Les had a sleep-in the next morning and when he got out of bed he felt great. He cleaned his teeth, gave himself a big smile in the mirror then made a pot of herb tea and took it out onto the balcony. The sky was thick with clouds pushing in over the valleys from the surrounding mountains. But it was still quite warm and if the clouds lifted it would be another beautiful day. Les sipped his herb tea and watched a pair of magpies whistling happily to each other as they searched for worms on the dew laden grass below his balcony while he figured out what he should do first.

Although he was going to feel like a nice dill when he walked into the dining room, he was starving hungry and he wanted two last bowls of the retreat’s sensational Bircher Muesli before he left. So too bad. But first he’d pack his gear. That wouldn’t take long. Then as soon as he had breakfast, he’d settle his account and get out while he was in front. Les watched the magpies a while longer then did the herb tea tango and packed his bag. After making sure he’d included some of the retreat’s choice toiletries, Les tucked his Les Motto T-shirt into his Levi’s shorts, adjusted his sunglasses and with his camera in his hand, went to have breakfast.

The dining room was half full when Les walked in and naturally he was once again the centre of attention. Although there was a little bit of nudge-nudge wink-wink, the reception was better than he’d expected and Les returned a few smiles as he found a table. The writers in residence were nowhere to be seen and neither was Nerine. But Deliah was seated with the others on the program and gave Les a smile and a wave before Les walked across to the salad bar and loaded two bowls with cereal and fruit. Sandra brought him a plunger of herb tea and Les ordered poached eggs.

‘I heard you went really well in the library last night, Mr Gordon,’ said Sandra.

‘I did my best, Sandra,’ Les assured her.

‘I’d’ve loved to have been there,’ she said. ‘John was a bit funny. But Peta and Michael were still laughing when I arrived this morning.’

‘That’s good,’ said Les.

‘When are you leaving?’

‘Today, Sandra. As soon as I finish breakfast.’

‘Ohh,’ said Sandra. ‘Well anyway, Mr Gordon. It’s been really nice meeting you.’

‘You too, Sandra,’ smiled Les. ‘Thanks very much.’

That made Les feel better and he got into the Bircher Muesli with gusto before backing up for more. His poached eggs arrived and Les was enjoying the last of them when he looked up to find Deliah standing at his table.

‘Hello, Len,’ she said. ‘How are you this morning? It is Len — isn’t it?’

‘It might be, Deliah,’ said Les. ‘But what’s in a name anyway?’

‘True,’ she replied. ‘But you’re definitely a strange man.’

‘I’m just a good Queensland boy, Deliah. That’s all.’

‘Fair enough,’ smiled Deilah. ‘Did you hear what happened after you left last night?’

‘No. What happened?’ asked Les.

‘The writers finished up in a big fight with each other. Harriet Sutton punched Tobias Monk in the face and broke his glasses. And the manager and some of the staff had to forcibly eject them from the library. Danica Bloomfield was drunk. Apparently they’ve been asked to leave.’

‘Fair dinkum?’

‘Whatever it was you said to them, it sure struck home.’

‘Ohh, Deliah,’ laughed Les. ‘That’s made my day.’ He looked at her and picked up his camera. ‘Deliah, do you mind if I get a photo taken with you?’

‘No. Not at all, Len,’ said Deliah.

Les stood up and got Sandra to take a photo of him with Deliah. And one more for safety. He shook Deliah’s hand then said goodbye and Deliah left for a pump class. Les finished his breakfast and there was a spring in his step when he left the dining room for the foyer to settle his account.

Karla was behind the computer and gave Les a friendly smile when he walked up to the desk.

‘Good morning, Mr Gordon,’ she said. ‘How are you today?’

‘Good, thanks,’ replied Les. ‘Except I have to leave.’

‘Yes. It’s your last day. Did you enjoy your stay with us?’

‘Karla, it was sensational.’

‘That’s good,’ said Karla. ‘If you’ll give me a couple of minutes, I’ll have your account ready.’

‘Thanks.’

