The Agatha Christie Book Club

by Larmer, C. A.

  Scowling at it now, she began sorting through the debris, finding each object its proper home so there would be plenty of space for the guests to dump their own debris later that day. In the other corner of the room was a second armchair, this one recently upholstered in a rich, cerise cotton that might have looked gaudy in any other setting, but worked well to brighten this large dark space. On it, she placed a toffee-brown cushion, the same colour as the shaggy rug on the floor, and switched on the tall lamp behind the leather chair so the room was bathed in an amber glow.

  Alicia even went to the trouble of straightening out the old wooden bookcase, dusting the shelves and rearranging the titles. Despite their passion for crime, the sisters read many other genres and she was careful to place biographies together on one shelf, classics on another, and, yes, even the occasional award-winning tome on the highest shelf, the one least likely to be used. She also took some time to select the background music. It couldn’t be too lively or it would distract from the discussion, but she didn’t want to send them into a coma, either. Eventually she settled on Nina Simone and pressed ‘Play’ as she dashed upstairs to change into tailored pants, a fresh white T-shirt and ballet slippers. She dabbed on a little lip-gloss and mascara, pulled on some hoop earrings and a dangly silver necklace, and was just returning downstairs when the doorbell rang.

  Max barked furiously and Alicia glanced at the wooden clock at the top of the bookshelf then grabbed the dog and pulled him to the tiny outside terrace. The look of dejection that crossed his face was heart wrenching but he would have to remain there for now; she didn’t want to scare off club members before they’d signed up. Then, inspecting her reflection quickly again in the hallway mirror, taming her shaggy hair with one hand, removing a stray spec of lip-gloss with the other, she opened the door.

  Dr Anders Bright stood there with a meek smile on his face. He felt like a goofball, had almost not come, but he knew he had to go through with this if he was ever going to move on. The Agatha Christie Book Club would be the answer to all his problems, he was sure of it. For some reason, though, he wasn’t expecting the Alicia woman to be quite so young, and quite so attractive, and what little confidence he had managed to cling on to evaporated immediately, along with his ability to talk. He gulped hard. Felt like an adolescent boy suddenly.

  “Dr Bright?” she said, sweeping her eyes across his denim jeans and long-sleeved blue shirt.

  “Anders,” was all he could manage.

  “Anders, great, come on in. You’re the first.”

  She opened the door wider and he had to lower his six-foot-two frame a little to duck through. As he followed her into the lounge room he gave himself a stern talking to.

  Christ, man, you’re acting like a child. You’re a reputable doctor for goodness sake, pull yourself together!

  When he faced her again, his smile was a little more assured, revealing perfect white teeth that suggested years of tortuous braces. His eyes were a warm, honey brown, his eyebrows thick and dark like his hair, which flopped down across his face, overgrown and messier than you’d expect from a medico. And while he was certainly thin, even a little lanky, he had surprisingly broad shoulders that suggested if he wasn’t a swimmer, he ought to be. Alicia would have enjoyed watching those shoulders tackle butterfly.

  “You’re early,” she said, trying not to drool. The club didn’t officially start for another ten minutes.

  “Sorry, it’s a bad habit of mine. Can’t seem to help myself.”

  “Not a bad habit, surely? Better than turning up late.”

  His wife would beg to differ, he thought, and nearly said as much before he caught himself and just smiled.

  “Pick a seat, any seat,” she said and he strode over to her favourite armchair and dropped down into it, looking as though it’s the only place he belonged. Her heart beat triple time and she coughed, hoping he couldn’t hear it through her shirt.

  “I’ll just be a sec’,” she stammered. “We’re, er, just getting the food sorted.”

  “Pretend I’m not here.”

  Not likely, she thought, ducking into the kitchen where Lynette was pouring boiling water into a coffee plunger. She had also found time to change and was now clad in a tiny green dress and short stiletto boots that were more ‘nightclub’ than ‘book club’, but Alicia wasn’t about to say so. Lynette, like all her friends, believed that the shorter the outfit and the higher the heels, the better. Comfort could take a flying leap.

