Ronnie was giggling like a deviant with her woolly-haired friend, the two of them huddled together on an outdoor sofa, side by side, bumping shoulders as they shared some past misdemeanour no doubt. Claire almost couldn’t bring herself to interrupt; knew this would mark the end of an otherwise glorious evening for Ronnie.
But interrupt she must.
“Um, Ronnie?” she called out, and her friend glanced up.
“Oh, Claire. Hello! Have you found my wayward nephew yet?”
Claire shook her glossy black hair. “Not exactly.”
Ronnie shrugged like she’d given up caring and waved her closer. “Come join us. Have you met my dear friend Peg? Peg Flannery, this is Claire Hargreaves from book club.”
As the two women swapped hellos, Ronnie held out her smartphone. “Would you mind taking a picture of me and Peg together, Claire?”
“Me too!” Peg also handed over her mobile phone, her bangles jangling as she did so.
“Oh, well, sure,” said Claire, thinking, we haven’t got time for this. But she didn’t want to start a panic, so she motioned for them to snuggle closer and said, “That’s right, lovely big smiles now.”
Because it would be the last time they would smile tonight.
“Thank you, Claire,” Ronnie said as they retrieved their devices. “Come, sit. Peg and I were just reminiscing about boarding school.”
“You’ve been friends since school days?”
“Oh yes,” said Peg. “Remember the tricks we used to play on each other, Ronnie? Especially on our birthdays.”
“Yes, I do.” Ronnie’s eyes narrowed. “But we’re all growed up now, thanks Peg, so don’t even think about it. Besides, my fondest memories are from our early twenties. All the lovely dances we used to go to back when we were still innocent young things.”
“A gazillion years ago,” added Peg, cackling.
Claire had already heard about those old-fashioned dances when she first got to know Ronnie—they sounded right up Claire’s alley—but she didn’t have time for reminiscing now.
“Actually, Ronnie,” she said more firmly. “We really need you to join us, the book club, in the study.”
Peg scoffed. “It’s not book club today, young lady.”
“I know…” A more pointed look at Ronnie. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
Ronnie dropped her head to one side, eyebrows nudging together. “Okay, take me to your leader.” Then she stood up. “Sorry, Pegs, won’t be a mo’.”
“Go! Mingle!” her friend said, but her eyes were narrowing on Claire, who could barely look at her straight. She suspected something was up, Claire could tell, but she wasn’t going to give the game away yet.
Peg pushed her purple glasses up onto her head and watched as the exquisitely dressed Asian lady dragged Ronnie away. She couldn’t help wondering what they were up to. She knew panic when she saw it, and that young woman was barely containing hers.
Oh dear, she thought. Was the ugly truth finally coming out? Ronnie might joke about those lovely dances, but they weren’t always so lovely, and there was certainly nothing innocent about Ronnie back in those days. Nothing at all.
Were Ronnie’s chickens finally coming home to roost?
~
Back at the court, the bloody corpse was starting to creep Perry out.
“You don’t have to stare at her, you know,” said Lynette, long legs up on the couch, leafing through an old copy of Vanity Fair as they waited, locked inside the pavilion. “I don’t think she’s about to get up and wander off.”
“It’s not her I’m worried about,” said Perry, pacing back and forth. “And thanks for volunteering me for this, by the way.”
“What happened to ‘we’re not as timid as we look’?”
“I’m all front, have you not worked that out yet? Besides, it’s one thing to discover a corpse but to have to keep it company… and with a killer still lurking.”
Lynette flipped a page over. “There’s nobody out there, just—”
There was a sudden rustling sound that made them both swing their heads towards the pavilion’s wooden front door.
“What was that?” whispered Perry.
Lynette smudged her lips downwards, shrugged, then returned to reading.
He frowned. “I can’t believe you and Alicia share the same DNA. You’re far too chilled considering the circumstances. It doesn’t hurt to have your wits about you. That woman didn’t get that hole in her back from playing tennis, you know.”
