'So how much did you tell him?' Quinn asked, after Kit had related what Marek had told her.
'Just the bare bones. I've got beer, mineral water, Coke and a cask of Riesling,' she offered, standing in front of her open fridge.
'Oh, a beer please. It's so damn hot I might just take it outside and pour it all over me,' Quinn said, wandering aimlessly around the lounge room. 'Can I put some music on?'
'Sure. Could you let that mad cat in too, please. She suffers from chronic, recurring amnesia. Whenever she's outside and sees me inside she suddenly forgets she has her own private entrance through the laundry and will sit at the patio door and shout at me until I open it for her.'
As soon as the door opened Thistle bounded in, wrapped herself affectionately around Quinn's ankles, and then affected an air of extreme self-importance as she strutted across the lounge, up the stairs and out of the room.
'Now that is a cat with a mission,' Quinn stated.
'Yeah, she's probably gone straight out the laundry window again,' Kit said flatly, pouring two glasses of beer. She left one on the coffee table for Quinn and carried the other into her study. The counter on the answering machine recorded that there were ten messages so she pushed the play button and sat on the corner of her desk.
Marek: 'Kit I need to get a few things straight. Can you give me a ring?'
Sam: 'This is me. Just rang to say hi.'
Just hi, Kit thought. That'd be right, though I suppose there's not much else to say.
Marek: 'There's no point having one of these machines if you never listen to your messages.'
Lillian: 'Hi, darling. I'm home again if you're still out of coffee.'
Sam: 'Ah, it's 11 pm on Saturday. It's me, Sam. Where are you?'
Where am I? You should talk!
Marek: 'Where the hell are you O'Malley? If you're home now, pick up the bloody phone! And why do you never have your mobile switched on?'
Lillian: 'I... Oh dear.'
Sam: 'Kit. We need to talk. I'll be back in town on Tuesday. I'll see you then.'
Marek: 'Jeez, O'Malley!'
Lillian: '...and the plumber tells me it's going to cost $700 to fix the hoojah on the thingy. Could you come and check it out for me, I think the man is trying to diddle me. I knew I should have encouraged you to get an apprenticeship in some useful trade, Katherine. By the way Michael has broken his wrist. Honestly that boy is so clumsy. He was trying to...' The line went dead.
'My mother,' Kit said, in response to Quinn's amused expression. 'She probably told the whole gory story before she realised her recording time had run out. On the other hand she may have thought she was actually talking to me.'
Quinn laughed and then they both nearly jumped out of their skins as the first song on k.d. lang's Ingénue blared out of the speakers at full volume just as the phone started ringing.
'Sorry,' Quinn shouted as she fumbled with the nobs trying to find the volume while Kit stabbed the answering machine button to interrupt the recorded message cutting in. At that moment the doorbell rang.
'My god, it's like Spencer Street Station around here,' Kit said.
'Hello, Kit? It's Douglas Scott. I was wondering if you might know where Elizabeth is.'
'She's here, Douglas. Just a sec and I'll get her for you,' Kit said putting the receiver down on the desk. 'Quinn, it's for you. I'll get the door.'
The bell had rung for the third time by the time Kit swung the door open.
'Ah, Katherine, you are here. You look very nice dear. What are you all dressed up for?'
Kit looked down at her extremely creased black trousers and tired white shirt and then back at her mother who, as usual, looked sparklingly fresh and pressed. She was wearing a loose fitting, multi-coloured blouse over cream linen slacks, and had a pair of spotless white runners on her feet and the world's largest sunglasses on her face. She also held a bottle of champagne in one hand and a jar of what looked suspiciously like the 73rd offering of zucchini pickle for the season in the other.
'Love the shades Mum. Come in.'
'They are most definitely not mine.'
'I suppose someone mugged you and forced you to put them on.'
'They're Connie's,' Lillian said, handing the bottle and jar to Kit so she could remove the bizarre eyewear. 'Mine were totally demolished on the plane back from Adelaide on Saturday by an extremely boring man with a very large bottom.' Lillian headed up the stairs to the landing overlooking the sitting room but stopped short when she realised Kit wasn't alone.
'I didn't realise you had company Katherine. Is this one of your friends?' Lillian whispered, emphasising the last word. 'I'm not interrupting anything am I? I can come back later.'
'No, it's OK Mum. She's not one of my friends. Well, I suppose she is a friend but not...' Kit threw her palms up before draping an arm round her mother's shoulders, and saying quietly, 'She's Quinn Orlando, Celia's daughter. Besides you know you're always welcome, no matter who is here.'
