Good News, Bad News

by Maggie Groff

  Although Mum’s birthday was a few days away, we had cake and she opened her presents while Dad fumbled with his latest technical purchases so we could see the photos on the TV screen.

  My parcel had arrived that morning and Mum trilled like a canary over the scarf and the beaded bag, and the cardigan from Niska. Tasha and Max had bought their grandmother an artist’s box for carrying her equipment when she ventured into the park to paint en plein air.

  Fortunately, viewing the photographs didn’t take long, and Rafe, bless him, remarked on my mother’s excellent photography, which earned him a conspiratorial grin from my father.

  Half an hour later, Rafe and I said our goodbyes and Max walked with us down to the ferry wharf.

  Of all Harper’s sons, Max is the most like Andrew, in looks as well as personality. He’s tall with neat, dark curly hair, a strong square jaw and his father’s deep resonating voice. Being a pharmacist, I’m sure, suits his enquiring mind and his profound sense of precision and order.

  We chatted about a variety of subjects before Max got around to asking about his parents. Rafe, sensing Max’s need for privacy, discreetly fell back and walked behind us in silence.

  ‘How’s Mum really holding up?’ Max asked me, his voice full of concern.

  ‘As well as can be expected,’ I told him. ‘Please don’t worry too much. These things have a way of working themselves out.’

  ‘God, I hope so,’ he said. ‘You will let me know if I need to go home, won’t you? I feel as though I should be there.’

  My heart went out to him. As the eldest son he must have felt a sense of duty that he should return to the fold. Bloody Andrew, I thought angrily. I needed to talk to him, and soon. This whole thing was tearing his family apart.

  ‘Max,’ I said gently. ‘I don’t think your father is having an affair, and I’m sure whatever is going on will resolve itself.’ Hopefully, I was speaking the truth.

  Before Rafe and I boarded the ferry, I hugged Max tight and told him again that he wasn’t to worry. My words were heartfelt, but I knew they were falling on deaf ears. Of course he’d worry. With a profound sense of sadness I watched him walk back up the hill, head down, shoulders hunched and hands thrust in his pockets.

  Thankfully Rafe didn’t bombard me with questions. One of the things I had learned about him was his propensity to give people space for their thoughts. Like a seasoned interviewer, he knew the silence would eventually be filled with words, and usually the ones he wanted to hear.

  I guess that’s why I snuggled up to him on the outer deck of the ferry and told him the family woes. So much, I thought ruefully, for not mentioning them to anyone, but my revelation didn’t affect Rafe on a personal or emotional level, so I reasoned that it was okay. Out of loyalty to my sister, though, I didn’t mention her pregnancy.

  When I’d finished the saga, Rafe wiped sea spray from my cheeks, carefully lifted my chin and gently kissed my mouth.

  ‘Let me know if I can help,’ he whispered, and then he kissed me more deeply. For a while we forgot about the rest of the world, and by the time we reached Circular Quay we were well on our way to ‘stepping out’ on the ferry.

  Laughing with embarrassment like a couple of love-struck teenagers, we hurried off the ferry and out through the ticket machines.

  Chapter 35

  Early Wednesday morning Rafe and I said our farewells in the time-honoured fashion of lovers everywhere. Before he was back in Byron Bay I would probably be on the Great Barrier Reef, hot on the trail of the incredibly undead Mr Michael Leary.

  The hotel had a late checkout and, after Rafe had left, I turned on my laptop. There were two new emails.

  The first, from Niska, said simply, Flashman and Darcy!, which made me laugh.

  Daisy had also written asking me to call her before noon today. Assuming she wanted me to undertake some small commission while I was in Sydney, I phoned her straightaway.

  ‘How’s the case?’ she asked.

  I knew this wasn’t simply a courteous enquiry on Daisy’s part, and I brought her up to date on my conversations with Overton Siliphant, Bill and Geoff Shaw at Bosuns Marine, and Inspector Norman Smith. I also told her about my little chat with immigration and about my shadow, the corduroy man. If and when I asked Daisy to accompany me to the reef, it was only right that she had an idea of what I was working on, even though I wouldn’t be expecting her to help.

