Murder Undercover

by Claire McNab

She chuckled, then raised her glass again. “To the entire night.”

  Now that I was there with her, I was in no hurry. We talked a little, but most of the time we were silent, part of the living darkness. We went inside to eat, sitting opposite each other at the kitchen bench. Roanna had prepared a chopped salad to go with roast chicken. My appetite, usually robust, had all but disappeared.

  “Don’t you like it?” asked Roanna, indicating my hardly touched plate.

  “For once, I’m not hungry.” But famished for you.

  She offered me a liqueur, but I declined. “I don’t drink much.”

  “A good quality in a bartender,” she observed.

  Don’t dismiss me, I thought. I’m so much more than an itinerant worker, going from job to job.

  My willingness to let things happen in their own time was fraying. I had that weak feeling in my knees again, and we hadn’t even kissed. In the core of me an intense point of heat was growing. “Can we try the hot tub?” I said.

  “Sure.” Her eyes were dark, I hoped with desire.

  We didn’t touch as we stepped onto the veranda. Roanna had switched out the lights as we went outside, so our only illumination came from the rising moon pouring cold light from an inky sky.

  The hot tub was bubbling quietly to itself. I stood beside it, looking at her. “We have to take our clothes off,” she said, sounding amused.

  I found my fingers were trembling. Ridiculous to feel this way, as though it were the first time I’d made love with a woman. She was already naked, and the moon shone along her flank, cast shadows under her breasts.

  “Denise?” she said.

  I realized I was still fully dressed, and felt abashed. “Sorry.”

  The water was tepid, and it fizzed against my skin like the champagne had in my mouth. Roanna sat opposite me, the water lapping her shoulders, her arms spread along the edge of the tub. “Tell me what you want,” she said.

  “You mean right now, or is this a whole-life question?”

  “Either.”

  I treated her question seriously. “As far as my life is concerned, I want to do things that challenge me; I want to believe that I’ve achieved something.” I fell silent, thinking how trite that sounded. “How about you?” I said.

  Roanna didn’t answer for a moment, then she said, “I want not to be unhappy.”

  “Are you unhappy?”

  “Sometimes.”

  The hot tub burbled to itself, the faint scent rose from the water, my heart melted a little. I said, “Tell me what you want right now.”

  “To make love.”

  “That’s excellent,” I said, a tremor in my voice, “I feel the same way.”

  We met in the middle, buoyed by the bubbling water, filled with the same delightful purpose. “What do you like?” I whispered against her ear.

  “Anything. Everything.”

  Her mouth was fire, I already knew that, but her bare wet skin against mine was incendiary. She touched my nipples, slid her hand down my stomach, “Roanna,” I gasped.

  “What?” she murmured.

  “Just Roanna.”

  I was dissolving in the water, becoming pure sensation, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted her under me, over me, her sweating skin sliding against mine “You promised me your bed,” I said.

  “So I did.”

  We climbed out of the tub and went inside, our eyes so accustomed to the darkness that we needed no light. I had my arm around her, glorying in the length and strength of her, the way her ribs moved with her breathing.

  Standing by the bed, locked together, the blood singing wildly in my ears, I felt every inhibition drop away. An alarm flared in my head. I had to hold fast to the fact that it was Denise Hunter making love to Roanna Aylmer, not me. Then she touched me and all thought melted away. I wanted her, and I wanted her never to stop.

  We were on the bed, thrashing, abandoned. She arched beneath me, called out my name, once. Then she moaned, shrieked, and I rose up with her, flew with her. I was a skyrocket soaring, a shower of brilliant sparks.

  “Pretty good,” I said, panting, my face nestled into her throat.

  She laughed through sobbing breath. “Oh please,” she said. “Again.”

  Chapter Ten

  I presented myself for work at the lounge the next morning a little bleary but inwardly singing with delight. The night was rolled up in my head like a wonderful gift that I’d always be able to open. We’d had breakfast together, then gone outside to drink our coffee with the singing birds and scented flowers. I could get to like this, a lot.