'I was just being polite Katherine. I wouldn't really have left. Bring the bottle,' Lillian ordered heading for the kitchen. 'Speaking of Celia, I do hope you're not going to make a habit of losing people to whom I recommend your services.'
'I'll try not to Mum. Not that I had anything to do with it personally.' Kit removed the cork from the bottle and filled the champagne flute that Lillian had taken from the cupboard. 'Which hoojah on what thingy did you need a plumber for?'
'Oh god, don't remind me! It was so embarrassing and it completely ruined my luncheon today. I had Tanya Baily, you know the new editor of Backdrop, as well as Jocelyn Miro and Adam Burgess from my theatre group, Malcolm Tunstall and off course Connie, over for quiche and champagne when all of a sudden the sink just blew up! I had a geyser in the kitchen, we all got thoroughly drenched and the cold tap faucet nearly took Malcolm's ear off when it shot across the room.'
'Pity it didn't knock him out cold and save us from his appalling movie reviews,' Kit said.
'I had Lake Hume in my family room and that's the only reaction you have?'
'Sorry Mum. Do you need help cleaning it up?'
'Oh no. My guests were very helpful. Malcolm turned the water off at the mains and everyone pitched in to stem the tide, while we waited for the plumber. Honestly that man was such a crook. He put a cap on the thingy, so I could at least have water, spent two hours investigating the problem and then told me the job was going to cost at least $700. When I queried the amount he said house calls were always costly. House calls indeed! How else could a plumber fix your plumbing? It's not like you can take your taps and pipes along to a service station. The man must think I'm a senile old lady.'
Kit laughed. 'I can ask Angie to take a look if you like. She'll at least be able to tell you if the guy's trying to rip you off.'
'Angie? You mean Angie the ex-lawyer who runs that pub? Don't tell me she's a plumber too. Is there anything she doesn't do?'
'She just happens to be able to tell the difference between a down pipe and a tap washer, which is more than you or I could do. So if you want me to I'll drop in to The Terpsichore, which is not a pub by the way, and ask her to make a house call, that's if you can wait till tomorrow to get it fixed '
'Well it's after six now. I'm not going to let that conman in overalls charge me overtime rates,' Lillian said as she refilled her glass.
'Is everything OK, Quinn?' Kit realised Quinn had finished her phone call and was hovering politely in the background.
'Oh yeah. Uncle Douglas just wanted to make sure I didn't make any plans for tomorrow morning. There's a whole lot of family business we have to attend to apparently.' She shrugged, obviously uncomfortable with the thought of having to deal with such matters.
Kit introduced Quinn to her mother and vice versa and then left them to it while she went to change into a pair of jeans and black T-shirt. She was searching high and low for the pair to the blue canvas shoe she'd found in the bathroom when the doorbell rang again and Lillian called out that the doorbell was ringing.
'You could have answered it Mum,' she said coming back into the living room to find her mother was much too busy, giving Quinn a there-there hug, to play butler.
The last person in the world that Kit expected to find standing on her landing when she opened the door was doing just that - standing on her landing, as if she'd done it hundreds of times before.
'Alex?' Kit was unable to do anything about the surprised tone in her voice.
'Your friend who was just leaving Aurora Press said I might find you up here,' Alex said.
'That must have been Del,' Kit said, thinking that there was no way Brigit would have been able to resist personally escorting Alex up the stairs, if only to see Kit's reaction when she opened the door.
'I was just on my way home and I thought I'd drop off that stuff you wanted on Orlan Carriers. I've also finally got some information on the Smiths.'
'Great. Come in. Quinn is still here.'
'Yes, I noticed her car parked in the side street. By the way there was a man loitering with no apparent intent in the hallway downstairs.'
'What does he look like?'
'Thirtyish, dark hair, moustache, neatly dressed. Do you know him?'
'It sounds like several people I know but I'd better check it out. Go on up. Quinn can fix you a drink if you want one. I'll be back in a minute.'
Kit left the front door open, clasped the railing and made her way down the stairs to the landing. There was indeed a man loitering in the hallway, in fact he was loitering right outside the door of O'Malley Investigations and Kit had no idea who he was.
