The Agatha Christie Book Club

by Larmer, C. A.

  “Wouldn’t that be nice,” Lynette said wistfully, her smile dropping slightly.

  “Mario’s a moron,” Alicia explained. “He’s been promising her a switch to the kitchen for years but Lynette’s problem is she’s also a fabulous waitress. You should see her weekly tips. Me? I can barely open a wine bottle without breaking the cork.”

  “Yeah, me too,” laughed Anders. “Got a medical degree but it still doesn’t prepare you for a corkscrew. Thank god for twist-tops, that’s all I’ve got to say.”

  “Well, while you’re talking, how about telling us more?” said Alicia and he blushed slightly, clearing his throat.

  “Alright then, um, what can I say... I’m Anders Bright, and I have to admit I feel a bit out of my league here. I haven’t read a huge amount of Christie but I have enjoyed what I’ve read. As I said in my letter to Alicia, I particularly admire her passion for poisons. Of course in Christie’s day every good house had plenty in the pantry, things like arsenic and rat poison, that kind of stuff. Today the Therapeutic Goods Administration has banned so many of them which makes it much harder to quietly do away with that unfaithful hubby or irritating daughter.”

  A china teacup clunked onto its saucer and Alicia looked up to see Barbara mopping up the mess it had left behind on the tea chest.

  “Are you okay?” she asked as Barbara swiped at the spilt tea with a paper napkin.

  “Oh, just clumsy, that’s all. Silly of me. Please, Anders, go on.”

  He glanced tentatively at Barbara then glanced away. “Right, yes, um... Let’s see, what else was I going to say? Oh yes, I also have never been in a book club before. But I’m willing to give it a go.” He brushed a stray lock of hair from his eyes. “I’m a city GP, by the way, work not too far from here, and I am sure my fellow medicos would laugh heartily if they knew I was signing up.”

  “Well! We’ll try not to take offence at that,” Perry declared, mocking outrage and Anders looked flummoxed.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just... well, it’s not really their thing—”

  Perry slapped him on one broad shoulder. “Just messing with you, darl!” He laughed. “So, you haven’t told us your marital status.”

  He gave Anders a cheeky sideways look and again Anders seemed flustered.

  “Oh, er...,” he hesitated then said very softly, “I’m single, I guess.”

  Alicia felt a tingle of joy. Here was some good news after all. Perry was a tremendous tease, she could tell already that Anders was no match for him, but she was happy he’d asked none-the-less. Knowing her form, it would take Alicia two years to find out what he’d managed to discover in about two minutes flat.

  “So, who’s next?” she asked trying to sound nonchalant.

  Missy thrust a hand in the air so Alicia gave her the nod. She told the group in some considerable detail about her chance meeting with Alicia.

  “So she implored me to join and I thought, why the hell not?” She giggled. “I mean, what else have I got to do on a Sunday arvo, besides sitting at home feeding Fudge and Pudge? Oh, they’re my goldfish by the way, not nicknames for my thighs.”

  She squealed with laughter at this, her zebra-print glasses almost flying off, then repositioned them and continued. “I, too, am single.” She stopped. “Seems to be a pre-requisite to this club, eh?”

  “That’s because if we had partners we’d have better things to do with our time than read murder mysteries,” suggested Perry and she giggled again before continuing.

  “Like all of you, I adore everything about Agatha Christie, although if anyone’s read her autobiography or any biographies on her for that matter, she was certainly no saint. I think that makes me adore her even more!”

  “Yes, guys, we’re very lucky to have Missy here. She is the expert on all things Christie,” said Alicia and Missy shooed her away with one hand.

  “What’s it like working in a library?” asked Barbara and Missy smiled widely.

  “Love it! I mean who wouldn’t? I have an entire office full of books. What more could a bookworm ask for?”

  “Decent pay and conditions?” Barbara persisted, an eyebrow raised.

  Alicia wondered if she was fishing for a job.

  “Oh, you get paid just enough to survive,” said Missy. “But yes, they do let you out for lunch occasionally, usually around noon if anyone wants to meet me for a coffee. I’m just down the road from here. A hop, skip and a jump! We could meet for a sanger, or a kebab, there’s this great little... Sorry, there I go, rabbiting on again.”

