‘When I found the broken finger and Florence’s shoe, I thought it must be Lewis Knox,’ Peregrine said quickly. ‘But you had to order the wig yourself. If you’d asked a shop assistant, that would have left a trail, and you and your father are the only other people who can place an order.’
Colin was striding in her direction, his head swivelling left and right as he tried to home in on the sound of her voice. When he was a dozen steps away, Peregrine snapped on the torch, spotlighting the Barbie mannequin.
Colin staggered back, gasping with shock. Peregrine flicked the light from side to side. There! A flash of gold. The gun, just beyond the mannequin, too far to reach.
‘And there was your cologne, Colin—on the wig and at Barbie’s apartment.’ Raising her voice, Peregrine added, ‘You left so many traces of yourself, it was only a matter of time before things caught up with you!’
With a howl of rage, Colin lunged at her, swinging the cricket bat wildly at her head. Peregrine leaped backwards, pushing one of gardening mannequins into him and knocking over an artificial tree in the process. It slowed him down, but only for a moment, then he was after her again. She flung the torch away and made a dive for the gun, throwing herself to the floor, her hand closing around the pearl handle.
Peregrine rolled onto her back and fired once into the darkness. The shot went wide and hit the shoulder of the waterskiing dummy, sending her into a spin on her pedestal. As the mannequin came around Colin Blair was running forward, and the outstretched arms swung straight into him, the wooden waterski handle smacking into his face. Hard.
Colin went down.
Peregrine scrambled to her feet, keeping her gun trained on the prone form. She had just taken two cautious steps closer when suddenly the overhead lights blazed into life.
‘Police! Don’t move!’ Detective Steed bellowed as he ran across the shop floor, gun drawn, face grim. He came to a stop next to Colin’s inert body. Keeping his gun pointed at the man, Steed gave him a nudge with the toe of his polished shoe. Colin Blair groaned and started to move.
‘Stay where you are. Hands where I can see them.’ Steed checked to make sure there were no weapons within Colin’s reach. ‘You’re under arrest for the murders of Barbie Jones and Florence Astor.’
‘Thank goodness the cavalry’s arrived!’ said Peregrine dryly, as she tucked her revolver away.
‘Are you all right, Miss Fisher?’ Steed asked, risking a glance in her direction.
‘I think I’ve lost my job in retail, but otherwise, yes, I’m okay.’ Peregrine smiled, then she nodded towards Colin, who had lifted his head a fraction and was looking about. ‘You should …’
‘Of course.’ Steed transferred his gun to one hand and reached around to the small of his back, fumbled for a moment and came up empty.
‘May I, sir?’ Constable Connor stepped forward, a pair of handcuffs dangling from one finger.
‘Oh, yes. By all means, Constable. It will be good practice for you.’
‘My thoughts exactly, sir,’ she replied politely. The policewoman turned to Colin Blair. ‘Hands behind your back,’ she said, her tone flinty, entirely unlike her usual voice.
Peregrine raised her eyebrows and exchanged a look with Detective Steed, whose surprised expression must have mirrored her own. They watched as Constable Connor slapped the cuffs on smoothly and hauled Colin Blair to his feet.
‘What happened, Miss Fisher?’ With the situation under control, Detective Steed re-holstered his gun and looked around at the partial wreckage of the 1964! display.
‘The usual.’ Peregrine shrugged and walked over to join him. ‘A man was explaining to me how smart he was and I politely disagreed.’
Steed opened his mouth to answer, but as he looked at Peregrine’s face words failed him. All he could do was exhale and shake his head. ‘You really are quite extraordinary. Most women who’d just been through—’
Peregrine stopped him with a hand. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not most women.’
Their eyes locked.
‘Excuse me, Detective!’ Constable Connor’s voice was loud and all business. She was holding Colin Blair by one shoulder and the handcuffs. ‘What would you like me to do with the prisoner?’
Suddenly there was a commotion at the main entrance to Blair’s Emporium. Seconds later, Terence Blair appeared, Chief Inspector Sparrow a couple of steps behind.
‘What on earth—’ Terence Blair began.
