“Aww, Mrs Veronica,” said Rosa, reappearing with more wine. She squeezed Ronnie’s shoulder, then promptly filled her glass.

 

As Rosa proceeded to top them all up, Lynette watched her for a few minutes when something occurred to her. She swished her blond hair back and sat forward. Eyes on Seamus.

“Who knew about the DNA test?” she asked him. “I mean, the fact that Sebastian did one with Hugh?”

“As far as I know, just Seb, myself and Hugh.”

“Did Bethany?”

He shook his head firmly. “She knew about the family tree but not the DNA test. Hence the speech. He wanted it all to be a surprise. Why?”

Lynette ignored that and turned to Missy. “That guy who visited Bethany at Westeraview on Saturday… Didn’t you say his company did a bunch of things including DNA testing?” Missy nodded. “Maybe he wasn’t there to help Bethany with the Jones family tree. Maybe she brought him in to check the DNA for herself. Maybe, like Sebastian, she had decided it was time to settle the rumours once and for all, find out for herself whether Sebastian was really Hugh and Ronnie’s child.”

“But how?” said Queenie. “She’d need to take mouth swabs or steal a hairbrush or—”

“The goblet!” said Missy, and Lynette nodded, grinning.

“That’s what Bethany was doing in the cabana with Hugh. She wasn’t flirting, she was stealing his DNA.” Lynette turned to the others to explain. “They were drinking out of these ugly goblets when we interrupted them—”

“Goblets?” said Seamus, blinking rapidly.

“Yes, and then she grabbed one and said she was taking it to the kitchen. Which is odd considering she got stroppy with Perry earlier for trying to do the staff’s job. But here’s the thing, she took just one goblet. Not both.”

“Because that one had Hugh’s spit all over it,” said Missy, bouncing in her chair.

“But can you really retrieve enough DNA from a bit of saliva?” asked Queenie.

“They do in cop shows,” said Missy.

Queenie rolled her eyes at that, and Alicia shook her head. “If that’s true,” she said, “she’d also need Sebastian’s DNA so she had something to compare it to.”

There was a low groan on the sofa next to Ronnie. “We drank out of her creepy goblets too,” said Seamus. “Seb and me. When we met her right at the start of the party in the guest house, to toast you, Aunty Ronnie. She said she wanted to bury the hatchet and herald in a new era—or some rubbish.”

“I saw you boys head off with her,” said Ronnie. “That’s what you were doing?”

He nodded, then shook his head. “I thought she was just being nice… I didn’t realise she was stealing Seb’s DNA.”

“But why?” said Ronnie. “I’m confused. Bethany loves a good rumour. Why try to disprove it?”

“Westeraview,” said Lynette. “Maybe she’s worried that Sebastian will try to make a play for it after you’re gone, Ronnie, and she wanted to find out where they stood. If Seb wasn’t your child, then she’d have nothing to worry about.”

“So how does this work in with the murders then?” asked Queenie.

Lynette looked less sure suddenly. “Perhaps she panicked. She knew Seb had been researching the family tree, so when he seemed so happy at the party, maybe she assumed he was about to announce to the world that Ronnie was his mum.”

“So he had to be taken out of the equation first?” said Seamus, suddenly very pale.

“And Pete?” said Queenie. “How does this work in with him? And don’t forget, Pete was killed sometime between six and eight on Saturday night, and we had Bethany in our sights then. She can’t have done it. We are her alibi.”

And suddenly, just like that, they were back to square one.

 

“I don’t trust Bethany,” said Missy, as they stood outside Ronnie’s house, milling around their respective vehicles. They had left early, keen to let Seamus and Ronnie get a decent night’s sleep, but they all felt hyped up. On edge.

And Missy was also feeling disgruntled. She didn’t like being Bethany’s alibi. It didn’t seem fair. She had disliked Ronnie’s niece from the moment they met. Bethany was just like every girl who ever bullied Missy at school, with her scathing looks and barbed rebukes, usually about Missy’s weight or curls or, yes, her quirky dress sense. They were all Queen Bees, Bethany and her ilk, and Missy was what they called a Wannabee, except she didn’t want to be anything like them.

Would rather be friendless than join their hive.

“I reckon Bethany has something to do with all this,” she said now. “She’s too sneaky, too manipulative.”

“Hey, I wish we could pin it on her too,” said Perry, reading her mind. “But how? Like Queenie says, even if Bethany did shoot at Greta and Sebastian, how did she manage to shoot Pete? She never budged from that pool patio between six and eight o’clock.”

“What was that about?” asked Missy, leaning against Alicia’s car now. “What was she doing, stomping into the middle of the patio, right in front of us? Maybe she was giving herself an alibi while someone else was creeping up on Pete.”

“Not the mysterious assassin again,” moaned Lynette.

“She does have a bunch of brothers and sisters we keep forgetting about. They could be in on it. The two Ugly Siblings swanned about, making their presence known, while another one—one we haven’t met yet—snuck in and shot Pete. He would have opened the gate to them.”

They listened to this intently. There was some sense in what Missy was saying, except it sounded like a lot of hard work to Lynette. “Aren’t there, like, six siblings? Does this mean we have to track them all down? Check their alibis? That’ll take forever.”

Missy pushed her glasses into place, swept her curls back and said, “Or maybe we just go straight to the queen bee.”

 

 

Chapter 26 ~ A Sting in the Tail

 

Queenie wasn’t sure if she should mention it. Claire was giving her a lift home from Ronnie’s house and raving about Missy, like she was some kind of genius—the way she’d discovered that business card and how DNA could be at the heart of all of this and yada yada yada—and she couldn’t help herself.

“How can you bear Missy?” Queenie suddenly blurted. “I mean, she’s sweet and all, but the rest of you are so smart, so grown up. Doesn’t she send you batty?”

Claire glanced across from the steering wheel of her vintage Volkswagen Beetle. “Not at all, why would you say that?”

“I don’t know, it’s just… she’s so silly all the time, making light of everything.”

“But that’s what we love about Missy, her silliness, her lightness.” Claire smiled. “She’s a counterweight to all the darkness we keep running into, not to mention Alicia’s bleak imagination. She’s like a little ray of sunshine, our Missy. Annoys you, huh?”

“Just wish she wouldn’t ramble on and on, always saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. This is really serious—at least two people have been murdered and she’s giggling, acting like it’s a lark.”

“That’s just her coping mechanism, Queenie. Sure, sometimes she’s inappropriate, but don’t underestimate her. There’s a lot of the Miss Marple in Missy. A dash of Detective Inspector Vera Stanhope too. We might never have realised what Bethany was up to if Missy hadn’t played the fool and snuck back into that guardhouse.”

“I’m sorry,” said Queenie, staring out the window. “But I don’t think it’s an act. She’s sweet, but she’s also a bit of a fool.”

They drove in silence for a while, then Claire shook her head. “You know, medieval courts used to have jesters, Queenie. They were vital members of the household, there to serve a purpose, and Missy does too. She’s not having a lark; she’s helping the investigation. You think you could have convinced a trained police officer to leave you alone at the crime scene after he’d been given strict orders not to? Missy’s silliness cleverly disarms people, just like Miss Marple’s dottiness does. Don’t underestimate her, Queenie, and don’t underestimate how valuable she is to book club.”

Queenie’s eyes darted across at Claire. “Are you saying if I don’t warm to her, I have to leave the group?”

“Not at all,” Claire replied. “I’m saying, don’t try to change her, Queenie, don’t try to dampen Missy down, because we love her just the way she is. And perhaps it’s not her who needs changing.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Claire smiled disarmingly and nodded her head at the mobile phone in Queenie’s lap. “I mean, lighten up, Queenie, and call the boy with the lovely black curls.”

 

~

 

Bethany was standing under a dark doorway when Missy pulled up outside her house in the posh suburb of Rose Bay, and she looked more like a worker bee than their queen. She didn’t have a lick of make-up on and was wearing a brown linen dress that resembled a hessian sack. Her feet were bare as she stood on the front porch, twiddling with an overhead light.

The Finlay sisters had offered to accompany Missy—they could tell she was jittery, weren’t quite sure why—and they had all expected a cold and monstrous McMansion, something in line with the Addams Family, all sweeping arches and creepy gargoyles.

Except it wasn’t creepy at all. Not even a McMansion. More a freshly rendered post-war bungalow with a glossy blue door, which was currently bathed in darkness thanks to a faulty light bulb. Ronnie had reluctantly furnished them with the address but clearly hadn’t forewarned Bethany, who jumped when they approached.

“You gave me a heart attack,” she said, tapping her chest. Then, “How did you find me?”

Before they could answer, she said, “Ahh, Veronica.” Then she looked back up at the light.

Bethany was tall, but Lynette had another few inches on her, and so she asked, “Need a hand?”

Bethany gave her a scorching look. “I have survived very nicely on my own for fifty-two years thanks very much, and I can survive perfectly fine now.”

Lynette shrugged and stepped back, and they watched as Bethany stood on her tippy toes, trying to install the globe, but it would not click in. Eventually, after an exasperated sigh, she thrust it at Lynette and said, “Fine, you do it.”

As if she was doing Lynette the favour.

As Lynette slotted it in, Missy wondered why Bethany was such a control freak.

“I suppose I have to ask you in now, do I?” Bethany said, pushing the door wide and waving them inside.

She also didn’t like owing anybody anything, Missy noted, so why did she feel like Ronnie owed her Westeraview? It didn’t quite fit. Nor did her house for that matter.

While the interior was neat and freshly painted, Missy recognised at least three pieces of furniture that matched pieces from Westeraview, including an antique brocade armchair. And the mugs she used to make their tea—store-brand tea bags, Missy noticed—were the same gold-and-crimson set they’d had that post-party breakfast. Bethany either had identical taste to Bert or she was taking his hand-me-downs.

“So I hear Seamus has been released,” said Bethany, waving them into chairs in front of a gas heater while she remained standing, leaning against the doorframe.

“Yes,” said Alicia. “Ronnie’s so relieved.”

“I’m sure she is. So why are you here, bothering me at this hour? Learned something new I hope.”

“We learned who your visitor was the morning after Greta was killed.”

It was a blunt comment from Lynette, a tactic they had discussed on the drive over. All agreed it was late, and not just the hour. The investigation was stretching into a fourth day, and they needed answers fast, no more mucking about with rumour and innuendo. And so it was decided that Lynette would lead the charge, as even Missy had to agree, fast talking was not her forte.

Bethany didn’t flinch. Didn’t say a word, in fact, as she hugged her mug, so Lynette forged on. “We know you stole Sebastian’s and Hugh’s DNA the night of the party, and you were getting it checked.”

That almost got her eyebrows moving. “Stole? That’s a bit harsh. If they happened to slobber all over my grandparents’ anniversary goblets, it’s hardly my fault.”

“You chose those goblets deliberately,” said Lynette. They had done some Googling on the way over and read that DNA lasts longer on metal surfaces than glass. “You pretended to toast Ronnie, then pocketed the goblets to get them tested. You conned that from them, which is unethical at best.”

She shrugged. “But not strictly illegal, last I looked.”

Alicia wasn’t convinced that was true; wished she could check with Jackson. “But there are worse crimes than that, aren’t there?” Alicia said now. “Like trying to shoot Sebastian so he doesn’t prove he’s Ronnie’s boy and take Westeraview from you.”

“Shoot?” Her eyes had narrowed. “Careful, young lady, you’re heading into slanderous territory.”

“He’s not by the way,” said Missy, bravely. “Ronnie’s boy. She says—”

“She says.” Bethany slammed her cup loudly on a nearby mantlepiece, making Missy jump. “You believe that, do you? Forgive me if I choose to find out for myself.”

