Ill-Gotten Gains (5 page)

Dear Eleanor A. Forrest, allow me to introduce. My name is Omar Sherrif and I am lawyer for Mrs P. Williams who has been recently widowed and left $1,000,000 by her deceased husband taken tragically. We entreat your assistance to obtain said monies. For this service, we will pay you 25%.

‘It was the plaque,’ said Quinn emphatically. She put her menu down and slid it across the table towards Lucy. ‘I’ll have the Petar Majic parmigiana. With chips. No vegies.’

‘Just like he would have had it, no doubt.’ I passed my own menu to Petra and sat back. ‘And sorry, but I don’t think the discovery that Mr Parmigiana was beloved is quite enough to incite murder.’

‘You said he sounded all excited on the phone. Mr Emerson, not Mr Parmigiana. And that he’d made a discovery. Obviously someone wanted to, like, shut him up.’

Petra drummed her fingernails on the table. They were French-tipped, with leopard print across the ends. ‘It does seem a bit too coincidental. He tells you that he’s found something … what word did he use? Huge?’ She waited for me to nod. ‘The day before being found dead. Murdered.’

‘Well, we
think
he was murdered. We still don’t have confirmation.’

‘Of course. Because the other option is that he locked the door and then sat down to have a heart attack. Maybe the lock was a bit stiff, took some effort. Yes, that’s plausible.’

‘Do you want me to order?’ asked Lucy, rising. ‘I’ll use my card and we can sort it out after. Parmigiana for Quinn. What else?’

‘Gold-fever fettuccine,’ said Petra. ‘But I’ll come up as well. Get a bottle of wine.’

‘I refuse to use those ridiculous names.’ I scanned the menu, feeling cross. ‘So just chicken and avocado risotto please. And if anyone orders the Sheridan Special, I’m leaving.’

I pulled my chair forward so Petra could pass and then poured myself a glass of water. Quinn was already on her mobile, thumbs dancing. My original intention had been to dine at the local pub with just my sister, however I seemed to have accumulated extra company – even being persuaded to act as a chauffeur for Lucy, who shared a long tale regarding the whereabouts of her own car that included at least two of her sisters, an Indian taxi driver, and an allegedly hot mechanic. By halfway through the story I would have agreed to anything. My sister was another matter. She was an excellent sounding board; one who could play devil’s advocate when needed, but also switch to supportive in an instant. I needed a little of both.

The promised conversation with Ashley Armistead had been brief. Just a repeat of the questions that Matthew had asked, plus a brisk exploration of the previous night’s phone call from Sam. He had given no information in return, not even a hint of what the coroner had found that had brought him to the centre in such a hurry. Downstairs, in the hall, much of the talk skirted around Sam’s penchant for bacon burgers and beer. But then they didn’t know what I did.

‘Cab sav,’ said Petra, putting the bottle down in front of me.

I pulled some money out of my purse and slid it over to Quinn. ‘Here, go get yourself a Coke. Now.’

‘If you want to get rid of me, just say so.’ Quinn rose, scooping up the money.

Petra squeezed past my chair and sat down. ‘What’s up?’

‘Darcy wants a divorce, and he also wants me to sell the house, or buy him out, or let him buy me out. Because that woman’s pregnant.’

‘What? I mean …
what
?’

‘She’s pregnant. Don’t tell the girls.’

Petra leant forward to grab the wine. She opened it deftly and poured us each a glass. ‘That fool.’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you okay?’

I toyed with my wineglass, watching the liquid slosh. ‘Not really.’

‘Christ. Five kids and he still hasn’t mastered the condom.’ She shook her head. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘Buy him out, I suppose. I don’t have much choice.’

Petra examined me thoughtfully. ‘That’s not quite true. I mean, don’t dismiss the alternatives altogether. Maybe you
should
sell up.’ She put a hand up to stop me interrupting. ‘Nell, that house is big. And full of memories. Maybe this is your chance to move on.’

I shook my head. That house was like family.

Quinn and Lucy returned, the latter placing one hand over her glass as Petra proffered the bottle. ‘No thanks, I’ll stick to water. I’m on a health kick.’

‘I think Mr Emerson rang someone else as well, Mum,’ said Quinn, who had clearly been giving this some thought. ‘After all, if he was so excited, he’d have been, like,
bursting
to tell someone. So he’s rung this mystery person and they decided to have him stuffed.’

‘Snuffed,’ I corrected.

‘Whatever. But that means you’re probably next.’