  She giggled nervously and looked up at the ceiling.

  Claire spoke next, her crisp, soft tone denoting a slight English accent. “I’m Claire Hargreaves, 35, and I’m afraid this is where I break the mould. I’ve been engaged for the past four years to a lovely man who works in the book publishing business.”

  Missy giggled again, then flung a hand to her lips. “Sorry,” she said, looking mortified. “It’s just that, well, four years seems an awfully long time to be engaged, that’s all.”

  “I agree,” said Perry. “What’s the hold up?”

  Claire’s shapely eyebrows drew together tightly. She smoothed her skirt down with one hand, adjusting the hem and then tucking a stray thread under with the other. “There’s no hold-up per se, we’re just waiting. For the right time that’s all.”

  A dark cloud crept across her face and before Missy and Perry could do any more damage, Alicia quickly changed the subject.

  “So tell us about your shop,” she said. “You mentioned it in your letter.”

  “Oh, yes, my lovely little boutique.” The cloud lifted. “It’s called the Timeless Vintage Clothing Store and it’s down on Victoria Street in Potts Point.”

  “Oh I know it! I love it!” squealed Missy, clearly trying to make amends. “Got some fab ’50s frocks from there last summer.”

  “Yes, well, I’m sure a few of you have probably been in there at some point, it’s been around for a while.” Her eyes strayed across to Barbara. “We have every era you could possibly desire. But I also have a tiny café at the back of the shop so, like Missy, I implore you to come and join me for a coffee any time you like. First latté’s on the house. Let me also just add, in case you’re wondering, that, yes, I’m British born, hence the accent, but my mother is Hong Kong Chinese and now lives in Paris—which is where I get a lot of the fabulous frocks for my shop. So I really am quite an eclectic mix.”

  “I’ll say!” said Missy, thinking how wonderful it must be to come from such a deliciously exotic background. She was born and bred in Oatley, Sydney, and felt about as exotic as an Ugg boot.

  “Thanks, Claire,” said Alicia. “So who’s left? Oh, Barbara, your turn now.”

  They all turned to face the older woman who placed her teacup to the side with a slight rattle.

  “Hello everyone. Yes, I’m Barbara Parlour. I’m not much good at public speaking I’m afraid.”

  “Well, what do you do for a living?” prompted Alicia.

  “Oh, I’m just a housewife.”

  “Home technician, please,” said Perry with a wink.

  “No, just a housewife,” she replied dryly. “Or at least, that’s what my husband says. He’s in the banking industry, you see, but is hoping to get into politics soon.”

  “Politics? Really?” said Anders, sounding a little alarmed.

  “Yes, he is running for pre-selection later in the year for the NSW Liberal Party.”

  She smiled but it was strained, a little like the smile her husband would no doubt master as a politician, not quite reaching the eyes.

  “Um, what else can I tell you? Honestly, my life is extremely boring. Oh I do have a daughter. She’s 16 going on 26.” She shot the doctor a quick look and laughed nervously. “Never listens to a thing I say, but then neither does her father. She’s got his foul temper, too...”

  Barbara stopped and looked down at her lap as the room turned deadly quiet. Someone coughed. Sh
e shook herself a little and continued. “Anyway, that’s neither here nor there.” Another nervous laugh. “Um, like Dr Anders, I too don’t really belong to any clubs, so saw the advertisement and thought I’d give it a whirl. Maybe cheer myself up a bit.”

  She smiled fleetingly and then looked back down at her hands, which had been fidgeting the whole time.

  “Goodo!” said Alicia, trying to lift the mood. “Okay, then, let’s move on to the book selection shall we? Does anyone have any strong ideas about which books they’d like to focus on first?”

  And so the conversation turned to all things Agatha Christie and the mood did indeed begin to lighten up. Within the hour they had the first six books lined up, starting the following Sunday with Evil Under the Sun—Claire’s choice but a favourite of every single person in the room. They had agreed to meet every fortnight, no one keen to drag it out for a full month, and also concurred with all of Alicia’s suggested guidelines.