“But why bother?” asked Lynette. “Ronnie’s already promised you Westeraview, and she says she’d honour that promise whether Sebastian was hers or not.”

“Again with the she says. How do we know she’ll really follow through and give us the measly crumbs we’ve been offered from Bert’s plate, hmm?” Bethany glanced around the room, tsking. “None if it was even hers, and she acts like we should be grateful!”

Missy frowned at this comment and followed her eyes around the room.

“You’re very trusting of Veronica,” Bethany continued. “Just like stupid Bert.”

That comment surprised them, and she lifted her chin, defiantly. “No, unlike everyone else, I don’t worship at the altar of Bertram the Great. Bert was a silly old fool. He’d built his wealth long before Veronica came along, but he still left her everything even though she cheated on him like a common show girl. She didn’t deserve a thing. She’s a liar and a manipulator, and like Bert, you have been well and truly played.”

“We trust Ronnie,” said Missy, her voice a little wobbly.

“More fool you,” she replied, eyes boring into the younger woman. “Why are you even here, boring me with all this? Haven’t you got an all-you-can-eat buffet to get to?”

Missy shrank back, shocked, while Lynette sat forward. Furious.

“Cut the crap, Bethany,” she said. “We know you were inside the house when Greta and Sebastian were shot. That means you had opportunity. And the fact that you were stealing—yes, stealing—Sebastian’s DNA tells us you also had motive.”

“I don’t see why,” she shot back, her voice icily calm. “Why would I go to the trouble of stealing his DNA and then shoot him anyway? Before I’d even got the results? What would be the point of all that?”

Lynette blinked rapidly, then glanced back at Missy and Alicia. They both looked stumped. It was a very good question, one they should have asked themselves.

Bethany smirked. “This little theory of yours needs some work, O amateur detectives. Speaking of which…” She turned and strode to the front door, swinging it open. “I need to go to bed. Some of us have to work for a living.”

“You work?” said Missy.

Bethany snorted. “Of course I work. Nobody’s handing me free Maseratis and Lamborghinis.”

Then, as they made their way out and across the now-lit porch, Bethany leaned against the doorframe and added, “I wasn’t the only one with opportunity that night, you know.”

They turned back, catching her smirk. “Checked out that old witch Peg yet? I spotted her in the house bang in the middle of the fireworks. Coming down from upstairs, in fact. Had a very guilty look on her face. I bet she never mentioned that…”

 

 

Chapter 27 ~ Rise and Shine

 

Alicia felt relieved when the light finally shone through her bedroom window on Tuesday morning, and it had nothing to do with the autumn sunshine. She’d had a restless night sleep, Bethany’s words whipping in and out of her head like a boomerang.

“You’re very trusting of Ronnie… Just like stupid Bert.”

“She’s a liar and a manipulator… You have been well and truly played.”

“I wasn’t the only one with opportunity that night… I spotted Peg… coming down from upstairs… looking guilty…”

It was all so terribly tangled, and she didn’t know whom to trust.

“You can’t still think Ronnie killed her nephew?” asked Lynette as they made the drive back to Balmain for a pre-arranged breakfast meeting.

“Not really,” Alicia replied. “Although I am now imagining Peg at that top window, wielding the rifle, and that makes even less sense.”

“Except…,” said Lynette, staring across from the passenger seat. “Perry reckons Peg’s not quite the good friend she pretends to be. Is jealous of Ronnie and all her good fortune. Maybe she wanted to hurt her.”

“By slaughtering one nephew and framing the other? Talk about Mean Girl!”

Lynette groaned. “It’s too early… I need coffee…”

 

Fortunately, there was plenty of it at Ronnie’s house and it had been superbly brewed by Rosa. The housekeeper’s breakfast spread was also superb, and Perry could not stop raving.

“Careful, Lynny,” he said as he helped himself to some crepes from the sprawling kitchen bench, then smothered them with maple syrup and blueberries. “Looks like you’re being upstaged. Might have to hold all our book clubs here in the future.”

Lynette slapped him one of the crepes while Ronnie tsked beside them.

“Stop teasing, Perry. And put that food down, Lynette, you’re not five for goodness’ sake. Besides, one reason I enjoy book club is because it gets me out of the house, so there’s no chance of that.” Then she added, “Although someone clearly thinks this is our home turf. A letter came for the book club today, addressed to you, Perry. I popped it on the coffee table inside.”

“Really?” he said. “How bizarre. Who’s it from?”

“No idea, and I certainly didn’t open it. Unlike you lot, I respect boundaries.” She smiled to soften her wrath. “Come on, people, fill up and let’s spread out in the drawing room. We’ll be more comfortable there. I know most of you have got lovely jobs to get back to.”

A nod at Queenie then who had shown up this morning but seemed the most anxious to get away.

“Speaking of jobs,” said Missy. “What does Bethany do?”

Ronnie blinked. “Do? Very little I believe.” Then, “Oh, I think she occasionally helps a friend in her boutique, an overpriced dress shop in Double Bay, why?”

“Oh, she mentioned it,” said Missy as she reached for another crepe, then thought better of it, scooping more blueberries onto her plate.

“What about you, Ronnie?” asked Lynette. “Did you miss nursing after Bert made you give it up?”

Ronnie frowned. “I did miss nursing, that is true, but Bert didn’t make me give it up. Who told you that rubbish? I chose to walk away. I’d already set up a few charitable foundations, and it was becoming a full-time job. As much as I loved nursing, I quickly realised I could do so much more for the community as a philanthropist.”

“Well, nursing’s loss was the charity world’s gain,” said Alicia.

Once they were settled on lounges back in the living room, Missy gave the group a quick rundown on their late-night visit with Bethany.

“She didn’t deny she’d stolen your brother’s and Hugh’s DNA,” she told Seamus, who was looking more rested this morning. “Was very unapologetic.”

“Sounds just like Bethany,” he replied. “But she does make a valid point. Why go to all the trouble of collecting DNA only to shoot at the very person you’ve just collected it from?”

“Impatience?” offered Claire. “Maybe she panicked.”

Missy was shaking her head. “Then why not call off that Craig Samson fellow? They’re not cheap, those DNA tests, and she wouldn’t need to pay for one if she thought she’d just killed Sebastian.” She clicked her chipped nails against her cup. “And I don’t reckon Bethany is the panicky type. I reckon she’s more your classic control freak. Just like my boss at the library, Geraldine. You should have seen her when I got into work yesterday, she…” Missy glanced at Queenie and quickly abandoned that chain of thought. “Anyway, I just don’t think she’d panic.”

“You’re spot on,” said Seamus. “That sounds more like her boozy brother to me.” His eyes widened. “Could he have done it?”

“Bronson? Hardly,” said Ronnie. “He could barely walk straight that night, let alone hold a rifle. So did you learn anything from Bethany?”

Alicia scrunched her face a little. “She did mention something about your friend Peg that we didn’t know. Apparently she was also inside during the fireworks.”

“Peg was?” Ronnie looked surprised, then gave a casual shrug. “She was probably just up in my room, using the loo or doing her make-up or something.”

“In the middle of the fireworks?” said Missy. “Who bothers with lippie when there’s pretty lights overhead?”

Ronnie frowned. “So now Peg’s a suspect? Nonsense!” Then she blinked, knowing how that sounded. “I know you’re trying to help, it’s just…” Ronnie’s eyes turned to Seamus, a tear suddenly dislodging. “I can’t help feeling this is all a distraction. Now that you’re out, I wonder if our time would be better spent searching for Sebastian. I mean, we should have found him by now. Where is he?”

He held out empty palms, his eyes also watery.

Ronnie sniffed and grabbed the serviette from her plate. Held it to her nose. “You know what keeps bothering me?” she said. “Why did Sebastian run towards the cliff? I can’t understand why he’d do something so silly, so dangerous. Why even head that way when we were all back at the house? We could have helped him, saved him. It makes no sense.”

“The bullets were coming from our direction,” said Claire softly.

“Okay, so run down to the guardhouse then. There was plenty of cover between the court and the front gate. He would have been safer in the forest. Why not seek help from Pete?”

Alicia agreed. “The guardhouse was the first place we wanted to run, wasn’t it, Perry?”

“Well, you wanted to phone Jackson if I remember rightly, but yes, that was the general plan until Pete appeared, our proud sentinel. Oh, here, Ronnie…”

Ronnie was attempting to blow her nose with her thick serviette, so he reached for the box of tissues on the coffee table, and that’s when he noticed the thin white envelope underneath it.

“Is this the letter you mentioned? The one for me?”

Ronnie nodded and took the tissues from Perry, as Seamus said, “And I ran down to the guardhouse too, remember? That was pure instinct.”

Actually, it was more like panic, thought Perry, scooping the envelope up. Seamus was running around like a headless chook that night. Perry tried not to roll his eyes as he glanced at the writing on the front, eyebrows suddenly wedging together.

Ronnie blew her nose delicately. “Poor Pete. Who would want to hurt a perfectly innocent security guard just going about his business?” Then she frowned and said, “Perry? Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

They all turned to look at Perry, but his eyes were locked on the envelope.

“This letter isn’t addressed to Perry,” he said. “It’s addressed to Peppy.”

Ronnie waved her tissue in the air. “Looks more like Perry than Ronnie. I’ll open it if you like—”

“No, no!” He held it tightly to his chest, his eyes excitable as they danced around the group. “It definitely says Peppy, and there is only one person who has ever called me that.”

Then he held it back out and gave them all a strange, sad look which landed, finally, on Alicia. “I think this is from our sentinel.”

Then he carefully plucked the letter out.

 

 

Chapter 28 ~ The Sentinel’s Last Stand

 

“Dear Peppy (yeah, I know that’s not your actual name, but I think it kind of suits you),

I don’t know who else to turn to, and you strike me as a pretty level bloke. I think you can be trusted, and so I’m going to trust you as Sebastian trusted me.

The bloody fool.

The poor kid came to me for protection, and I let him down. It was never supposed to be like this. I was only ever supposed to be the garbage man, cleaning up someone else’s mess. An innocent woman was not supposed to get hurt. That was never part of the plan.

But then things went badly wrong, and poor Greta… I’ll never forgive myself for that. And I don’t expect her parents to either. What happened to her was unforgiveable.

But two wrongs don’t make a right, and I’ve always been hired to protect, not harm, which is why when Sebastian came to the guardhouse, covered in blood and screaming, I knew I had to act. Everything I did then was to help him. I hope you can all see that.

I hid the lad away and cared for him as best I could. Kept expecting the police to find him. To search properly. But they never did. And now it all feels too late.

It certainly is for me.

Before I go, I’m reaching out to you. I don’t know who’s really involved in all this. I don’t trust anybody in that family or anyone close to them. But for some reason I trust you and your book club. I hope my trust is not misguided. (In the 45 years I worked at Westeraview, I never once got offered a cup of Joe, let alone breaky. I can see why Ronnie loves you, and I wish I’d formed better alliances. But there you go.)

I can’t say exactly where Sebastian is for fear of this getting into the wrong hands. But I trust you’ll find him, and I know who can help. Ask Biddy.

If there’s one thing she’s good at, it’s playing hide-and-seek.

Please tell my family I love them. And I’m sorry.

Pete Ragnar”

 

Perry sat back with a thud after reading the security guard’s letter out loud. It was handwritten on a piece of customised Westera stationery, the writing scrawled and smudged like he’d been in a hurry, and perhaps he had.

Perry looked up and straight across to Ronnie. She had a shaky hand to her mouth and was gasping, like she was struggling to find her breath. Seamus had a protective arm around her, but he too looked in shock, his eyes saucer-wide, his cheeks a deathly white.