‘Here’s your killer, sir,’ Detective Steed interrupted, addressing himself to the chief inspector. ‘There’s means, motive, opportunity and a considerable amount of evidence.’
‘And a confession!’ Peregrine added, earning herself a filthy look from Sparrow.
Fortunately, the arrival of several uniformed policemen caused the inspector to refocus his attention on securing the evidence—particularly the wig and Colin’s cricket bat weapon—and issuing instructions regarding the transport and detention of the suspect. Sparrow appeared oblivious to Terence Blair, who was loudly threatening the chief inspector and his men with everything from high-powered lawyers and the mayor to tabloid newspapers and a permanent ban on their wives shopping at Blair’s Emporium.
‘As for you, Sparrow,’ Terence Blair snarled, ‘there’s a small matter of our agreement.’
The chief inspector, in the middle of issuing a directive regarding the Barbie Jones look-alike mannequin, spun away from the officer he was addressing and in three short strides was standing toe to toe with Terence Blair. Peregrine and Detective Steed watched for a moment as the two men conversed in furious whispers, interspersed with one or two hard finger jabs to the inspector’s chest. When Terence Blair waved an angry arm in their direction, Peregrine stirred.
‘Perhaps now would be a good time …’ she said, taking a couple of slow steps backwards.
‘You read my mind, Miss Fisher.’ Steed also moved back, his steps matching hers. ‘High time we got out of here.’
Several days later, Peregrine was lying facedown on her banana lounge, strategically positioned to make the most of the afternoon sunshine. Clad in a pink-and-white gingham bikini, she intended to work on her tan while recovering from the drama of her encounter with Colin Blair. Peregrine had been surprised to find she had a lot of emotions to deal with, and this was the first chance she’d had to really think about recent events: from her inheritance and the people she’d met, to Inspector Sparrow’s vendetta and the death of Florence Astor. Her life had changed forever.
On the table to her left sat a newspaper and a tray holding two tall glasses and a jug, the latter beaded with condensation. Peregrine had made the Pimm’s punch earlier in the day, after deciding that chopping the necessary fruit was a good way to practise her knife-wielding skills. Overall, it had been a successful exercise.
Peregrine rolled over, picking up a wide-brimmed sunhat from the crazy-paved patio and placing it squarely over her face. The Budgiwah caravan park and back beach felt like they belonged to another person’s life.
A small scuffing noise reached her ears, standing out from the sound of the breeze and the distant hum of traffic.
‘I wondered when you’d turn up,’ she said from beneath her hat.
‘How did you … ?’ James Steed stood at the edge of the patio, sunglasses in one hand and a large black garment bag slung nonchalantly over his shoulder.
‘Sit down, pour a drink.’ Peregrine gestured to the table at her elbow and a second banana lounge, which lay just beyond. The hat still covered her face.
Steed crossed the patio, then hesitated.
‘For goodness sake, you’re blocking the sun! Sit down, Detective Steed.’
Steed put the dress bag on the end of the banana lounge, dropped his sunglasses on top of it, then cautiously sat down. It was even lower than he’d thought, causing him to drop awkwardly at the last second. The lounge wobbled dangerously and almost tipped over, only prevented from doing so by some frantic scrabbling on Steed’s part. Beneat
h her hat, Peregrine remained quiet, pretending not to notice the detective’s discomfort. He fidgeted for a moment, trying to find the least precarious position, and ended up sitting sideways, feet firmly on the ground and knees high.
Peregrine pulled the hat from her face and smiled at him. ‘Is this a social call? I mean, it’s Saturday afternoon and I think this is the first time I’ve seen you without a tie.’ She turned her head, casting a pointed look at the jug of Pimm’s. ‘At least pour me one, would you?’
Steed leaned over, filled two glasses with the fruity cocktail and handed one to Peregrine, who sipped gratefully.
‘It’s mainly a social call,’ he said, sniffing his own glass suspiciously.
‘Mainly. I thought you’d wrapped up the case.’ Peregrine shaded her eyes with a hand to look at him more closely.
He gestured to the newspaper that lay on the table. ‘You’ve seen the headlines.’
