The Agatha Christie Book Club

by Larmer, C. A.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” the stocky officer sighed, tucking his notepad back into his jacket pocket and giving her a weary look that suggested he’d seen it all before.

  By the time Missy returned to the library, a good two hours and one bandaged wrist later, she had stopped shaking and begun remembering how hungry she was. The only angst she now felt for the crazed driver was on behalf of her neglected stomach.

  “I’ll run out and get you something, dear,” said Geraldine, herself feeling guilty for the mean thoughts she’d had earlier about her fellow librarian. “You just sit here and relax. Once I get back you might want to take an early mark and head home. You’ve had quite a shock my dear.”

  “Oh I’ll be okay, Geraldine,” Missy said, settling on the stool by the computer terminal. “Luckily it’s my left arm, so I can still do a little typing. I’ll leave the heavy lifting to you.”

  As Geraldine left to fetch some belated lunch, and Missy began tapping away at the screen with her one working hand, she couldn’t help going over the accident detail by detail—the flash of a dark car, the crashing of her body against the doorway, the wide-eyed hysteria of the eyewitnesses. She couldn’t remember, now, exactly what was said but one sentence remained etched in her brain: “This person mad killer! Try to kill you!”

  It was a truly ridiculous statement, she’d already decided that, so why was she still feeling so jittery?

  Chapter 7

  Barbara’s ‘house’ was actually a luxurious monstrosity wedged between two other McMansions on a leafy Woollahra avenue. It took Alicia and Lynette quite by surprise. They stared at the address in their hands again and then up at the sprawling two-storey structure with its sandstone pillars and gaudy mermaid waterfall out the front. Around it was a short, pebbled driveway lined with meticulously trimmed hedges.

  “Not much to be depressed about,” Lynette said, unlatching the gate at the front.

  They were gathering for the first official book club and Alicia had parked her Torana a block back, not expecting to get a close park, and she was frowning now as she spotted one right beside the house. Within seconds, a shiny silver Saab was reverse parking into it, Dr Anders stepping out and locking his car electronically with his key soon after.

  “No one home?” he asked, sounding upbeat.

  “Just about to go in,” said Alicia, pushing the gate open and leading the way across the driveway, past the three-car garage with an olive green Jaguar, gleaming silver Mercedes and a motley collection of bicycles, old golf bags, and packing boxes, to the enormous front door. There was an intercom on one side and she pressed it once then waited a few seconds before a lively voice crackled back at them.

  “Yo! Who is it?”

  Unless Barbara had had a personality transplant this had to be the daughter thought Alicia. She introduced herself.

  “We’re here for the book club,” she said.

  “The what?!”

  “The book club. Is Barbara there?”

  There was silence for a moment and then a beeping sound indicated that the door was being unlocked.

  “Shall we?” said Lynette and she pushed it forward just as Barbara began to pull it open on the other side.

  “Hello, welcome,” she said, waving one arm for them to come in.

  Barbara was dressed today in black trousers and a plain white shirt, with a thick, lilac coloured scarf twisted several times around her neck. It was a warm day, they were almost into summer after all, so Alicia couldn’t help wondering whether the house was air-conditioned or if Barbara simply didn’t feel the heat. Alicia had deliberately chosen a pair of loose khaki trousers and a flowing cotton shirt, and already felt sweaty.

  “You’ve got a lovely house here, Barbara,” Anders was saying, looking around quickly, and she smiled.

  “Thank you. Come through, I’ll show you around while we wait for the others.”

  “Really, there’s no need,” he said but she ignored him and led them through to a plush lounge room with white shuttered windows, thick, creamy carpet and pearly white furnishings.

  It was way too pristine for Alicia’s tastes. Max would make mincemeat of the vintage Persian rug and she would spend the whole time stressed out about paw prints on the white suede leather lounge suite. This room was decorated lavishly with giant art works, framed photographs, enormous vases wedged full of Oriental Lilies, red roses and Singapore Orchids, and a gleaming black, grand piano in one corner.