No one could find words for many minutes, then Missy said, “Was that… is that… a suicide note?”

Perry shrugged, then nodded. “Sounds like one to me.”

Ronnie gasped again, and then Seamus leapt up like he’d been slapped, his cheeks now burning red.

“He’s alive! Seb’s alive,” he cried out, whipping this way and that. Then he stopped and stared down at Perry. “Isn’t he? Isn’t that what Pete said?”

All eyes were back on Perry, who held the letter out like it was infected. “I don’t know… I mean… not exactly.”

“Oh God,” said Ronnie, and Seamus dropped down beside her, looking bleak again.

“When did Pete write that?” asked Alicia, sitting forward now. “When did you receive it, Ronnie?”

Ronnie blinked at her, taking a moment to digest the question. “Um…” She shook her head. “This morning. It came with the morning mail.”

“Posted yesterday morning,” Perry said, pointing to a postmark on the envelope. “Monday, 9:16 a.m.”

“But Pete was dead by then,” said Lynette, frowning. “He died on Saturday night. How could he—?”

“Who cares?” said Seamus. “We need to find Sebastian! He said to find Seb. He must’ve hidden him somewhere. Oh my God, I can’t believe he did that. What was he thinking? Why would he hide him? And why didn’t he tell us where?”

“Because he’s protecting him,” Perry said. “He didn’t trust anybody, yeah?” Then he read from the letter again. “Says he doesn’t trust that family or anyone close to them.”

“That’s not true!” Ronnie suddenly cried. She had found her voice, and her eyes were glinting, alive with hope. “He did trust somebody. And so should we.”

She struggled to her feet, then raced across the room as fast as her shaky legs could carry her.

 

Biddy was nestled in an oversized armchair in a spare guest room at the back of the house, Ronnie’s cats asleep on either side of her. On a card table in front was a half-slurped tea and the crumbs of a slice of fruit cake, and behind her the sound of Olivia Newton-John, belting out “Banks of the Ohio”. Biddy was singing along at the top of her lungs and didn’t stop, even as her eyes glided across to the group that now swarmed her doorway.

“Biddy,” said Ronnie, racing across and startling the cats who growled at her grumpily, before settling down again.

The older woman’s face lit up. “Oh, hello, Ronnie,” she said. “I’m going to have lolly water soon. Nurse said. She’s coming at eleven, and she’s bringing my favourite Sprite. Not the orange one, the lemon one. Don’t like the orange one. What time is it now?”

“What time is it?” Ronnie repeated. Then she collapsed on the floor beside Biddy’s chair and said, “Oh Biddy, darling Biddy. I’ll tell you exactly what time it is now. It’s time you got to play that precious game of hide-and-seek.”

 

~

 

The game was an excruciating one for Ronnie and Seamus, mostly because it could not even start until they had returned to Westeraview—a good hour’s drive south of Balmain. While the letter left so much unanswered—was Sebastian still alive? Who was Pete covering for?—one thing was clear: Sebastian had to be hidden somewhere on the family estate.

It’s the only thing that made sense.

For starters, Pete had barely left the property since Sebastian went missing, apart from that brief period when Peg drove through and found the gate open (which they all agreed was probably when Pete popped down to the local village and dropped his letter to Perry in the post box).

Also, as far as anybody knew, Westeraview was the only place where Biddy ever played her favourite game of hide-and-seek. Her childhood home was no longer standing, and she’d moved in with Bert when Westeraview was first built.

It seemed a sure bet that Sebastian was hidden somewhere on the sprawling acreage.

And so they clambered into two cars, following each other along the coastal road, hoping they would make it back in time to find Sebastian alive, because there was no guarantee of that. No matter how many times they reread Pete’s letter—and each of them had tried—it was never really clarified.

“What does Pete mean when he says, ‘And now it all feels too late’?” asked Queenie from the back seat of the Lamborghini Urus where she was wedged in beside Biddy.

Ronnie had driven her missing nephew’s car to Balmain the night they’d been kicked out, and Queenie didn’t care how squishy it was in the back, she wasn’t going to miss an opportunity, although she did feel guilty about not going straight to work. (Claire assured her Simon would be cool with that, but she’d never even taken sick leave, so it felt like a terrible indulgence.)

“It sounds like hope to me,” Ronnie was saying from the front. “Pete’s not a killer. He even says as much.”

“He’s also not a medic,” said Claire gently, seated on the other side of Queenie. “If Sebastian was badly injured… well…” She reached out a hand to squeeze Ronnie’s shoulder. “I’m terribly sorry, but it has been four days. You need to prepare yourselves.”

Ronnie shook her hand away. “Thank you, Claire, but I will do no such thing. Come on, Seamus, what’s the point of a sports car if you’re going to drive it like a school bus?”

“I’m trying to keep you alive, Aunty Ronnie. Besides, we don’t want the police pulling us up and slowing us down further.”

“I’d like to see them try,” Ronnie growled, and Queenie smiled.

They could all do with an Aunty Bear like Ronnie.

 

As she kept her Torana a safe distance behind Seamus on the motorway, Alicia was also worried about the police but for different reasons. There was no way they were getting access to Westeraview. DI Singh would never allow it, and she told her passengers as much.

“But they can’t keep us out, can they?” asked Missy, who was in the back seat with Lynette this time. “We can show her Pete’s letter, and she’ll have to let us look.”

“Ah, no,” said Alicia. “She’ll confiscate it as evidence and send us packing.”

“I won’t be going anywhere,” said Perry from the front. “That letter was addressed to me. Pete didn’t trust anybody—including the cops—so they can butt right out.”

“Do you think it was the cops he didn’t trust or the family?” asked Lynette.

“He should have been clearer,” said Alicia, exasperated. “He could’ve named his accomplice while keeping Sebastian’s whereabouts a secret.” She shook her head. “I don’t blame Singh if she doesn’t let us in. We really are a pack of fools. Pete’s death was clearly suicide, and we decided it was murder. We’ve been overcomplicating everything, like it’s an Agatha Christie mystery.”

“Nothing wrong with checking all angles,” countered Perry. It had become the club mantra.

“And why do we assume we can find Seb anyway?” added Lynette. “If all those search parties and sniffer dogs and choppers couldn’t, how are we supposed to? It’s a hundred acres for God’s sake.”

“Yes but we’ve got the secret weapon,” said Perry. “Biddy must be very good at hide-and-seek if Pete thinks she can outwit all of that. Oh, and by the way, Alicia, Seamus will be turning off at the next exit, so get in your left lane now.” Then he glanced back at Missy and added, “We may not know where Sebastian is, but at least I know how to give proper directions.”

 

And if there was one thing Constable Sanchez knew, it was how to follow orders. The moment the two cars screeched to a halt at the gate outside Westeraview, demanding to be let in, she didn’t dare open it as Officer Smith had done for Missy.

She held her ground and phoned DI Singh.

“We can’t sit out here waiting for her to show up,” Ronnie declared through the car’s open window. “This is my property, young lady. Open this gate immediately and let us through!”

“DI Singh is just at the house, ma’am,” Sanchez replied calmly through the metal bars. “She won’t be more than a few minutes. Now what’s this about a letter?”

Ronnie humphed and buzzed the window shut again while they pulled their cars to the kerb and waited.

It did take just a few minutes, but it felt like an hour, and by the time DI Singh chugged to the bottom of the driveway in Pete’s buggy, the book club were all out of their vehicles and clinging on to the gate, like they were trying to rattle it open. Perry had placed Pete’s letter in a large Ziplock bag and held it up as Singh approached. He explained the situation as her eyes widened.

“I wondered if a suicide note would show up,” Singh said.

“You knew it was suicide?” asked Alicia.

Singh pulled on plastic gloves and offered her a scathing look. “Oh what a surprise! The dumb cops worked it out. We do have a forensics team, Alicia, who know how to read bullet wound paths and gunpowder residue.”

Then she went to snatch the letter through the gate, but Perry held it back. “Not until you let us in.”

“Don’t be so juvenile,” she said as he continued to wave it just out of reach. Singh exhaled. “Are you trying to be arrested for hindering an investigation?”

“I’m trying to follow Pete’s last request, which was to look for Sebastian. Me, the book club and Biddy. He didn’t trust anyone else, including the dumb cops. Just swallow your pride, woman, and let us get on with it.”

“This is ridiculous,” snapped Singh. “I can always get a court order.”

Perry took another step back. “Go for your life. But how long will that take? Hmm? And how long has Sebastian got? If we don’t find him in time, it’ll be on you.”

Singh took another long, deep breath. “You people are doing my head in.” She glanced across at Sanchez. “Okay, open the gate.”

“Really?” said Sanchez.

“Just do it,” said Singh while the book club cheered.

As it swung wide, they all scurried through, including Biddy, who trotted up to Sanchez at the guardhouse and said, “Hello again, I’m Biddy. What time is it now?”

Sanchez gave her a polite smile while Ronnie said, “Give us a moment, Biddy dear. We just have to talk to this lovely detective.”

Then she nodded at Perry, who handed Pete’s letter over to Singh.

“Thank you,” the detective said, her voice thick with sarcasm, then she quickly scanned the contents, frowned, and scanned them again. “This doesn’t say where Sebastian is.”

“No,” said Perry, “but he’s clearly somewhere on this property. You have to let us look.”

“Er, no I do not. My views haven’t changed, Mr Gordon. Pete doesn’t name his accomplice, so it could be anyone.” Her eyes darted to Seamus, who was standing just behind his aunt.

“Oh for goodness’ sake,” said Ronnie, but Singh was holding her hand up now.

“I will allow you and your sister-in-law up to the house. No one else. Mr Jones here still has charges pending, and as far as I can tell, that letter does not absolve him. Nor is there a valid reason the book club needs to be traipsing all over my crime scene.”

“I’m also part of book club,” said Ronnie. “Why do you suddenly have it in for us? Pete trusted us, why can’t you?”

“Er folks,” said Alicia.

Singh held up one palm. “I don’t have it in for you. But this is still a crime scene, and if that letter is to be trusted, then I do not want to compromise the search site. Why can’t you understand that? I cannot have third parties—least of all busybody book clubs—treading all over the evidence.”

“We don’t need to go up to the house,” said Alicia more forcefully, but Ronnie wouldn’t hear it.

“Yes, you do, Alicia. You have every right to be part of the search. Pete specifically asked for all of you. And busybodies? How can you possibly—?”

“Ronnie!” Alicia screamed now, finally getting her attention.

Ronnie swept back to look at her, and Alicia nodded her head towards Biddy. While Singh and Ronnie had been at loggerheads, the older lady had wandered into the guardhouse and was now crouched on the floor, tugging at a corner of the old Persian rug.

“I have a hunch the game has already started,” Alicia told them.

Then they all stepped in and watched as Biddy giggled with delight and yanked the rug backwards.

 

 

Chapter 29 ~ Back to the Drawing Board

 

Sebastian looked like a mass of crumpled rags when DI Singh reached him, and at first she didn’t realise it was him, curled in a ball below a wooden ladder that led from the guardhouse down to a small dark basement underneath.

“What is this place?” Singh called up to Ronnie from the bottom of the ladder.

“No idea!” Ronnie called back while Sanchez shined her torch downwards.

“It’s our hidey hole,” said Biddy, eyes dancing with delight. “Bertie used to hide here, but I always found him. Made him real mad.”

“I bet it did,” said Ronnie pulling her into a hug just as Singh yelled out:

“Call an ambulance, I’ve found him!”

Cheers erupted from the group above when Singh suddenly began to bellow, “Forget the ambo! Sanchez, get down here. You too, Seamus and Perry. We need to get this man out of here and to a hospital fast. He’s breathing, but only just.”

