Chapter 19 ~ The Sad Sentinel

“I’m not at all hungry,” said Bethany as she dropped the empty bottle of champagne on the dining room table and began to inspect the buffet Rosa had presented. Then, like Peg with her gin, proceeded to fill her plate to bursting.

And Perry was close behind her. Rosa had worked wonders with Chef Kenji’s leftovers, and the spread looked fresh and delicious. He glanced at his watch. It was just on six thirty. The sun had now dropped, and Ronnie had not reappeared, nor had Peg for that matter.

Ronnie’s bedroom door was closed when Missy raced up to alert her, and she could see no light underneath, so she left her to it.

“Maybe I should’ve knocked,” Missy said now, eyes upwards. “Or I could take a plate to her?”

“If Veronica’s hungry, she’ll come foraging,” said Bethany. “She’s not completely useless. Yet. Now, where’s the soy sauce? Talk about useless! Did Rosa really not put out—”

“Here it is,” said Perry, almost slamming it on the table in front of her.

“Lovely,” she said, helping herself.

“And isn’t Peg with her?” said Bronson, now at the bar, cracking open a bottle of red. “We saw her drive up ages ago.”

“There you go,” said Bethany, dropping into an armchair. “If Ronnie gets hungry, she can send her other groupie down here to fetch for her.”

Then she offered them a benign smile as she bit into some sushi.

Perry felt his shackles rise. What a piece of work Bethany was. So shamelessly rude about Ronnie and all while swanning about in her house, scoffing her food, plundering her cellar. He felt like taking that sushi and squashing it across her smug, self-satisfied—

“You okay?” whispered Alicia from the sofa beside him.

He cleared the scowl and tried for a nod, but now he was feeling antsy. He really wished the Westeras would slink back to their lair again, but even Bronson was taking a seat, the one closest to Lynette of course, and that meant an end to their speculating. Because there was no way they were going to continue gossiping about Ronnie with those two present.

That really would be a betrayal.

Bronson hadn’t bothered with dinner, had simply poured a giant glass of shiraz, and was now boring them with a monologue about Westeraview, how his “brilliant Uncle Bert” had built it to replicate some monstrosity in “the Motherland”, how they used to share “stupendous” family weekends out here—“long before Veronica ever entered the picture”.

“It’s always been Biddy’s favourite place too,” he added. “She knows every square inch. Bert moved her in straight after it was built. He was like that, Uncle Bert. One of the good ones.” Then he chuckled over his wine and said, “Bert was as magnificent as this house. Just ask Pete. He was Bert’s biggest fan.”

And that’s when Perry’s mood suddenly lifted. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it earlier! There was someone who did want to continue the discussion, had even offered to help, should they bother to come looking.

He leaned closer to Alicia and said, “Fancy a moonlit stroll later?”

 

~

 

DI Singh strode across the floor of Homicide HQ and stared hard at the black leather shoe. Or at least the photograph of it that was stuck in the middle of the whiteboard. The real item was at the lab, and Scelosi had just rung with some interesting news.

There were two clear sets of fingerprints on the heel, and one of them did not belong to Sebastian. They were running the prints now…

“How are you going with the CCTV footage?” she asked Jarrod. “Tell me the old seccy filmed the killer ditching that shoe over the cliff edge.”

He looked up from his vegetable samosa and across to his computer. “Nothing there, ma’am. He mustn’t’ve switched them on.”

“But I’m sure that annoying book club said they asked him to turn on the cameras.”

“Well, if he did, someone must’ve shut them back off and erased the files. I’ll do a bit more digging.”

Then he chomped into his samosa like he had all night, while Singh glared back at the shoe.

 

~

 

As they strode down the driveway, Perry clinging onto a bowl of katsu curry wrapped in aluminium foil, he said, “Tell me again why we couldn’t just drive this down to Pete?”

“Because I need the exercise after being cooped up all day,” said Alicia. “Don’t you?”

He shrugged, then chuckled, remembering Bethany’s horror after he’d finished his meal and declared he was going to prepare a plate for the security guard.

“I thought she was going to tackle me to the floor,” Perry said, laughing. “For the life of her, Bethany could not work out why we’d bother.”

“So you really think Pete knows more than he’s telling?”

“That’s what he insinuated at breakfast. Said he might have more answers than we realise.” Perry’s smile wavered. “That’s not the only reason I’m doing this. I really do feel for the guy, down there all alone in the guardhouse like some sad sentinel.”

“I know. You’re a much nicer human being than Bethany.”

“Oh everyone’s a nicer human being than Bethany, even her boozy brother. She’s hardly a yardstick. But I am hoping Pete has something riveting to tell us, and it goes beyond boring old Hugh McMertle. For all we know Ronnie slept with a prime minister or a cardinal or something, and I wouldn’t put it past Ronnie. She does mingle in shockingly prestigious circles. Whoever it is, they didn’t want Sebastian leaking the truth in his speech last night.” He stopped. “Did we ever look at the guest list properly?”

Alicia snorted. “I’m pretty sure we would’ve noticed if there was a PM or a cardinal floating about.”

“Yes, but maybe there was someone at the party whose job it is to protect such a creature. Perhaps if the truth got out it would lead to… I don’t know, a diplomatic crisis or something.”

Now Alicia was laughing, waving him on. “This isn’t a Tom Clancy novel, Perry. Your mind is running away with you tonight. And worse than that, it’s putting Bethany and Bronson in the clear because that’s gotta be something they’d want to come out during the speeches. Wouldn’t disadvantage them in the slightest.”

“Oh yeah, bummer.”

After walking in silence for a bit, Alicia said, “I wish we’d had a chance to meet Bert Westera. They sure do worship him, don’t they? Ronnie called him a saint, and she’s not usually so effusive.”

“Peg also called him a saint,” said Perry. “I wonder if she had a crush on Bert too. Maybe she’s a little jealous of her old school pal and how well her life has turned out. Remember, Peg was the single one at those dances, but it was ‘Vivacious Veronica’ who nabbed the hunky Dutch hunter even though she already had the country’s most eligible bachelor waiting for her back at home. Peg ended up married to a man who’s… How did she describe him?”

“Dull and poor,” said Alicia.

Perry shuddered. “Are there two more unforgiveable traits in the human race?” He winked. “Maybe Peg’s had enough of her bestie always stealing the limelight, living in luxury, being lauded for giving away millions when everybody knows the money really came from Bert. Last night’s party might’ve been the final straw. Jazz band, celebrity chef, fireworks for heaven’s sake. It’s not just the Ugly Siblings who’re jealous of Ronnie but her BFF. Could be as simple as envy.”

“Oh, there’s nothing simple about envy,” Alicia told him. “So what are you saying? You think Peg had something to do with it?”

“God no!” He chuckled. “I’m just saying, I’m not sure Peg’s as good a friend as Ronnie thinks she is. Ahh, here we are at last.”

At the bottom of the driveway they could see the guardhouse lit up and noticed the front gate was wide open.

“That’s odd,” said Perry.

“What is?” Alicia asked.

“Why would he—?” Perry stopped. Stared ahead. “What is that?”

Before Alicia could answer, he had thrust the bowl at her and was running towards the guardhouse and then straight past it, out through the open gate.

“Where are you going?” she called after him, then tucked her head down and followed, nearly spilling the food as she ran.

It was only when she got through the gate and onto the main road that she saw what had caused Perry’s panic. There was a man, slumped on the gravel, just on the other side of the wall.

“Oh no,” said Alicia.

“Oh yes,” said Perry, grappling for his phone. “The sentinel has left his post.”

 

 

Chapter 20 ~ The Eviction

 

If Pete Ragnar had something to share, it would now go with him to his grave.

The security guard was slumped in the sitting position, his back against the outer side of the wall, with what looked like a single gunshot wound to his right temple. His mouth was a silent, gaping cavern, his hands by his side, one of them loosely holding a semi-automatic pistol.

“Singh will be ages,” Perry told Alicia after getting off the phone to her. “She said not to panic, leave him as he is and lock ourselves in the guardhouse until the local squad arrive.”

They both stared down, grimacing, at the victim.

“How was she?” asked Alicia, folding her arms across her chest. “Furious with us?”

“Why? This was hardly our fault.”

Alicia nodded, but it didn’t quash the queasy feeling deep in her stomach.

Oh God, she thought, what would Jackson say about this one? Another dead body discovered by his girlfriend and her book club.

The conduct commission people would have a field day!

Perry added, “She’s calling the others now. Putting the house in lockdown too. What a nightmare.”

They took a final look at Pete, then hurried back to the guardhouse to do as instructed, securing the door behind them, their breaths sharp and shallow as adrenaline swirled through them again.

Alicia dropped the redundant curry to one side and glanced about. The guardhouse was larger than she expected, almost TARDIS-like, and oddly cosy. There was a scrappy old Persian rug across the wooden floor and a long, thin desk below the window, which housed several computer monitors, pens, a wad of personalised Westera stationery, and a selection of clean coffee cups, including the crimson-and-gold one he’d brought back with him that morning. And in front of that was a very shabby captain’s chair. It had to be a hand-me-down from Bert’s study, Alicia thought, just like the rug below her feet.

And for some reason that made her feel even worse.

As Alicia took the chair, Perry checked out Pete’s fold-up bed, now tucked into one corner, then strode to an internal door and swung it open.

“Urgh,” he said, eyes darting across the old toilet and sink. “That could do with a good dose of Mr Jiffy!” Then he glowered. “Typical rich folk, hey? Pete’s here all day, every day, and his facilities are worse than a porta-loo, while there’s an obscenely glamorous bathroom at a tennis court that nobody uses.”

Alicia didn’t appear to be listening; she was staring out at the body. From this angle, it looked like Pete was just napping.

“Are we thinking suicide?” she asked. “Looks very much like he shot himself to me.”

Perry made a pft! sound. “That’s what they want us to think, darling. We’re far too clever for that. The whole scene was clearly staged with the gun neatly placed in his hand.” He swung his eyes outwards. “What hand was the gun in? Right wasn’t it? If he’s left-handed, that could be a clue. Besides, why would Pete suddenly top himself? Last time we saw him, he was determined to keep us safe. Why promise that then come down here and blow his own brains out?”

Alicia winced at Perry’s candour, but he made a good point. And a scary one at that, because if it wasn’t suicide, that left only murder. She peered towards the shadowy road.

“Maybe we should lock the gate,” said Perry, reading her mind.

“But then poor Pete will be out there all alone.”

Perry rubbed her back gently. “He’s dead, honey. You do get that, right? Nothing can hurt him now. Besides, that gun’s out there with him.” Then he gasped and said, “The gun’s out there with him! Yes, we should lock the gate.”

They scrambled about, trying to locate an obvious switch or knob or something when Alicia’s phone rang, making them both jump. It was Lynette, calling from the house, her voice sounding unusually worried.

“We’re both fine,” Alicia assured her, placing the call on speaker mode. “How is everyone up there?”

“Not sure yet,” said Lynette. “Claire’s gone to wake Ronnie, and Missy and Queenie are fetching Bethany and Brother Sleaze, who’d finally cleared off to the guest house when we got Singh’s call. I’m more interested in you two. Everything okay?”