  ‘So it was worthwhile flying down to Sydney?’

  ‘Very,’ I said, my imagination wickedly picturing Rafe lying naked on the bed.

  ‘What time’s your flight?’ Daisy asked.

  I zapped back to earth. ‘Not till six this evening. Do you need me to do something for you?’

  ‘You can say no if you want. This is a big ask,’ she told me.

  ‘Ask away,’ I said. After the help Daisy had given me recently, I’d have chipped a tile off the Opera House if she’d asked me to.

  When Daisy told me what she wanted me to collect and bring back to Byron Bay, I nearly fell off the bed.

  Quickly recovering, I said, ‘No problem, I’m pleased you asked me, but you’ll have to give me instructions. I’ve never done anything like this before.’

  Delighted that I could do something worthwhile to repay Dave and Daisy’s incredible generosity, I made notes as she spoke. No way was I going to stuff this one up.

  The instructions were detailed, and when Daisy had finished troubleshooting solutions for every eventuality, I read the notes back to her.

  ‘That’s it. You shouldn’t have any problems,’ she assured me.

  ‘I’ll come straight to Yab Noryb from the airport. I should be with you by 9 pm.’

  ‘Can’t wait,’ Daisy said. ‘And I’ll save dinner for you.’ I could hear the excitement in her voice. And in mine, too.

  Daisy’s mission would take the best part of the afternoon, but that wasn’t a problem. She would be calling ahead to make sure everything was ready for me. The rest of the morning was mine.

  At 9 am I put on my jacket and scarf and went outside. The sun was shining but the streets were in shade and it was cold. Wind tunnelled relentlessly between the tall buildings and I longed for the big open skies and warm winter weather of home. Keeping my head down and occasionally glancing behind to make sure I wasn’t being trailed by old corduroy chops, I pulled my jacket tightly around me and headed towards David Jones on Elizabeth Street.

  After squirting myself with a range of French perfumes and buying a turkey and brie sandwich for lunch later, I went upstairs and purchased Harper a classy black and purple maternity swimsuit. She liked to wallow in water when her belly was large, and this was a practical way of reaffirming my support for a healthy pregnancy. Naturally I couldn’t resist wandering through the baby clothes department. If I wasn’t careful I’d be thinking up names next. Another Scout would be nice.

  Back at the hotel I sat on the bed and called Nemony Longfellow. I wanted to apologise for the disjointed phone call we’d had on Monday and to ask if she would call around to my place with Mick’s original birth certificate. I was hoping it would provide an answer I was looking for.

  Unfortunately it was Hermione who answered.

  ‘Hello, Hermione,’ I said brightly. ‘Can I speak to Nemony please?’

  ‘No you can’t, she’s out in the fields. What do you want?’ She was abrupt and unfriendly.

  Two could play at that game, I thought childishly. ‘To speak to Nemony!’ I said sharply.

  ‘Have you found O’Leary yet? You’ve had enough time.’

  It was pointless to remind her again that I was not in her employ and did not have to answer her questions. If I was going to tell anybody about Mick, apart from Daisy and Harper, it would be Nemony, and then I would only drip-feed useless snippets to her. I didn’t know her well enough to be certain that, at some point, revenge wouldn’t get the better of her and she’d contact police and I’d lose the scoop.

  Then again, Nemony already k
new Mick was alive, and that he was on the reef, and she hadn’t gone to the authorities yet. And both she and Hermione had made it clear to me why they hadn’t done so. Exactly how much to tell Nemony, and when, was an issue that would require much contemplation.

  ‘Well?’ Hermione said impatiently.

  Ignoring her question, I said boldly, ‘Please ask Nemony to call me,’ and then I snapped my phone shut. It wasn’t as satisfying as slamming down a receiver, but it was all I had.

  Exasperated, I sighed loudly, flopped back on the bed and wondered for the gazillionth time what it was that Hermione had given to Daisy, and why Daisy had been so secretive about it.

  Nemony called back as I was packing my bag. She was, thankfully, a different kettle of fish to her older sister and she greeted me warmly.