And with that the cheers quickly fizzled out.

 

~

 

For the first time in days, the book club were silent. They could find no words. The image of Sebastian being pulled half-conscious from that dark hole, his tuxedo ripped, his dinner shirt bloody, his blond hair as lank as his features, was haunting them.

That and the fact that he had been under their noses all along, if only they’d thought to look properly.

Alicia was kicking herself particularly hard as they waited in Ronnie’s Balmain drawing room for news from the hospital. She kept thinking of that ten minutes she and Perry spent locked in the guardhouse after Pete had shot himself.

Hell, she’d sat right on top of that old rug and never even thought to look downwards.

Except… why would she? Who would have suspected that Bert had built a secret room deep underneath the driveway?

“I hope the poor darling survives after all this,” said Missy suddenly, and they all looked up and towards her.

 

From her side of the sofa, Queenie sighed. It was another of Missy’s dreadfully obvious statements, and yet it felt like the only thing that could be said. After all their sleuthing, after all Sebastian had been through, it would be beyond cruel if he didn’t make it.

“I agree,” Queenie told her, her brown bob nodding. “And no wonder Pete didn’t want to leave his post, after tying the poor man up and stashing him in that cold, dark hole.”

Perry was frowning at her now. “He wrapped him in a blanket, Queenie, and there were old food wrappings and water bottles down there. I think Pete was trying to look after him, and had clearly left him some water, but that bottle looked like it had been knocked over. I wonder if Sebastian did that while trying to reach it with his mouth. If only Pete had untied him.”

She scoffed. “Pete should have told someone.”

“He did, he told me.”

Another scoff. “Using snail mail. We’re lucky it even got here. Why didn’t he just set Sebastian free?”

“Because he didn’t trust anybody, he said that. He was obviously scared of whoever he was covering for, was worried they’d get to Sebastian and finish the job. Remember, Pete was just the garbage man. He’s not a killer. He clearly regrets what happened to Greta, and I bet meeting her parents was the final straw. He couldn’t live with himself after that. I also wonder if he shot himself outside the gate so he wouldn’t desecrate the property.”

Queenie thought Perry was too kind. “If Sebastian dies—”

“He’s okay!” said Claire suddenly, holding out her mobile to reveal an incoming text. “Ronnie says Sebastian is badly dehydrated but the doctors say he’s going to be fine.”

As the others all exhaled like they’d been holding their breaths, Claire continued to read from her phone. “Ronnie says… she and Seamus will be there all day… we should probably return to work.”

“Yeah right,” scoffed Perry. “How does she think we can focus on work now?”

“She doesn’t,” said Claire, holding her phone aloft again. “She thought we’d say that so she’s making another suggestion.” Claire kept reading and then smiled. “She suggests we settle in here and give our brain cells a well-earned break. Says she’ll ask Rosa to prepare lunch and maybe we could make Biddy’s day and play another game of hide-and-seek or something.”

Missy sighed and said, “I’d rather play Cluedo,” and that got Alicia’s brain cells churning. She jumped to her feet and glanced around.

“You’re right, Missy, that would be the perfect game to play. I wonder if she has a copy…” As several of them began to protest, Alicia held up a hand to stop them. “I promise this won’t be a waste of time. In fact, I have a feeling we should have done this a lot earlier, folks.”

 

Ten minutes later the book club were seated around Ronnie’s dining room table, staring sullenly at the Cluedo board that Rosa had fetched from a cupboard beneath the stereo.

“This feels weird,” said Queenie, a glance towards Claire. “I mean, it’s nice of Simon to give me the day off, but if he knew I was playing board games.”

“Not just any board game,” said Alicia, assembling the relevant pieces. “This is Cluedo, people, and what do we love most about Cluedo?” They stared at her blankly. “It’s a game of elimination. And that’s a game we were playing before we got badly side-tracked.”

Then she paused as Rosa brought in a platter of fresh sandwiches, winked at her, then vanished again.

“The only silver lining in Pete’s suicide,” Alicia continued, “other than finding Sebastian of course, is that it makes everything so much simpler. Because his suicide confused us for several days as we mistook it for another murder. It blinded us, a bit like those fireworks. All we really have to do is work out who shot Greta in the middle of Ronnie’s party.”

“Oh, is that all?” said Perry snidely.

She smiled and nodded at the board. “It shouldn’t be that hard. We just have to eliminate suspects like you do in Cluedo. Then we’ll have our killer. Pete’s already been immensely helpful because he basically pointed the finger at the family or someone close to them, which narrows it down considerably. Plus…” She tapped on the room marked Patio. “We also know it had to be someone who was not out on the patio watching the fireworks that night.”

She picked up the miniature revolver. “It had to be someone who knew about the rifle, was inside the house, and had access to the top bedroom. And as far as we know, that narrows it down to just five people.” Then she grinned knowingly and sat back. “We already have our suspects, folks, we now have to prove which ones couldn’t have done it. That’s the key.”

“Okay,” said Claire, ticking them off with her petite fingers again. “So… Bethany… Bronson… Hugh… and Peg, if Bethany is to be believed. That’s only four.”

“You’re forgetting Seamus,” added Queenie. “He was inside, too, and I’m not sure there’s anyone closer to Ronnie.”

“But he was writing his speech,” said Missy.

“Or so he says,” she retorted.

Alicia smiled and stroked a small white figurine she had placed inside the room marked Library. “I like Seamus, too, Missy. I think he’s one of the good guys, but Queenie’s right, we must double-check his alibi. He says he was in the library at the time of the shooting, but was he? Where’s the proof of that?”

Then she waved her hand around the board again and said, “Ditto for the others. Bethany insists Peg”—she tapped the purple icon—“was upstairs during the shooting, and perhaps she was redoing her make-up. It sounds like something ‘Mrs Peacock’ might do, but is there any evidence to prove that? And Bronson here”—now she was holding up the plum-coloured figurine—“was wandering the halls like an absentminded professor. Why, exactly?”

“He had a bottle of soft drink in his hand,” said Queenie. “Told us he was looking for Biddy. We saw her with that Sprite later, so it sort of adds up.”

“Sort of is not good enough, Queenie. As for Bethany”—Alicia held Miss Scarlett high—“she admits to stealing Hugh’s DNA, so there’s no way she was returning that goblet to the kitchen for cleaning, like she insinuated, so why go into the house at all? Why not go straight to the guest house and pop it in that cold box we saw in there for safe keeping? It’s highly suspicious. As for Hugh…”

Alicia picked up the yellow figurine she had placed beside the Pool. “Dapper Colonel Mustard here says he was following his distraught wife to their car…” She swished the character from the pool, through the house and out the front door. “But how long does it take to walk through a house, even one as big as Westeraview? Did he return after she left? What did he do for those crucial ten minutes?”

Alicia now scooped all five figurines and placed them in the palm of one hand.

“Each of these suspects provided a reason for being inside… well, apart from Peg, who never admitted it. But do their reasons stack up? I say we choose one suspect each and look at them afresh. We stop being blinded by smoke and mirrors and look for something concrete.”

Then she handed each of the book club members a character and added, “We need to return to the drawing board, O fellow sleuths.”

 

And so it was, over the next two days, as Sebastian got stronger in hospital, the book club took more time off work and made their way back to where it all began.

Back to Bert’s Gothic mansion.

Luckily, DI Singh was no longer lurking. If she didn’t want them there, she wasn’t around to tell them, and the only familiar face was Constable Eva Sanchez, who greeted them like celebrities.

“We’ve got a wager going back at the station,” she told them as their car idled by the guardhouse, which was secured in police tape.

“You’re betting whodunnit?” asked Perry.

“We’re betting you’ll solve it before DI Singh does.” Then she put a finger to her luscious lips and said, “But I never told you that, and I never saw you pop in either. Go on, get!” She waved them on. “Just stay away from this guardhouse or we’ll all be in the sinbin. We’re still tracking the evidence.”

“Oh, we don’t need the guardhouse anymore,” said Alicia. “We’re going straight to centre stage.”

And so they ascended, scurrying around Westeraview like they might a Cluedo board, from the Patio to the Cabana, from the Kitchen to the Guest House, from the Library to the Observatory and, finally, into Ronnie’s Master Bedroom, where Missy used her recent reading of a more modern mystery to uncover something quite unexpected.

After that they returned to the city where they checked a few more alibis, and by Friday evening—a full week after Ronnie’s party—they finally had a clear idea whose alibi stacked up, and more importantly, whose did not.

It turns out the culprit was staring them in the face all along. They would have worked it out sooner if they hadn’t been dazzled by their own silly fireworks.

It was time to clear the smoke and bring the killer to justice.

They just had one more roll of the dice…

 

 

Chapter 30 ~ Gone Guest Returns

 

The missing man was like an apparition, and the book club stared at him, goggle-eyed.

None of them truly believed they’d ever get to meet Sebastian, let alone sit across from him at Ronnie’s Balmain house, sipping champagne like it was a casual get-together.

Ronnie had also invited their five suspects—Bethany, Bronson, Hugh, Peg and Seamus, who was smiling giddily at his twin like he, too, couldn’t believe his eyes—while Biddy was nestled safely back in her room, happily singing along to her favourite tunes, both cats keeping her company.

Ronnie had called this gathering a happy reunion, but it was actually the first time her book club friends had ever met Sebastian. And it was a revelation, at least for Alicia.

The “better-looking twin” wasn’t quite as dashing as his photos had shown, and it had little to do with his ordeal—although that was obvious in his sunken features and solemn smile. No, she thought as she watched him wave off the champagne Rosa was offering, he was quite clearly Seamus’s twin.

That’s why he had looked so familiar!

Sure, Sebastian was a little taller, a lot blonder (thanks to obvious highlights), a smidgin better-looking, but only from certain angles, which he clearly knew how to work when a camera was upon him. Yet how quickly they had fallen for the rumours that he was Ronnie and Hugh’s son. How easily they had allowed themselves to be misled. No wonder Ronnie was so cranky with them. (And Singh and the police chief now she was on it.)

“Bollie?” asked Rosa, handing her a flute filled with Bollinger.

Alicia thanked her and wondered if Ronnie had deliberately chosen the same drop as her birthday party or if that was irrelevant, a distraction. A bit like Ronnie’s seventy-fifth as it turns out. Because the killer had used the occasion and all its excesses, especially those noisy fireworks, to pull off the devious plan.

Except, of course, they didn’t pull it off. As Pete wrote in his suicide note, it all went badly wrong, and the book club were now ready to tell them that, not to mention how and why. But Ronnie had some words of her own first.

“Thank you all for coming at such short notice,” she said once drinks were firmly in hand. “I know you’ve been very worried about our dear boy and have been helping my friends work out what happened.”

There were mumbles around the room, and Bethany said, “Good to see you looking so well, Seb.”

“Thanks, Beth,” he replied, his voice a carbon copy of Seamus’s.

“Do you have any idea who shot at you?” This was Peg, legs tucked up under her in an armchair, and it suddenly felt like all the air had been sucked from the room.

Everyone held their breath, and all eyes stared at Sebastian’s chapped lips, like he was about to make some grand revelation, but he was shaking his head, half smiling across at Seamus.

“Truth is, bruz, at first I wondered if it was you.”

Seamus turned crimson. “Me? Seb! Why would you say that?”

“’Cause I got that stupid text. I kept thinking about that when I was stuck down there. Kept thinking, why would you tell me to go to the court and then start shooting at me?”

“But I didn’t.”

“I know that now. I even knew it then. It was such a strange message. We’d just been together, taking photos, then you ran off just as I got that text telling me to meet you at the court. I asked Greta if she knew what you were playing at, and she didn’t, but she was worried, that’s why she tagged along.” Sebastian’s eyes filled with tears, as did Seamus’s. “I’m sorry, I know I’m a bit of a flirt.”