  “Well?” Lynette said. “Two heads, as you expected? An escapee from the loony asylum?”

  “It’s the doctor, Anders Bright.”

  “Ah, the poison expert. Old and crusty?”

  She lowered her voice. “Young and crumpety, actually. Quite delicious looking. Mid-30s I’d say.”

  “And he’s into AC? Oh well, we won’t let that put us off.” Lynette placed the lid on the coffee pot. “I’ll go introduce myself.”

  Alicia’s heart flagged. Dr Bright would take one look at her prettier, younger sister and that would be the end of it. It always was with men; they fell for Lynette hard. She had the blonder hair, the longer legs, the superior self-confidence. Alicia was used to it. It rarely bothered her if truth be told, but there was something about this guy, about his awkward shyness that left her salivating. She gave herself a small shake.

  It’s a book club, Alicia, not a blind date!

  Laughter radiated from the lounge room and she sighed, reaching for a jug of minted iced water. Just then the doorbell rang again and Max began to bark like a nut case.

  “I’ll get it!” called Lynette, then, “Shut it Max!”

  The next person to show up was Claire Hargreaves, the vintage clothing store-owner who was dressed exactly as you’d expect a vintage clothing store-owner to dress. Her 1940s-style red, cropped jacket had broad, padded shoulders, glossy black buttons and was cinched at the waist. Under it was a grey, pencil-thin skirt with matching grey platform pumps. Her glossy black hair had been styled into elaborate curls and pinned back behind a small black hat with a large black bow. She was wearing matt red lipstick, lashings of mascara and, if Alicia was not mistaken, long, fake eyelashes over catlike eyes. Above them two pencilled eyebrows rose thin and perfectly plucked. She smiled brightly as she shook both sisters’ hands, then the doctor’s, then glanced around the room. Spotting the teapot and scones she clapped her white gloves together with delight.

  “It’s just as I’d hoped!” cooed the 30-something, thrusting her gloves into a faux lizard-skin purse. “And Nina Simone to boot! Shall I sit anywhere?”

  “Please do,” Alicia said as the doorbell chimed again.

  Lynette returned to the kitchen to fetch the coffee while Alicia opened the door. This time it was the chirpy librarian, Missy Corner, who giggled then threw her arms around Alicia like they were old friends.

  “Helllooo! Bet you didn’t think I’d show?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Just try to stop me!” She paused when she heard the barking. “You have a pooch? I love pooches!”

  “Yep, that’s Max the hungry beast.”

  “Max? Really? After Mr Mallowan?”

  Alicia looked at her, stunned. “You really are an Agatha expert. Yes, we did name him after Agatha Christie’s second husband, Max Mallowan. I don’t think anyone has ever picked that up. Ever.”

  “How hilarious!” Missy said. “But hang on, why didn’t you call him Peter? That was the name of Agatha’s mutt, wasn’t it? Oh yes, she adored that dog. Now what kind of dog was it? Um, no, no, don’t tell me, I can remember this.” She placed two fingers to her brow, her eyes squinting. “I should know this, I read her bio not so long ago. Oh that’s right...” She dropped the fingers, smiled victoriously. “A terrier! A ‘wire-haired terrier’ they called it, whatever the hell that means. Maybe we should get a picture of it? What does your mutt look like?”

  “Oh, he’s a black Labrador. Harmless but zealous, so we’ve banished him to the back terr
ace so he won’t scare anyone off.”

  “Oh, unlikely to scare me, I adoooore dogs! My family used to have the cutest King Charles Spaniel you ever saw. Her name was Poncy.” She stopped. “Oops, sorry, I’m rambling now. Do shut me up when I start rambling too much, it’s such a bad habit of mine.”

  Alicia laughed. “Oh you’ll be fine, come on through and meet the others.”

  She turned back to shut the front door when she spotted a short, well-dressed man racing up the footpath. He was waving a hand in the air frantically.

  “Apologies!” he sang out. “Didn’t mean to make a grand entrance, just having one of those days!”

  Alicia smiled. “Perry Gordon I presume?”