Peregrine rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve seen Sparrow claiming all the glory for himself. The way that reads, he single-handedly unravelled the mystery, captured Colin Blair and wrested a confession from the disturbed young man.’
Steed grimaced. ‘I’m sorry you didn’t get any credit, but Inspector Sparrow …’
Peregrine waved his words away. ‘I’m not worried about getting credit or not. But I do want to know about the large wad of money your boss palmed from Terence Blair.’
Steed thought for a moment. ‘Based on events that occurred in the Central Police Station in the hours immediately following the arrest of one Colin Blair, I believe I can assure you that an unnamed chief inspector was allegedly obliged to return an unknown item, widely considered to be a roll of cash. Allegedly,’ he said, his tone expressionless, eyes fixed on a point above Peregrine’s head.
She smiled again, wider this time. ‘Detective! I think that’s the first time I’ve really heard you speak police. I like it.’
Steed returned her grin. ‘Just don’t mention it to Inspector Sparrow. Needless to say, I’ll deny telling you anything.’
‘Needless to say.’ Peregrine took another sip of her drink. ‘So, even though the case has been finalised, you said this is mainly a social call. Why are you sitting on my patio on this lovely afternoon, Detective Steed?’
Steed’s smile faltered and he placed a gentle hand on the garment bag. ‘I have something for you,’ he said quietly.
Peregrine frowned. She put her drink down and sat up. ‘What is it?’
Steed looked at the ground beneath his feet then back up, meeting Peregrine’s puzzled gaze.
‘When we went through the crime scene at Blair’s—I mean the storeroom and area where Florence Astor was working—we found this.’ He patted the bag softly.
‘I remember. That garment bag was hanging on the end of the rack. It was one of the things that wasn’t there when I spoke to Florence the night before …’ Peregrine stopped and abruptly turned her head away, staring at the trees, the garden, nothing in particular.
James Steed waited.
After a minute, Peregrine took a deep, ragged breath and brought her focus back to him.
‘It’s from Florence,’ Steed said.
Peregrine stared at him, bewildered.
‘It’s a dress. Florence Astor made you a dress.’
‘Me? But how do you know it was meant for me?’
Steed fished in the pocket of his shirt. ‘Because there was a note pinned to it.’ He pulled out a folded piece of paper and passed it over to Peregrine.
She took it slowly, held it for a moment, then opened it out and read. For Peregrine Fisher, investigator, Adventuress, friend. Because every woman needs a little black dress. Peregrine kept staring at the note, dashing a quick hand under her eyes.
‘That’s what she was making,’ she whispered.
Abruptly, Peregrine swung her legs to the ground and stood up. She reached for the garment bag, leaning across the still-seated detective. Steed’s eyes widened in surprise, but Peregrine, her thoughts on Florence and the dress within the bag, seemed oblivious.
‘I’m going to try it on,’ she said, hurrying towards the house.
‘I’ll leave you to it.’ Steed struggled to his feet.
Peregrine stopped and turned, one hand on the sliding glass door. ‘Please don’t. Stay. There’s no fun trying on a new dress when there’s no one to show it to.’ She didn’t wait for a reply, vanishing into the dim interior.
She was gone a long time. Long enough for James Steed to walk the length of the patio a dozen times, drain his glass and, after debating with himself, pour another. And long enough for him to wonder—not for the first time—what he was getting into if he continued to associate closely with a woman named Miss Fisher.
Steed was standing at the edge of the patio, admiring the garden and enjoying the sun on his face when the sound of the sliding door heralded Peregrine’s return.
‘What do you think?’ she called.
Steed swung around and stopped, staring.
Peregrine had taken the time to restyle her messy ponytail into a Breakfast At Tiffany’s-inspired up-do, her face framed by several soft tendrils of hair. She stood in the doorway, one arm extended up the frame and the other hanging by her side, then stepped out onto the patio, her high heels tapping sharply.
‘Stunning,’ breathed Steed.
‘It is, isn’t it?’ Peregrine turned a slow three hundred and sixty degrees to show off the short black dress, pausing for an extra second so Steed could fully appreciate the elegant cowl back.