“A bit?” Seamus smiled and wiped his eyes.

“Greta thought that’s why you wanted to have it out. And that’s why she was there. She wanted to make it clear to you, once and for all, that she was in love with you, not me.” Then, taking the tissue Ronnie was offering him, he whispered, “It’s all my fault she’s dead.”

“Oh Seb,” said Ronnie, but he shook his head.

“Another thing I couldn’t stop thinking about down there. If only I hadn’t let her tag along, and if only I hadn’t asked her to dance.” His eyes swept back to his twin. “We had one last waltz, you know, before I let her go entirely. I did love her too, Seamus.”

“I know,” he replied, his voice choked up.

Sebastian blew his nose and glanced around the room, as if he’d forgotten they were there. “So we were dancing,” he continued. “The fireworks had started, and I wanted to take a photo with the colours in the background. I… I pulled out my phone as I swung her out and around but then I heard a strange sound. She was laughing, then suddenly she wasn’t. Suddenly she was falling down, and I started laughing too… I thought she’d tripped, but then I saw the blood, and I felt her pulse and… she was gone. I couldn’t believe it. She was just… gone.”

“Oh honey, if this is too much,” began Ronnie, but he shook his head again.

“I need to get this out, Aunty Ronnie. I’ve been going mad with it.” He took a steadying breath. “I was just kind of staring at her, shocked, when I heard the sound again, and it took me a moment to work out what it was. A bullet just missed my head. I looked up and realised someone was firing at me from the house. That’s when I left her… I can’t believe I just bailed.”

“You had no choice,” said Seamus firmly.

Sebastian exhaled. “I went into survival mode, I guess. Bolted down to the guardhouse.”

Ronnie swapped a look with the book club then. It’s just as they suspected. Where else would you run if someone was shooting at you? Not towards a cliff, certainly not when there was a security guard on duty, one you thought you could trust.

“Pete was just getting into his buggy when I got there,” Sebastian continued. “He looked so shocked to see me, and I thought I knew why. I mean, I was covered in Greta’s blood.”

“What did he do?” asked Bronson, sitting forward, his flute already empty.

“He told me to get into the guardhouse, told me I’d be okay. He kind of shoved me in and then pulled the rug back off the floor and opened that hatch. I didn’t even know it existed. He told me to hide down there, he’d sort it out. I wasn’t thinking straight… I… I started down the ladder… and then everything went black.”

The group all sat back then, digesting his words as Bronson reached for a fresh bottle of champagne that had been placed in an ice bucket on the coffee table and began to open it.

“He must have struck you over the head,” said Hugh.

Sebastian nodded, his hand automatically going to the back of his skull. “I woke up with a thumping headache. My hands and feet were tied, and it took me ages to work out what had happened. I figured the killer had got to Pete and I was panicking again, looking for him, hoping he was still alive, and then suddenly there he was, coming down the ladder, calm as day.”

He shook his head, eyes on Ronnie. “I couldn’t believe it, Aunty Ronnie. Pete! I thought he was trustworthy. I thought…” His voice choked and she grabbed his hand.

“We all did, darling. We were badly deceived.”

“Except,” said Sebastian, shaking his head again, “he kept saying he was sorry, that it wasn’t supposed to be like that. Greta wasn’t supposed to get hurt.”

“Did you ask him to let you go?” asked Bronson, pouring himself more champagne. “I don’t understand why he didn’t let you go.”

“I don’t understand why you didn’t scream out,” chimed in Bethany, waving her empty glass at her brother.

“I tried,” Sebastian said, watching as Bronson filled it. “Over and over. But Pete didn’t seem worried. Told me the room was soundproof, that it was pointless. I didn’t believe him of course. After he left, I screamed till I was hoarse, but I guess he was right.”

Alicia was now looking stricken. “We were right there,” she told him. “Several times. Standing in and around that guardhouse and had no idea you were underneath. Then the police were there—day and night. It’s extraordinary.”

“We didn’t know anything about that hidden room, did we Bronson?” said Bethany. “Did you Ronnie?”

She shook her head. “Bert never mentioned it.” Then she waved Bronson away as he began to offer the bottle around. “I dusted off the old blueprints for the house yesterday. It’s all in the architect’s original design, but it’s down as storage space. I guess it never got used, apart from early games of hide-and-seek between Biddy and Bert. That was before my time.”

“Thank God Pete told us to ask her,” said Perry.

Peg scoffed suddenly, holding her glass out to Bronson. “I don’t think that man deserves any gratitude.”

“Pete said he’d let me go,” said Sebastian. “Said he’d protect me, but then… he never did.”

“He thought he was protecting you,” said Perry. “That’s why he kept you down there.”

“But protect me from whom?” said Sebastian. “I still don’t understand any of this.”

“So he gave you no indication?” This was Hugh now, and Sebastian shook his head.

As he did so, Alicia glanced about, looking for signs of relief, but there were so many emotions swirling around the room, relief was just part of the mix.

Sebastian rubbed his stubble. “It was strange, at one point I remember him ripping off a shoe. Don’t know what that was about.”

“We think he planted it near the cliff edge, hoping to get the killer off your trail,” said Perry.

“Poppycock!” said Peg now, watching as the remaining glasses were topped up. “You’re too kind to the man. That threw the entire investigation off-kilter; it was an unforgiveable thing to do.”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t trying to buy himself more time too,” said Perry. “He was a flawed human, our Pete, a coward who didn’t stand up to a killer, but he wasn’t a killer himself. If he was, you wouldn’t be sitting here, Sebastian.”

“Oh, let’s give the man a medal then,” muttered Peg, clearly not in a forgiving mood.

“So who is this killer then?” demanded Bronson, dumping the empty bottle and glancing around for Rosa. “Do the police still think it’s you, Seamus?”

“My brother didn’t do it,” said Sebastian, his voice now strong and firm.

Bronson shrugged and returned to his seat. “Just asking.”

“Then who did do it?” demanded Bethany. “I want to know what kind of person shoots two people at a birthday party. Not to mention right in the middle of those lovely fireworks. You have no idea how hard they were to organise.”

Ronnie held up one hand. “That’s a very good question, Bethany,” she told her. “Which leads directly to another. A question which may seem trivial by comparison but which my book club believes is at the heart of working out whodunnit.”

Then she paused and said, “What kind of person goes inside a house during a fireworks display?”

That got the guilt racing across five sets of eyes.

 

 

Chapter 31 ~ Fresh Fireworks

 

Ronnie watched the suspects carefully, noticing several of them shift in their seats, as well they should. She waited a beat, then said, “We’re not just here to celebrate Sebastian’s return. My book club have some information they would like to share with you that’s pertinent to the case, and I’d like you all to give them your full attention.”

Bethany said, “Oh for goodness—”

“Especially you,” Ronnie barked, causing her niece to recoil.

She muttered something to herself as she chewed on her champagne glass while Ronnie nodded at the book club before catching Rosa’s eye.

The housekeeper had a fresh bottle of Bollinger in one hand and a cheese platter in the other. She placed them both on the coffee table, then trotted off towards the back of the room while Alicia sat forward and cleared her throat.

“Thank you, Ronnie,” she said. “We hope this doesn’t take too long, but we would like to share what we’ve learned, which has certainly been enlightening.” She smiled. “In fact, lights play a big part in all this, and I’m not just talking about the fireworks, but we’ll come to that later. For now, I’d like to return to Ronnie’s question because it’s a really good one.”

She nodded towards the young woman with the red curls. “Clever Missy here posed the same question a few times, and we never took it seriously, but it’s a valid one. Why would anyone be inside during a fireworks display without good reason? I mean, we missed the excitement because we were running around trying to find the night’s key speaker.”

A smile at Seamus, who put his hands prayerlike in front of him as a thank-you.

Alicia nodded. “We were happy to help, but the fact remains: I don’t care how old or young you are, how fresh or jaded, it’s a rare human who does not step outside to watch a burst of loud and colourful explosions. And yet five guests chose to go in the opposite direction.”

Alicia’s eyes danced from Bethany and Bronson to Peg and Hugh and Seamus. “The moment the fireworks started, you five got up and walked inside. The question is, why?”

Before they could answer, she quickly said, “Oh, we’ve heard your excuses, but now we’ve also had a chance to check them out, and we’re here to tell you that while four of the reasons stacked up, one of them did not.”

Bethany tsked. “What are you blathering about? I’m sorry, Ronnie”—she had a finger up as if to deflect another bark from her aunt—“but are we really expected to sit here and let these virtual strangers accuse one of us of a heinous crime?”

Ronnie sighed wearily at her. “You’ve always got to take charge, don’t you, Bethany? For once in your life could you please shut the hell up and just listen.”

Bethany gasped at that as Missy choked back a giggle.

Ronnie said, “I’m sorry, Alicia, please continue.”

Alicia nodded, then let her eyes dance around them again, before resting on Sebastian’s twin. “You told us you went to the library to write your speech, Seamus, but none of us actually saw you go in there.”

“But I did. I promise.”

She smiled. “Forgive us, but we couldn’t take your word for it. In fact, we sent in our most sceptical member to double-check your alibi.” Then she nodded at Queenie.

 

Queenie had been waiting for this. It was her cue. She picked up a small plastic bag by her side and held it high.

“Thank you, Alicia,” she said, taking a moment to breathe in (breathing was a trick she learned watching Simon perform speeches). “I checked Westeraview’s library a few days ago, and you’re a lucky man, Mr Jones.” Eyes now on Seamus. “Very lucky that we all got evicted from the house so quickly, especially Rosa. Because she is one efficient housekeeper and had already cleaned out all the bins but hadn’t had a chance to take the rubbish down to the main road for the weekly garbage collection. If she had, we would never have found these, safely stored in a bin behind the kitchen.”

Queenie reached into the bag and pulled out a fistful of crumpled paper.

“It’s my speech,” said Seamus, blushing again now as she straightened out the first piece.

“It’s very rough,” she told him. “You certainly had a hard time of it.”

“I told you I was a crap public speaker. They’re all my lousy drafts.” Then it hit him. “Oh, so they prove I really was in the library, prepping for the speech during the shootings.”

“But he could’ve planted those earlier,” said Hugh as Bronson reached for the fresh bottle.

“We don’t think so,” said Queenie, “because this speech contains material that could only have been written at the time. I hope you don’t mind?”

Seamus winced a little but nodded and so she read aloud.

“Dear Aunty Ronnie etc. etc.,

I’m not much of a public speaker, and if it wasn’t for my brother’s vanishing act, you’d still be none the wiser. But if I get lucky and your book buddies find Seb, you’ll never need to know just how dismal I am. I just want to say how much we all love you and…”

She stopped. “That’s where it ends.”

“I realised it was lame,” said Seamus. “Nobody needed to know about Seb’s vanishing act, so I wrote another.”

Queenie reached for more crumpled pages. “You wrote six drafts in all, and three of them mention things that had just happened, one even had a lovely compliment about Missy’s polka-dot dress.”

Missy’s blush matched Seamus’s then, and Queenie gave them both a smile. “We’re not sure you could have written all that, Seamus, and also managed to sneak upstairs, set up a rifle, shoot at two people, dispose of the gun but for some bizarre reason hold on to the gun case, incriminating yourself. It doesn’t add up.”

Ronnie reached for her nephew’s hand. “More evidence it wasn’t you, my dear. You might not have had a fancy education like your cousins here, but you’re not stupid.”

He squeezed her hand back and mouthed, “Thank you.”