“We’re fine,” Perry repeated, speaking up.

“So what do you think happened?” Lynette asked.

“Can’t say yet,” said Alicia. “Could be suicide, could be murder.”

“But why would anyone want to kill Pete? He seemed so sweet.”

“He clearly knew something,” said Perry. “He indicated that at breaky this morning, Lynette. And now, lo and behold, he’s dead.”

There was a stunned silence, and then Lynette said, “So that’s why you guys took off.”

“Not the only reason,” snapped Perry. “I also wanted to make sure Pete got some dinner. God knows Bethany wasn’t going to. But now I wished I’d left the poor man alone. From the beginning!”

“Sorry?” said Lynette while Alicia just stared at him.

“It’s all my fault,” Perry said. “If I hadn’t insisted he switch the cameras on, he might still be alive. Pete must’ve seen something and had to be silenced.”

“How do you figure that?” asked Alicia. “He only put them on after Greta was murdered.”

“Sure, but what if he saw the killer later, disposing of the gun or something? What if he blackmailed them and that’s why he’s dead?” He groaned. “This could all be on me.”

Lynette told him to get over himself, then said she had to run, and so they hung up, Alicia’s eyes widening at Perry.

“Now I’m wondering about Bethany again,” she told him. “She was standing with us yesterday on the patio when Pete made that offer to help, and she looked really startled by it. It could’ve been a warning to her.”

“Or a threat that she took seriously,” said Perry. “Except, do we really think Morticia slithered down here and overpowered a man twice her strength? He might be in his sixties, but she’s also no spring chicken and the size of a twig.”

“Unless she had an accomplice. Like Lurch.”

“Okay, that’ll work…” He gave Bronson some thought, then he turned and tapped both keyboards, bringing their screens to life, hoping they might show footage from the property cameras. But apart from a bunch of obscurely named hard drives, the screens were both blank.

“We need to see that CCTV footage,” he said. “From today I mean. Because as bad as I feel about forcing Pete to switch it on, it could also bring him justice. Pete might have inadvertently filmed his own murder.”

It was a creepy thought, but Alicia clung on to it as though it were a flotation device.

 

~

 

DI Indira Singh felt adrift, like she’d lost her moorings, and it didn’t help that she’d just had a big blow-up with Jackson. Again. She’d tried so hard to be a supportive colleague, had agreed that the Conduct Commission were a pack of idiots and there was no way his girlfriend and her silly little book club could have anything to do with murder.

But now… another body? And worse, another body they just happened to stumble upon?

Now she had to wonder what took the LECC so long.

And she might have said all that over the phone to him earlier as she grabbed her things and dashed back to the crime scene. Or barked it really, adding something about his “lunatic girlfriend” and her “creepy murder fetishist mates” and how they would cost him his badge.

She winced now just thinking about it on the long drive to Westeraview, Pauly in the passenger seat beside her, knowing better than to engage in conversation when she was this stroppy.

Exhaling loudly, she gave herself a shake. Truth is, it wasn’t really Jacko she was angry with. Or his creepy mates. It was herself. Her dereliction of duty. The fact that she not only let the book club loonies remain at the crime scene, but she also let the silly old coot who called himself a security guard.

And look where that had got him!

She should have sent them all safely home where they belonged. And she should have kept the real professionals, the local squad, at the property instead. But she thought she had the killer. Seamus Jones was safely locked away. She had let her guard down, and with it an old security guard who should have been in retirement.

So how had this happened? Had she been wrong about Seamus all along, or was he working with someone else? Someone who was now cleaning up his mess?

 

~

 

The mood at the house was not much better. It had taken some doing to wake Ronnie from her nap, and when she appeared, she looked cranky and then confused. It took even more doing to get her to understand that not only had she slept through dinner—“What do you mean it’s almost eight thirty?”—but that she’d also slept through another murder.

“I’m so sorry, Ronnie,” said Claire, helping her down the stairs, because she was still wobbling a bit from her slumber. “We really didn’t want to disturb you. You looked so beat earlier. But now… with Pete…”

“No, no, I’m glad you’ve woken me. Wish you’d woken me earlier. This is just horrendous. Shot, you say? Another one?”

She nodded. “Detectives are on their way, and we’re to go into lockdown until they arrive. And don’t worry, Alicia and Perry are safely locked in the guardhouse.”

“My God, it’s like a recurring nightmare. Have you told Bethany and Bronson?”

“The others are doing that now.”

“Where’s Hugh and Peg?” asked Lynette, who was waiting at the bottom of the staircase.

Ronnie looked down at her, confused. “Hugh left hours ago when I went for my nap. I haven’t seen Peg all day.”

“Really? She was here just after four. Had a few drinks with us, then went to check on you.”

“Ahh, that might explain it,” said Ronnie, reaching the lower level and holding on to the railing like she was pooped. “I heard someone knocking. Thought it was Bethany. Really couldn’t stomach any more of my niece.”

Lynette nodded. “Rosa saved you some food. There’s a plate in the kitchen.”

“Oh she really is a dear, but I’m not sure I can eat anything.” Then she inhaled suddenly and said, “Pete? He’s really dead?”

They both nodded now. “And Sebastian?” she asked, eyes wide, worried. “Any news?” Now they shook their heads, and she slumped onto one of the stairs. “Where is he? Where is my beautiful, beautiful boy?”

“There is one silver lining,” said Claire. “Seamus is locked away, so they can’t plant this one on him.”

Ronnie nodded but it did not really cheer her up.

 

~

 

Bronson was incensed that someone would dare to invade Bert’s property and slaughter his loyal guard. And he told Missy and Queenie that in no uncertain terms as they all trailed Bethany back to the main house.

“What’s Pete ever done to hurt anybody? He didn’t deserve that.”

“It’s shocking,” agreed Bethany, her voice low and hoarse.

“Pete’s worked for this family for almost fifty years. What kind of animal comes in and shoots him? Hmmm?” Then he stopped and said, “Are your friends completely sure he’s been murdered?”

“They’ve seen a few dead bodies in their time, so yes, I’m sorry, but I trust they’ve got that right,” said Queenie.

He glared at her like she was an imbecile, then nodded and kept walking.

When they got to the house, he pointed to the kitchen. “Does Rosa know?”

Missy nodded now. “She’s organising strong pots of coffee and tea for us all.”

“Yes, good, we could do with some coffee,” he mumbled, then once in the parlour, headed straight for the bar.

 

~

 

Constable Sanchez shook her high ponytail at Perry and Alicia, like they were recalcitrant children.

“DI Singh is not going to be happy with you guys,” she said after she’d arrived, checked Pete’s body, and then made her way across to them.

She had a different partner with her tonight, a dull-looking chap appropriately named Constable Sam Smith, whose eyes lit up after she introduced Perry and Alicia with the addendum: “They’re in that book club I was telling you about.”

He nodded his head knowingly while Perry puffed up his chest.

“What does that mean?” he demanded.

Now the two officers shared a conspiratorial smile.

Alicia watched all this in horrified silence. Was the book club’s reputation already preceding them? Did the entire police force think they were a pack of crazed murderers, picking off innocents to satiate their thirst for mystery?

“Stay right there,” Sanchez said, as if they were on the naughty chair, then she and Smith strode back to the body to inspect it more closely.

“What was she insinuating?” Perry asked as they watched Smith snap photos with his camera before Sanchez pulled on gloves and picked up the weapon, dropping it neatly into an evidence bag.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” said Alicia, knowing full well it wasn’t.

Sanchez said something to Smith, then left him by the body and returned with her notepad open.

“Okay, let’s have it. What time did you find the victim?”

“Never mind us,” said Perry. “You should check the CCTV footage. We know Pete turned the cameras on. If you’re lucky, you might see him approaching his killer.”

“Thank you, sir,” she replied, “but I am a professional. I do know what the job entails.”

She was parroting Singh, and he didn’t like it.

“I apologise for mansplaining, Constable Sanchez,” he snapped back. “But you need to understand, we’re not amateurs. We’ve assisted your people before. In fact, Alicia’s boyfriend happens to be—”

“Okay, Perry,” Alicia said quickly. “Let’s just answer the officer’s questions and get out of her way. So… we got down here just after eight, maybe eight fifteen…”

As she rattled off the relevant information, Alicia hoped she didn’t sound equally as rattled while Perry scoffed and tsked beside her.

 

~

 

There was the sickly sense of déjà vu in the air when Perry and Alicia finally returned to the house via a lift from Sanchez.

“How is he?” Bronson asked when they entered the parlour, like Pete might have risen from the dead.

“Deceased,” was Sanchez’s glib reply. “Can I ask you all as a group if you heard or saw anything that might relate to this latest shooting?”

There were head shakes all around, and then Sanchez pulled out her trusty notepad.

“Once again, I’m going to need to take statements.” She glanced at her watch. “Our team vacated the property at precisely two thirty this afternoon, and Mr Ragnar was alive then, so I’m curious to know if any of you happened to see him between two thirty and…” She glanced at her pad. “Around eight o’clock this evening.”

The group all shook their heads except for Ronnie.

“He was certainly alive when he waved me in after my lawyer’s visit this afternoon,” she told her.

“Which was when?” asked Sanchez.

Ronnie blinked rapidly behind her spectacles, like she hadn’t a clue.

“Just before three, I reckon,” said Alicia. She remembered it clearly. It was not long after she might or might not have broken up with her boyfriend.

“That’s right,” said Ronnie. “Hugh McMertle was with me, but he left about an hour later.”

“So he left at four p.m.?” Sanchez was now scribbling in her pad. She looked up. “Was Mr Ragnar at the gate when he exited, do you know?”

Ronnie said, “Somebody had to open the gate for Hugh, so I assume so.”

Sanchez made a note in her pad. “Any other visitors this afternoon?”

“There was Peg,” said Claire. “Peg Flannery. She arrived at around four fifteen I believe, and chatted with us for just under an hour. So if she didn’t go up to see you, Ronnie, she must have left at about five-ish?”

“Oh yes,” said Ronnie. “And you two had a visitor today, didn’t you?” She was speaking to Bethany, who looked up with a start.

“Hmm? Oh, he was nobody. Besides, he was gone long before noon.”

Sanchez’s pen stalled. “Sounds like there were a few people coming and going. I’ll need all visitors’ full names and contact numbers and the times they arrived and left. Once the forensic team verify time of death, I’ll also need a rundown of all your movements after two thirty p.m.”

“Oh wonderful,” said Bethany. “Yet again, we’re being treated like criminals. Why do you instantly assume one of us did it?”

She was glaring at Sanchez, and once again the young officer was saved from answering by the arrival of DI Singh.

But this time nothing could save the book club.

Within minutes of entering the house, the detective was handing them their marching orders.

“I want you all to pack your bags and vacate the property immediately,” she said, making several of them bristle, including Ronnie.

“Don’t bother, Mrs Westera,” Singh added. “That includes you and everybody else who does not reside permanently at this address. Which leaves just Bridget Westera and her carers I believe.”

“Biddy’s been at my place since this morning,” Ronnie told her, a little snippily.

