“I’ll get it!” called Barbara from inside the house and she came rushing into the kitchen, scooped up the phone and said, breathlessly, “Hello, Barbara Parlour speaking.”
There was a pause and then she said again, “Hello? Hello? Anyone there?”
Alicia and Lynette exchanged another glance as Barbara continued to stare blankly at the phone. Eventually, the older woman hung up with a frown.
“Wrong number?” said Alicia.
“Hmmm, not sure. Just a quiet breathing on the other end, then nothing. That’s the fourth time that’s happened this week. I don’t understand it at all.”
Out of the side door a large man burst through. He had neatly trimmed grey hair, and was wearing a light pink Polo shirt, pleated bone trousers and boat shoes.
“Who was that on the phone?!” he barked, then stopped short when he spotted the sisters. His tone lightened considerably. “Oh, hello, didn’t see you there.”
He swept his eyes over both sisters, settling at last on Lynette, or at least, on the fleshy bit below her neck. She wasn’t exactly well endowed but this didn’t seem to put him off.
Barbara started fidgeting and grabbed her throat again.
“Oh, Arthur, um, well, I don’t know who that was. It... it just hung up. Another crank call I believe.”
He dragged his eyes back to his wife and frowned. “Another? Have we been getting others?”
“You know we have, darling. Anyway, where are my manners?” She waved a shaky hand at the sisters. “Arthur, this is Alicia and Lynette, two members of my new book club.”
“Book club?”
“You know, I told you about it yesterday.” She gave him a slightly worried look.
“The Agatha Christie Book Club,” Alicia announced, stepping forward to shake his hand. She was determined to get on the good side of at least one member of Barbara’s family. “You’ve got a beautiful house here, thanks for letting us invade.”
A wide grin broke out across Arthur’s well-shaven face.
“The Agatha Christie Book Club?”
They nodded and his grin turned a little snide. “That’s right, Barbs told me about her latest little project. I didn’t even know she was into crime fiction. I thought biographies were more her style. In any case, can we really call this one a book club?”
He had the patronising tone of an English Professor and while Alicia tried to laugh him off, Lynette was not so accommodating.
“I don’t see why not,” she said crisply.
He sniggered a little. “No offence, girls, but you won’t exactly have much to discuss. It’s hardly what I’d call literature.”
“That’s exactly why we love it,” Lynette replied. “It’s not for wankers.”
She emphasised that last word and Barbara looked like her eyes were going to pop out of her head. Alicia, too, felt faint. Barbara’s family was truly horrendous. No wonder she turned to Agatha Christie for solace.
“Oh, okay! We’d better get back out,” Barbara was saying as she steered them past the sniggering husband and out to the deck.
When they were almost at the table she turned around to face them. Once again, the humiliation on her face was heartbreaking.
“I am so sorry about my husband, he can be a little, well, cynical about anything I’m interested in. You mustn’t take offence.”
“It doesn’t aggravate you?” asked Lynette.
“Well, yes, I suppose it does sometimes. But that’s okay, I’m used to it. I’ve got a good life, really I do.”
Alicia wondered who she was trying to convince more, the sisters or herself.
“Apologies everyone,” Barbara was now saying to the other members who were quietly waiting for the show to begin. “Let’s kick off, shall we?”
The rest of the afternoon was relatively peaceful. Claire produced a neatly typed sheet of ‘talking points’ regarding Evil Under the Sun and they each took turns to discuss a wide range of issues, from the setting to the plot.
“I love this line from the book,” said Claire, turning to a page she had marked with a yellow post-it note. “As you know the good detective Hercule Poirot has found himself stuck on a remote island at a boutique hotel with a cast of suspicious characters. One of them, the ‘tough, athletic Emily Brewster’ is going on about the fact that the place is way too beautiful for bad things to happen. But Poirot begs to differ.” Claire began reading from the book. “‘It is romantic, yes,’ agreed Hercule Poirot. ‘It is peaceful. The sun shines. The sea is blue. But you forget, Miss Brewster, there is evil everywhere under the sun’.”
She looked up at them. “I just wonder, do we really believe that? Is evil lurking everywhere?”
Lynette scoffed. “No, that’s just for dramatic effect. Agatha does that kind of thing in all her novels. It’s to build suspense.”
“I agree, it’s just a literary device,” said Anders.
Alicia noted he was looking especially handsome today in black jeans and a deep grey, well-fitting T-shirt, which, now that the jacket was removed, accentuated his broad, muscular shoulders. He caught her eye and she blushed as she glanced away.
“I believe it,” said Barbara suddenly, vehemently, and they all turned to stare at her.