“Speaking of fancy education, let’s move on to my bestie,” said Ronnie, eyes sliding across the room.

As Perry sat forward, Peg cackled and said, “Look out, here’s trouble.”

Perry did not cackle along. “You’re the one who likes to make trouble, Peg. I learned that pretty fast. You fed us plenty of gossip, sending us off in different directions, but you never told us the truth—that you were also in the house during the fireworks display. We learned that nugget from Bethany.”

Peg shot Bethany an eye roll. “Spoilsport.”

“What were you doing upstairs then?” Bethany asked, eyes narrowed.

Peg folded her arms. “I’d rather not say.”

“We’ve already checked the bed, Peg,” said Ronnie.

Peg gasped, then clapped her hands. “Gotcha!”

“Not at all,” Ronnie replied. “I was dead on my feet that night. Crashed on top of the covers. Never even noticed.”

“Oh well,” said Peg. “Next time.”

“Can someone please tell me what they’re babbling on about?” said Bethany.

Claire spoke up now. “You were up to your old boarding school tricks, weren’t you, Peg? The ones you told me about.”

She nodded gleefully. “It’s your fault, doll. After Ronnie introduced us out on the patio and I told you about all that, it sparked me into action.”

Then, in response to Bethany’s burgeoning frown, Peg explained, “When we were wee lasses, us boarders liked to play tricks on each other, usually after a birthday when the birthday girl needed dropping a peg or two. And Her Lordship here…” She winked at Ronnie. “Well, after all that French champagne, a gourmet chef no less, not to mention those ridiculous fireworks, I thought a good shortsheeting was in order.”

“Shortsheeting?” said Sebastian now.

“Yes. You remake a person’s bed with the top sheet tucked up. It’s a lot of work, but gee it throws them for six when they climb in and can’t get their feet through.” She cackled and so did Missy now.

“I was in that room for ages,” Missy told Peg. “Could not find so much as a bangle to prove you’d been in there, and I was actually starting to worry, then I remembered the book we’ve been reading for book club, The Guest List. Some of the characters went to boarding school too, but they put seaweed on the juniors’ beds as a prank. I was freaking out when I pulled back Ronnie’s quilt cover.”

“Seaweed?” said Peg, nose wrinkling. “That’s not cricket. No, no, it was just a bit of fun. And that’s all I was doing, I can assure you.”

“Hang on,” said Bethany, suspiciously, “so you were shortsheeting Veronica’s bed. That wouldn’t take long.”

“Have you seen the size of Her Lordship’s four-poster monstrosity?” Peg scoffed. “Took me yonks. I almost gave up. It was a lot easier with our tiny dormitory beds. But that’s all I did. I never touched any rifles and certainly never fired one.”

Bethany now looked bored. “Can we move on to Hugh then. You obviously think he’s guilty or he wouldn’t be here.”

“Steady on,” said Hugh, foot suddenly tapping. “I had no reason to hurt Sebastian, and I was barely in the house during the fireworks. This lot saw me at the cabana with you, and after that I followed my wife straight to the car park. I never hurt anybody.”

“Except your wife,” said Lynette, sitting forward. “But not that night. That night you were being conned out of your DNA by Bethany.”

“I was what?” Hugh’s foot stopped tapping, his eyes boring into Bethany.

Lynette held a hand up. “We’ll get back to that. Suffice to say, we spoke to your wife, Hugh, and she confirms your story. Hannah says you did follow her straight through the house and out to the car, where you tried to convince her to come back to the party. She says it was only when the fireworks ended and you were forced to return inside for speeches that she managed to grab the keys and leave.”

Bethany was scoffing now. “Or so she says.”

Hugh smiled wryly now. “I can assure you, Bethany, if my wife had a chance to stick me in it, she would.” Then he looked almost disappointed. “Were you really trying to steal my DNA that night?”

Bethany did not answer, and Lynette told her, “I’d admit to that if I were you, because that’s also your alibi.”

Then she sat back, passing the baton to Missy, who shoved a fingernail into her mouth and began chewing.

 

Missy chewed for a moment longer before dropping her hand and trying for a smile. She hadn’t done much public speaking, so she tried to ignore her nerves as she forced her eyes to Bethany, her cheeks flooding red as she did so.

“Oh, give me strength,” said Bethany, like she could smell her fear from across the room.

Missy glanced back to Lynette, who gave her a firm nod. You’ve got this!

So she turned back, lifted her chin and said, “Actually, yes. We… well… I looked into your alibi, Bethany, and I learned some interesting things.”

Bethany rolled her eyes as Missy forged on. “We now know why you were in the house at that time. You were protecting that DNA you’d just taken. One of the lovely caterers confirmed you did pop into the kitchen during the fireworks, asking for a Ziplock bag.”

Truth is, Bethany had stomped in there, demanding one, and got very cranky when they took ages to find it even though it was more her kitchen than theirs, but Missy didn’t mention that. There was none of the bitch in Missy.

“So,” she continued, “the caterer says she watched you drop a wine goblet into the bag and wondered what you were up to, then kept watching as you went out that back kitchen door and headed towards the guest house. We think it would’ve been impossible to do all that and still manage to sneak back to the main house, go upstairs and shoot at two people.”

“Of course I didn’t shoot anybody,” said Bethany. “But yes, I’d stupidly left the collection kit Craig gave me back in the guest house, and I wasn’t going to risk losing a single drop.” She then met Hugh’s glare. “I have every right to know whether Sebastian is yours and Ronnie’s.”

“I’m sorry, what?” said Sebastian, like he was only just waking up.

“Like you haven’t been wondering the same thing,” Bethany shot back at her cousin now. “I was simply trying to get to the truth so you didn’t pretend to be Ronnie’s boy after she passed away and get to keep everything… that is, I mean, Westeraview.”

Missy digested her words and then suddenly snorted, catching everyone by surprise, including herself. She flung a hand to her nose and giggled. “Oh my God, that’s what it’s about. It’s worse than we thought.”

“Sorry?” said Bethany as all eyes turned to Missy, curiously.

“Sorry,” Missy repeated, “but now it’s making more sense. That DNA grab wasn’t just about Westeraview, was it Bethany? You said it yourself when we saw you the other night. Westeraview was just a measly crumb. You don’t want one crumb. You want the whole pudding.”

“What?” said both Bethany and Ronnie together now.

Missy almost giggled again, had to swallow it back. Wished she’d worked it out sooner. “That’s why you had to check that DNA. You’re going to try to challenge the entire will, aren’t you? You want to inherit the whole kit and kaboodle.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Bethany, folding her arms over while Bronson shrunk back in the cushions beside her.

Missy scoffed, her nerves now dissipated. “I saw your house, Bethany. It’s lovely but it’s full of Bert’s hand-me-downs, and you still have to work for a living. We all assumed you guys were wealthy like Bert, but you’re not, are you? And you want to be. I’d put big money on you using that DNA to challenge the will the second Ronnie is gone.”

“And I have every right to,” Bethany suddenly announced, catching them by surprise. Then she stared at Ronnie and said, “Oh, stop gulping like it’s a big deal. Even if Sebastian was yours, he still doesn’t have a single drop of Bert’s blood in him. How dare you leave him and Seamus everything.”

“But I’m giving you Westeraview—”

“Oh, aren’t we the lucky ones? Six of us, sharing that creepy old pile of bricks. Even you didn’t want to live there, so why should we? You get this lovely bright house, the one in Fiji, the apartment in Barcelona. You get all the company shares. The cars. It’s obscene.”

“But I was Bert’s wife for forty-two years! I helped him—”

“You did nothing. Bert made most of that long before he met you. Any case, we let you enjoy it, never tried to take it from you. But these two…” She flung a hand at the gobsmacked twins. “They had zero to do with Bert, or our family for that matter. Rarely showed up at Westera functions, and yet you were going to hand it all over to them like they’d earned it. I earned it, keeping Westeraview running. Bronson earned it, looking after Biddy!”

“But…” Ronnie was flabbergasted. She had not seen this coming.

“Plus you’re always giving it away,” said Bronson, sitting forward now, refilling his glass again. “Handing it to every sucker who comes begging for charity. It wasn’t yours to give away.”

“Any case,” said Bethany, tapping his knee and giving him a stern look. “Our lawyer tells us we have a pretty clear pathway, once you’re gone, to challenge the will, get at least some of it back into the family where it rightly belongs.”

Ronnie was now clutching her pearls, completely stunned, and Missy offered her a sympathetic look but had to keep going. She wasn’t finished yet.

“That’s why you organised the party at Westeraview, isn’t it, Bethany?” Missy said. “That way you had full control. You like to be in control. I’m sorry, but it’s what makes you a bit of a bully.” She gulped. Cleared her throat. “You met with Sebastian and Hugh separately at the party, insisting they toast Ronnie with your special goblets, which you then bagged and handed to your mate at Ancestry & More. Then you just had to sit back and wait for the DNA results.”

“You may be right,” Bethany said, her tone matter-of-fact. “But tell me this, O chubby one, why would I go to all that trouble and then try to kill Sebastian anyway? Hmm? I told you before, it makes no sense.”

Missy was now gaping. The only word she’d heard in that sentence was chubby, and she was suddenly spiralling backwards, back to her high school days.

Back to jibes in the corridors and snorts on the netball court…

 

Lynette realised Missy was in trouble. Her lips were moving, but there was no sound coming out. They had rehearsed her words earlier, but she seemed to have forgotten and so Lynette sat forward and took Missy’s hand. Eyeballed Bethany.

“You’re right,” Lynette said. “That part doesn’t make sense. And Missy’s right too. You are a bully, Bethany, but you’re not reckless. You’re way too calm and cool to start shooting at two people in the middle of a party—even one with loud fireworks. That was a very risky thing to do. But then Seamus mentioned something the other night, about how that didn’t sound like you at all. Was more like something your boozy brother would do.”

Lynette stopped and let that sink in as Bethany smiled smugly, then blinked. Blinked again. She glanced at her brother beside her and back. Tried for another scoff but it was less convincing this time.

“Now you’re saying Bronson did it? Oh please. That’s even more absurd.”

From his corner of the couch, Bronson was staring glumly into his flute. He looked up at their piercing gaze and said, “I concur, that is absurd.”

“Is it though?” said Ronnie, her gaze the sharpest of all. “Really? Because, like we said at the start, we’ve been through everyone’s so-called alibis, and one of them does not stack up.” She offered him a grim smile and added, “And I’m afraid to say, old boy, it’s yours.”

Then Ronnie stood up, strode across to Bronson, and slapped him hard across the face.

 

 

Chapter 32 ~ The Final Bang!

 

It was as though a gun had been fired in the room. Everybody flinched like they’d been hit except for Bronson, who sat frozen in place, eyes wide, staring up at Ronnie as one cheek turned the same mottled shade of red as his nose.

Ronnie glared down at him for what seemed like forever, then stepped back, returned to her chair, and dropped into it, spent. “I’m sorry,” she said to no one in particular, “but I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

The twins were shooting incredulous glances from their aunt to their cousin and back.

Eventually Sebastian said, “It was you?”

“No,” Bronson whimpered, reaching a hand to his cheek. “I wouldn’t… I didn’t.”

“So what were you doing in the house then?” demanded Seamus, his own hands now fists as if he wanted to follow Ronnie’s slap with a punch.

“I… I was just chasing after Biddy… Ask them.” He pointed to Claire and Queenie. “They saw me. I was looking for Biddy. I told them that.”

“Oh Bronson,” growled Ronnie, shaking her head. “Why would you be looking for Biddy in the house when you knew exactly where she was? You’re the one who offloaded her next to me just as the lights dimmed and the fireworks started. She was with me the whole time, watching me, not the fireworks, but that’s another story. So the question remains, what were you really doing inside then?”