“Good, then you can join her there. This property is still a crime scene, and I have the authority to remove all non-residents.”

Then her eyes swept to Bethany and Bronson, but this time they did not offer any objections.

“Happy to leave you to it,” said Bethany, standing and smoothing her skirt down. “Perhaps you’ll actually make some progress this time.”

She nodded at her brother and they strode out, while Singh ignored her slight and was just about to say something to Sanchez when Perry said:

“Sorry, Indira, but aren’t you even a little curious to know how we found Pete and who we think killed him?”

“Perry,” warned Alicia as Singh’s eyes burned into his.

“Mr Gordon, how many times must I say this? You are amateurs. I have zero interest in what you think.”

Then she placed her hands on her hips and swept her eyes across all of them. “You people have let your past success go straight to your heads, you know that, right? Not every death is some overly complicated, elaborate plot. And none of them—I repeat none of them—are yours to solve. Now…”

She swept back to Sanchez. “Make sure this lot leave immediately and take everything they brought in with them. I don’t want anyone back here with some pathetic excuse like a forgotten toothbrush. Not that they’d be foolish enough to try.”

Then she strode off, yelling out, “It’s time to let the professionals get on with it.”

And with that, the party really was over. At least, the real-life murder-mystery party that the amateurs had found themselves immersed in.

 

 

Chapter 21 ~ Back in the Real World

 

Sunday morning was cold and drizzly, the perfect day for a warm breakfast at the Finlay sisters’ cosy Woolloomooloo terrace house. Apart from Ronnie, who was conferring with her legal team again, the club were back together, helping themselves to steamy pots of English Breakfast and Earl Grey tea and freshly brewed coffee. Lynette had been up to her usual tricks, and there was also bacon and egg rolls, piping-hot banana bread, and pumpkin soup simmering on the stovetop, lest it drag into lunch (which everyone knew it would).

Singh might have banished the club from the crime scene, but she could not ban them from discussing the crimes together, and they were doing just that, although in a far less salubrious setting. The view through the Finlays’ barred windows was of a grimy inner-city street, the interior less magnificent, the furnishings far less lux, but at least there weren’t any dead bodies. Yet.

Because things would soon heat up as they wrestled between suspects.

But first Alicia needed to get it all down in her journal. So, as they filled their plates, Max the Labrador darting between them, hoping for some droppings, Alicia jotted down every potential suspect for the attacks on Greta Granger, Sebastian Jones and Pete Ragnar.

Everyone agreed they had to be linked. The chances of two completely unconnected killers was zip, zero and zilch. Or at least they hoped it was. But who would want to kill all three? And that was where they deviated.

Missy was gunning for Bethany, mostly, it seemed, because she didn’t like the woman, and Perry was seconding that one for similar reasons. He also wanted to throw Bronson into the mix (“He can’t be as useless as he looks!”). Lynette had her eye on Hugh, and that had more to do with issues of trust, but Queenie was still pointing the finger firmly at Seamus.

“You can’t still think he’s guilty,” said Perry. “He was in lock-up yesterday.”

“Could be in it with someone,” Queenie said. “Like his own twin brother.”

“Oooh, the evil twin theory. I love this theory,” said Missy, emitting a sinister cackle.

Queenie’s look was as blunt as her fringe. “I’m being serious, Missy. I wonder if the original target was Greta all along and the twins plotted the whole thing. Perhaps they didn’t like the way she switched between the brothers, played them off each other. Maybe they’re like those scary misogynists you see on Twitter who secretly hate women and wanted to teach her a lesson.”

“That really is evil,” said Missy, no longer cackling.

According to Queenie’s theory, Seamus only shot at Sebastian to make it look like he was a target, then while Seamus was detained, Sebastian snuck back to kill Pete. “Sebastian has never shown up. For all we know, he could still be alive. Perhaps Pete saw him and needed to be silenced.”

“I think you’ve got that last bit half right,” said Perry. “Pete definitely saw something. That’s the reason he’s dead. As for the rest?” He made a cuckoo motion with one hand. “Move over, people, we have a new Queen of Outlandish Theories. I only wish DI Jackson were around to hear that.”

Then he winked at her obvious disappointment and added, “Listen, honey, I love a kooky theory, but I do think it’s a little too kooky, even for us. And you’re ignoring the fact that Greta wasn’t the one who was lured to the tennis court. That was Sebastian. That text told him to come alone. She wasn’t supposed to be there.”

“Unless that was a ruse,” said Queenie. “To look like Greta wasn’t the target but Sebastian was always going to drag her there with him so Seamus could shoot her.”

“It gets eviler and eviler,” said Missy, adding, “Is that a word? Eviler?”

“It’s rubbish is what it is,” said Perry. “And just plain dumb. Again, no offence, Queenie, but the text came from Seamus’s own mobile phone, so he implicated himself. What fool would do that?”

Queenie shrugged. “I said he was a misogynist, I never said he was smart.”

Alicia closed her journal and sat forward. “Okay people,” she said, “I’m also a fan of kooky theories, but let’s park yours for now, Queenie, because Singh’s already on Seamus’s case, so our time would be better spent looking elsewhere. I think we need to agree on some basic assumptions so we can narrow this down, otherwise we’ll all end up cuckoo.”

“What assumptions?” asked Claire.

Alicia reopened her journal and began to list them. She’d already jotted them down last night, needing to block out all thought of Jackson. The first assumption, already voiced, was that Greta’s death was “collateral damage” and that Sebastian was always the intended target.

Which led to the next and most chilling assumption—that he, too, was now dead. “I’m sorry, Ronnie, wherever you are,” said Alicia, “but if Sebastian is still alive, where is he?”

This caused a small ripple around the room, but most agreed Sebastian was probably lost at sea.

The next assumption was that whoever killed Greta and Sebastian also killed Pete. “If it really was murder,” said Alicia, who was still holding on to the idea it might be suicide. But she let that go for now.

Instead, she wanted to focus on her final assumption—that the killer was someone who was present at both Ronnie’s seventy-fifth birthday party on the Friday night and at Westeraview the following day.

“There were about fifty people at Ronnie’s party, including staff, so I think it’s a process of elimination,” she said. “Who was there at the time of both incidents? We work that out, we find our killer.”

“Bethany, Bronson, Hugh and Peg,” said Claire, like she’d been thinking about that too. “All four could have done it.”

“Hang on,” said Lynette, eyes back on Alicia. “You’re making another massive assumption, sis. Pete’s killer could have been someone else entirely. Someone who arrived at the gate and never came up to the house. Someone we didn’t see.”

“But it had to be someone Pete knew and trusted because he wouldn’t have opened the gate to a random visitor, would he?”

“My point remains,” said Lynette.

Missy sat forward. “Speaking of random visitors, did anyone else notice how evasive Bethany was about her guest yesterday? When Ronnie asked her, she didn’t say. Makes me wonder…”

“Yeah, but that blows Alicia’s fourth assumption out of the water,” said Queenie, who was tapping her own notes into her phone. “As far as we know, that visitor was not at Ronnie’s party, or she would have recognised him, right? Plus he’d left by noon on Saturday, according to Bethany. And we know that Pete wasn’t killed until after two thirty.”

“Bethany could be lying,” said Missy. “And who’s to say this mysterious stranger didn’t sneak back when no one was looking?”

She was about to elaborate when Claire’s mobile sang out. It was Ronnie. Claire put her on speakerphone, and the group all gathered around to see how she was faring.

Her voice sounded drained as she gave them an update. There was still no progress with Seamus’s bail application, largely because it was Sunday. “But I have put a call through to my old friend Finnegan O’Rourke. I’m hoping he can pull some strings. He’s a High Court judge and really, what’s the point of friends in high places if you can’t call in a few favours? How are you lot doing?”

No one spoke for a moment, then Alicia said, “We’re thrashing it out now, Ronnie, working out who was at Westeraview at the time of both incidents.”

“In that case, this might help.” Ronnie proceeded to pass on some information she’d learned through her lawyer.

The police had narrowed down Pete’s time of death. They now had a witness to say the security guard was still alive as late as six on Saturday evening. Or three witnesses, to be more precise, including a police officer.

“Greta Granger’s parents visited the tennis court yesterday,” Ronnie explained. “Not sure why they’d put themselves through that, but people do what they need to do I suppose.” There was a strangled silence at the other end. “Anyway, they may very well be the last people to have seen Pete alive, because they say he waved them out of the property just before six last night. So I think… Oh, oh… Sorry, my dears, I have to go. Finnegan’s on the other line.”

And with that she was gone, and the club were looking more lively, thrilled to have narrowed down the timeline.

All except for Missy.

“You know what this means, right, possums?” she said. “If Pete was killed between six and eight last night, it puts Bethany and Bronson in the clear, because they were on the patio at that exact time, remember? They were drinking out by the pool. Then they came straight in and joined us for dinner. We are their alibis.”

“And they are ours!” said Alicia, sighing with relief as she thought of Jackson and the internal review.

“Why do we need an alibi?” asked Perry and she balked, looked away.

“Unless…,” said Missy, not catching on. “What about their random visitor? What if he came back? What if he’s Bethany and Bronson’s secret assassin? He dropped in that morning so they could pay him for the hit job on Greta and Sebastian, and then they asked him to return later and take out Pete.”

“And you say my theory is kooky.” Queenie snorted.

“Yeah, this isn’t The Godfather, you foolish woman,” Perry said, softening that with a wink.

“Except the question still remains,” was Lynette’s take. “Who even was that guy? Ronnie certainly didn’t know him, and what was he doing visiting at such a tragic time? Why invite him over? It’s not even their house yet.”

“We could try asking Bethany and Bronson,” suggested Queenie.

“Like they’d tell us anything,” said Perry. “Pity our favourite doorman is dead. Pete’d know for sure; he’d have it written on his… Oh!” He plunged a hand to his heart. “The guest list! We need to get hold of that old clipboard he used to tick our names off when we arrived, like we were entering a nightclub. I was listed as Peppy.”

He smiled now, like he was remembering good times. “Maybe that was routine and Pete wrote down the name of every visitor. It might tell us who Bethany’s mystery guest was, or even better, who else happened to stop at the gate. Maybe he jotted down the name of his own killer!”

“Ooh, goosies,” said Missy, waving a hand up and down the goose bumps on her arm.

“Indeed,” said Perry. “We need to get back to Westeraview and find it.”

Alicia gasped. “Don’t even think about it. Singh will have us up on charges if we go back. You heard what she said yesterday. Only a bloody fool would try it.”

“I’ll do it!” said Missy, then she grinned at their surprise. “Come on, guys, even you have to admit I’m very good at playing the fool.”

“Oh, Missy, I didn’t really mean you were a fool,” said Perry.

“I know that, honeybun, but they don’t. I’ll head back after this, pretend I’ve left something there so I can have a little snoop around.”

“Just don’t tell them it’s your toothbrush,” said Alicia, heart pounding at the very thought.

 

~

 

DI Singh felt her heart skip a beat as she strode into the city morgue to inspect the latest homicide victim, although whether it was homicide was still a point of conjecture, hence the reason her heart was skipping. That and the fact that Henryhan was also there, looking far too comfortable as he perched on the edge of Scelosi’s desk and sipped from a Styrofoam cup.