Les waited with his Visa card while Karla itemised his account when the manager appeared at his side wearing a crisp white shirt tucked into a pair of blue slacks. In his hand was a sheet of paper.

‘Mr Gordon,’ he said, quietly. ‘Do you mind if I have a word with you?’

‘No,’ said Les. ‘Go ahead.’

‘I have here the fax Mr Monk had sent to him. And after what happened in the library last night, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you for some identification.’

‘Some ID?’ said Les.

‘Yes please.’

‘What for?’

‘Because if you’re not really Mr Gordon,’ said the manager, ‘you’ll have to pay the account yourself.’

‘But it’s already been paid for in advance,’ said Les. He nodded to Karla working on the computer. ‘I’ll pay for my massages and whatever. And we’re all square.’

The manager shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Gordon. But it doesn’t work like that.’

Les looked directly at the manager for a moment. ‘Okay,’ said Les. ‘You want some ID. Here you are.’ Les switched his camera on and brought the screen up on the back. He flicked past the two photos of him and Deliah and started slowly flicking through the photos of Alexander Holden’s body at the front gate, stopping on the close-up of the motivational speaker’s lifeless face. ‘How’s that for ID, Mr Reid? Recognise anyone you know?’

The manager swallowed hard. ‘What … exactly do you intend to do with those?’

‘I don’t know,’ shrugged Les. ‘Maybe sell them to People, Hustler. One of the papers. Get a journo to write a beat-up saying Alexander Holden was murdered and there was a cover-up. I’ll have to figure my options.’

The manager paled. ‘Mr Gordon …’

‘But,’ interrupted Les. ‘If you behave yourself, I’ll send you the card after I get home. I’d give it to you now, but there’s some other photos on there I want. You’re going to have to trust me. That’s all.’

The manager gave Les a double blink then turned to Karla. ‘Don’t worry about Mr Gordon’s account. I’ll take care of it.’

‘Very well, Mr Reid,’ said Karla.

‘I say,’ said Les. ‘That’s rather sporting of you, John.’

‘You will send me the card?’

‘I promise,’ said Les honestly. ‘And I keep my promises.’

‘All right,’ nodded the manager.

‘Then I’ll be off,’ smiled Les. ‘But before I go, Mr Reid, there is something I’d like to say.’

‘Yes, Mr Gordon. What’s that?’

‘This place is deadset unbelievable. The food. The staff. The facilities. The treatments. I just spent five of the best days I’ve ever had in here. I feel fantastic and I learnt a few things too. So thanks.’

The manager studied Les for a moment. ‘Thank you, Mr Gordon,’ he said. ‘I’ll have Michael take your bag down to your car.’

The manager went behind the desk, Les gave Karla a wink, and walked back to his villa for the last time.

Well, that all turned out absolutely delightful, smiled Les as he checked his bag to make sure he had everything. I’ll send John that card too. Because I wouldn’t mind coming here again. I can’t see how they can knock me back as long as I pay in advance. Les zipped up his bag and got a bottle of mineral water from the fridge. He was drinking it, staring out the flyscreen door, when the phone rang.

‘Hello?’

‘G’day, mate, it’s Eddie.’

‘Eddie,’ said Les. ‘How are you? I was just about to leave.’

‘I’m all right. Listen. I won’t talk long. But everything’s sweet down here. I’ve spoken to Big Arse. And I rang our mate Caccano. All charges have been dropped and the homeboys are in the shit. I’ll tell you all about it when I see you.’

‘That’s unreal, Eddie. Good on you, mate.’

‘When will you be back?’

‘Before lunch.’

‘Ring us when you, get home.’

‘I will. See you, mate.’

Well, how about that, grinned Les after he hung up. It gets better by the minute. He put his camera in his bag and finished his mineral water when there was a knock on the open door. It was Michael.

‘Hello, Michael,’ said Les. ‘How’s it going, mate?’

‘Pretty good,’ replied Michael. ‘So what do I call you, Len or Les? Or what?’ he smiled.