He went to respond, but Bethany placed a hand on his knee and sat forward. “For pity’s sake, Veronica,” she said, “what do you think he was doing in there? He was probably raiding Bert’s liquor cabinet as usual. Do we need to make this any more humiliating than it already is?”

“I don’t think that’s true,” said Claire, staring at Bronson. “We ran into you in the corridor during the fireworks, and the only thing in your hand was a bottle of Sprite. It surprised me because it seems to be the general consensus that you’re the family drunk, but you seemed sober enough to us.”

“He hides it well,” snapped Bethany. “That Sprite was probably laced with vodka.”

“We don’t think so,” said Claire. “We think that was a prop, or he just stuck to soft drink because he had a very important mission, one he needed a steady hand for.”

She glanced worriedly at Ronnie, who gave her a sad but encouraging nod. Claire squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.

Then she said, “We now believe that it’s you, Bronson, who went up to that top bedroom, pointed Bert’s rifle through that lancet window like some kind of evil Robin Hood, then attempted to shoot two people dead.”

It took a moment for Claire’s words to sink in, and the suspects all stared at her like she was about to follow that up with a disclaimer. When she didn’t, they began to gasp again, horrified eyes turning to Bronson, who was wildly shaking his head.

“No, no, no,” he was saying, his voice rising in pitch. “I didn’t do that. No way, no way. I was just—”

“Shut up, you fool,” Bethany said through clenched teeth. “Just take a deep breath and calm the hell down. Don’t say another word. I’ll handle this.”

She switched her steely gaze to Ronnie. “I cannot believe you are turning on your own nephew—Bert’s flesh and blood. It’s slanderous. Bronson has every right to wander about inside his uncle’s house. Doesn’t have to provide your fan club with a reason.”

“Ah but does he have every right to stitch up his own cousin?” she shot back, fiery eyes burning into Bronson. “Claire and Queenie didn’t just see you wandering about. They saw you coming from the direction of the garage. The internal garage. What were you doing in there, hmm? Were you planting the rifle case in Seamus’s Maserati?”

“What?” he said. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t play the fool with me, Bronson,” Ronnie continued. “The police are being tight-lipped on that, but we’ve worked it out for ourselves. Claire and Queenie saw Bert’s mouldy old rifle case on the back seat of Seamus’s Maserati and didn’t realise at first what it was.”

“You planted that in my car?” said Seamus.

“What? No!” he responded.

Bethany scoffed. “Oh please. Did you see my brother plant the case?” She was now glaring at Queenie, who shook her neat brown bob.

“We missed him by less than twenty seconds,” she replied. “And we know that because the light in the garage is on an automatic timer. As Alicia said earlier, it all comes back to lighting. When Claire and I went into the garage the night of the shooting, the overhead light was already on. We didn’t think anything of it at the time, but I’ve been back since, several times, and now know it shouldn’t have been on. That light has a motion sensor. It comes on when someone steps in and stays on for exactly twenty seconds after they leave. Which means someone else had been in there just seconds before we went in. And we think that was you, Bronson. There was no one else about; you were coming from that direction. It had to be you.”

Claire added, “You wanted to plant the bag in plain sight on Seamus’s back seat. Just like you planted that text on his mobile phone during the chaos of the family photos. You were trying to kill one twin and frame the other.”

 

Finally the full accusation had been made, and it startled the room into silence. Bronson was shaking his head maniacally, staring into his empty champagne glass while everyone else stared at him appalled, Peg occasionally shooting worried looks at her friend, matching the ones Hugh was also sending Ronnie.

Even Bethany was speechless now, wary eyes on her brother.

Eventually Bronson got to his feet and said, “Well, if the shoe fits…” Then he strode across to the bar. “Whisky anyone?”

They all watched in horrified silence as he snatched the top off a whisky decanter, then poured a neat shot into a crystal tumbler. He slugged it back, exhaled loudly, then poured another before returning to the lounge.

Eventually he glanced up and across to Claire and said, calmly, almost matter-of-factly, “This is very vague, sweetheart. Very… what’s the word, Bethy?” He looked at his sister, but she could barely meet his eyes now. “Circumstantial! That’s it. It’s all very circumstantial. I might not be as cool as Beth here, but even I know you’re going to need a bit more than that.”

“How about fingerprints then?” said Alicia now. “Will they do?”

Bronson nearly choked on his single malt. “What?” he spluttered. Then he frowned and added, “Of course my prints would be in the garage. I usually park my car in there, but greedy Seamus stole my spot.”

Like that was reason enough to plant a murder on him.

“She’s referring to the tennis court,” said Ronnie, her voice almost a growl.

“In that case…” He made a pft! sound, spitting his drink as he did so. “I haven’t been to the court in years. If my prints are out there then…”

“The tennis court light switch,” Ronnie clarified, and now he looked less certain. She leaned forward in her chair. “I’m not the only one with friends in high places. Alicia has pals in the police force, and they have just dusted that light switch for fingerprints, the one inside the main house. Turns out there are two clear sets. One set belongs to me. Is the other one yours, Bronson?”

This was actually a fib, an educated guess on their behalf (Alicia wasn’t sure she had any friends left in the Force). But the way Bronson was now shifting in his seat, his knuckles turning white around his glass, proved they were on the right track.

Alicia said, “There was a new moon last Friday night. It was very dark. Yet Claire noticed the tennis court as we drove up to the party, around seven fifteen, give or take. Which means the lights had to have been on at that time. And yet, soon after, when Perry and I started searching for Sebastian, about ten minutes after the fireworks had started, the court was pitch-black again. Those lights take ages to warm up but go off very quickly. We now know the killer flicked them on—”

“But that was Ronnie,” interjected Bethany. “I saw her do it myself.”

“No, she turned them on after the speeches, well after the shooting. Someone else turned them on beforehand so they could get a good clear shot of the tennis court. You might be an experienced marksman, Bronson—and you are, Ronnie confirms that—but even an army sniper isn’t going to take chances. You needed the victim in the middle of the court, right under the glowing lights, to make sure you didn’t miss.”

“Except you did miss, didn’t you?” said Perry, speaking up now. “You accidentally hit Greta when Sebastian twirled her during his waltz.”

A sympathetic glance at Sebastian then, who had slumped in his chair, head in his hands like this was all too much to bear, while Seamus sat beside him, rigid, eyes fixed on his cousin.

Returning to Bronson, Perry said, “That’s when your partner in crime, Pete the seccy, turned against you. Because he’d stupidly agreed to clean up after you. His loyalty to Bert knew no bounds, and you took advantage of that. That’s why you switched the lights back off. Was Pete supposed to go up to the court afterwards and scrub the blood away with all those heavy-duty cleaning products we noticed in the pavilion bathroom? Then what? Was he going to cart the body away in his buggy? Drop it over the cliff somewhere?”

Another sad glance at Sebastian. “We don’t think they ever wanted you to be found, but Bronson planted it on your twin just in case you were. He was hedging his bets. But you weren’t dead. You suddenly appeared, screaming and covered in blood, and everything went to hell.”

“We don’t need your confession, Bronson,” added Ronnie as he shook his head over and over. “A quick check of your fingerprints will clear all this up, so if you’d like to give us—”

“No,” he whimpered, the tumbler at his lips, both hands clutching onto it like it was a gas mask. “I mean… I might have switched the lights on, at some stage, intending to go down.”

“Don’t even try,” Ronnie growled now. The game was up, and she no longer felt like playing. “How could you, Bronson? How could you?”

“He couldn’t!” cried Bethany, leaping to her feet, standing firmly in front of her brother. The bully had found her voice again. “As if BoBo would have pulled that off. It’s laughable! Even sober he wouldn’t have managed it.”

“He didn’t manage it,” Ronnie roared back, also on her feet. “That’s what’s especially horrific about all of this.” Eyes glaring at Bronson. “You plotted and you planned for God knows how long. You chose the night of my birthday party, a night that should have been joyous. A night with lots of noise and fireworks. You took Bert’s rifle from the observatory long beforehand, stashed it up in that top bedroom and bided your time. Is that why you asked Bethany to bring the fireworks forward? Because you were getting impatient? Desperate for a drink, perhaps? Any case, while everyone was distracted, you snuck up those stairs like a coward, pointed that rifle out of the window, and shot a poor, young, innocent woman dead. And if that’s not despicable enough, you did it clean… cold… sober!”

“She wasn’t supposed to be there!” Bronson cried suddenly, also now on his feet, the last of his whisky splashing across the carpet. It was the first time he’d raised his voice, and they all gasped at him again, Bethany especially.

She lurched for his hand. “Shut up, you useless fool!” she said, trying to drag him back downwards.

“You shut up, Bethany!” He shook her off. “I’m not useless! I’m more capable than you think.”

“Bronson…” Her tone was now gentler, more appealing, but he was having none of it.

“I am sick to death of you treating me like I’m twelve. I’m not a child, Bethany. I’m not bloody Biddy!”

She threw a hand to her mouth, speechless again, and dropped into her seat.

He blinked at her for many minutes, then slunk down beside her. When he finally spoke, his voice was also gentle, a little beseeching. A bit like Biddy in fact. “I had to do it, Bethy, don’t you see? Somebody had to do something.”

“But—”

“It was the perfect opportunity! I didn’t want to miss the chance. You’d organised those noisy fireworks, it was like a gift. Like you were trying to tell me something. I mean, you wanted Sebastian out of the picture, you wanted to challenge the will. I was just helping.”

She closed her eyes. “But I had it in hand, you fool.”

“No! You’re the fool!” He was back on his feet, firing up again. “You were faffing about with lawyers and DNA and all that bullshit. We’ve spent our whole lives faffing about while this one gets to spend all Bert’s money and hand it out to every man and his bloody dog! We wait for you and your stupid lawyers, it’ll all be gone! There’ll be nothing left, not even Westeraview. I had to act. I was removing the problem. Without Sebastian, we can challenge the will, see? We can take it all back, for the family, for our family. For the Westeras!”

He yelled the name out dramatically, like he was referring to some kind of deity, and Ronnie shook her head at him.

“But not for you,” she said, “not anymore.”

She then strode across to where he was standing, while everybody leaned back, bracing themselves for more fireworks, but Ronnie was all burned out.

She simply folded her arms and sighed. “You’re finished, Bronson,” she said. “You have diminished your uncle’s good name, brought his family into disrepute, and you won’t be challenging anything. You will never see the inside of Westeraview again, let alone another cent of Bert’s money. Your life is over.”

He stared at her for what seemed like forever, then he said, “Huh,” and dropped into his seat, scooping up his empty tumbler. “What life, Ronnie?” he muttered. “I never really had one.”

Then he held the glass to his lips and tapped it hard, trying to drain the last drops of Bert’s fifty-year-old Glenfiddich Scotch whisky.

 

~

 

Missy was itching to tell the book club all about the similarities between the case they’d just solved and the next two books on the schedule: Gone Girl and The Guest List.

But judging from their sombre expressions, she knew better, and so she simply shut her gob and sat quietly in Singh’s office, waiting for the scary detective to speak.

It had been several hours since Bronson’s confession, and things had happened quickly after that. First DI Singh was called and had arrived with Pauly and Jarrod, her expression one of barely restrained fury as they described the evening’s events and then handed over Rosa’s mobile phone. Because what no one but the book club knew was that the whole denouement was being secretly recorded by the housekeeper up at the back of the drawing room. And it was all Rosa’s idea.

“Nobody ever notice me,” she had told them the morning before, going on to prove her point. “I tape and you have record. Always good to have record, sì?”

“Oh yes!” Alicia had said with surprising enthusiasm and then gone on to explain why.