  ‘I’m sorry about the bad line the other day,’ I said.

  ‘That’s okay. Why did you want to know if Mick had gone to Queensland?’

  Having anticipated this question, I was ready. ‘I’m working on a theory that Mick re-registered your yacht in Queensland,’ I told her.

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I lied, ‘but can you bring his original birth certificate round tomorrow morning and we’ll discuss it then?’

  ‘Will you tell me what you’ve found out so far?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, hoping one act wasn’t dependent upon the other. Oh heck, I was going to have to sort out how much to tell her sooner than I’d anticipated. I’d have to think about it on the plane home, which was a nuisance as I had intended spending the time working out what I was going to do about Dandy McCormack.

  Before hanging up, we settled on morning tea in my kitchen at eleven tomorrow. Nemony said she would bring Mick’s birth certificate and some pumpkin and lavender muffins she was making.

  Oh dear. I’d eaten lavender buds as a child, my restricted diabetic diet having forced me to source possible treats from my mother’s garden, and I well remembered their unusual soapy taste.

  ‘There’s no need, really,’ I said hopefully.

  At 11 am I checked out of the hotel, retrieved the hire car from the garage beneath Toby’s apartment block, and set the GPS for the address Daisy had given me in Sans Souci, about fifteen kilometres from the city. There were no rude messages on the car, so I assumed Toby hadn’t flown down to Sydney.

  When I arrived at my destination, Daisy’s precious cargo, the hotly named Jalapeno Lad, reputed in his day to be the second fastest creature on earth after the cheetah, was curled up on the sofa watching the British Open Golf Championship.

  Since his retirement from greyhound racing at the ripe old age of five, Peppy, as Jalapeno Lad was known to his friends, had been acclimatising himself to suburban living with his foster mother, Mrs Annette Simms, while awaiting adoption. Looking at him, it was clear he wasn’t finding the rigours of domestic life too taxing.

  Mrs Simms, a plump fiftyish woman with a warm friendly manner, introduced us. At the sound of his name Peppy yawned, stood up and then hopped down onto the floor and padded over to greet me. Happily, I can report that he didn’t look anything like Hermione Longfellow. He was an elegantly handsome lad with a brindle coat, a splash of white on his chest and beautiful brown eyes. Daisy, I knew, would adore him.

  Surprised such a large animal had appeared so small curled up on the sofa, I held out my hand to be sniffed and was rewarded with enthusiastic licks and a nudge, which Mrs Simms said meant I’d been accepted as a friend and he liked my perfume.

  ‘Actually, you do smell nice, what is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Half of France. I’ve been in DJ’s perfume department,’ I explained, and she laughed.

  After Peppy had taken a quick business trip to the garden, Mrs Simms dressed him in a green collar and a warm coat and muzzled him.

  ‘He feels the cold,’ she explained. ‘The green collar indicates that he’s been retrained so he doesn’t have to wear the muzzle in public, but I thought you’d feel more comfortable if he wore it in the car.’

  I nodded my agreement. I hadn’t been crazy about driving a car containing an animal I didn’t know.

  After she had apprised me of the necessary doggy details, Mrs Simms handed me a small box containing papers, several more coats, dry dog food and a folder of photographs showcasing Peppy’s stellar career, and then we loaded him into the back seat of the car.

  Mrs Simms leaned in and patted Peppy and told him to be a good boy.

  ‘You will ask Mrs Fanshaw to let me know how he’s doing, won’t you?’ she asked as she closed the car door.

  I assured her that Peppy was going to a wonderful home, thanked her for her help and then climbed into the driver’s seat. As I drove off I glanced in the rear-vision mirror and saw Mrs Simms standing in the road wiping her eyes. I buzzed down the window, put my arm out and waved to her on Peppy’s behalf.

  Chapter 36

  It was early afternoon when I pulled up at the freight terminal at Sydney airport in Mascot. Peppy was still classed as a racing animal, so he had to travel via a freight company, but as Daisy had prearranged that he and I would be on the same flight, he would be handed over to me when I arrived at Gold Coast Airport.