“Hello, Singo, can I get you a coffee?” asked Scelosi, like she’d just strolled into his kitchen.

She shook her head and took a deep breath, eyes turning to Henryhan. “Hello, Miles,” she managed.

“Good to see you again,” Henryhan replied, even though she’d literally left his bed that morning.

Singh had been crushing on the ballistics expert for months. Was thoroughly enjoying their first dinner date on Friday night when she got the call-out to Greta Granger’s homicide—covering for blasted Jackson of course. But then Scaryhan had shown up at the tennis court soon after, acting as though he barely knew her. Right until the end when he’d leaned in and asked her very sweetly, kindly, if they could go for dinner again.

That had sent the butterflies swirling!

And so they’d headed out late last night. And again, they didn’t get to finish dinner but for very different reasons this time…

Breathing deeply to ward off the blush that was creeping towards her cheeks, Singh turned to look at Pete’s body, which was laid out on the table. “So what are we thinking? Suicide? Homicide? Alien invasion?”

Henryhan smiled. “No foreplay then, Detective? You want me to get straight to it.”

And now she was blushing, a deep, crimson red.

Fortunately, Scelosi didn’t notice. His eyes were on the corpse. “Yep, might as well get on with it, Miles. I’ve checked the bloods and the gunpowder residue, you’ve inspected the wound, there’s no two ways about it…” He paused and glanced back at Singh then. “I’m not sure if you’ll consider this good news or bad, Detective, but it’ll certainly be interesting…”

Then he let Henryhan break the news while Singh’s heartbeat skipped again, and this time it had nothing to do with her sexy new lover.

 

~

 

The coffee plunger and teapots were empty, the rolls and banana bread had vanished, and the soup bowls were licked clean, yet the crimes seemed murkier than ever, and Perry, for one, was not convinced that Bethany’s mysterious visitor would help clarify anything.

Instead, he wanted to go back a beat.

“I still think it comes back to the words Pete said at breakfast yesterday. Somebody took that as a threat and responded.” He waited another beat, expecting some splashback, then said, “Sorry folks, but I think we need to throw Ronnie into the mix. She was there, she heard those words, she might have acted on it.”

There was only stunned silence.

Eventually Queenie said, “We can’t possibly add Ronnie! She’s a sweet old lady; she wouldn’t hurt a fly! And if that’s your reasoning, Perry, then we should all go in the mix. We were there too. That’s only fair.”

“This is not about fairness, Queenie, it’s common sense. Unless you’ve got a secret side we don’t know about, none of us had ever met the victims. We have no motive, but Ronnie just might.”

Claire was shaking her glossy black hair slowly. “I’m not sure…”

“Come on, Claire,” he shot back. “It’s time to hold our noses and give Ronnie some serious consideration while she’s not here. Might be our only chance. Then we can promise never to mention it again and happily move on to someone more deserving.”

“Like Bethany and her mysterious assassin,” said Missy, and he winked.

Queenie was still resisting. “Ronnie can’t have been involved. She’s the one person who has a solid alibi for the time of Greta’s murder. She was right in the middle of the patio, watching the fireworks.”

“Sure, but what’s her alibi for Pete?” Perry asked. “Ronnie was alone in her room all yesterday afternoon. She went up after drinks at four, and you guys woke her after eight. Plenty of time to sneak out and do the deed. We assume she was snoozing, but was she? Really?”

“But… but why?” asked Queenie.

He shrugged. “Maybe they were in it together—Ronnie and Pete—and she double-crossed him. What if Pete’s the original shooter? He snuck into the house during the fireworks and shot at Sebastian for whatever reason, then while Ronnie was pretending to nap yesterday afternoon, she snuck down to the guardhouse to ensure he didn’t blab.”

“But again, why?” persisted Queenie, clearly grappling to get her head around Ronnie the Assassin. “What possible motive could she have for conspiring to kill a nephew that everyone agrees she adored?”

Alicia grabbed her hand and gave it a little squeeze. “Queenie, I don’t like this angle any more than you do, but Perry might be onto something here. It could all come back to that secret Hugh mentioned. The one Sebastian was about to announce in his speech.”

Perry nodded fervently. “We still don’t know what that is, right? But we do know it has something to do with Ronnie. How do we know Sebastian didn’t approach Ronnie during the party, just like he approached Hugh? How do we know he didn’t tell his aunt exactly what he’d learned and then she knew she had to shut him up? She called down to Pete in the guardhouse. He’s loyal, he might’ve been willing to do her dirty work. Then she had to take Pete out of the equation, lest he point the finger back to her.”

There was a deep, uncomfortable silence then as they all struggled with this theory, some more so than others.

“What secret could be so bad that Ronnie would kill to keep it from coming out?” asked Queenie. “And do we even think she’s capable of such a thing?”

“Oh yes,” the others chorused, before looking contrite.

“That’s actually a compliment,” explained Alicia. “Ronnie even told us once that she’d make the perfect suspect. Look, none of us want Ronnie to be the culprit, but just because she seems like a ‘sweet old lady’, don’t underestimate her, Queenie.”

They’d learned that themselves, the hard way.

“Okay, who else?” said Claire, irritably. “I understand we have to consider Ronnie, but it does not mean I have to enjoy it. Can we please move on to someone else?”

 

Lynette was quietly biding her time but now jumped at the chance to incriminate Hugh.

“I think it was the cheating CEO,” she told them. “But he was acting on his lonesome.”

Then she rattled off her reasons: Hugh McMertle had no alibi for any of the shootings; she, herself, had seen him go into the house during Greta’s murder; and they had all seen him come and go the following day when Pete was killed.

“But here’s the thing,” Lynette added, crossing her long legs over. “Hugh was also on the patio yesterday morning when Pete made that suspicious comment about knowing more than we realise. Remember? Hugh was there to drive Ronnie to the city. Perhaps that threat was meant for him and he shot Pete on his way out later that arvo.”

“When did he leave again?” asked Alicia.

Lynette shrugged. “Who really knows? Ronnie says he left when she went up to her room around four-ish, but maybe he lingered. Hid in the bushes until the Grangers drove out, then snuck in and shot Pete.” She held up a finger. “Here’s another thing—Hugh is the only one going on about Sebastian’s big dark secret. Maybe Hugh made that up to deflect from himself. Maybe there’s something else going on entirely.”

Now several of them were nodding along. They liked this theory better, if only because it got Ronnie off the hook.

Alicia glanced down at her journal and circled the word secret. That’s what it kept coming back to. “We need to work out exactly what Sebastian was hiding, because he wasn’t shot at for no reason. I think it comes back to the family tree. We need to get hold of a copy.”

“But how?” asked Queenie.

“Could find out where Sebastian lives,” suggested Lynette. “Break in and see if he had notes on a laptop or something?”

“Oh, I’ll grab a burglary kit from the hardware shop, shall I?” said Alicia, smirking.

“His twin must know something about all of this,” said Claire now. “Perhaps we should call Ronnie back, try to get some questions to Seamus through the lawyer.”

“That could take ages,” said Perry, reaching for his mobile. “I’ve got a better idea. Who else is big on secrets and seems shockingly willing to share them?”

Before they could answer, he’d noticed the time on his screen and leapt to his feet.

“Blimey, it’s three o’clock already. Enough percolating of the brain cells, people. It’s time for action. Missy, you need to get cracking if you’re going to drive all the way back to Westeraview this arvo.”

“Oh, right… yes.” She also got to her feet.

“And where are you off to?” Alicia asked, watching as he grabbed his keys and began to tap out a text.

“I’m off to see our favourite gossip again. But this time I won’t let her scuttle away without spilling more than a few drops of gin.”

 

 

Chapter 22 ~ Fool’s Errand

 

As Missy began the long drive back in search of Pete’s infamous guest list, Perry made the much shorter drive across the Sydney Harbour Bridge to Peg Flannery’s house, Lynette accompanying him in the passenger seat of his sporty red Mazda.

Peg lived in a small but sun-drenched apartment in an old red-brick block on Sydney’s lower north shore and was not at all surprised to find the book club friends on her doorstep.

“Ronnie warned me she’d handed over my address,” she told them. “The traitor.” A playful wink.

“Sorry to disturb you on a Sunday,” said Perry.

“Sunday, Monday, it’s all the same at my age, doll. Now, who’s up for my famous chai tea?” Then she rattled off the ingredients as they helped themselves to seats in her delightfully cosy sunroom. “Cardamon, allspice, half a whole star anise…”

Perry thought it sounded revolting, but Lynette was rubbing her hands like she’d never heard anything so delicious. Then, soon after, as he choked back the odious brew, Perry launched in.

“Shocking about the security guard, wasn’t it?”

“It certainly was,” agreed Peg. “How is Ronnie? We spoke briefly, but she couldn’t talk.”

“She’s pulling strings,” he said, and she glanced at him sideways, then cackled.

“Well, if anyone’s got strings, it’s our Ronnie, but really she shouldn’t need them. Eejits can’t still think Seamus is guilty. He was neatly tucked away. Unless of course Pete’s death was suicide.”

Perry frowned while Lynette said, “We did wonder about that, briefly.” She leaned forward. “How did Pete appear when you left the property yesterday evening? Did he seem depressed or…?”

“And was there anyone else lurking?” added Perry, not believing the suicide theory for a second.

“Oh, Pete wasn’t there when I left,” Peg said, almost breezily. “So I can’t speak to his mental health.”

The two friends shared a stunned look. “Hang on,” said Perry. “Pete wasn’t at the gate? What time did you leave?”

“Not so long after chatting with you lot. I told the police all this. I went up to see Ronnie, she didn’t answer, so I left her to it. So… I guess around five o’clock. Of course, I’d had far too many gins by then.” Another sideways glance at Perry. “I didn’t tell the police that.”

You were half-tanked, Perry wanted to tell her, but not so tanked she wouldn’t have noticed the guard opening the gate for her. Because, according to Greta’s parents, Pete should still have been alive at that hour.

So where was he?

“How did you get through the gate?” he asked. “Is there an exit button?”

Peg gave it some thought. “It was open. That’s right, wide open. I do remember thinking that was unusual. But still, convenient for me. Then I came straight home.”

Perry swapped an excited look with Lynette now. This felt like a massive clue.

“So Pete went AWOL the hour before he was shot,” he said.

“Unless he was just in the loo,” suggested Lynette.

“That’s one mighty long visit to the lav’,” he countered, “and the gate was open.”

“Maybe he knew it’d be a long one and didn’t want to keep visitors waiting?”

Peg coughed discreetly. “As scintillating as Pete’s ablutions are, did you really come here to discuss them with me?”

Perry laughed. He was liking Peg more by the minute. “Sorry about that. Just trying to make sense of it. We’re really here to ask about Ronnie.”

“Of course you are.” She smiled and nodded down to the cup in her hand. “Hence the chai. There won’t be any loose lips today, young man. Like I said, I’m not comfortable with this. If you need to know something, why don’t you just ask Ronnie?”