It turns out they were being investigated by some stupid police conduct thingie. Them. An innocent little book club!

Missy couldn’t believe it, had giggled as she often did when anxious, but then they had all ranted and railed and finally agreed to put it aside so they could focus on saving Seamus and getting Greta’s killer to confess.

And now they had done that, Missy was beyond proud and a little confused by Singh’s obvious animosity. They’d done her job for her, hadn’t they? And, thanks to Rosa’s sneakiness, proved they weren’t a team of Dexters in the process.

But still Singh wasn’t happy. After reading Bronson his rights and packing him off with Pauly, the detective had done some ranting and railing of her own, then insisted the club follow her back to homicide headquarters. Pronto!

Once there, they had been separated into different rooms, each statement laboriously taken, then, just when they thought it was safe to leave, Singh had appeared and marched them into her office. It was now almost one in the morning, but she had the energy of a Greyhound, the bark of a Dobermann. And her bite, she told them, could stretch all the way to the Supreme Court.

“I don’t care that you solved this thing!” she said when Missy dared to mention it.

Then she lectured them on due process and compromising criminal procedure and was just getting onto inadmissible evidence when the door swung open and Alicia’s boyfriend stepped in.

Singh was on her feet in seconds. “You can’t be here, Jacko,” she said, a hand out as if to stop him.

Jackson ignored her and strode across to where Alicia was seated. He dropped down on one knee and pulled something small and velvety from his pocket.

“Oh my God,” said Alicia.

“No way,” said Singh.

“Will you marry me?” said Jackson, his words quickly followed by a giggle from Missy and a round of applause from everyone else.

Everyone, that is, except Singh. “You think that’s going to save them?” she said, pointing at the ring which Alicia was now reaching for, eyes brimming with tears.

Jackson glanced from Alicia to Singh and shrugged. “Couldn’t care less about that,” he told her. “I just want to marry this woman.” Then he turned back to Alicia and took her chin gently in his hand. “I love you, Alicia Finlay, and I’ve been a bloody fool. So I’ll ask again with the addendum ‘will you also forgive me?’”

Alicia shook her head. “I shouldn’t…”

He looked stricken, hopeful. “But?”

A tear dropped down her cheek. She swiped at it. “Of course I will. You know I will. So yes to all of that, including the bloody fool bit!”

Then she flung her arms around him while Missy couldn’t help herself and burst into tears.

“And now it’s nothing like those books,” she blubbered. “This one has a happy ending.”

 

 

Epilogue

 

There would be no happy ending for Bronson Westera, of course. Without Ronnie’s support he was in no position to hire the best lawyers, and Bethany was certainly not helping. His sister had dropped him like a Year Nine schoolgirl the moment he got arrested, telling anyone who’d listen how she’d always suspected her brother was “a bit funny in the head, a bit like Biddy,” which only served to show how hideous she truly was.

Biddy became a legend of sorts, and Ronnie had wanted to keep her in Balmain, but she wasn’t happy there. Unlike Bethany, Biddy adored Bert’s “creepy old pile of bricks” and begged to return, so Ronnie reluctantly agreed and promised to visit as often as she could.

“I’m not sure Biddy has any idea what a hero she is,” Ronnie told the club when they all met the following Sunday for their scheduled book session, this one at Missy’s brightly furnished rental apartment, not far from the Finlays’ place. “Singh’s nominated her for some commendation or some such, but I’m not sure we should hold our breaths for one.”

“Oh no, Singo still hates us,” said Alicia, holding out her hand and twiddling her engagement finger. “But she’s got a new boyfriend, apparently, so maybe she’ll get distracted and give up on us.”

“What about the internal investigation?” asked Claire. “Is Jackson still stuck on desk duty?”

Alicia crossed her fingers now. “Actually, we think it might soon be over. The chief called him into his office a few days ago and told him the conduct commission were finalising their report, and from what he’d heard, Liam could start dusting off his magnifying glass—the chief’s words, not mine. I guess Rosa’s recording proved we had no case to answer and nor did he.” She shook her head. “That idea to record the whole confession was genius. We should’ve thought of that ourselves.”

“We can’t think of everything,” said Perry, waving her off. “How’s Peg, Ronnie?”

“Better than I was last night,” Ronnie replied, smiling. “Remember her birthday trickery? I foolishly didn’t. I slept over at Westeraview, just to settle Biddy in, and guess what I discovered when I tried to climb into bed?”

“Oh no,” said Claire, as they all burst into laughter.

“I’d forgotten all about the shortsheeting. Took me ages to set it straight. Peg’s quite correct; that bed’s a monstrosity. I should thank the housekeeper more often. Any case, it brought me down a peg or two.”

“Peg’s aptly named then, isn’t she,” said Lynette, laughing. “What about Sebastian, how’s he recuperating?”

The laughter drained away. Ronnie sighed. “He’s getting stronger, physically, but it’s going to take some time to get over the sucker punch of knowing your cousin wanted to kill you and frame your twin brother. Frankly, we’re all still stunned by that. Never knew Bronson had it in him.”

“I think that was the problem,” said Alicia. “He was trying to prove himself, especially to Bethany, show he was more than a drunkard. People do crazy things to prove themselves. Look at Pete.”

They now knew that the security guard had been approached by Bronson the day before the party with his vile plan to take out “the traitors”. He’d sold it to Pete like he was doing it all for Bert, that Sebastian and Seamus were devils incarnate, plotting to destroy the family and steal Westeraview—their very birthright—out from underneath them. Pete would be out of a job, Westeraview would be sold to some foreign investor, and worse, poor Biddy would be homeless.

“I can’t believe he bought any of that,” said Perry, glumly.

“He was blinded by loyalty,” said Ronnie. “And I have a feeling, like Bethany, he didn’t think ‘BoBo’ had it in him. Was probably just humouring Bronson, expecting him to fall into a drunken stupor at my party and that would be the end of it. I just wish Pete had taken a moment to think it through properly, especially after Greta was killed. He might have been okay if he’d taken a breath and called the police immediately.”

“So much of it came down to poor judgement, didn’t it?” said Queenie now. “Like the fact that Sebastian believed that text message was from his brother, that he raced out to that court and didn’t take a moment to stop and check with Seamus.”

“He’d already seen Seamus run off and assumed he’d gone to the court, so simply ‘followed’,” said Ronnie. “Remember, Bronson had dragged Seamus on that fool’s errand? Right after sending the bogus text using Seamus’s phone, Bronson had handed it back and asked him to help fetch champagne from the kitchen. Except the champagne wasn’t in the kitchen; what hadn’t been lugged out to the patio was in the mudroom. I knew that, Bronson knew that, it’s just a pity Seamus didn’t. So while he was searching in vain, Sebastian and Greta were heading to the tennis court. On their own fool’s errand as it turns out.”

“Horrendous,” said Claire, thinking now of Greta.

“And just like both books,” said Missy, unable to help herself. She tapped the two library copies in her lap. “This case also had so many unreliable narrators. It was hard to know who was telling the truth and who was lying. No wonder Pete addressed that letter to you, Perry. In the end, he didn’t know who to trust.”

 

As everyone nodded along with Missy, Queenie looked down at her own copies—new with freshly laminated covers.

“That’s another similarity,” she told them. “All the false pretence. Bert was cast as the saint—just as the missing woman was in Gone Girl—and you were the devil, Ronnie, like Gone Girl’s lousy husband, but life’s not like that, is it? We’re all crazy shades of grey.”

“Crazy, sure, but I’m not grey,” said Missy, feigning offence.

Queenie laughed. “No, you are every shade of the rainbow, Missy, and you should never have to apologise for that.”

Although Queenie wished she could. She shot a sheepish glance towards Claire, who was smiling kindly at her now. But, oh, how Claire’s words had stung the other night, when she’d given her the lift home.

Claire was right, of course. Queenie had prejudged Missy from the start, had been as mean as Bethany, but it was not Missy who needed changing. And so Queenie had cleared her calendar and arranged another lunch with the curly-haired guy from her office. She’d also asked Simon for some long-overdue holiday leave. It was time to follow Claire’s advice and lighten up a little. She was thinking of dusting off her driver’s licence, maybe finding herself something small and sporty (Toyota’s new GR86 looked exciting).

She had to do something if she wanted to stay in this lovely book club, and she really, really did.

Speaking of which, Ronnie was now thanking the club for their hard work and dedication. “If it wasn’t for your meddling and your rattling of skeletons”—a wink at Lynette then—“we might never have found my darling boy in time. Because he is like a son, both boys are, and you brought them home to me.”

“You’re very welcome,” said Lynette.

“Ditto,” said Missy. “But enough of all that. I think we need to call this meeting open, possums. On to our chosen books.” She grinned mischievously. “Now, who wants to hear all the other similarities these two plots have to what we’ve just been through?”

Then as Missy rambled on about anniversary treasure hunts and games of hide-and-seek, fabricated diary entries versus fake texts, and lights flickering out in the middle of celebratory events, they all rolled their eyes playfully and reached for their books.

 

 

~~ the end ~~

 

 

Acknowledgements

 

First up, I’d like to acknowledge my husband’s beloved aunty Jan Boug, on whom the character Biddy Westera was based. Sadly, Jan is no longer with us, but she will be forever remembered as a beautiful, vibrant soul who never had a mean word, loved her arts and crafts, drank the odd shandy (it’s revolting, trust me), and yes, kept an eagle eye on the time. Jan was besotted by my hubby, who also happened to be her biggest fan and advocate, and we miss her dearly. RIP Jan.

I’d like to thank my biggest fans, Christian, Nimo, Felix and Kasper, for their unequivocal support, as well as my extended family, of whom there are far too many to name. I will, however, give an honourable mention to my own beloved nephew Ned, who is our resident “revhead” and kindly advised on Queenie’s sportscar selection. Nice work, Ned. She’ll enjoy that one!

As always, I thank my insightful first reader Elaine Rivers, my whip-smart editor D.A. Sarac, and my talented designer Nimo Pyle, who adds a sprinkle of magic to every cover.

Lastly, of course, I want to thank you, my loyal readers. I write, first and foremost, to keep you guessing. It’s all about the mystery for me, and if I happen to entertain, amuse and delight in the process, that’s even better. I hope I’ve done that and more, and thank you, once again, for your support.

 

 

About the Author

 

Christina Larmer is a journalist, editor, teacher and author of numerous books including the non-fiction bio A Measure of Papua New Guinea (Focus; 2008). Christina grew up in the tropics, spent many years working in London, Los Angeles and New York, and now lives on the east coast of Australia with her musician husband, two boomerang sons and one very cheeky Bluey.

 

 

Connect with Me Online

Sign up to my monthly mailing list for news, views, quick reads and exclusive eBook giveaways: calarmer.com

 

Want to read more by C.A. Larmer?

 

The Murder Mystery Book Club

The Murder Mystery Book Club (Book 1)

Danger On the SS Orient (Book 2)

Death Under the Stars (Book 3)

When There Were 9 (Book 4)

The Widow on the Honeymoon Cruise (Book 5)

 

Ghostwriter Mysteries:

Killer Twist (Book 1)

A Plot to Die For (Book 2)

Last Writes (Book 3)

Dying Words (Book 4)

Words Can Kill (Book 5)

A Note Before Dying (Book 6)

Without a Word (Book 7)

 

Posthumous Mysteries:

Do Not Go Gentle

Do Not Go Alone

 

Sleuths of Last Resort:

Blind Men Don’t Dial Zero

Smart Girls Don’t Trust Strangers

Good Girls Don’t Drink Vodka

 

Plus:

After the Ferry: A Gripping Psychological Novel

An Island Lost

 

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