  Above the piano, a large framed photo caught Alicia’s eye and she couldn’t help grinning. It was a particularly gaudy looking portrait of the Parlour family, all decked out in their Sunday best. It was the usual story: the whole family—at the beckoning of the mother, no doubt—had clearly dressed up in clothes they didn’t normally wear to get photographed by someone they didn’t actually know to hang on a wall and loathe for the next five years until Mother insisted on an update. In this one Barbara looked a few years younger, a good deal blonder, and a whole lot more glamorous in a sparkling red and gold top, and dripping with gold jewellery. The smile on her face was wide and determined. She had changed considerably since then.

  Barbara’s daughter, Holly, was wearing a blue polka dot dress and a wide matching headband. She looked about 12 but adolescent surliness had already crept into her eyes. She was also smiling, but only just. Arthur’s smile, too, was strained, and he had that dapper 1980s Dynasty look about him—suit, tie, suspenders, the works. This was supposed to be a happy family portrait, but it left Alicia cold. When she glanced at Anders she noticed that he, too, looked uneasy.

  Below the portrait, on a tall, white side table, were a bunch of medals and trophies, and Alicia noted at least two for Barbara, including a small ‘Most Improved’ tennis trophy and a faux Oscar Academy Award from some amateur theatre group.

  Before she could study them further, Barbara was dragging them through the opulent dining room with its glittering chandelier and varnished timber table that could easily seat 12, to the most enormous home kitchen she’d ever seen. Lynette’s eyes widened.

  Barbara had every gadget a budding chef could want—a wide, commercial-sized oven, a monstrous two-door fridge with ice dispenser on the front, an espresso machine wedged into one wall, and a mammoth Microwave oven. Barbara could fit an entire roast and its accompanying vegetables in there with room to move.

  “I would kill for this kitchen,” Lynette told the older woman who looked around as though only just noticing it. “It’s totally loaded.”

  “Oh, thank you,” she said. “I must confess I don’t do a lot of the cooking. That’s what Rosa’s for.”

  “Rosa?”

  “My housekeeper.” She smiled a little sheepishly, and quickly added, “She only comes in a few hours a day, just after midday to cook the family meal, tidy up a bit. Nothing too dramatic. Usually out of here by 3:00 p.m. She’s a gem. Makes a mean coq au vin, Arthur’s favourite. That’s my husband. The only time I’m in here is when I’m on the phone.”

  She indicated the silver hands-free telephone sitting in its cradle on one end of the marble bench top. Beside it hung a large whiteboard with several numbers scrawled onto it in blue marker pen, as well as a bunch of messages, including one for Holly to call ‘the Coach’.

  The doorbell buzzed, startling Barbara who grabbed hold of her neck and padded her scarf down. “That must be the others, please come through to the patio, we’ll sit out there today.”

  She led them though French doors to a sun-dappled garden with an elegantly welded metal table and matching cushioned chairs. The area was paved with terracotta tiles and planted out with tree ferns, pink cordyline, bright yellow mimosa and white scented jasmine. Beyond it, through the hedges, you could just catch sight of a glistening swimming pool and what looked like a Balinese-style pergola. As they took their seats, Barbara returned inside to welcome the other guests. Within minutes they were joined by Missy and Perry, who had arrived together in his red Mazda sports car, followed by Claire i
n a spotless, baby blue vintage VW beetle.

  Missy was still nursing her injury, her left arm wrapped in bandage and held tight to her chest in a sling that reached down across her neck and back.

  “Hey, what happened to you?” asked Anders getting up to help her to a seat.

  “Oh, I sprained my silly wrist,” she said, still managing to offer them a grin. “Well, I didn’t. Some maniac tried to take me out.”

  They all stared at her aghast, and Missy giggled a little. “Oh, it’s okay, I’m exaggerating!”

  Missy explained how, earlier that week, she’d been heading off for her lunch break when a ‘madman’ veered onto the pavement and sent her flying. “I put my hand out to catch my fall and landed firmly on my poor little wrist. Just lucky I’m so well padded, I could have done a lot more damage.” She giggled again as she eased herself into the chair.