  “You’re not on this morning,” said Jen, frowning at me from behind the bar. Even her red hair seemed indignant.

  “Yes I am.”

  “You were.” she said. “But there’s been a change.” It was obvious this was not to her liking. Her fair skin was flushed with annoyance. “I practically got no notice. It’s not good enough!”

  I was too tired to think straight this morning “But why the change?” I said.

  “You’ve been put on the catamaran with Pete to do drinks and catering. There’s a cyclone warning out, so the trip to the reef for the conference people has been changed from tomorrow to today. You’re supposed to be on board by eleven, so you’d better get a wriggle on.”

  That afternoon my contact, Alice, would arrive as a tourist taking a quick round trip to see the island. “I can’t go,” I said. “I’ll have to swap with someone else.”

  “Don’t even think of it,” said Jen. “Harry Aylmer himself changed the roster to get you on the cat, so there’s no way you can get off.” She pursed her lips, considering me reflectively. “I’ve been wondering why.”

  I spread my hands. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

  Of course I had. I was betting it was my relationship with Roanna that had sparked his interest. Then a cold thought tickled my spine. What if the Aylmers were suspicious about me? What if it was intended that I be the next accident?

  I apologized to Jen, as if it were all my fault, and left to consider my options. I decided that it was highly unlikely that the whole excursion was designed to provide an opportunity to eliminate me, so I went back to my original supposition that Harry had heard about his sister and me, and was planning to look me over. I could refuse to go on the catamaran, but that would certainly draw unfavorable attention from Harry, and I didn’t want to deal with his animosity, as it might isolate me from the family I was trying to investigate.

  Okay. It was Plan B. I went back to the staff building to use one of the pay phones set in a row near the kitchen. I fed coins into its maw, dialed the number I’d memorized, and waited for it to be answered.

  “Hello?” said a middle-aged voice.

  “Mum, it’s Denise.”

  We’d never met, but the woman said, “Darling! I’m so pleased to hear your voice. What’s happening with you?”

  We nattered on for a few moments about this and that, and then I said, “Mum, you know I said I’d take a couple of days off and fly home to see you? Well, something’s come up, so I won’t be making it quite yet.”

  The voice laughed indulgently. “Something or someone, darling?”

  I laughed in turn. “I can’t fool you. I have met someone nice.”

  I fed the phone more coins, we chatted a bit longer, then rang off affectionately. It was a conversation I’d never had with my own mother, but it wasn’t hard to fake. I’d seen it dramatized a thousand times in movies or on television.

  I felt more relaxed, knowing that my control would know that I couldn’t make the contact this afternoon but that everything was okay with me. Alice would, if all went to plan, turn up tomorrow, and we’d exchange communications then.

  * * *

  It was yet another beautiful morning, and not to brassily hot. High up the sky was streaked by white strands of cloud, showing a high wind, but there was only a gentle breeze at sea level. The catamaran ferry rose and fell delicately at the dock, its white side glea
ming. Moreen was emblazoned in curling blue letters. With the image of Moreen Aylmer in mind, the name didn’t suit the awkward grace of the cat.

  The crew, and Pete and I, were all on well before our passengers arrived, to make sure that by the time they trooped down the dock there would be nothing left to do but usher them onto the cat and cast off. Tim came panting along, pulling a trolley loaded with diving equipment. As Pete had already loaded everything of ours, I helped Tim get his stuff on board.

  “It’s a pest,” he said as we worked. “I’ve had a bunch of bloody reporters at the dive shop for the last hour, asking stupid questions about Lloyd Snead and his last dive. I told them at least a hundred times that I didn’t supply the scuba gear to him, but it didn’t make any difference.”

  “Where did Snead get the gear from?” I said “What’s your best guess?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Tim, “but there are at least a couple of guests who are really expert divers, and I remember Mr. Snead got talking to one of them a day or so before the accident.”

  “Oh yes?” I said, my tone as casual as possible. “I probably know the person from the bar. Who was it?”

  “Tall woman. Cindy something. She’s really friendly.”