“Would’ve been one hell of a backhand if she had,” said Lynette, turning another page. She then glanced up to see Perry’s deepening frown. “Sorry, but I’m with Pete on this one. Sebastian obviously dragged Greta here for a romantic rendezvous and wouldn’t take no for an answer. She’s now dead, and he’s clearly made a run for it, unless you think Greta’s ghost got up and sprinkled those bloodstains across the court herself.” She glanced up. “Who takes a gun to a romantic rendezvous?”
“Oh, you know what these rich kids are like.”
“Hardly a kid. The twins have to be… what? Mid-thirties? Ronnie’s sister must have been very old when she had them. Or maybe there’s a big age difference between Ronnie and… what is her sister’s name? And where is she tonight?”
“Lizzie, I believe. Passed away years ago. Breast cancer I think.” Perry scratched his goatee. “Why am I the only one in this group who seems to know anything about Ronnie?”
“Because you’re the biggest gossip.”
“No, I’m no—” He stopped, his head swinging back to the front door again. He placed a finger to his lips as the sound of footsteps could be heard outside.
Now he was doing an Alicia and imagining a swarthier version of Seamus out there, gun in hand. Lynette must have been thinking along similar lines because she’d ditched the magazine and her feet were now firmly planted on the floor.
“Who’s there?” she called out, but they were met with silence.
Then they heard a loud click and watched, startled, as the front door suddenly swung open.
~
Ronnie was not at all startled when Seamus broke the news about Greta’s murder.
Claire had struggled to get her inside, other guests stopping them every five steps. Eventually they made it and Claire secured the study door behind them while Ronnie said, “Goodness, this is all very mysterious.”
Then she smiled at the book club friends who were gathered around Seamus near the fireplace, thrust her hands to her hips and added, “Okay, what are you all up to? I know you’ve been up to something.”
Seamus swallowed hard, then stepped forward. “I’m so sorry to tell you this, Aunty Ronnie,” he began, glancing back at Alicia, who gave him a nod. He took a deep breath. “But… um… my beautiful Greta… Oh God, I can’t believe I’m saying this. Poor Greta… she’s… dead. She’s been murdered.”
They all watched Ronnie, expecting her to gasp, but her smile lit up further.
“I knew it!” She clapped her hands, eyes twinkling. “I knew you were planning something.” Then she held a finger to her chin and tap-tapped it, like she was giving it some thought. “Murdered, you say? Hmmm… Very, very interesting. Tell me, how was she murdered? Dagger to the heart? Cyanide in her champers?”
“Sorry?” said Seamus, confused.
“Was she in the ballroom? The library? No… I know! The tennis court. That’s why you showed me the little icon thingies. Oh, you are clever.”
There were more frowns as Ronnie added, “Are we all playing characters or just being ourselves?”
“Aunty Ronnie… I’m not sure…”
“And what about the other guests?” she persisted. “Are they playing too, or is this game just for me? Because honestly, dears, I’m all in, but I’m not sure Bethany will be too pleased with you hosting a Murder Mystery Dinner Party in the middle of her grand soirée.”
“Murder Mystery Dinner Party?” echoed Seamus, looking back to the book club, who were beginning to cotton on.
“Oh dear,” said Alicia, stepping forward and grabbing Ronnie’s hands, giving them a solid shake. “Ronnie, this is not a game, I promise you. Seamus is telling the truth. We found Greta out at the tennis court. She really has been murdered.”
Ronnie’s smile was flickering out, but she was more confused than alarmed. “So this isn’t a pretend murder mystery?”
“No, Ronnie, it’s not.”
“But… I don’t understand.” She glanced from Alicia to Seamus. “I thought you were trying to find Sebastian.” She pulled her hands back, irritable now. “What’s going on Seamus? I thought Greta and Seb were together at the tennis court.”
Like being together would somehow make her not dead.
Now Seamus grabbed Ronnie’s hands, trying to drag her to a chair, but the older woman wasn’t budging.