‘Mate,’ said Les, ‘grab my bag, and I’ll tell you all about it on the way.’

As they were walking along the path to the foyer, Les filled Michael in. He kept some things back. But by the time they were outside the front door Michael knew pretty much what had been going on.

‘So that’s the story, Michael,’ said Les. ‘Warren got me the gig. And I just went along for the ride. And had a bit of fun at the same time.’

‘I had an idea you weren’t really a film director, Les,’ said Michael.

‘Yeah. Why’s that?’ asked Les.

‘You’re too down to earth. And the way you obliterated Kendrick in the gym that morning.’ Michael laughed. ‘I don’t think there’d be many film directors can fight like that.’

‘Maybe,’ shrugged Les.

‘So I imagine my part in your next movie’s still on hold?’ said Michael.

‘I’m afraid so, mate,’ smiled Les.

Michael turned around at the sound of a car approaching from the garage. ‘Here’s Peta with your car,’ he said.

Peta pulled up alongside them with the window down. She smiled at Les then switched the engine off and got out wearing her brown uniform just as Michael’s pager went.

‘Wouldn’t you know it,’ he said. ‘They want me in the gym.’ He offered his hand. ‘I’ll see you again, Les.’

Les gave the young trainer’s hand a warm shake. ‘See you, Michael. Thanks for everything, mate. Especially that CD.’

Michael disappeared inside the front door and Les turned to Peta who was wearing her brown uniform.

‘So it is Les,’ she smiled.

‘Yes, Peta,’ replied Les. ‘It sure is.’

‘Where would you like your bag, Les?’

‘On the back seat’ll do.’

Peta placed Norton’s bag on the back seat, then closed the door and smiled at him. ‘I have to give it to you, Les,’ she said. ‘That was a great turn you put on in the library last night. Suicide. Sounds good to me.’

‘I’m glad you liked it,’ said Les.

‘So you’re not a film director after all?’ said Peta.

Les shook his head. ‘No, I’m not.’

‘Ohh well,’ said Peta. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘No. It doesn’t. But, Peta,’ said Les, looking directly at her, ‘say I was a film director or a writer, how’s this idea sound? Say for a film or a story?’

‘Go on,’ said Peta.

‘This big goosey bloke we’ll call George arrives at a health resort posing as a film director. The first thing George sees when he arrives is a body at the front gate. It’s a motivational expert. We’ll call him Harry. George recognises him and takes a few photos then drives up to the front door where the concierge is a girl. We’ll call the girl Jill. Jill acts nervous when she takes George’s car. And George, being a bit of a dill, imagines this is because he’s a film director. So rather than say anything about Harry and making Jill even more nervous, George waits till he checks in. Am I making sense, Peta?’ asked Les.

‘Sort of,’ she replied.

‘Okay. So then the shit hits the fan. The police arrive and interview George because he found the body. Funnily enough, George knows one of the cops from Sydney. And he’s one of the dumbest cops in New South Wales. The cop doesn’t blow George’s cover and the cop’s convinced Harry’s death was an accident. George knows how dumb this cop is and later George comes across all these people who absolutely hate Harry. Harry’s not only an obnoxious little prick by nature. He’s also sent a lot of people to the wall. He’s even caused a few deaths. So George wonders if Harry might have been murdered. George has got nothing much to do while he’s at the retreat. So he starts playing Horatio Cain.’ Les smiled at Peta. ‘How am I going now, Peta?’

‘Keep going, Les,’ answered Peta.

‘Early one morning, George does tai chi and Jill’s the teacher. She quietly tells George she used to do tai chi with her brother. In tai chi there’s a movement, “Man paints a rainbow across the sky”. George finds out there was a band called Painted Rainbow who used Harry’s services. And because of Harry the band broke up and one of the members hung himself.’ Les gave Peta a soft smile. ‘Does that sound right, Peta?’

‘Keep talking, Les,’ said Peta.

‘George is no rocket scientist. But he thinks he knows a way someone could have killed Harry. George looks around and finds this. Wait there a minute, Peta.’