  “Tanned like a leather shoe,” I said.

  Tim laughed. “That’s the one.”

  I carted a couple more tanks on board, then said, “Did you tell the cops about Cindy talking to Snead?”

  He looked at me with surprise. “Hell no. Why should I?”

  Pete appeared on the deck. “Hey, you two, come aboard. We’re all supposed to meet the captain and salute her.” He grinned at our expressions. “She’s traditional,” he said.

  I hadn’t met the captain before. She was a smooth-faced woman whose white uniform was a little too tight for her ample body. She gave us a curt welcome when we were introduced, obviously in no mood to pay more than cursory attention to the hired help. She did bark orders in a satisfactory nautical fashion, however, and her minuscule crew—numbering only three— obeyed her with alacrity, so who was I to criticize?

  Harry Aylmer, in dazzling white shorts and shirt that contrasted nicely with his heavy tan and black hair, came aboard with the guests. He was making an effort to be agreeable, listening attentively to remarks made to him and smiling and nodding at appropriate times.

  The engines hummed, we moved from the dock, and within a few minutes we were scudding along, the cat high on its pontoons, leaving a bright white wake foaming behind us. The ocean was calm, the ride smooth, and everyone was in good spirits. I caught snatches of Indonesian, and words I recognized as Thai, but mostly people used the common language of English. Harry Aylmer circulated like a good host, but I was aware that he glanced over at me every so often.

  The whole central portion of the catamaran was designed for hospitality and entertainment. Window ran along each side, so that the area was filled with delightful atmosphere of sunlight and salty air. Pete was kept busy behind the curved blue metal bar providing coffee and drinks, while I set out the buffet lunch on long tables built under the windows on the port side.

  I knew that we would be on duty all day, and of course we couldn’t join these important guests as they explored the coral reef, but memories of a treasured holiday when I was twelve, the last I had with my mother before she died, reminded me of what they would be seeing.

  Mum and I had visited a section of the Great Barrier Reef near Cairns, and I could still recall my excitement as I had placed the mouthpiece of the snorkel in my mouth and positioned my face mask. Underwater a whole world of color and movement met my enchanted eyes. The memories of that wonderful time combined to form a cascade of brilliant images: delicate coral, pink and yellow; blue starfish; red anemones waving fragile tentacles; parrotfish and angelfish and butterfly cod; gracefully creepy manta rays flapping past; schools of tiny, iridescent fishes, darting together in a ballet of precise movements: crabs and sea slugs, sea urchins, giant clams.

  I started as Pete clapped me on the shoulder. “You daydreaming again?”

  “Again? When have I done it before?”

  “When you’re dreaming of Roanna,” he said with a wicked smile.

  I felt myself blush. With the undoubted efficiency of the gossip machine on the island, the fact that I’d spent the entire night with her would probably be common knowledge by the time we got back.

  Luncheon was announced, and the captain and guests descended on the laden table. The food was similar to that served at the Aylmers’ function, with an emphasis on fresh shellfish of all kinds, plus a wide variety of salad dishes. I’d warmed bread in the galley’s oven, and its yeasty scent made my mouth water. Pete, Tim and I couldn’t eat until the conference attendees had finished, and the crew had taken a turn.

  I hovered near the table, tidying, rearranging and rushing off to get more bread when required. Farid Sabir had his bodyguards close by him even here, although I couldn’t imagine what they thought could happen on the catamaran with a crowd of potential witnesses and no way to escape. Unless, I thought with a wry smile, someone suggested skeet shooting.

  In photographs I’d seen of Sabir he’d looked like a weedy little nonentity, but in real life he was far more impressive, having a deep voice, a penetrating gaze and a quick smile.

  One of his bodyguards, a solid guy almost as wide as he was tall, frisked me with his eyes, lingering on my breasts, then gave me a gap-toothed smile. He went back to read my name tag, sounding Denise silently to himself. Yuck! I escaped his further attention by going behind the bar to help Pete with coffee. I was putting out cups and saucers, and had just got into a pleasant rhythm, when Harry Aylmer came over. He nodded to Pete, and said to me, “Denise, I’d like a word with you.”