“Really?” said Missy, glancing down at her bandaged wrist and up again. “You really think there’s evil everywhere? Even here, in your beautiful house?”
“Especially here,” she said softly, so softly in fact that only those closest to her—Alicia on one side and Anders on the other—could hear it. They exchanged another glance, this one more apprehensive.
“I’ve got another quote,” said Perry, grabbing his own well-worn copy of the book. He flipped to a page he’d marked with pencil. “This is a line from Reverend Stephen Lane—don’t you love the way there’s always a shifty looking ‘man of the cloth’ loitering about?”
“Well, I don’t know about shifty, but there always were clergymen in those small English villages,” said Claire. “Probably still are; and they were the often the centre of the village. Sort of like the moral compass.”
“Yes, but they aren’t in a small village in this book,” said Missy. “They’re at a boutique resort, remember? Bit of an odd place for this bloke to show up. But anyway, what’s the quote, Perry?”
“Right, well, the Reverend is talking to Poirot about this whole idea of evil under the sun. He says...” Perry paused, deepening his voice and putting on his best plumy accent. “‘But M. Poirot, evil is real! It is a fact! I believe in Evil like I believe in Good. It exists! It is powerful! It walks the earth!’”
As he spoke, Perry’s voice became louder and louder, and he raised one fist for dramatic effect. At the end of the quote the group laughed and clapped.
All except for Barbara.
She sat staring at Perry, her eyes wide, her head nodding vigorously as though she couldn’t agree more.
*****
Later that night, as Alicia settled into bed with her latest book, she recalled Barbara’s look, her words, and that feeling of nervousness that seemed to permeate everything she did that day. It was almost like there was something evil lurking in her Woollahra house, something that clearly had Barbara on edge.
Yet Alicia couldn’t work out what. Her family were horrible, sure, but were they evil?
She looked down at the Agatha Christie novel in her hands and gave herself a little scolding.
“You need a break from crime fiction, young lady!” she said as she relaxed into the pillow and, ignoring her own advice, resumed where she’d left off.
Chapter 8
The next book club, a fortnight later, had been scheduled at Dr Ander’s house and Alicia was really looking forward to it, and not just because she had a minor crush on the scheduled host. Today they were going to study The Mysterious Affair at Styles, the first book in which Hercule Poirot makes an appearance, and she already had a bunch of comments pencilled in her copy, ready to dazzle them all with her supreme insight. This
book was Barbara’s choice. She had insisted, rightly enough, that they go ‘back to the beginning’, and Alicia was keen to see just how the older woman had interpreted it. Sadly, she never got the chance.
Barbara Parlour did not show up.
For 20 minutes the rest of the group sat in Ander’s living room making small talk and a quick meal of the cheese and crackers he had presented rather clumsily on a dinner plate. It wasn’t at all what Alicia had been expecting; at least the house wasn’t. This was no bachelor pad. There were bright paintings, ethnic statues and colourful, Indonesian ikat rugs at various spots, and Alicia wondered as she glanced around whether he had a sister to help him decorate, then chastised herself for being so sexist.
Unlike Barbara’s place, however, there was no personal paraphernalia on display, which she also found odd. No happy snaps of cute nieces or pictures of sporting triumphs (Anders holding an oversized fish or looking dapper in ski gear and goggles). There was, however, a stunning upright Steinway piano in one corner, as well as a large bookshelf crammed to overflowing. Most of the books looked like classics—Catcher in the Rye, Moby Dick, that kind of thing—and there were plenty of hard covers amongst them. She suspected he was a collector. Anders, too, had chosen music for the day, but he was playing some moody blues, and this surprised her, too. She would have picked him for a jazz nut, or a classical kind of guy.
She clearly had a lot to learn about Anders Bright.
“How’s your wrist?” Anders asked Missy, noticing the sling had gone.
“Oh, still a tad tender, thanks darls, but all good.” She smiled wickedly as she added, “And in case anyone’s wondering, no, there have been no more attempts on my life. Touch wood!” She tapped her head and burst into peals of laughter.
Alicia laughed along until she spotted a clock on the wall. It was 2:20 p.m. Her smile deflated and she reached for her notebook, took out the contact details she had typed up for each of them, and tapped Barbara’s mobile number into her phone. Then waited as it rang. She assumed that the woman was running late or desperately lost. It went straight to her voice mail.
“Any luck?” Lynette asked and she shook her head no.
“Well, bugger Barbara,” said Perry. “Let’s just start without her.”
“She’s bringing the questions, remember?” said Missy and he scowled.
They continued making small talk for another ten minutes before Alicia turned back to her contact list.
“I do have her home number, I suppose I could call there.”
“She would’ve left by now, surely,” said Anders.
