels.

  “Hang on a minute, Caroline,” she called out, not caring suddenly who saw or heard what. “You’re the one who’s been acting like everything’s hunky-dory!”