  He pointed to the small deck to the rear of the cabin. “Out there.”

  There was no one near us, and I had a vision of Harry picking me up and tossing me over the stern. I was a strong swimmer, so maybe I could eventually make it to land, that is, if a shark didn’t get me.

  He interrupted this fancy by saying, “You’ve become friendly with my sister.” The stiff breeze whipped his dark hair, and gave him a not entirely unpleasant devil-may-care air.

  I’d decided to respond to him with an obliging, but reserved, manner. “Yes, I have.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to take it too seriously.”

  “I won’t.”

  He looked at me sharply. “There have been a lot before you, and there’ll be a lot after.”

  “That’s fine. I get bored with one place, and move on.”

  He nodded. Obviously I’d said what he wanted to hear. “Good, then we understand each other.”

  “I think so.”

  Harry gave me a satisfied smile, one that made me want to king-hit him right on his arrogant nose. That he was a blood relative to the woman whom I’d held in my arms all night was almost too incredible to believe. I looked at his face, seeing a slight resemblance to Roanna in the line of his eyebrows and the set of his jaw. “May I go back?” I said.

  “Of course.” He patted me on the shoulder, and I only just stopped myself from recoiling. “Good,” he said. “Good.”

  Tim bolted down lunch while the crew anchored the cat near the section of the reef that best displayed its underwater glories. For those who preferred a less adventurous viewing of the coral and reef creatures, there was a small boat with a glass insert in the bottom. I wished I could go out in that, and look down like a god at massive corals of purple and brown, delicate branching corals in pastel shades, red crabs and fat urchins and brittle stars. And the gaudy tropical fish, startling in the variety of their colors and shapes.

  Pete and I ate a late lunch in the galley. Even after the enthusiastic appetites that had preceded us, there was still plenty of choice, although to my regret I found all the bread had disappeared.

  “Jen said something about a cyclone warning,” I said.

  Pete chewed, swallowed. “Why do you always ask quest
ions when I’ve got a mouthful?”

  “Just good timing, I guess.”

  That got him grinning again. “I bet that was handy last night.”

  “Pete.”

  He put up his hands. “Okay, okay. The subject’s off limits. About the cyclone, there’s one way out the Pacific, but it could head this way. If it does, it’ll probably blow itself out and just be a tropical storm, but I’d say we’re in for a lot of rain. The weather bureau has named it Anthony. You know anyone called Anthony?”

  It so happened that I did. My only serious fling at being heterosexual had been with an Anthony when I was in my late teens. I’d been very organized about the whole thing and had really given it my best shot, but going to bed with Anthony had produced no storm, no thunder and lightning, merely a conviction that it wasn’t the way I was going to go. I remembered that Anthony was quite pleased with our encounter, but I found it a total waste of time, and said so, tact not being my strong point at that stage.

  “I knew an Anthony once,” I said. “He married my best friend and became a politician.”

  “Lucky escape for you,” said Pete. “Those pollies can be the pits.”

  Once we had organized the light refreshments that would sustain the guests on the way back to the island, there was nothing for us to do. I wandered out onto the narrow deck that ran right around the main body of the vessel. It was low tide, and fifty meters away several people were walking the exposed reef itself. Closer to the cat, heads were bobbing in the water and Tim was doing his best to teach novices the basics of snorkeling before they plunged down to view the wonders of the reef. A few, obviously expert, flipped under the water with scuba tanks attached. I saw Harry Aylmer’s black head, and realized he was one of them.

  Now that I had time to process what Tim had told me, I tried to visualize every time I’d seen Cynthia Urquhart. At first when he’d mentioned her name I’d been astonished to think she might have anything to do with Snead’s death, but now I thought of her strong, wiry build, and I had no trouble seeing her wrench the mouthpiece from Snead’s lips and then get behind him, holding it out of his clutching fingers, until asphyxia forced him to take an agonizing lungful of water.