  He twirled around and did a fake curtsey, a flash of hot pink lining showing beneath a black tailored jacket. Like Anders, he too, was wearing jeans, but his were black and skinny fitting, and he had a chiselled goatee and one earring. He dressed like a 20-year-old but was well into his 40s.

  “That’d be me! You must be our hostess with the mostess, Alicia Finlay?”

  She nodded. He air kissed her on both sides.

  “Well done you for making this happen. I just love the sound of an Agatha Christie Book Club. Brilliant idea! Can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself! Shall I?”

  He indicated the house and she opened the door wider so he could strut through.

  In the lounge room, Missy was already slathering jam and cream on a steamy scone and stopped when she spotted Alicia.

  “Oops, sorry, don’t mind do you? I know it’s cheeky of me to start ploughing in but I’m famished!”

  Alicia laughed. “Not at all. In fact that’s exactly what I want. Please, everyone help yourselves and get as comfortable as possible. There’s tea, sandwiches, scones. If you’d like coffee or water, we’ve also got that. We’re just waiting on one more person then we can get started.”

  As the small group settled in, Lynette pulled Alicia back into the kitchen.

  “That Claire’s a style merchant. Did you see her hat?”

  “Yes, beautiful. She does own a frock shop of course.”

  “And she’s a walking advertisement for it. So who’s left?”

  “As far as I know, just Barbara Parlour.” Lynette looked blank. “The ‘miserable housewife’.”

  “That’s right, this should be interesting.”

  “So glad I’m entertaining you, Lynny.”

  She laughed. “Oh it’s going to be great! Come on, I’ll help keep the conversation flowing.”

  As it turned out, she didn’t need to bother. With both Missy and Perry in the room, there was no shortage of lively repartee. Both were a bundle of energy, Missy giggling and sharing tales of her adventures in the library—apparently book sharing is more eventful than you’d expect—and Perry outdoing her with stories of his ‘naughty housemate and his noisy lovemaking’.

  “Honestly, the man is an animal!” he declared, a hand held against his heart, feigning horror. And so it was the group barely noticed the ten minutes it took for the final person to arrive.

  Barbara Parlour knocked so gently on the door that it was only Max’s frantic barking that alerted them to her presence. She was well into her 50s and wearing a simple blue dress with a single strand of pearls around her neck, and ash-blond hair tied in a modest ponytail behind her head.

  She smiled shyly as Alicia led her through and said, “Everyone this is Barbara Parlour.”

  A sudden quiet descended upon the group. Claire’s catlike eyes turned positively feline, narrowing into two thin, curious lines, a frown across her perfect forehead. Dr Anders looked suddenly uncomfortable, shifting in his seat, unable to meet her eyes, and Missy beamed from ear to ear.

  “Oh, hello! I know you!” she said.

  Barbara blushed crimson red. “I don’t think so...” she began.

  “Oh yes, I’ve definitely seen you somewhere,” Missy persisted. “Have you been to the local library lately?”

  “No, no, I never use libraries,” Barbara said, looking away and towards the table. “It all looks simply beautiful, Alicia.”

  “Thank you,” she said, wondering at the mixed reaction Barbara had received. “Can I get you some tea?”

  “Oh I’ll get it,” Barbara said, stepping towards the dining table and helping herself to a cup. As she poured the murky brew Alicia couldn’t help noticing that the older woman’s hands were trembling slightly.

  “Come, take a seat,” she said, indicating the sofa where Claire and Missy were sitting. Claire shifted over a little to allow space and gave the older woman a warm smile.

  “Come on, you can be the rose between two thorns, as my fiancé Charlie would say,” Claire said and Missy gave her a teasing scowl.

  “Speak for yourself, I’m no thorn!”

  Alicia laughed and glanced towards Perry who was seated across from the sofa, a cup of tea on his lap. A tiny shudder raced down her spine. Perry was staring, open-mouthed towards the sofa where Barbara was settling in beside Claire, and looked as though he had just seen a ghost.

  Alicia’s shudder intensified.

  What was going on? Did Perry also know Barbara? Did Anders and Claire? Before she could give it any more thought, Lynette was tapping her gently on the knee.