‘Fine. All I ask is that they make it quick.’

Lucy glared at her sister. ‘That’s ridiculous. Mum doesn’t
know
anything.’

‘Ah, but does the murderer realise that?’

‘Depends on how well he knows her,’ said my mother, looming over the table as she examined the seat formation. She dragged a chair from an adjoining table with a teeth-jarring scrape and hung her handbag on the back as she sat down, glancing from my glass to Petra’s. ‘What are we drinking?’

‘Good evening, Yen,’ said Petra with exaggerated politeness. ‘A glass of wine, perhaps?’

‘Obviously.’

Our mother was an interesting character. The name ‘Yen’ had arisen from her initial insistence that my sister and I not call her ‘Mum’. She hadn’t counted on the difficulties a baby would have with the three syllables of Lillian, and the instinctive abbreviation that would occur. By the time she realised that she had traded the traditional moniker for a unit of Japanese currency, it was too late. The name seemed to suit her anyway. Spiky, but with a hint of softness, because she herself was a melange of contradictions. Acerbic yet insightful; parsimonious yet generous; critical yet protective. She belonged to an array of social and special interest groups, serving as secretary on at least three, yet hadn’t invited anyone to her house for over thirty years. Except for our family friend next door, Uncle Jim, but she was having an affair with him so it didn’t quite count. Certainly his wife was never invited.

‘So what does your mother’s lack of knowledge have to do with anything?’

‘It’s about poor Mr Emerson. And how Mum’s life is in danger now.’

‘Highly unlikely.’

‘She can’t die, anyway, not till she’s finished all the doll’s houses,’ said Lucy, sounding rather more resigned to my fate than she had three minutes before. ‘One for each of us.’

The doll’s houses she was referring to had originated with a Tudor cottage that I started about twelve months ago, as a hobby to keep me busy. It was far cheaper to renovate a doll’s house than a real house. The problem, however, was that each of my offspring had immediately laid claim to the finished product as part of their inheritance. In a moment of weakness I promised to do one for each. So far I had just started the second, which meant that my lifespan required at least another five years.

Yen gazed around the table for a subject more interesting than my impending demise. ‘Petra, your fingernails look absurd. Which reminds me, did you order extra sour cream?’

‘Shit,’ said Petra.

‘I see. Did you order my meal at all?’

‘Shit.’

‘Excellent. Thank you.’ Yen rose again and treated us all to a withering glance before stalking off towards the bar.

‘Shit,’ said Petra again, taking a sip of wine.

‘Nothing to do with me,’ I said equably. ‘You’re the one who invited her.’

A young couple with a baby settled themselves noisily at the table from which Yen had filched her chair. While the woman divested herself of various infant paraphernalia, the man went in search of a highchair. He returned quickly and hefted a rather leggy baby from the pram.

‘That’s a really ugly baby,’ whispered Quinn, staring.

I followed her gaze. She was right.

‘Like, what would you do if you had such an ugly baby? Wouldn’t you be embarrassed?’

‘Let’s change the subject,’ said Petra, looking at me.

‘Yes,’ said Lucy, fidgeting with her water. ‘Let’s.’

I glanced at her curiously but she avoided my gaze. My eyes widened. Maybe she knew.

‘It looks like one of those … what are those animals that sit up and stare?’

‘Well, that’s done.’ My mother rehung her handbag, sat back down. ‘Fortunately I’m not hungry. I hope you lot don’t get put off by your meals arriving before mine.’

‘I’m sure we’ll be fine,’ I said pleasantly. ‘Besides, it had nothing to do with me.’

‘I
am
sorry, Yen.’ Petra dug a manicured nail into my hip. ‘We were talking about Sam and totally forgot.’

‘Meerkats!’ Quinn nodded, pleased. ‘That’s what it looks like. A meerkat.’

‘What does?’ asked Yen, looking a little like a meerkat herself as she peered around.

‘Just some ugly baby,’ replied Petra dismissively. ‘Now, Yen, you were going to drop in at Loretta Emerson’s house. See if she needed anything.’

‘She didn’t.’

‘Yes, but …’ Petra paused to give me a smug glance.
See,
this
is why I invited her
. ‘But didn’t she say anything about how he, well, died?’

‘Actually, she did, now that you mention it.’ Yen continued to peruse the room, and then twisted in her seat to take in the adjoining table. She raised her eyebrows. ‘Yes, Quinn, you’re correct. That is a remarkably unprepossessing child. How unfortunate.’