  “I’ll host the first one, if you like,” said Perry, twiddling with his earring.

  “No,” said Barbara suddenly. “I’d really like to hold the first one at my house. If you don’t mind?”

  He stopped twiddling and shrugged.

  “Are you absolutely sure?” asked Anders. “I’m also very happy to do it—”

  “No, I insist. Best to get it over and done with, then I can relax for the next few months.”

  That made sense to Alicia. “Fine. Is everyone okay with that?”

  They all nodded and so it was agreed, they would meet at 2:00 p.m. the following Sunday at Barbara’s east Sydney address. She would provide the afternoon tea and Claire would bring along some questions. They then exchanged contact details, and began to say their farewells.

  Barbara left first, glancing at her watch worriedly, followed soon after by Dr Anders and Claire. That left Missy and Perry who helped the sisters clear the cups and clean up.

  “She’s an odd one,” Perry said as he rinsed some crockery in the sink.

  “Who? ‘Just a housewife’?” asked Lynette and Perry nodded.

  “Seems really sad and lonely to me,” said Missy, taking a saucer from him and wiping it with a fresh tea towel.

  “Well, hopefully this club might give her the boost she needs,” said Alicia, not keen to start bitching about members so early in the game.

  “And what do we know about Ms Claire Hargreaves?” asked Perry, one eyebrow raised.

  “Not much, apart from what she’s already told us,” replied Alicia. “Why?”

  “Oh, nothing.” He hesitated, was about to say something then clamped his lips shut.

  Alicia grabbed the tea towel from Missy’s hands. “Come on you two, Lyn and I can finish up here.”

  She saw them out then turned back to her sister.

  “He’s right, though, isn’t he? About Barbara. She is a bit odd.”

  “I thought you were cool with that.”

  “Yes, but, I don’t know, there’s something kind of worrying about her.”

  Lynette shrugged and pulled off her boots, massaging her weary ankles. “Come on, she’ll be fine. They can’t all be fabulous and fun like Perry and Missy. Besides, it’s a smart idea to have the first one at her house; you’ll see, she’ll feel more comfortable there. It’ll be great.”

  *****

  Later that evening, as Barbara returned home, she was feeling anything but comfortable. There was someone in the group she had not expected to see, someone she recognised from before. A slight shiver raced down her spine. She wondered, suddenly, if she was safe. She shook the thought away. She was letting her imagination run away with her again. It would all be okay, this group would be good for her, they all seemed like such lovely people, such good, honest, caring people.

  There was nothing to worry about. It would all work out perfectly fine.

  As she picked up the book on her nightstand and flipped it open to the bookmark, Barbara couldn’t help feeling a twinge of apprehension that just wouldn’t go away...

  Chapter 6

  Missy Corner was famished and bored in equal measure, two states of being that did not suit her flighty temperament one bit. She glanced at the clock. Ten minutes until lunchtime, and it couldn’t go fast enough. She loved her job at the library, she really did, but sometimes things got a little, well, dull. Especially if it was a quiet day with only the usual suspects loitering by the shelves, milling over their favourite titles and suggesting authors to each other furtively, as if passing on state secrets. Occasionally things spiced up—a hunky Swedish backpacker strolled in, keen to use a computer, or a long-awaited bestseller arrived and she got to record it in the hard drive, laminate it carefully and place it proudly on the shelf for the usual suspects to squabble over.

  Or, as happened a few weeks ago, a woman strolls in off the street and invites you to join her book club. Now what were the chances of that?!

  Missy’s mood lightened. The Agatha Christie Book Club was the most exciting thing that had happened to her in months. She glanced at the chipped black nail polish on her gnarled nails and then placed one to her teeth and kept chipping away at it. Hell, it was probably the only exciting thing that had happened since she’d scored this job, 18 months ago. Before that, she’d been idling through life, taking the odd bar job, redecorating her bedroom at home, a weekend up the coast now and then with old school chums. Nothing special.