  Daisy had already completed documentation and faxed it through to the freight company, so all I had to do was wait while a man in blue overalls checked Peppy’s papers and ID tag. The man then checked my ID, had me sign a form, and we settled Peppy and his belongings in a large crate.

  ‘See you in St Louis,’ I called to Peppy as I walked away. A seasoned traveller, he didn’t look the least bit concerned.

  I returned the hire car, bought a coffee and found a quiet seat in the domestic terminal. It was too early to check in and I had a three-hour wait. Still, if anything had gone wrong with Peppy, I’d have needed the extra time.

  No sooner had I sat down than my phone rang. It was Inspector Norman Smith.

  ‘You sound better,’ I said cheerily.

  ‘I am, thanks. And I’ve remembered the other thing that bothered me about the O’Leary case.’

  Leaning forward, I put the coffee on the floor, opened my bag and pulled out my notebook and pen.

  ‘That’s great. And thanks for calling back.’

  ‘It was the insurance,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘Mrs O’Leary told me that there wasn’t any insurance on her husband or the yacht. Although I genuinely think she believed there wasn’t any, I couldn’t imagine spending that much money on a boat and not insuring it.’

  ‘Did you try any insurance companies?’ I asked.

  ‘There wasn’t time before we were reassigned to the homicide. My DCI decided that lack of insurance was a clear indicator there was no foul play.’

  A small child ran towards me and I grabbed my coffee from the floor, glancing with concern at the mother, who rushed over to retrieve her charge.

  ‘But you didn’t agree?’ I said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you talk to the dealer where O’Leary purchased the yacht?’ I asked. Even though Bill Shaw had already told me the police hadn’t interviewed him, confirmation wouldn’t hurt.

  ‘No reason to. Same as we didn’t talk to a car dealer if someone was killed on the road. Although I probably would have tracked down the dealer if I’d had more time. Come to think of it, he might have known about the insurance.’

  Bill had, just as he had known that there were two yachts, but I wasn’t about to tell Smith. It was painfully obvious that Mick had succeeded in his disappearing act because the police had been overly busy and understaffed, which was not Smith’s fault.

  Before ringing off, Smith reiterated that he was available if I wanted to run anything past him, and I thanked him and put my phone away.

  I took a sip of coffee. Smith had also thought Nemony genuinely believed there was no insurance, and old coppers’ instincts were to be trusted, as were mine. I was confident Nemony was being truthful.

  Gathering together my belongings
, I stood up and wandered around the airport, hoping movement would provide inspiration for my approach to the Dandy McCormack issue. Almost without thinking I looked around to see if he was behind me.

  Lots of people were following me, all with suitcases. My imagination quickly conjured a scene where McCormack was hiding behind a newspaper, smoking a cigar and covertly watching me. When I shouted, ‘That man over there is following me!’ he took off like a jack rabbit with me in hot pursuit. Running faster than Usain Bolt, I caught him at the revolving exit doors, trapping him and his smelly cigar between the in and the out. I then cleverly questioned him until, short of air and begging for freedom, he told me what he was working on.

  My daydream passed ten minutes, and the fact that you can’t smoke in airports and the exit doors are electronic was irrelevant. All airport melodramas have art direction problems.

  I returned to where I’d been sitting and sent a text message to Miles asking him to tell Chairman Meow that I wouldn’t be home until late tonight.

  Then I resumed normal grey matter operations.

  Had McCormack really only interviewed Overton Siliphant to find out about Leila Leary’s job reference? It seemed so, in which case McCormack was probably tying up loose ends on an investigation, much as I would have done myself. I was certain that he wasn’t pursuing Mick, but he had no reason to stop checking on me until he knew I wasn’t on to his story. Which, of course, being your average inquisitive bloodhound, I fully intended to be.

  I made a decision, with regard to McCormack, to follow my mantra of watch, see and decide. Or watch, smell and decide, whichever the case might be.

  Ten minutes later my brain synapses fired a question. Why would Leila Leary, who was married to the boss of Splash Charters, require a job reference?