Steed cleared his throat. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’
Peregrine sashayed over to join him at the point where steps led down to a perfectly manicured lawn. They stood side by side, arms almost but not quite touching, aware of their proximity. Several minutes passed in silence.
‘Miss Fisher.’ Steed spoke with sudden urgency as he turned to face her.
‘Detective.’
They were only inches apart, staring into each other’s eyes.
‘I wanted—’ he began.
‘Knock knock!’ came a disembodied call from inside Peregrine’s house.
Steed took a step back. The spell was broken.
‘Peregrine? Where are you?’ The voice came closer, and was now clearly identifiable as belonging to Birdie.
Peregrine caught Steed’s eye and gave a wry shrug, then she turned back to the house. ‘Outside on the patio!’ she called.
‘I should …’ Detective Steed pointed to the side gate and began edging in that direction.
‘You don’t have to,’ said Peregrine.
Birdie appeared at the still-open sliding door.
‘There you are! And Detective Steed too! Hello, Detective.’ Birdie flashed a broad smile at them both.
‘Miss Birnside.’ Steed nodded politely then hurried over to collect his sunglasses. ‘I was just on my way.’
‘Not on my account, I hope.’
‘No, not on your account. Miss Fisher … Thank you. For everything.’ Steed walked backwards for a few steps before turning smartly and disappearing around the side of the house.
‘Sorry.’ Birdie stared after his retreating figure. ‘Didn’t mean to interrupt anything.’
Peregrine sighed and shook her head. ‘It was nothing that can’t wait.’ She gave Birdie a quizzical look. ‘What are you doing here?’ Peregrine went to collect her drinks tray. ‘Not that I’m unhappy to see you,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘In fact, I couldn’t be happier. I just thought you’d have better things to do on a Saturday afternoon.’ She tucked the newspaper onto the edge of the tray, grabbed the handles and carried it back towards the house.
‘Oh, I was just in the neighbourhood!’ Birdie said breezily.
Peregrine stopped in front of her, the tray between them.
‘Really?’ she said, one eyebrow raised sceptically.
Birdie’s eyes flicked about and her gaze landed on the newspaper. She snatched it from the tray, almost causing Peregri
ne to lose one of the glasses.
Birdie slapped the back of her hand on the headline. ‘Blast that Sparrow!’ she fumed.
‘At least now that Florence’s name has been cleared I don’t have to give him that film or any of my aunt’s other files.’
‘Oh, he’ll still be after them, don’t worry about that!’ Birdie gave the newspaper a shake, and to Peregrine it looked as though she’d rather be shaking the inspector, preferably by the neck.
‘I know, but it will be so much more entertaining now the balance of power has tipped back in our favour!’
Birdie smiled approvingly. ‘We just have to keep it that way.’
‘And I just have to find the film. Come on, let’s go inside.’
Before Peregrine could take a step, Birdie pulled the tray from her hands. ‘Let me take that,’ she said, her voice suddenly loud. ‘You go first. I’ll be right behind you.’
Peregrine took a few steps then looked back at Birdie, frowning suspiciously. ‘What are you up to?’
‘Up to? Nothing! Go on, in you go.’ She tipped her head, indicating the open door.
Peregrine complied but stopped almost as soon as she was over the threshold; she needed to give her eyes a moment to adjust from bright sunlight to the darker interior. Behind her, she heard Birdie slide the door closed and the gentle clink of glass as the tray was put down somewhere.
‘Let’s go and sit on the sofa.’ Birdie gave her a gentle shove in the direction of the lounge room.
Once again, Peregrine did as she was told, sure that she was being set up, but unsure why or what to do about it.
Entering the lounge, Peregrine was even more confused. ‘Why’s it so dark in here? Did you shut the curtains, Birdie? Is there a problem? Is someone spying on me?’
‘Surprise!’
A chorus of voices erupted from around the room and an unseen hand pulled open the curtains, flooding the room with light. Peregrine stood, her mouth open in amazement as Violetta, Samuel and an assortment of Adventuresses appeared from their hiding places.
Just Murdered Page 23