“Is she really dead?” Ronnie’s eyes were back on Alicia, who nodded. “Could it have been an accident?”
“No,” said Alicia clearly. “Definitely not. Looks to us like she’s been shot in the back.”
“Shot? With what?”
Alicia stared at her. “A gun of course.”
“That’s plainly ridiculous,” said Ronnie, still trying to laugh it off. “I’ll head down there myself. Sort this mess out.”
“Not a good idea,” said Alicia. “Lynette and Perry are there with her, and your security guard has been alerted. He’s at the guardhouse calling the—”
“But what about Sebastian?” she said, slowly catching up. “Where is he?”
Her gaze had returned to Seamus, and he held out empty palms, his eyes wide with worry.
“He could be okay, Aunty, we just don’t know. He wasn’t there.”
“Wasn’t there?” Finally the truth was registering somewhere in the back of Ronnie’s head, and the blood drained from her face, but she wouldn’t be drawn down to the sofa. She remained standing, rigid. “He can’t have just vanished. He must be somewhere.”
She turned and stepped towards the door. “We need to look for him. We need to go and find Sebastian.” Then she swivelled back. “We’ll check that snappychat thing again, and we’ll find him in no time.”
“That’s not going to work,” said Seamus as Alicia held up her phone.
“I just spoke to Jackson, and he’s on his way. He’ll help us work through this. Until then it’s best we stay here. It’s a pretty horrible scene, and you look like you’re about to drop.”
“This is most bizarre… I mean, what happens now? What do we do about the party?”
“The party’s over, Ronnie,” Alicia said gently. “It’s a murder enquiry now.”
And with that the birthday girl did collapse.
~
Bronson clutched his crystal tumbler and stared at the closed study door, listening to the hubbub going on inside with a scowl. What were they all doing in there? Discussing one of their silly books? Why didn’t they come out and mingle? They were the only decent birds at the party! Certainly the only ones shy of sixty without varicose veins up and down their ugly, fat legs. He’d like to get a closer look at that sexy blonde’s pins. Not to mention her—
“Biddy get to bed eventually?” came Bethany’s voice behind him. Full of recrimination.
Bronson turned and gave her a sour look over his whisky. “Don’t know why I’m always on Biddy duty, Beth.”
“Oh stop your whinging,” she replied. “I haven’t exactly been swanning about enjoying myself.”
His eyes narrowed. “What have you been up to?”
“Never you mind. Suffice to say, our problems will soon be over.” Then her brow almost crinkled behind all that Botox, and she said, “At least I hope they will.”
There was a sudden bang and a muffled gasp from inside the study, and Bethany scowled at the door. “What’s going on in there?”
Bronson slurped his drink and shrugged. “Veronica was dragged in by her book club buddies. It was all very dramatic.”
“What do you mean dramatic?” She stepped closer and put her ear to the red cedar. “What are they doing back in Bert’s study? Veronica should be out here, tending to her guests. We haven’t even cut the official cake yet, and there’s still dancing to come.”
“Who cares about any of that,” said Bronson. “Jesus, woman, lighten up, have a drink.”
Bethany turned back to sneer at him. “One of us has to stay sober this weekend, Bronson. It’s not quite over yet, you know.” Then her lips wedged into a stiff smile and she said, “Hello Hugh. Everything okay with your wife?”
Hugh McMertle crossed the entryway towards Bethany, deep in thought.
“What? Oh… she headed home early. Got a bit of a headache.”
“Of course,” said Bethany, almost smirking.
He cleared his throat. “Has anyone seen Ronnie about? I need a quick word.”
“Get in line,” said Bronson, tipping his glass towards the study. “Looks like the young ones are having their own par-tay.”
“Oh, right.” Hugh tried for a smile, but it came off more like a grimace. He checked his gold watch. Scratched his thick white hair. “I need to get going soon.”
And if I don’t speak to Ronnie now, it may be too late.