‘Sssh!’ I hissed, particularly as I had full view of the unfortunate, but not deaf, parents.

Petra rapped her fork against Yen’s glass and spoke through the echoing tinkle. ‘Yen – Sam Emerson?’

‘Murdered,’ replied Yen flatly, and rather dramatically. ‘Asphyxiated, to be precise. Not sure with what as yet. They also suspect that he was drugged, but confirmation will have to wait. Approximate time of death, somewhere between the hours of six and nine pm.’

I blinked, feeling a little flummoxed by the information. I had known there was more to the death than a simple heart attack since registering the implications of the locked door and Ashley Armistead’s presence. But it was still a jolt to have this verified, particularly so baldly. Drugged. Asphyxiated. Murdered.

‘Excuse me …’ The father from the adjoining table was staring narrowly at Yen. ‘You called my kid unprepossessing. What the fuck does that mean?’

‘Remarkable,’ replied Yen. ‘As in possessing something to be remarked upon.’

He frowned. ‘Then why’d you say that was unfortunate?’

‘Because it is always easier to fit in with the crowd than be remarkable. Out of the ordinary. It can be a difficult road to traverse, that of being significant. Takes character.’

‘Oh. I see. Okay, um … thanks.’

‘And next time, watch your language when addressing your elders. Unacceptable.’

‘Yeah, okay. Fair enough. Sorry about that.’

The waiter hove into view, carrying a tray loaded with plates. After some confusion, mainly because he kept trying to give one to Yen, the order was sorted and we were left to stare at our dishes.

‘Eat up!’ said Yen jovially. ‘Don’t let me stop you!’

I took a sip of wine, still thinking. ‘Asphyxiated. Unbelievable. How’s Loretta?’

‘Doing it tough. She had a lot of family there, support. But I imagine the shock of his death is compounded by the circumstances. And the questions.’

We ate in silence, each wrapped in thoughts that were no doubt similar. Except perhaps for Quinn, who alternated each mouthful with an examination of her mobile. I knew I should take it away but lacked the energy for an argument. Instead, I thought back to my own phone conversation with Sam. Was it possible that I was the last person who spoke to him, other than the murderer?
Nell, this is huge. Huge! If it weren’t for you and Quinn, we wouldn’t have started down this path.
We. Sam had said we.
We
have news for you,
we
discovered,
we
should be hung, drawn and quartered!

‘He wasn’t alone!’ I stared at my companions. ‘Sam! In our phone conversation, he kept using the word
we
. There was someone else there!’

‘And you have only just realised this?’ asked Yen.

‘Well, I was … busy at the time. I do have a life, you know.’

‘Temporarily,’ said Quinn darkly, glancing up from her phone.

‘Interesting.’ Petra drummed her fingernails again. ‘Very interesting. Of course, it doesn’t mean that this person is the murderer; just that at some stage Sam had company. It’s likely that this company was one of those there that afternoon, when you and Quinn dropped in.’

‘How do you figure that?’

‘Elementary, my dear Forrest. Sam didn’t introduce the other part of the
we
, which he would have done had he known that you were unaware of their presence. So the probability is that it was somebody whom he already knew that you knew was involved.’

‘What?’ asked Lucy, looking from me to her aunt. ‘I mean … huh?’

‘That sounds like a series of suppositions,’ I commented, unconvinced.

‘No, it’s the balance of probabilities. In the absence of other evidence, it becomes the best avenue of inquiry. So …’ After pushing her meal to one side, she plucked a fresh serviette from the stand and began tearing it up. ‘Anyone got a pen?’

Yen passed her one just as the waiter materialised with a plate containing a baked potato lathered with bacon-studded sour cream. Yen beamed. ‘Perfect! Thank you.’

‘So, who was at this meeting yesterday?’ Petra was writing SAM in large letters on a scrap of serviette. She pushed it into the centre of the table and then looked up expectantly.

‘The mayor, Willy and Leisl Ackermann, and Deb Taylor.’

‘Tessa’s sister,’ added Quinn, looking at her own sister.

I ignored her. ‘Oh, and Edward Given. He came in at the end.’

‘Okay.’ Petra was writing furiously. She lined up the pieces of serviette next to each other. ‘Now let’s eliminate them.’

‘Unfortunate turn of phrase,’ said Yen. ‘Particularly regarding Sam.’

‘You can also get rid of Willy.’ I was staring at the names. ‘Because I was talking to him as he unlocked the centre this morning and he didn’t even know why I was there.’