  “You okay, Alicia?” she said, giving her a pointed get-your-shit-together look.

  Alicia coughed. “Sorry, yes, all good. Okay, so let’s get started shall we?” She took a deep breath. “Hello everyone and welcome to our first-ever Agatha Christie Book Club.”

  Missy gave a boisterous cheer, which seemed to lighten the mood instantly and Alicia felt herself relax a little.

  “I know I sent you all a list of ‘guidelines’ but please keep in mind that I want this group to be as chilled out as possible, so they’re just loose rules to get us started, nothing more than that.”

  “I reckon they’re great,” Anders said. They all turned to look at him. “It’s just that, well, you do need a little structure, don’t you? To get started.”

  “Yes you do,” agreed Perry, who had regained his composure and was now offering the doctor a leering smile.

  Alicia frowned. It looked like she had stiff competition for the dashing doctor. She coughed again and pressed on.

  “I guess the main reason for today’s meeting is to get to know each other a little better, and discuss what books we’d like to read over the next few months. Once we’ve sorted that out, I can send you all a schedule and we can have our first proper book club. Before that, though, why don’t we introduce ourselves again, maybe say a little bit about who we are and why we’ve come along.” There was an awkward silence. “I’ll start shall I?”

  She took another deep breath. “As you know, I’m Alicia Finlay, this is the house I share with my younger sister Lynette and that annoyingly loud creature outside called Max.”

  As if on cue, the dog barked and everyone laughed.

  “Shut it, Max!” roared Lynette.

  “Thank you, Lynette. What else? Um, I edit magazines for a living, but my great passion is reading crime novels, and I especially love Agatha Christie, which shouldn’t come as any surprise to anyone here.”

  “What made you decide to start the club?”

  This was Claire, seated forward with her back straight and her hands together in her lap.

  “Lynette suggested it, actually. It’s a long story, but suffice to say I’d had a dismal experience with a previous book club and decided to get more like-minded people together. Anyway, that’s enough about me. Lynny?”

  She turned to her sister who had just stuffed half a sandwich into her mouth.

  “While she’s scoffing her face, may I?” said Perry with a wink, and Alicia nodded.

  “Okay then, I’m Perry, 46, single, although hopefully not for long...” He slapped Anders with another of those looks that left the poor man blushing uncomfortably. “And I, too, have been in plenty of dismal book clubs, thank you very much! I mean, just because you
like books, doesn’t mean you have to be boring. I also love a good murder mystery, but have to earn a living, darlinks, so I work at the Sydney Museum, in the Palaeontology department—that just means anything old and fossilised.”

  Missy gasped. “How appropriate! Agatha Christie adored poking around with fossils. She’d be most impressed. Spent many of her happiest times on digs in the Middle East would you believe? Of course that was with the second husband, Max...”

  “Yes, well, I must confess, Aggie did fuel my love for all things old and dusty. It does get a little dull in there, though, but my social life makes up for it in spades! I own a fabulous pad in Surry Hills, which, as I’ve told some of you, I share with an equally fabulous but extremely randy flatmate who, when he’s not bonking his beautiful boyfriend senseless, helps pay the bills. He’s a budding author, about to get his first big—”

  He stopped suddenly and something flashed across his eyes. Alicia noticed a look of guilt or shame but before she could give it more thought it had disappeared.

  “Anyway, I’m getting waaay off track here,” he said. “Over to you, little sis!”

  He waved a hand at Lynette who was just brushing the last of the crumbs from her fingers. She flicked her blonde locks over her shoulder, crossed her legs, and smiled.

  “Thanks, Perry and hello all. As I think we’ve clearly established by now, I’m the little sister around here, 26, also single—there are just not enough fabulous men out there I tell you!”

  “I’m with you, girl,” said Perry, winking again.

  “Like the rest of you, I love a good murder mystery but love to cook even more, and you can thank me for the scones later. In between cooking, I wait tables down at Mario’s in Paddington.”

  “Wait tables? Really? You should be cooking for them,” said Claire, indicating the half-eaten scone in her hand.