“But you can’t leave yet,” said Bethany, her voice just shy of scandalised. “We’ve still got Pierre’s fabulous chocolate fondue, and I was hoping you’d waltz with Veronica. Somebody’s got to waltz with Veronica, and I can hardly ask Bronson to do it.”
“Please no,” said Bronson, visibly shuddering.
Hugh frowned. How Ronnie put up with her monstrous in-laws for so long, he did not know. One was a snake, the other a drunken layabout. Both dreadfully rude to their aunt and shameless about it. If it was up to him, he would’ve kicked them to the kerb years ago.
“I’ll come back in ten then,” Hugh said, turning and then turning back as he heard the study door click open behind him.
When he peered in, he saw Ronnie leaning against Bert’s desk, a look of utter desolation on her face. She had a muscly chap in a garish jacket holding her up on one side and a woman with a wispy blond hairdo and a worried expression on the other.
“Oh, Hugh,” said Ronnie. “Good. It’s you.”
“Everything okay?” he asked, stepping forward just as Bronson and Bethany stepped back.
“No,” Ronnie managed. “Could you come inside?” Then, a startled look at her in-laws, she added, “You’d better come in too.”
The three newcomers caught on faster than Ronnie had, but only just, and Alicia watched them closely as Seamus repeated the grim news about Greta. Alicia had done enough sleuthing now to know that one of these three could very well be the killer, and she was looking for signs of guilt or remorse or something. But their shock seemed genuine, especially Hugh’s.
“This is unbelievable,” he said. “Are you really telling us that a woman has been shot dead? Here? At the tennis court? What was she even doing at the tennis court at this hour?”
“It hardly matters now,” said Bethany, but Alicia begged to differ.
“We think she was there with Sebastian who, I’m sorry to say, is currently missing. We haven’t been able to find him.”
This brought a fresh round of groans from Seamus while Bethany and Bronson looked confused, then startled, and then something else. Alicia caught just a hint of it, but it was definitely there—annoyance. Bethany looked like she was being told the champagne had run out. But then she disguised it by holding a hand to her heart theatrically and declaring:
“How very concerning. What do we do now?”
“All we can do is wait for the police,” said Alicia.
“The police?” stammered Bronson. He had gone almost white, and Ronnie was now reaching for his hand.
“Do you need a water, dear?”
“I need another bloody whisky is what I need.”
“I’ll call for a waiter,” said Hugh.
“I’m going to need to see the body,” said Bethany, as though she required proof.
“No, Alicia’s right, we must stay put,” said Ronnie.
Then she explained how the police were on their way and everyone was to remain in situ until they arrived. “For all we know there’s a crazed gunman about. We stay together as a group. In fact…” Ronnie turned to Alicia, eyebrows high. “I think we should get all the guests safely inside and let them know. Don’t you?”
Alicia nodded, surprised how quickly Ronnie was pulling herself together and thinking straight. She wished she’d thought of that herself.
“Must we tell them?” asked Bethany. “Isn’t that a tad dramatic?”
“Dramatic?” repeated Seamus. “For God’s sake, Beth. My girlfriend has been shot in the back. I’m not sure it gets more dramatic than that.”
Bethany folded her arms. “All right, don’t have a coronary. I’m just saying, you may cause a panic, that’s all. What on earth will we say? How will we explain it?”
“We tell them the truth,” said Ronnie. The colour had returned to her face, and she was smoothing down her dress. “Will you come with me, Alicia?”
“Of course,” she replied. And of course Ronnie was getting her act together, Alicia thought. The book club had learned before how good she was in a crisis, her strength growing as things got worse.
“I still think—” began Bethany just as the phone on the desk rang out.
Ronnie swept across and snatched up the receiver, listened for a moment, then said, “Thank you, Pete,” and hung up. When she turned back, she had a steely expression in her eyes. “The police have arrived and are making their way to the tennis court now. Pete says they’ll come here after that. We’d better corral the guests and break the news to them.”
“Oh, they’ll be devastated,” said Bethany, as though the guests’ feelings were her only consideration for the night.