“We would, but she’s busy with Seamus. We’re simply trying to do as Ronnie requested and solve this thing. We don’t have strings to pull; all we’ve got are our little grey cells.”

He tapped his brain while she watched him for a few moments, then scooped her wild hair back and said, “Fine, lob your questions at me, let’s see how we go.”

Perry’s eyes glinted, victoriously. “Okay, so you know about the family tree that Sebastian was researching and the fact that he’d discovered some big secret?” Peg nodded, looking wary already. “Right, well, we wonder whether it had something to do with Ronnie’s affair, the one you said was very special. We’re guessing the affair was with Hugh, and if it wasn’t Hugh, it was someone big. Important.”

She just looked bored now. “I told you before, I cannot say.”

“Peg,” he began, but she shook her head.

“Not because I don’t want to, but because I never knew. Not really. I assumed it was Hugh, too, but she never confirmed it. We might have been best pals, doll, but that’s one secret Ronnie kept close to her chest. I knew there was someone else, I knew she was deeply in love, but I also knew she understood duty, and she told me she was sticking by Bert. To be honest, I wasn’t that supportive at first. I could tell she was lusting after this mysterious amoureux. She had a skip in her step, one I remembered from the old days, the dance days, before she married Bert.”

“We thought Bert was a saint.”

“He was, but who wants to be married to a saint? The pressure! It was exhausting. Sometimes I think she just wanted a normal life. She gave up a lot to be with that man, and I’m not just talking her lover.”

“What else?” asked Lynette.

Peg shifted in her seat and looked uncomfortable again. She took a sip of her tea and said, “Her career, for one. She was a nurse, you must know that. A jolly good one, and she loved it. But Bert couldn’t have his pretty bride doing anything as banal as nursing, not when there were corporate dinners to dazzle at and philanthropy work to be done.”

“She gave up motherhood too, didn’t she?” asked Lynette, remembering their earlier conversation.

Peg shrugged and said nothing.

“But that’s only because Bert couldn’t have kids, right?” said Perry now. “That was hardly his fault.”

Peg made a snorting sound, and they glanced towards her. She shrugged again. “I’m just saying, there are other ways of having a family. She could have adopted. She would’ve been a terrific mum, but again, Bert saw it as a distraction even though he knew how much Ronnie doted on her nephews. You know she helped birth the twins? She was such a big help to her sister. Lizzie had a complicated pregnancy, the father had taken off, the cretin, and Ronnie did the right thing, moved in with Lizzie a few months before they were due. She was there for the boys’ births, stayed on to help afterwards. And it also helped her marriage in the end.”

“You’re saying it was a trial separation?” said Lynette.

“I’m saying it didn’t hurt Ronnie to try life away from Bert, see what she was missing.” Peg smiled and her eyes drifted off towards an open window where the sun was just starting to drop down behind a neighbouring building. “I visited Ronnie several times when she was staying with Lizzie. Initially she envied her sister, envied me as well.”

She turned her eyes now to a sideboard where they could see a collection of family photos. “I have three children,” she told them. “Each one a blessing and an absolute pain in the butt.”

Then she cackled at their surprise and added, “Talk about ablutions!” Cackled again. “The point is, the grass is not always greener. She used to say we had no idea the burden that came with wealth.” A roll of the eyes now. “Well, she had no idea the burden that came with babies that pooped and screamed all night, not to mention paying your own bills, struggling to make ends meet. Lizzie and I told her that. And we weren’t the only ones. Hugh McMertle turned up at Lizzie’s house one day, pushing Bert’s barrow as he’s always done, imploring her to return to her saint. The company shares were no doubt tanking, and he’s a loyal disciple that one.”

Lynette’s eyes narrowed, but Peg didn’t notice. “Either way, Ronnie worked it out for herself. Moved back home eventually, and everything returned to normal. So my dears, whatever this grand secret is, I really don’t think it’s to do with Ronnie’s marriage. There was a happy ending, so what on earth could have caused all this chaos thirty-five years later?”

Perry frowned. “But what else could it be about?” He looked to Lynette now. “Maybe we should track down Bethany’s address, pay her a sneaky visit. You don’t know where she lives, do you Peg?”

Peg seemed suddenly wary. “Me? Bethany? No, no, no, no, no. I wouldn’t waste time with Bethany. Leave her out of it.”

He frowned. “Why?”

She did a nonchalant shoulder shrug. “No reason. I’m just saying if it’s Sebastian’s secrets you’re after, then you should go directly to the person he was spilling them to that evening, by all accounts—Hugh.”

 

After Lynette grabbed Peg’s recipe for that delicious chai—my God, the woman should package it, she’d make a motza!—they returned to Perry’s car and strapped themselves in.

“Peg’s right, you know,” she said. “The only person Sebastian went to with his big secret was Hugh. If there really is a secret, I bet Hugh knows a lot more than he’s telling.”

“But why did Peg go all weird then?” he asked. “I mean about Bethany. I got the feeling she doesn’t want us talking to Ronnie’s niece. Why would that be?”

“Probably just trying to save us the angst. Forget Bethany, we need to focus on Hugh, drag the truth out of him once and for all. Problem is, I’m not sure he’s the gossipy type.”

“Pft!” said Perry, starting up his engine. “You clearly haven’t seen me in action.”

 

By the end of the day, Lynette still hadn’t seen Perry in action because they couldn’t locate Hugh. Even after they had bothered Ronnie again, this time dragging Hugh’s home address out of her, the man was missing in action.

“He’s not here,” his wife informed them when they showed up to the McMertle’s front door, which was not far from Peg’s but larger and far more impressive.

“Any idea when he’ll be back?” Perry had asked.

Hannah held her chin high and said, “I haven’t decided yet.”

Lynette stepped forward. Applied her most sympathetic look. “Hey Hannah,” she said. “Do you remember me? I was at Ronnie’s party the other night, and I was there when… well, at the cabana. I couldn’t help overseeing that little skirmish between you and your husband.” Then she dropped her luscious blond locks to one side and said, “Are you okay?”

The woman glared at Lynette like she was the devil incarnate, made a “cor!” sound, then slammed the door on their faces.

Perry sniggered. “Nice try, O gorgeous sex kitten. I’m not sure you were ever going to win over the long-suffering wife.”

“You’re right,” Lynette replied as she opened the door to his Mazda. “We should have brought Alicia.”

 

~

 

From where she was standing, Alicia probably wished she’d tagged along. Liam Jackson had appeared at her doorstep later that afternoon, causing the remaining book friends to scatter like cockroaches, sensing something was afoot, and he’d looked so cutely sheepish with his hair all tangled at the back, like he hadn’t slept properly in days, that Alicia had no choice but to hear him out.

She let him into the house, fetched him a cold beer, then dumped it in his hands while he told her he was sorry. He added that he should have been open from the start. Insisted they sit down like a regular couple and sort things out.

And so here they were, back in Alicia’s lounge room, but she wasn’t sitting. She was pacing the room like a wild animal, giving Jackson a piece of her mind while Max sat tall on his beanbag, ears pricked, watching her worriedly.

“You’ve made me feel like a complete idiot in front of my friends! They know something’s up, but I haven’t got the heart to tell them. They’ll be devastated to know we’re all suspects in not just the latest murder but all of them.”

“I don’t consider you suspects, you know that right?”

“Tell that to your bosses!”

“I did. I have. Over and over.”

And over and over they went again. An hour later they had got exactly nowhere, apart from three beers in and a dog now slumped across the beanbag, eyes closed, ears down. There was nothing Jackson could do about the police internal investigation, and there was nothing Alicia could do with these helpless feelings of fury that were threatening to force a wedge in their relationship.

And that’s when it occurred to her. She wasn’t helpless at all.

Releasing a long, slow exhale, Alicia sat on the sofa beside Jackson and threaded her fingers through his, surprising him.

“Look,” she said gently, “I know your hands are tied, but mine aren’t. I don’t work for the Force. I’m a civilian, an amateur as Singh likes to remind me. Which means they can’t banish me to desk duty.” She shook her head. “I honestly don’t care what those Conduct Commission idiots think or even if this makes my book club look more guilty, but we promised Ronnie we’d help clear Seamus’s name, so that’s what I’m going to do. It’s what I can do. And they can’t stop me.”

“But you really shouldn’t…,” he began, and she dropped his hands back to his lap.

Held hers out like stop signs. “I’m not asking permission, Jackson. I’m not asking for your help, and I won’t involve you in any way.”

“But I am involved, Alicia. That’s why they’ve kept it internal. We’re a couple, yes?”

She shook her head. “Not anymore we’re not.”

Jackson blinked back at her, stunned. “You’re breaking up with me? Over this?”

“I’m freeing you so your job is secure and I can help Ronnie without regret. It’s the only solution.”

“It’s a crap solution,” he shot back, his blue eyes suddenly soggy.

She felt her heart break and her anger dissolve. She took his big, strong hands again and brought them to her lips, kissing one gently, just as Hugh had done with Ronnie.

“I love you, Liam Jackson, and I know you love me. But until this is sorted—and I’m not just talking about Ronnie—we have to keep our distance. It’s the only way we can possibly have a future.”

Then she got to her feet, strode across to her front door and swept it open, startling poor Max in the process. “Come back when the case is over and your boss has woken up to himself.”

 

~

 

Missy swept her tiny yellow hatchback as close to the front gate of Westeraview as she could manage, then shoved her head out the window and said, “Hello there, do you mind if I head up to the house?”

It was fast getting dark, and the dull-looking Constable Smith was manning the gate. He opened it and strode out, then peered in at her, confused.

“Are you one of the book club people?” he asked, and she nodded and giggled and said:

“Yes! Guilty as charged. Do you love books too?”

He frowned. “Um, er… I can’t let you in, sorry. I’m under strict orders.”

“Oh.” She tsked, flapping one hand about. “I won’t be long. I promise. Just need to pop in and look for something I lost while I was in the library.” She glanced down to his wedding band then back up and said, “It’s my engagement ring.”

He shook his head. “Yeah, no can do. Sorry. Strictly no visitors allowed.”

Missy pouted and dropped her ringlets to one side. “But I’m not really a visitor, am I? I’m a very good friend of the Westeras, and I slept over on the weekend, and I think the ring must have slipped off during the night… pretty sure it’s down the side of the sofa bed. If I could just scoot on up, take a quick peek, won’t be more than a minute.”

He folded his arms and shook his head.

“I know you guys are super busy,” she continued, “and I wouldn’t ordinarily bother you with something so trivial, except I’m having dinner with my fiancé later and if I’m not wearing the ring, well, he’s going to get sus. I mean, it’s a family heirloom, passed down from his great-grandmother. He’ll be so devo’ed if he thinks I’ve lost it.”

The officer unfolded his arms and glanced around. “I’d like to help, really I would. But DI Singh was very specific. You guys… I mean nobody is to go into the house. Not under any circumstances.”

She nodded. “Oh my goodness, no, I get that. I really do. I wouldn’t want to get you into any trouble. You’ve all been soooo amazing.” She sighed wistfully, then pretended to have a thought. “I know! What if I stayed down here? Safely out of the way. You go up to the house, straight to the library, find it for me. Like I said, it’s got to be amongst the cushions on the sofa.”