  Now, suddenly, she had something very special happening in her life, and every two weeks at that! It gave her renewed focus, renewed direction. She looked forward to the next book club, the first official meeting this Sunday, and had already read the book several times so she had plenty to offer. She just had to learn to shut her big mouth more often or they’d grow weary of her as her friends often did.

  She couldn’t remember the last time they’d invited her on one of their weekends away.

  Missy felt a lump in her throat, and tried to swallow it down. Sometimes she wished she could just be like everybody else. She wished she knew where the off button was and how to use it occasionally as her father often suggested. She sniffed, determined not to let the Big Blue take over again. It had been many months since she’d been low and she was damned if she was going to drop down there again.

  She had the Agatha Christie Book Club now. No need for that.

  Missy glanced at the clock. Midday. Yippee! She grabbed her gold-coloured backpack and turned to her boss who was busy at a terminal, checking in books from the book drop.

  “Off to lunch, lovely!” she said, swooping down to give the older woman’s shoulders a squeeze.

  “Have fun,” Geraldine murmured her eyes firmly on the screen. She liked Missy, but she liked it even better when she had the place—and her ears—to herself. The young woman could really talk, not exactly an ideal trait in a librarian. Pity she hadn’t been so chatty in the interview, Geraldine thought, she might never have given her the job. She sighed and continued tapping.

  Missy stepped out into the sunlight and grappled through her backpack for her prescription sunglasses, swapping them for the spectacles in a matter of seconds, then made a beeline for the kebab stall up the street. She had her heart set on a beef gyros today, was already imagining the tzatziki sauce dripping through the onions and tomato, and perhaps that’s why she never noticed the sudden roar of an engine behind her, or the yelp of a passerby to ‘Watch out!’ as a car made its own beeline straight towards her.

  Within seconds Missy was lying, twisted and lifeless in an open doorway.

  The passer-by, an elderly gentleman with thick white hair and stunned wide eyes, would later tell police that the car accelerated, deliberately steered off the road and up onto the footpath towards the unsuspecting librarian.

  Missy, who came to soon after with a raging headache and aching arm, would beg to differ. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time she told the cops, that was all. What is indisputable is that she was one very lucky woman. After glancing behind herself a split second b
efore impact, Missy had spotted the looming bonnet and flung her body towards the shop door, landing hard on her left wrist and giving the manager of the convenience store, a tiny Korean man who spoke broken English, the shock of his life.

  Meanwhile, the offending vehicle, a dark blue or black BMW—depending on who you asked—corrected itself, returned to the road and sped off, never stopping to see if Missy was alive or to render aid.

  A classic hit and run.

  Missy was shaken but not stirred. “It was all just a stupid accident,” she told the police who had arrived soon after, followed by an ambulance.

  “No, no, no!” cried the Korean shopkeeper. “Dwiver out to get you!”

  “I have to agree,” said the elderly man. “He seemed very determined.”

  “He?” asked the police officer, a stocky, middle-aged man who looked about as excited to be there as Missy was.

  “Well, I didn’t get a good look at the young man, the car windows were dark—”

  “Dark?” said the second officer, a young woman with bleached blonde hair and slightly more spark in her eyes.

  “Tinted I think you call it,” said the elderly man. “But it’s always young men, isn’t it? P-platers who cause all the trouble on our roads these days.”

  “So it had a P-plate?” the female cop asked excitedly.

  The man stared at her mutely for a few moments. “Er, well, no, I can’t say that for sure either.”

  “No, no, no P-plate!” said the Korean. “This person mad killer. Twy to kill this woman! Gangster maybe? Mafia? Black car always Mafia!”

  Now it was the police officers turn to be speechless, and Missy, whose wrist was being bandaged into place by a kindly ambulance officer, had to speak up.

  “This is all extremely silly,” she said, giggling despite the pain. “Why would the Mafia, or anyone for that matter, want to run me over? I’m just a boring librarian.”

  The police were inclined to believe her and, after taking the witness’s details, promptly excused them. Maybe it made their job easier to believe it was an accident, maybe they agreed with Missy that boring librarians were rarely targeted by lunatic Mafioso drivers. In any case, they assured her that she was most likely the innocent target of a drunken driver who had fled the scene to avoid being caught DUI.