Les crossed the driveway and picked up the piece of pipe from where he’d left it under the bushes. He carried it back and showed the short length of pipe to Peta, who looked at it impassively.

‘George believes,’ said Les, ‘that someone was waiting at the bottom of the hill, and when Harry came racing down on his bike, threw a piece of pipe at Harry hitting him in the forehead. Then when Harry fell off his bike, that same someone broke Harry’s neck and dragged both his body and the bike over in front of the gate to make it look like an accident. Someone who knew Harry’s movements and knew he didn’t wear a helmet. Someone who’d have time to run down the hill while Harry went to the garage and got the bike. Wait for him at the bottom, do the business and run back up again. Someone who knew the gate was obscured by trees. And knew they’d have a good window of opportunity, because the retreat didn’t take deliveries before ten in the morning. And the only person checking in that morning was silly big George, the would-be film director. That someone would also have to be fit, strong and a bloody good shot. George wonders if the killer might be Jill, the concierge? Jill can lift bags and teach women how to use weight stations. So she’s got the strength. She can throw a boomerang as good as any Aborigine. So she’d be a good shot. And when George checked in, Jill wasn’t nervous because he was a film director. Jill was nervous because he didn’t say anything about Harry’s body down by the gate. Not even when she asked him in a roundabout way if everything was all right. Plus, if the bloke that hung himself in the band Painted Rainbow was Jill’s brother, who she no doubt loved very much, Jill might have a reason to kill Harry.’ Les smiled at Peta. ‘It wouldn’t be hard for George to find out if the bloke in the band was Jill’s brother. Would it, Peta?’

Peta kept looking at Les but remained silent as Les slowly moved the piece of pipe around with one hand.

‘I’m not saying this is the piece of pipe that struck Harry,’ said Les. ‘But if you take it down to the front gate, Peta, you’ll find it’s exactly the same diameter as the bar across the gate Harry was supposed to have hit his head on. You’ll also find a half-circle in the driveway the same diameter. It was hot the day Harry got killed. And when the piece of pipe landed on the driveway, it left a distinct indentation in the soft bitumen. Not far from some scratch marks on the driveway made by the pedals when the bike was dragged over in front of the gate.’ Les toyed with the piece of pipe in his hand. ‘Anyway,’ he said, looking up. ‘Thanks to some clever planning, a dumb cop and good fortune, it all panned out okay. And Jill got away with murdering the man responsible for her brother’s death.’ Les smiled at Peta then flung the length of pipe down the hill into the bushes. ‘So what do you reckon, Peta?’ he asked her. ‘Would that make a good story? Or a movie?’

Peta looked evenly at Les for a second or two. ‘How come you never brought this up in the library last night?’ she asked him.

‘How come?’ replied Les. ‘Because Alexander Holden was such an arsehole, Peta, and caused so many good people grief, that if he was murdered, and I ever met whoever did it, I’d be the first person to shake their hand.’ Les smiled warmly at Peta and offered her his hand. ‘Goodbye, Peta.’

Peta stared at Les then shook his hand with a firm, warm grip. ‘Goodbye, Les,’ she said softly. ‘It was nice to have met you. You’re a good man.’

‘Thanks, Peta,’ said Les. ‘And you’re a good woman.’ Les went to open the car door and stopped. ‘Besides that,’ he added, ‘you’re a greenie. And I like people who are into the environment.’

Peta looked at Les curiously. ‘A greenie?’ she said.

‘Yeah.’ Les pointed to the badge next to Peta’s name tag. ‘That’s a greenie badge, isn’t it?’

Peta shook her head. ‘No.’

‘It’s not? Well, what’s SOFA stand for?’

‘Stamp Out Fuckin Acronyms. Why? What did you think it stood for?’

Les looked at the young woman in the brown uniform for a moment then shook his head. ‘I think I’ll leave you to it, Peta,’ he said. Norton got into his car, started the motor and headed for home.

THE END.