He took a step back. “Er, I don’t know…”

“It won’t take long to find, I promise. Then I’ll be out of your hair and my fiancé will think you’re the coolest cop. Ever.”

He scratched his neck. “And you won’t try to follow me? Sneak in while I’m not watching?”

“Scout’s honour!” she said, fudging the three-finger salute. (Missy had never even been a Brownie; she’d been too shy to sign up.)

“It’ll be my job on the line if you do, you know.”

“I’ll stay down here. I promise.”

Now he let out a mixture of a growl and a sigh. “Fine. Pull in just over there.” He waved her to the small parking space beside the buggy. “Do not leave your vehicle until I get back.”

“Promise!” she said, this time crossing her fingers behind her back.

 

No sooner had Officer Smith jumped in Pete’s buggy and made his way up the driveway, Missy jumped out of her car and made a beeline for the guardhouse. Her crazy scheme had worked! Missy knew if she asked to see Pete’s guest list she wouldn’t get past first base.

Of course, she was lucky there was just one officer guarding the gate, but that was also an educated guess. It was late Sunday afternoon, and she had a hunch the police budget could only stretch to one lot of overtime wages. Missy worked in a public library; she knew all about strapped government finances.

Who’s the fool now? thought Missy as she stepped into the guardhouse and glanced about.

But after ten minutes of searching every nook and cranny, it was Missy who was beginning to feel foolish. Pete’s clipboard was nowhere to be found.

“Damn it,” she said, her eyes shifting this way and that. She even checked inside the pull-out bed and the stinky bathroom.

Nothing.

Then she heard the sound of an engine drone and gasped. The copper was on his way back. Damn it, damn it, damn it!

Missy took one last look around as she made her way out, glancing across the desk again and its collection of pens, stationery and coffee mugs, and that’s when she noticed a tiny white corner, poking out from under a gold-rimmed cup.

Her eyebrows scrunched together as she picked up the fine bone china…

 

~

 

The book club did not meet again that Sunday evening. Seamus was still locked up, Ronnie was unavailable, and they were all feeling spent.

Besides, it wouldn’t hurt them to get back to their own lives. Missy had a load of clean washing to collect from her mother’s house (shh, don’t tell the others). Perry had a meal to make up with an old friend. Hell, who was he kidding? He was hoping for a little romance with his ramen. Queenie had a very important conference to prep for Claire’s husband (it never hurt to go through the agenda one more time), and Claire had a husband lounging at home, completely oblivious to the fact that his lowly paid assistant was working for him on a Sunday.

As for Lynette? She had a weeping big sister to placate.

“What’s going on?” she asked Alicia when she returned home that evening to find her curled in the foetal position on the sofa, Max by her side, both pretending to watch the news.

“And I want the truth this time,” added Lynette. “What has Jackson been up to? Should I go round and give him a good beating?”

Alicia smiled. “Nah, I think he’s bruised enough already.”

Then she finally spilled the beans on the police internal investigation and how Jackson was on desk duty and they were all under a cloud. Lynette listened with growing indignation and then burst into laughter.

“That is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard,” she declared, and Alicia frowned.

“Absurd but true. Poor Jackson is beside himself—”

“Jackson’s a bloody fool for even letting it get this far. How can anyone legitimately think we—a bunch of book-loving pacifists—had anything to do with a stream of grisly murders? Like we’re some ghoulish group of super-nerds. Or… or who’s that forensics expert on TV who’s also a serial killer?”

“Dexter,” said Alicia, rolling her eyes and sitting up a little. “And I’m sick of stressing about it. Can we get some takeaway and find a really cheesy chick flick to get my mind off it?”

“Sure,” Lynette said, dragging her into a hug. “You choose the film, I’ll get the tucker.”

Then she jumped up and fetched her mobile phone and housekeys while Max popped his head on Alicia’s lap and looked up at her with big doleful eyes.

“And don’t forget Max,” Alicia called out. “He had to sit through all the drama. He’s gonna need a treat too.”

Lynette was still rolling her eyes when she got to the Thai restaurant down the block.

 

 

Chapter 23 ~ Pre-Work Workshopping

 

By Monday morning, Alicia was all cried out. It had been her decision to break up with Jackson, and there was a very good reason for it, so she needed to stop sulking and focus on more positive things. Like a gun-toting murderer.

“All good?” Lynette asked as they stood at the entrance to the Timeless Vintage Clothing Store in inner-city Potts Point.

Alicia gave one solid nod, then watched as Lynette ignored the Closed sign, pushed the tinkling door open and stepped inside. It was bang on seven thirty a.m., and they were meeting at Claire’s shop this time or, to be more precise, the tiny café she had installed at the back.

Apart from Ronnie (busy again with her lawyer) and Queenie (who had that very important breakfast conference to set up), the others could sneak in a little pre-work sleuthing over a coffee and friand, which was pretty much all Claire had to offer.

As she got busy on the espresso machine, Missy waxed lyrical about her trip to Westeraview last night. So lyrical, in fact, that Alicia was forced to interject.

“Honey, most of us have to get to work in an hour. Can you speed it up?”

“Ooh, yes, sorry. I was just saying, I couldn’t believe the officer was so silly. You should have seen when he got back to the guardhouse. He was all apologetic because he hadn’t found my ring. But of course he hadn’t! I didn’t lose it. I don’t have an engagement ring. I don’t even have a boyfriend!”

“Anyway,” Perry prodded this time. “Any luck? With the guest list?”

“Oh no, his clipboard thingy was missing.”

Missy shrugged and they all deflated. After that build-up, they were expecting something.

Alicia slapped her forehead. “It’s not missing. Singh would have taken it as evidence. We should’ve thought of that yesterday. What a waste of time and petrol, sorry, honey.”

“No, no,” said Missy, still jiggling a little. “I don’t think it was a waste. I found this.”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a creased white business card, which she handed around. The name Craig Samson was embossed in gold across the top, and below that were the contact details for a business called Ancestry & More.

“That has to be the bloke who visited Bethany and Bronson yesterday,” she told them.

“How can you be sure?” asked Lynette, taking the card from her sister.

“Well, I’m not sure sure, but it was under that cup you gave him, Perry, the gold-and-red one from the house. All the other cups on the desk are cheap and chipped. I’m pretty sure that was the one he took with him after we spoke at breakfast. And that card was folded and tucked up underneath it.”

“Ooh, it’s like a time stamp,” said Claire, and Missy smiled, giddily. “So who is this Craig Samson fellow and how does he fit in to all of this?”

“I googled him!” Missy scrolled through her phone and produced a web page. “Ancestry & More is a business based in the western suburbs, and they do a bunch of stuff, ancestry kits, DNA testing and… wait for it… family trees.”

“Really?” said Alicia, snatching the card back and staring at it again.

Missy nodded excitedly, her red curls flopping this way and that. “I wonder whether that’s the company Sebastian was using to do his research and Bethany and Bronson were trying to learn what he’d uncovered. Maybe they bribed this dude or hired him separately to confirm or discount whatever it was Sebastian discovered.”

“But hang on,” said Perry, now grabbing the card from Alicia. “Sebastian would have been researching his and Ronnie’s family tree. The Joneses, not the Westeras. So why would Bethany care?”

“And why have this fellow come all the way to Westeraview the day after a tragic shooting?” added Claire. “Why the sudden urgency?”

“Could have something to do with the inheritance?” suggested Missy.

“Or it could be a red herring,” said Perry, dropping the card to the delicate wrought-iron table between them. “For all we know he was Bethany’s boyfriend, checking in on her. We’re running out of time, folks, let’s move it along. I want to tell you what Lynette and I discovered.”

As Missy slumped back in her seat, Perry gave a quick summary of their trips to see Peg Flannery and the McMertles. The latter was a waste of time, he explained, but Peg was more revealing.

“She told us Ronnie moved in with her sister, Lizzie, to help birth the twins, but what she implied was that it was really a trial separation between Ronnie and Bert.”

“Okay,” said Claire. “But Ronnie already told us their marriage had difficulties, no secrets there. They couldn’t have children and she struggled with that.”

“No, no,” said Perry. “Bert couldn’t have children. The problem was on his side, according to Peg. And that’s partly why they had issues. Of course Ronnie’s illicit love affair would hardly have helped. And no, Peg didn’t tell us the name of the lover. Insists she doesn’t know.”

He scoffed as if he didn’t believe her.

“That must have hurt,” said Claire. “Helping your sister birth two beautiful babies knowing you’ll never have your own.” She sighed wistfully. “All the money in the world, and Ronnie was being denied a family. No wonder she dotes on her nephews.”

Alicia sat forward. “Ronnie moved in with her sister around the time the twins were born? When exactly? Did she say?”

Perry glanced at Lynette. “A few months before the births, I think she said. Lizzie had issues or something. Why?”

Alicia was chewing furiously at her lower lip. “Just wondering.” She glanced again at the business card on the table.

“Has anyone heard from Ronnie yet?” asked Lynette.

Claire held up a hand. “I asked her to join us, but she’s this close to springing Seamus from remand.” Claire held her fingers an inch apart. “Says they have strong grounds to reverse the bail conditions now that Pete has shown up dead.”

“Well, hurrah for Pete then,” said Perry, drolly. “Listen, I can’t help wondering about Peg…” He twiddled his earring for a moment. “I get the feeling she’s hiding something, something to do with Bethany. She’s clearly no fan of the woman, and yet she didn’t want us interrogating her.”

“She never said that,” said Lynette. “She just didn’t want to waste our time.”

“Mmm… I think there’s more to it than that. My spidey senses went on alert.”

“Poppycock!” said Lynette, quoting Peg back to him.

 

As the two squabbled over Peg’s motivations, Alicia couldn’t keep her eyes off the business card and her mind off two babies… Born at the same time…

Eventually she plucked it up and tapped it to her chin.

“You okay, kiddo?” asked Missy, catching her brain in motion.

Alicia stopped tapping. “I have a really outlandish theory. I’m not sure I should even mention it.”

“Oh mention it, mention it!” Missy squealed, but Alicia’s eyes were on Perry.

“You have to promise to hear me out. No scoffing please.”

“Of course I’ll hear you out.” He held a hand to his heart as though offended, then added, “I’ll leave my scoffing till you’re done.”

She smirked and sat forward again. “What if the reason Ronnie moved in with her sister had less to do with her sister’s births and more to do with her own?”

They all blinked at her, confused, then Perry said, “I’d like to scoff, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Alicia said, “I’m talking about Sebastian. What if his big secret is that he is really Ronnie’s child? Ronnie’s secret love child.”

Then she sat back and let that sink in.

 

~

 

Detective Inspector Singh would have scoffed if it were anyone else, but knowing she was up against Veronica Westera and her formidable legal team, not to mention her little black book of highly esteemed contacts, she knew she didn’t stand a chance.

There was no way they were going to keep Seamus Jones in custody, and it infuriated Singh no end, because she was sure the guy was guilty.