  Alicia felt a surge of vindication. See, it did happen! Her imagination wasn’t so outlandish after all. Missy’s accident was the sort of thing she, herself, had imagined hundreds of times before, while walking home from work, to and from the shops, heading out to a movie...

  “You sure it was an accident?” she asked and Lynette scowled at her. “I’m just wondering, that’s all!”

  “Oh it has to be, honeykins,” said Missy. “They didn’t stop so they clearly didn’t see me.”

  “Did you get the number plate?” Alicia persisted. “Catch a look at the driver?”

  “Oh it was a blur, really. All I could see was an old dark-coloured BMW. You know those ones with the dark tinted windows? Mum calls them Drug Dealer Windows, and she’s not wrong. You gotta wonder who needs to hide as they drive around. Honestly, if you want to look guilty, get dark windows installed!”

  “But should you be here?” asked Barbara, also looking concerned. “It might be a little stressful after what happened. Maybe you need to be resting, take some time off—”

  Dr Anders was less sympathetic. “It’s just a sprained wrist, Barbara, there’ll be some damage to the ligaments but she hasn’t even got it in a cast so it can’t be too bad. I’m sure Missy can handle it. You’re on anti-inflammatory painkillers, right?”

  She nodded.

  “But she was run over,” Barbara persisted. “That’s very upsetting...”

  “No, Anders is right,” interrupted Missy. “My doc tells me I’ll be good as new in a few weeks. Besides, I’m not taking it personally, despite everyone’s attempts to make me.”

  “Everyone?” asked Alicia, an eyebrow raised.

  “Oh, well, there were a couple of witnesses who had some elaborate theory that someone was out to get me.”

  “Really?” said Barbara. “Could they be right? Do you think you were targeted deliberately?”

  Missy giggled again. “My goodness me, there are conspiracy theorists everywhere! I’m fine, people, fine! Honestly.”

  They all looked at her as if they didn’t quite believe her, except Anders, who’d seen this kind of accident before, and Perry who’d already had this conversation on the drive over and was well and truly fed up with the subject.

  “In that case, shall we get on to even juicier crimes?” he suggested, holding up his copy of Evil Under The Sun.

  They all nodded agreement and began settling in, choosing their chairs and dragging their own copies out of handbags, backpacks and, in Ander’s case, a large pocket hidden inside his jacket. Alicia wondered what else he had in there and whether there was room for two.

  She gave herself an invisible slap across the face and looked around to see Barbara disappear inside the house again, so she jumped up and followed her in. The older woman was in the kitchen, wrestling with a packet of wafer thin crackers and swearing quietly to herself, so Alicia took them off her and opened them.

  “Everything okay?” she asked and Barbara nodded primly. “It’s really good of you to go first.”

  “Happy to,” she said, offering Alicia a strained smile. It reminded her of the portrait in the lounge room.

  Barbara indicated a large white platter where a mixture of cheeses, pâté and olives had been placed and Alicia added the crackers and a clump of grapes that Barbara was now handing her. As Barbara fetched a cheese knife and some plates, Alicia strolled around the spacious kitchen admiring it. You didn’t have to be a budding chef to know it was beautifully designed.

  “So is your husband around today or did you banish him?”

  Barbara looked at her a little alarmed. “Oh, I wouldn’t dare banish him from his own house! But I did mention that he might want to make himself scarce.”

  “And your daughter?”

  “What about me?” came an indignant tone from the other side of the kitchen.

  Alicia turned around to see a tall, slightly overweight teenager with pimply skin, shiny dark hair, a piercing in her nose and a scowl across her forehead enter from a side door. Adolescent surliness had clearly caught up with Holly now.

  “Oh, Holly darling, you gave me a fright! I thought you were going to be out today.”

  “Well, obviously, I’m not,” she said, giving her mother a ‘duh’ look.

  “Then come in and meet Alicia, she’s the head of the new book club I was telling you about.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” she said, heading for the fridge instead. “Shit, all the juice is gone.”

  “Not to worry dear, we’ll get Rosa to fetch some more when she comes in tomorrow.”