'Can I help you?' she asked. 'Up here,' she added when the guy jumped and glanced about, uncertain where the voice had come from. Looking at his precisely cut short hair and Freddy Mercury moustache, Kit rejected her first thought that he might be the man who'd been tailing Geoffrey or Dalkeith - or her - around town lately. He was wearing beige trousers and a black, short-sleeved shirt but looked like he'd be just as comfy in a nice, tight, silk jumpsuit or black leathers.
'You're Katherine O'Malley.'
'Is that a question or a statement?' Kit asked, heading down the rest of the stairs. She felt only mildly silly in her bare feet with one blue shoe in her hand.
'I know this might seem weird,' he said, 'but I've been following you. I need to talk about...'
'Following me?' Kit interrupted. 'For the last two weeks, right?'
'No!' he said, surprised. 'Just today, since you left Byron's place. I'm a friend of his. He told me about you, though I didn't realise until I followed you here that you were you, if you know what I mean.' He smiled and shrugged. He was an extremely handsome man though Kit guessed he was closer to 25 than Alex's estimate of thirtyish.
'Do you want a drink?' she asked him.
'Excuse me everyone,' Kit said to the three women who appeared to be having quite a jolly party in her kitchen. 'This is Damien Beatty. Damien this is my mother Lillian, Celia's daughter Quinn and her lawyer Alexis. Damien is a friend of Byron's. He followed us from Byron's house today Quinn.'
'Followed you?' Lillian exclaimed.
'He doesn't look like the man in the photograph,' Alex said. 'I gather you didn't know this one was following you either.'
'This one? You have more than one person following you Katherine?'
Kit glared at Alex but otherwise ignored the dig. 'It's OK Mum, really.'
Lillian rolled her eyes and reached for her glass. 'If you say so dear.'
'Why did you follow us?' Quinn asked.
Damien picked up the glass of beer that Kit had poured for him and took a thirsty gulp. 'I was looking for Byron. I had already been into his house, I have a key, and had just got back into my car across the road when I saw you two arrive. I watched you try the front door, then go around the back. When you didn't come out again I figured you either had a key, which was unlikely seeing Byron doesn't exactly have many women friends, or had broken in. I had no idea who you were, so I followed you. I don't really know why, I've never done anything like it before.'
'Byron was supposed to have gone to a party on the weekend,' Kit said.
'I know,' Damien said. 'It was my friend's, my lover's birthday. We were all, about eight of us, spending the weekend at his farmhouse outside Castlemaine. Byron had a few extra days off so he was planning to stay on, only he never showed up. He didn't ring to say he wasn't coming and we haven't been able to contact him. It's not like him. So I drove down this afternoon to see what was up.'
'What about other friends? Maybe he is staying with someone else,' Alex suggested.
'I rang everyone I could think of. Most of his friends were at the party.' Damien turned to Quinn. 'The first number I rang, after I'd heard the news on the radio on the drive down, was your mother's. Your father told me to bugger off.'
'He's not my father,' Quinn spat.
'Geoffrey Robinson is Quinn's step-father,' Kit said. 'He claims he sacked Byron last Thursday because he'd been stealing from Celia.'
'That is bullshit!' Damien exclaimed. 'Excuse me,' he added, glancing at Lillian.
'Did Byron tell you what really happened?' Kit asked.
'He came to my place late on Wednesday night. He was really upset. Robinson had rung him at work asking if Byron would meet him at 9 p.m. at the Prince of Wales Hotel in Fitzroy Street, and not to say anything to Celia about the phone call or the meeting.'
'Did Byron agree to that?' Kit asked.
'Sure. But he told her anyway. Byron went to the pub where Robinson bought him a drink, sat him down and then accused him of following him. Robinson was apparently under the impression that Byron was gathering information to blackmail him with.'
'Was Byron following Geoffrey?' Kit asked, suddenly wondering if the man in the beat-up old Holden was Mr Daniels in disguise.
'No, you were,' Damien said, obviously puzzled by the question. 'Byron didn't tell Robinson that of course, even after the guy threatened to tell his wife about...' Damien hesitated, looking from Kit to Lillian and back again.
'Don't mind me,' Lillian stated.
'Don't mind her,' Kit agreed. 'It was photos, right?'
'Yes. How did you know?'
'We found the magazine in his bedroom. So Geoffrey thought Byron was going to blackmail him, so he tried to do it to Byron first. Did he actually fire him?'