And now his wealthy aunt was about to get him out of jail. And worse, would probably spring him a false passport and a ticket to some foreign destination they had no extradition treaty with. Singh didn’t know if Ronnie knew how to source a false passport, but chances were good—she was too competent, that old biddy!

“He might not have done it,” said Pauly as she brooded over the whiteboard at Homicide Headquarters that Monday morning.

Singh turned to him with a glare so sharp he stepped back to avoid its edges.

“It’s just…,” he stammered. “I mean… now that we know about the security guard.”

“Seamus was obviously in it with his twin, and because Mr Ragnar has conveniently popped his clogs, we’re supposed to just let the rich kids off the hook, are we?”

Jarrod tapped his computer screen. “Actually, the twins aren’t that rich. I’ve been looking into their finances, and they put on a good front—fancy cars and all that—but neither of them has much savings. Seamus earns a pretty ordinary package at his travel agency, and Sebastian’s on even less at that start-up. I mean, apart from regular ‘cash gifts’ from Aunty Ronnie, they’re not flush.”

“Exactly,” Singh shot back. “That’s why I don’t want Aunty Ronnie gifting him a flight to Cuba.”

She turned to the board and slapped her palm across Sebastian’s smug smile. “We need to stop focusing on Seamus and start focusing on this fellow. He can’t have just disappeared. He’s got to be somewhere.”

Then she pointed at the photo of the black leather shoe resting in a tuft of grass, adding, “And now that we’ve proved this was planted, I want to know where its owner scuttled off to exactly.”

 

 

Chapter 24 ~ Birth Stories

 

Back at the vintage clothing store, confusion reigned. They were all sitting forward, eyes on Alicia, most of them squinting.

“Are you saying you think the twins are really Ronnie’s?” said Claire. “That she sneakily had them at her sisters and then pretended they were Lizzie’s?”

“No, silly,” said Alicia as several of them exhaled and sat back. “Not the twins. Just Sebastian.”

Now they were all forward again, and Perry was officially scoffing. “Honey, I may be just a bloke, but even I know that twins come from the same womb.”

“But are they twins?” she shot back. “Really? Where’s the proof of that?” She began to click her fingers as it clicked into place in her head. “Bethany insinuated as much. Maybe she was giving us a clue, and that’s why Peg didn’t want you questioning her in case she let it slip. I mean, there would have been some luck in all this, very good timing, not to mention an extremely generous sister…”

“What are you going on about?” Lynette asked, cutting her short.

“The twins! Remember the photos? They’re nothing alike, could pass for cousins easily. What if Ronnie was secretly pregnant when she went to stay at her sister’s place? And Lizzie was also pregnant but with one child. What if Ronnie had her baby there—unbeknownst to everyone except Lizzie, of course—and then left the baby with her sister and returned to be with Bert? Maybe Bert didn’t even know about the child.”

“He’d have to be a complete fool,” said Claire. “He was married to her, Alicia. How could he not tell? And what about Lizzie’s husband? Wouldn’t he say something?”

“Actually, this makes sense,” said Perry. “Peg said Lizzie was a single mum; the twins’ father bailed before they were born.”

“There you go,” said Alicia. “And it wouldn’t be the first secret pregnancy in the world. Do the maths: Ronnie would’ve been about seven months pregnant at that stage. But she’s tall, it’s a first pregnancy, they don’t pop as much apparently. She could have got away with it and nobody would be any the wiser. Both sisters give birth around the same time, and then they pass them off as twins.”

“If that’s true,” said Lynette, “then Lizzie really was the most generous sister in the world because there’s no way I’d do that for you, ’Lis.”

“Love you too, Lynny,” Alicia shot back.

She laughed. “I’m just saying, why would Lizzie agree to that? Nah, sorry, it’s way too loopy. Feel free to scoff away, Perry.”

Perry wasn’t scoffing, but Missy was still unconvinced. “Why would Ronnie even do it?” she asked. “She was married to Bert. Why pretend she wasn’t having his child?”

“Because it wasn’t his child!” said Perry, grinning at Alicia. “He couldn’t have children, so if Ronnie said she was up the duff, he would have known about the affair. This kind of, sort of makes sense… Ronnie has an affair, falls pregnant, then has to hide the pregnancy and the baby, to hide the affair.”

“Exactly,” said Alicia. “Ronnie had to get rid of the baby if she wanted her marriage to survive.”

“So are we saying it’s Hugh’s baby?” asked Lynette. “Because if you believe this theory, then it has to be Hugh’s. He was the one person Sebastian went to with his ‘big secret’. Plus”—a glance at Perry now—“didn’t Peg say she saw Hugh visiting Ronnie at her sister’s place soon after the births?”

Perry looked ready to scoff again. “That doesn’t automatically make it Hugh. And it’s certainly not proof of parentage. If it were, honey, I’d be up for maintenance by half my friends. I love visiting their brood.”

“Yes, but you’re not an overworked company executive,” she shot back.

“Still…”

“No, Lynette’s quite right,” said Claire, “and Queenie would confirm it. My Simon’s pretty good, all things considered, but most CEOs are far too busy for their own wives and children. They certainly don’t pop in to visit their boss’s estranged wife and their boss’s estranged wife’s sister’s children.”

“Well, now that you put it like that,” said Perry, chuckling.

“Sebastian does look a little like Hugh, at least in the photos,” added Alicia. “He’s tall, like Hugh, similar colouring, both very handsome men. Ooooh, it’s all clicking into place!”

She smiled. It was the first time she’d felt happy in days.

“Hang on though,” said Missy. “Even if this is all true… and I love this theory, I really do. But what does it mean for the murders? I mean, I get that it’s a very big secret, but why would you kill over it? Bert’s long gone. It can’t hurt Ronnie’s marriage now.”

“Ah, but it could hurt Hugh’s,” said Lynette. “This puts him right back in the frame. Sebastian’s researching the family tree, discovers the truth about his real parents, confronts Hugh, and Hugh knows he needs to shut him up or it really will be the death of his marriage.”

“So he’s prepared to kill his own son to save his wife some embarrassment?” Missy looked and sounded sceptical, clearly the only one in the group not quite buying this theory.

Lynette shrugged and glanced at Alicia. “People do crazy things to keep their secrets secret, don’t they, Alicia? Hmmm? Is there anything you’d like to tell the group?”

Alicia gasped at her then, and Perry’s eyes narrowed. He was about to enquire further when he noticed the time. He leapt to his feet.

“Blimey, it’s almost nine! We’d better get to work if we want to keep our jobs.”

“So what do we do now?” asked Claire as she walked them to the front door and flipped the sign to Open.

“We need to get together tonight and ask Ronnie directly,” suggested Alicia. “Go straight to the source.”

“There is another source,” said Lynette. “Takes two to tango, right?”

 

~

 

Hugh McMertle might have been an overworked company executive, but he certainly didn’t show it, happily agreeing to Lynette’s unexpected visit at Westera Holding’s head office in the heart of Sydney’s central business district. Nor did he look like a man who was still in the dogbox.

Sporting a crisply ironed dress shirt, striped school tie, and dark, custom-made suit, his white hair freshly combed back, his expression was friendly as Lynette was shown into his office.

“Thanks for stopping by,” he said, like she was doing him the favour. “Any news?”

Lynette took the plush chair in front of his desk. “Still no word on Sebastian, and we’re hoping Ronnie will bust Seamus out this arvo but haven’t heard from her yet.”

“No…” He glanced at his screen and then towards the receptionist who was still loitering. “Can I offer you a tea, coffee? Something soft to drink?” Lynette shook her head, so he told the assistant, “Put my ten o’clock on hold and tell Bassich I’ll call him later.” Then he leaned back in his chair and said, “So how can I help?”

Lynette smiled. He must really love Ronnie, the way he was shifting things around for her. Because Lynette was under no illusion he was doing it for her or the book club.

They’d been against the idea of Lynette interrogating Hugh alone, but what choice did they have? They all had work to get to (Lynette didn’t clock on until noon), and she needed to scratch an itch.

So she launched straight in. “I’m here to ask about your son.”

Hugh casually plucked a teacup from its saucer on his desk. “William? He’s working in Dubai. What’s he got to do with all this?”

“Not William,” Lynette said quickly. “I’m talking about your other son. Sebastian.”

Hugh nearly choked on his tea. He dropped the cup back to its saucer and pulled out a handkerchief, dabbing at his mouth and then his tie. “My goodness, where did that come from?”

“Rumour and innuendo. I’m just here to do some fact-checking. I’d ask Ronnie, but she’s otherwise occupied, so I’m asking you.”

Hugh sat back, releasing his top shirt button, loosening his tie a little. “I can’t understand why you’d think—”

“Sebastian came to you with his big secret. Just you, Hugh. Nobody else. There has to be a reason for that. Was it because he found out that you’re his real father, his biological father? Was he giving you a chance to fess up before he broke the news in his speech?”

Hugh stared at her dumbfounded and said nothing.

Lynette sat forward. “We know you and Ronnie had an affair.” Actually, they didn’t really know that, but Peg had virtually confirmed it, and she was tired of all the time wasting. “All we want to know is, did Ronnie get pregnant by you?”

“Oh, that’s all you want to know?” He shook his head, then glanced across to the door as though checking it was closed. Releasing a long sigh, he said, “Look, I can tell you don’t trust me, and I’m sorry about that. That really was innocent, that moment with Bethany. In the cabana.”

“Sure it was. What happened after you followed your wife into the house?”

He seemed confused again and said, “Nothing. We weren’t in the house for long. Hannah grabbed her coat from the foyer and went out to the car, was trying to leave, but I had the keys. I didn’t want her driving while she was upset. I tried to talk her around. I do love my wife, you know.”

Lynette waved a hand dismissively. “None of my business.”

“But this is?”

“If it concerns Ronnie and the murders, then yes. She asked us to explore every angle, so that’s what I’m doing.”

He nodded and sat back. Nodded again like he’d decided something. “There was a moment of madness between Ronnie and me. I think I can safely speak for Ronnie when I say it didn’t mean anything to her, not really. She’ll tell you as much herself. We were both looking for something… but it didn’t last long, and it certainly didn’t end in a child, or not that I knew of.”

“So why did you visit her and the babies?”

“Excuse me?”

Lynette repeated what Peg had told them about spotting Hugh at Lizzie’s house around the time the twins were born.

He cricked his neck, loosened his tie a little more. “She’s got a good memory that woman. I wasn’t there for Lizzie or the twins. I was there for Hannah and Bert. I wanted to remind Ronnie of our obligations to our spouses, that was all. Although Hannah soon worked it out.” His face clouded over. “But Bert didn’t know, I was sure of that, and I didn’t want to ruin his life.”

“Ruin your career you mean,” she said. “And Ronnie’s ticket to ride with the rich hubby.”

He frowned. “If you really believe that, then you don’t know her at all. It has never been about money for Ronnie. Why do you think she keeps giving it away?”

“So why would she go back to Bert then?”

“Because deep down, she loved him. Not me. She thought she wanted an ordinary life, thought she could find it with me. But I knew she’d get bored, and that’s what I went to tell her that day. I was letting her off the hook and, yes, trying to salvage my marriage in the process. William was two by then, and we had a daughter on the way. I couldn’t do it to Hannah. I couldn’t ruin her life.”