  “Rosa? Why can’t you do it? It’s not like you’ve got anything else on your plate.” She glanced at Alicia. “Oh, that’s right, you’re too busy with your precious new book club.”

  As she skulked out she rolled her eyes, and Barbara turned to Alicia, mortified.

  “I’m so sorry, she’s not normally that rude.” She stopped, a half smile fluttering on her lips. “Well, actually, yes she is, but I was hoping you wouldn’t have to see it for yourself. Come let’s get this food out before the club wonders where we’ve got to—”

  Suddenly Holly reappeared, her face drained of all colour. “What the hell is going on?!” she screamed, catching Alicia by surprise.

  “What... what are you talking about, darling?” asked Barbara, dropping the platter to the bench top with a thud.

  “Don’t act all ignorant on me, mother! You know exactly what I’m talking about. Out there, on the deck...” Holly flashed Alicia a quick glance then turned her piercing eyes back onto her mother who visibly shrank under the angry glare.

  “You mean my book club?”

  “I mean him. What is he doing here?”

  “Holly, darling, I’m sorry, I didn’t know—”

  “Bullshit, Mum! Of course you friggin’ knew. You know everything that goes on around here. You set the whole thing up, didn’t you? Didn’t you!”

  Alicia stepped forward, eager to defend Barbara but she had no idea what Holly was screaming about. Could she really be this upset over a few friends of her mother’s taking over the patio?

  “This is supposed to be my safe place, how could you do this to me?!” Holly was screaming.

  “Holly, please—”

  Before she could say anything more, Holly had stormed back through the kitchen and into the bowels of the house, leaving two stunned faces behind her.

  “I’m so sorry,” Barbara said again, barely able to meet Alicia’s eyes.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Alicia said soothingly. “I hear teenage girls can make mountains out of molehills. Come on, we’ll go join the others.”

  Alicia helped Barbara gather the platters and take them out to the deck where the group were chatting amongst themselves. She glanced at Barbara, who looked lost in her own thoughts, arranging the food on the table and handing out napkins.

  “Oh, drat, I forgot the homemade lemonade,” she said, snapping out of it. “Alicia, do you mind grabbing it from the kitchen while I run to the bedroom and get my hat? It’s just inside the fridge, in a jug. We’ll need glasses, too.”

  Heading back to th
e lion’s den wasn’t exactly enticing so Alicia gave her sister a quick look, nodding her head towards the kitchen.

  Lynette stared at her confused for a few seconds, then jumped up. “I’ll give you hand shall I?”

  “That’d be great, thanks, Lynny,” she said leading the way inside.

  Back in the kitchen, Alicia glanced around to make sure Holly was nowhere to be found, then exhaled.

  “Everything okay?” Lynette asked.

  “I’ll tell you about it later,” she whispered. “Let’s just get back out there as fast as we can. Now, where are those glasses...”

  While Lynette fetched the jug from the fridge, Alicia searched through a few cupboards until she found a pearly pink set of eight matching glasses, and placed seven of them on a tray that was leaning against the microwave. As Lynette shut the fridge door she laughed. There were a bunch of photos attached with magnets, including several of Barbara with a tennis racquet in hand and Arthur at the golf course, a family photo on a large white yacht, and several of Holly as a young child, one licking a bright pink ice-cream, another blowing a kiss to the photographer.

  “She’s a cutie,” Lynette said and Alicia stepped over to take a look.

  “About as cute as a brown snake,” she hissed. “I just met her, she’s now twice the size and a major brat. Barely acknowledged me, and bit her poor mother’s head off. God knows why.”

  Beside the photos was the usual fridge paraphernalia—a school newsletter, a few magnetised ads, one for a local plumber, one for a luxury spa, and a phone bill that went for many pages.

  “Whoa, somebody’s been doing a lot of yakking.”

  As if on cue, the kitchen phone began to ring. Alicia stared at it, then at Lynette and back at the phone.

  “Should we answer that?”

  Lynette shrugged. “It’s not our house. Surely someone—”