~
Perry’s heart was still hammering as he watched the two local police officers stride around the pavilion, checking every nook and cranny, like the killer was still lurking in there amongst the cleaning products. He couldn’t believe they hadn’t identified themselves before they unlocked the door with Pete’s master key, giving him a minor heart attack.
Hell, he couldn’t believe they were cops at all. They didn’t look old enough or ugly enough to lead an investigation. Had they even graduated from cop school? And why the voluptuous brunette was not pursuing a modelling career was beyond him. She looked like an Aussie Jennifer Lopez—all lips and hips and high, slick ponytail.
“Sorry if we alarmed you,” she said, striding out of the changing room and clicking off her torch. “I’m Constable Eva Sanchez, and this is Probationary Constable Luke Markovic.”
Probationary, mouthed Perry to Lynette. God help us.
Lynette introduced them as friends of the homeowner, Veronica Westera.
“You’re guests? Actual civilians?” said Markovic, also too young and pretty to be any use. “We assumed you were staff.”
“No, we just drew the short straw,” explained Perry, and they nodded uncertainly, then unlocked the sliding doors that led to the court.
“Please remain here,” said Sanchez, clicking her torch back on and stepping out and across to the corpse, her partner trailing behind.
After several minutes surveying the scene, they returned to the pavilion and began firing off a stream of questions—mostly about when Perry and Lynette had arrived, what brought them to the court, who exactly had been present when the body was discovered.
After dutifully answering each one, Perry said, “Shall we hand over to you now and scoot back to the house?”
“Actually…” Sanchez glanced at a police radio that was clipped to the side of her vest. “We’re still waiting on backup to arrive but need to get up there ourselves, check things over.” Her dark eyes darted to Markovic and back. “And I’m supervising officer, so… You two good to hang here a little longer?”
“Really?” said Lynette. “You want civilians protecting a crime scene?” She winked. “No worries. Go, do your thang, we’ll lock the door after you.”
Sanchez looked relieved as they exited the pavilion.
As soon as they were out of sight, around the bend in the pathway, Lynette threw the sliding door open again.
“Bugger this for a joke. Come on, Perry, let’s stop cowering like children and start acting like Poirot.”
He hesitated but only briefly. Having police on the property did make him feel bolder, even ones as cute and callow as those two, and he didn’t want the others to think they’d missed a chance to collect clues, so he braced himself and followed her out.
The court lights were now blindingly bright, and he felt like they were in a theatre, standing centre stage. On one side was the dense forest of native gums, like a shadowy audience, shifting and fidgeting in their seats, invisible yet clearly there. And on the other side was the lower, bushier garden that led back to the house. He was surprised you could see the McMansion all the way from here, the top level rising above the shaggy wattles, a few solitary lights on upstairs. He wondered if Biddy was still up, checking for the time, perhaps. Wondered if the grim news had now filtered through and how they would all take it. Ronnie especially.
“Oi!” Lynette broke through his thoughts. She was kneeling close to the body and pointing towards the woman’s hip. “I think I can see her mobile phone. It’s in her pocket. If I’m very careful, I could—”
“Don’t even think about it,” said Perry. “Jackson will throttle us if we touch anything.”
Then he wrapped his arms around himself as he glanced around again, this time away from the house and back across the court where something caught his eye. It was shiny. Just catching the light.
“What is that?” he asked, squinting across.
“Hmm?” said Lynette, now inspecting the clotted hole in Greta’s back.
“There,” said Perry. “Can you see it? That sparkly thing on the matting. It’s… odd.”
He made his way towards it and noticed a tear in the court surface, something shiny wedged inside. He bent down and went to touch it when his instincts kicked in and he leapt backwards.
“Oh my goodness me,” he said, fluttering a hand at his chest.
“You okay over there?” Lynette called out.
He nodded. Blew out a puff of air. Then said, “Lynny, you need to come see this. I think I’ve just struck gold. Or should I say lead.”