'No. He just threatened to show Mrs Robinson the photographs if Byron didn't mind his own business. Byron was distraught by the time he got to my place. He really loves, loved, his job and thought the world of Mrs Robinson. He doesn't give a damn about those photos himself, but he didn't want her to see them. He couldn't save himself by telling Robinson that yes, he was being followed but not by him; that his own wife had hired a private investigator to keep an eye on him.'
'Did he go to work on Thursday?' Alex asked.
'Yes. He wasn't going to but I suggested the best thing to do would be to tell Mrs Robinson himself. So he rang to say he was going to be late and waited till Mr Robinson had left for the office before fronting up for work.'
'So Geoffrey didn't see Byron on Thursday, in the morning,' Kit stated.
'No.' Damien pulled out one of the breakfast bar stools and sat down heavily.
'You're sure?'
'We had lunch together after he spoke to Mrs Robinson. He had not seen her husband since the night before,' he said, standing up and then sitting down again.
'Why would Geoffrey tell the police that he sacked Byron on Thursday morning when he didn't even see him then?' Alex asked, taking her jacket off and draping it over the back of a stool.
'Why would he claim he had sacked him at all?' Kit asked, only mildly distracted by the sight of Alex's tanned arms. A really bad feeling in the pit of her stomach warned her that the likelihood of Byron himself turning up to straighten any of this out was becoming as remote as the Voyager space probe.
'And why say it was for stealing?' Quinn added.
'Who is Byron, anyway?' Lillian asked.
'Celia's secretary,' Alex said, as she held her glass out for Quinn to refill with champagne.
Kit took a deep breath. They were so finely muscled, and they went all the way up to the capped sleeves of her white silk shirt.
'Something has happened to Byron, hasn't it?' It was a statement more than a question. Damien looked absolutely miserable.
'We don't know that,' Kit said, trying to convince herself as much as Damien. 'There might still be a logical explanation for all this. Did Byron tell you about what happened with Celia on Thursday morning?'
'He said Mrs Robinson was livid. She told Byron she didn't give a damn about some stupid photos that had been taken 10 years ago, no matter what was in them. I gather she was so angry about her husband's blackmail attempt that she was all for getting you to rush over with some photos I gather you have of him, Kit. Her husband, I mean. She wanted to march into his office and throw them at him - just before she shot him, I think. Byron talked her out of that.'
'So Thursday lunch was the last time you saw him,' Kit said, absently noting that Alex's left wrist was decorated with a fine gold bracelet. Quit it, O'Malley, for goodness sake! she reprimanded herself.
Damien nodded. 'Mrs Robinson suggested that as he had this week off anyway, he may as well start his holidays straight away and stay out of her husband's way. She said she would ask you to find out where her husband got the photos from, but Byron told her he'd rather do that himself. That's what he was intending to do after we had lunch. I haven't heard from him since.'
'When was he expected to turn up for this party?'
'Friday night. He said he'd come up earlier if he could track down the source of the photos.'
'How on earth was he going to do that?' Alex asked.
'He knew the guy who took them,' Damien replied. 'I'm sorry I can't remember his name, only that he used to work full-time for the magazine that the pictures were in. Byron had already discovered that the magazine had been bought out by someone about three years ago.' Damien looked apologetic again. 'I can't remember who, sorry.'
'Factor Four?' Kit suggested.
'Yeah,' he said hesitantly and then shrugged. 'Maybe.'
'Does Byron have a blonde nephew?' Kit asked.
'Byron's got one grandfather, in Brisbane, and no other family. Why?'
'The police said he was seen leaving his house on Friday morning with a young blonde guy, who he introduced to a neighbour as his nephew.'
'A blonde, huh? That would explain the state of his bedroom. It must be someone very new too, or he would have told me about him.' Damien shook his head and then did a double-take and stared at Kit. 'The police said? What have the police got to do with this?'
'Byron has been missing, as far as we can all figure out, since Friday morning. His employer died on Friday night. They just need to talk to him, Damien, that's all.'
'Why? It was an accident right?'
'Possibly,' Kit replied.
'We don't think so,' Quinn stated. 'We think my step...'
'We think,' Kit interjected 'that Celia's death is a little suspicious.'
'What? You don't think Byron...' Damien stared at everyone in disbelief. 'The police don't think...Oh no. No way!' He turned to Quinn. 'There is no way that he would have harmed a hair on your mother's head. He, well, he was really, really fond of her.'
'It's all right Damien,' Kit said placing her hand on his forearm. 'We don't think Byron has done anything, except go missing. So let's see if we can work out where he might have gone missing to. OK?'