“But what about a young boy’s life?”

He frowned harder. “Sebastian is not my son. I am sure of that.”

“Except you aren’t, are you?” Lynette glanced back towards the closed door. Decided to be bold. “Maybe you didn’t know for sure, but maybe you had a hunch that’s what Sebastian was exploring. Maybe you were worried and had to shut him up.”

An unexpected smile flickered across Hugh’s lips. “Are you seriously suggesting I had something to do with all this?”

“Can’t blame a girl for wondering.”

“I did not know about any baby,” he said again, more firmly.

“Maybe not, but did you worry about it? Perhaps your wife could forgive a brief fling but a love child? That would be harder to forgive. Seems like a motive to me.”

Hugh sat forward; he was not smiling now. His own eyes glided to the door, then back. “Okay, I didn’t want to say this, not without speaking to Ronnie first, but I can see I need to set you straight, and so I will go against my better judgement and correct the record.”

He laced his hands in front of him and took a deep breath, like he was about to make a presentation. “Sebastian came to me with these same questions about six weeks back. Like you, he’d heard some tittle-tattle and was trying to sort fact from fiction, but he didn’t want to hurt anybody in the process. I’ll tell you what I told him—none of it matters, none at all. Whether I was his father or not, it would change nothing, at least not for me. My wife is often cranky with me, Lynette, and rightly so. But she is not going to leave me over a thirty-five-year-old love child. We’ve been through a lot more than that, I can assure you. That’s why I told him, go, get the DNA test, find out for yourself.”

“Hang on, Sebastian did a DNA test?” Lynette’s memory began to jolt. Something Missy had mentioned earlier, over breakfast…

Hugh was shrugging. “I gave him a DNA sample, so I assume so. He couldn’t use Ronnie’s—they’re already related—and I didn’t want him asking William. I hoped that would be the end of it.”

“And what were the results?” she asked with bated breath.

He shook his head firmly. “No idea. I asked him at the party but he insisted on speaking with Ronnie first. That’s when he told me everything was okay, that he had good news, news that would change everything. I told you all this.”

“But what did that mean?”

“I have no idea,” he replied. “Sadly. Because, as we all know, somebody attacked him before he had a chance to reveal the DNA results. You need to find out who wanted to shut him up, Lynette. But I can assure you, it wasn’t me.”

 

 

Chapter 25 ~ Not So Bubbly Now

 

It was supposed to be a happy reunion, a celebration of sorts.

It was now six o’clock on Monday evening, and Ronnie had texted them all with the good news—bail had finally been approved for Seamus and he was on his way out. Would they like to join her in Balmain to welcome him home?

Yes, they would!

And so the club all fronted up, smiles of relief in place, but Ronnie did not look at all celebratory. After greeting them in a frankly sombre fashion, not a bottle of champagne in sight, she waited until they were seated in what she called her drawing room—a light, elegantly decorated space with shabby-chic sofas, soaring bookshelves, lush indoor plants and a baby grand piano with two Siamese cats fast asleep on top—before her expression turned fierce and she rounded upon them.

Or, more specifically, upon Lynette.

“How dare you run off half-cocked and interrupt Hugh at work, making such outlandish accusations!” she barked, causing the cats to start.

They sprang from the piano and slunk out of the room as Ronnie turned her bite on the rest of them. “It’s bad enough that I have endured the Westeras’ gossip for decades, but for you—my book club friends—to not only buy into that nonsense but to start spreading it yourself… It’s… It’s infuriating.”

“I’m sorry, Ronnie,” said Lynette, “but—”

“But we should have checked with you first,” broke in Claire, giving her a pointed look.

“But you did ask us to explore all angles,” added Lynette, firmly. “And you have been very preoccupied.”

“I was saving my nephew! And how is all this scuttlebutt helping Seamus, or Sebastian for that matter?”

“So he really isn’t your kid?” asked Lynette, always slow with contrition.

The others glared at her now as Ronnie shook her head furiously.

“Sebastian is most certainly not my child,” she told them. “I think that’s something I might have mentioned, don’t you?”

“You didn’t mention your affair with Hugh,” Lynette murmured, almost as an aside.

“Because it’s none of your damn business, Lynette. It lasted all of five minutes and has nothing to do with any of this. But I certainly didn’t have his child. I’ve never even been pregnant. I told you all this. Why wouldn’t you just believe me?”

“We’re so, so sorry,” said Alicia, trying hard to broker peace. “But you have to understand, we did all of it from a place of love, Ronnie. We were trying to help.”

“No, no,” she said, one finger up, wagging. “I think that detective is quite correct. This murder business has gone to your heads. You’re grasping at straws, looking for angles that don’t exist. Fabricating angles, in fact. Creating your own damn fireworks!”

Alicia recoiled at that, looking like she’d been slapped, but Perry wasn’t having it.

“That’s a bit unfair, Ronnie. I agree we got carried away, but in our defence, you haven’t always played it straight with us.”

“I beg your pardon?” Ronnie blinked at him, astonished.

“Perry,” warned Claire.

“I’m sorry, but that’s the truth. Remember that book club weekend up at Lyle’s Lodge? The first case we investigated together. You lied to us then, Ronnie.”

She gasped. Blinked. Gasped again. “I lied to protect you.”

“Okay, so who’s to say you aren’t lying to protect someone else this time? Plus Lynette’s right. You should have told us about you and Hugh. That was useful information; could’ve saved us valuable time. Time we could have spent exploring other better angles.”

Ronnie stared at him aghast again, then her expression unexpectedly softened, and she dropped into a chair at last, whipping off her spectacles and closing her eyes. The others all swapped concerned looks, Claire’s with a good dollop of recrimination.

Eventually Ronnie opened her eyes and the fire seemed to be doused. When she spoke, her tone was more subdued. “I guess you have a point. I really was trying to protect you, that weekend at Lyle’s, but I didn’t know you well then and didn’t realise you didn’t need protecting.” She popped her glasses back on. “And yes, okay, I probably should have mentioned that dalliance with Hugh, but it has nothing to do with this, I can assure you.”

“But you can’t be sure of that, Ronnie,” said Perry. “You’re too close to this. Don’t you see that? That’s why we’ve run off half-cocked, because we have to be your advocate even if that means reopening old wounds, rattling old skeletons. In fact, now might be a good time to share anything else you haven’t told us.”

Ronnie shook her head and held her hands out, palms upwards. “There’s nothing. You have dragged my skeletons out kicking and screaming, but I can assure you, an abandoned child is not one of them.”

“Okay,” said Lynette, daring to speak again. “But I didn’t fabricate anything, Ronnie. Sebastian was also asking the same questions. He’s the one who went to Hugh for a DNA sample. He’s the one who thought Hugh might be his father.”

She frowned. “I don’t know why he didn’t just talk to me.”

“He tried, Aunty,” came a voice from the side, and they all swung around to see Seamus standing at the doorway, holding one of the cats. He lifted a hand and said, “Hey everyone. I’m back.”

 

The mood in the room instantly lifted as the group jumped up to welcome Seamus home. And finally some champagne was opened. Or Australian sparkling wine, to be precise, several bottles of which were now being poured into flutes by the beaming housekeeper.

As they helped themselves to glasses, Seamus released the cat, then sat beside Ronnie, who clenched his hand like she’d never let it go. Then she glanced back at the door and said, “What happened to Reggie?”

“I told him to head home after he dropped me off,” Seamus explained of the solicitor. “I figured he was on the clock, and you’d spent enough busting me out as it is. Thanks, Aunty.”

“Don’t be silly. Are you okay?”

He nodded and squeezed her hand tighter. Then he glanced across the book club. “I can see you guys are still hard at it. So that’s the latest angle? Sebastian’s research into the family tree?”

They nodded a little reluctantly, darting cautious glances at Ronnie.

“You don’t think I gave birth to you and then dumped you with my sister? Do you?” she asked.

He offered a cautious look of his own. “Actually, I did think that once, a long time ago. Don’t you remember Seb and I asking you about it?”

Ronnie was blinking, confused again, then it must have clicked. “You mean at your mother’s funeral? Oh, you were nineteen and grieving. I assumed you were being dramatic. I told you then what I’ve just told this lot. It’s not true. It’s simply not.”

“I know that. I think I’ve always known that. But the rumours persisted, didn’t they? They’d been around since we were kids, usually spread by one of the Westera cousins if I’m honest.” He looked at the book club now. “It varied over time. Initially the rumour was we were both Ronnie’s secret sons. But then as we got older…”

His eyes turned to a family portrait hanging behind the piano. “We are very different, Aunty Ronnie. And it’s become more pronounced as we’ve aged.”

“But you’re fraternal twins, not identical, of course you’re different.”

“That didn’t stop the rumours. And Seb looks nothing like Mum.”

“That’s because he’s the spitting image of your father. A handsome rogue if ever there was one. We’ve talked about this. Your dad was not the nicest chap. I’m sorry, but it’s a fact. He broke your mother’s heart, got her pregnant and then took off. But she looked after you well, didn’t she? I helped, didn’t I?”

He smiled. “That’s why the rumours stuck, because you were so hands-on. But we never bought into it, not seriously anyway. That’s why Seb wanted to do the family tree and check Hugh’s DNA. He wanted to shut those rumours down once and for all. I think that’s what he was going to announce that night at your party.”

“Hang on,” said Lynette. “Did Bethany know about the rumours?”

“She was the worst culprit of all, or at least she used to be. Has changed her tune a bit lately, not sure why, but it wasn’t enough for Seb. He wanted some facts to shut them all up for good. So he did the DNA test.”

“And what were the results?” asked Lynette.

“Don’t know. He never got a chance to tell me.”

“But we do know,” gasped Ronnie. “I know. I’m sorry, my love, but Sebastian is not my son. Neither are you.”

He laughed. It was a lovely sound, one they hadn’t heard since before the fireworks. “Don’t apologise for that, Aunty Ronnie. We loved Mum, and we love you too. Couldn’t have asked for a better aunty.”

 

Alicia watched them hug and smiled with relief. It had all turned so tense earlier she wasn’t sure if Ronnie would ever forgive them. And she didn’t blame her one bit, because the older lady was right. The book club had made it all so unnecessarily complicated. A bit like Ronnie’s fireworks.

And yet Alicia was still confused…

“So are we saying Sebastian’s big secret—the thing he was about to spill in his speech—was the fact that you weren’t his mother, Ronnie, that you didn’t get knocked up by Hugh and hand the baby over to your sister to rear? Seems an odd thing to mention in a birthday speech.”

Seamus laughed again. “I’m sure he wouldn’t have put it quite like that, but yeah, he would have made it very clear to the Westera cousins that enough was enough, Aunty Ronnie had endured the rumours for years, and it was time to let it go. I told you, he was slick with his words; he would have pulled it off.”

“Okay,” said Alicia, “so there’s no big secret at all. No reason to kill anybody. So why are Greta and Pete dead, and why is your brother still missing?”

That brought a sad, stunned silence to the room and Ronnie’s lower lip quivering again.