“She could be sick in bed, or have forgotten?” suggested Claire.
Lynette nodded. “Or maybe that horrible husband of hers has some idea where she is. Give her house a call, sis, see where she’s at.”
Alicia reached for her notebook again and looked up Barbara’s home number then placed the call. This time it rang and rang and rang. She was just about to give up when a flustered female voice answered.
“Yes?!”
“Oh, hello, sorry to bother you. I’m looking for Barbara.”
“Who this?”
Alicia wondered the same of her. It didn’t sound like either Barbara or her daughter. There was a strong accent.
“It’s Alicia Finlay, from book club.” The woman said nothing, so she quickly added, “It’s just that Barbara hasn’t shown and we’re wondering if she’s been held up.”
There was another pause. “One minute, okay?”
The phone was dropped and Alicia could hear footsteps moving away, then, eventually, heavier footsteps returning.
“Hello, is this Alissa?”
“Alicia, actually, from Book Club. Is that Arthur?”
“Yes it is. Is Barbara with you?”
“Sorry?”
“Barbara.” He sounded impatient. “My wife, is she with you?”
“No, that’s why I’m calling. We’ve been waiting for her to show. Is she not around?”
“Not at the moment, no.” His voice turned hushed. “You don’t happen to know where she is do you?”
“Er, no, sorry. Can I—”
“Never mind, she’s probably caught up somewhere. Thank you.”
He went to hang up so she called out, “Just a second, sorry, are you saying she’s missing?” There was a pause. “Arthur, where is Barbara?”
“I’m not sure.”
“How long has she been missing?”
A slight scoff. “She’s not missing! She’s just out, that’s all.”
Alicia changed tack. “How long has she been ‘out’ then?”
“Since last night but it’s nothing for you to concern yourself with. I’ll let her know you called when she gets back.”
He hung up then and she stared into the phone, confused. Every eye was upon her.
“Well?” said Perry. “Misery Guts on her way?”
Alicia shook her head. “She’s missing.”
“Huh?”
Alicia relayed the conversation she’d just had with Barbara’s husband and they all mulled it over for a while.
“Very odd,” said Claire eventually, pinning a stray curl back under the small pillbox hat she was wearing that matched her bright purple ’50s style dress. “The poor husband must be frantic. If my fiancé went missing overnight, I would be.”
“Really?” said Perry. “Your fiancé never goes missing overnight?”
Claire flashed him a strange look, her eyes squinting slightly. “Not lately, no.”
Lynette and Alicia exchanged a glance then Alicia said, “It doesn’t really matter, Claire. We didn’t get a great vibe from Arthur last time did we Lyn? He was super patronising, a bit of a bully. I got the distinct feeling Barbara was scared of him.”
“That might be stretching things a bit far,” said Lynette. “But, no, he wasn’t exactly your warm and fuzzy type.”
“Oh, possums, she’ll show!” said Missy flippantly. “If what you say about the hubby is correct, they probably just had a tiff and she’s skulked off to her mother’s place to teach him a lesson. He sounds like a brute.”
“Maybe even an unfaithful brute,” added Alicia. “Remember that odd phone call in her kitchen, Lyn? Barbara answered and there was just quiet breathing on the other end. Sounded like a hang-up to me. Could be the mistress hoping to get Arthur.”
“You don’t know that, Alicia! Honestly you’re such a drama queen,” said Lynette, aghast. “I’m sure she’ll show up eventually. She’s probably busy somewhere or has just forgotten. She is getting on a bit, you know.”
“She’s in her 50s, Lynette,” snapped Perry, the oldest in the room. “Not a candidate for dementia just yet.”
“Either way, I’m sure if you call her later tonight, Alicia, she’ll be there, super embarrassed and apologetic and all that.”
“You’re probably right,” she said, putting her phone away and turning to her copy of today’s book. “Okay then, let’s get on with it. I don’t think any of us need Barbara’s questions to start chatting about this particular treasure. Anders, why don’t you tell us all what you loved most about The Mysterious Affair at Styles?”
Two hours, two cups of tea, six cheese biscuits and a gin and tonic later, Alicia called an end to the club for the day and they all bid each other farewell.
“So you’re going to call Barbara later?” asked Claire, and Alicia nodded.
“I’ll text you all as soon as I speak to her and let you know she’s okay. Lyn’s probably right, she’s probably just tied up somewhere.”
“Hopefully, not in someone’s dungeon,” said Perry sending Missy into whoops of laughter again.
Alicia rolled her eyes at him then turned to Anders. “Thank you so much for a great club, and we’ll all meet again next fortnight. Who’s hosting, I’ve forgotten?”
“I am at last!” said Perry. “You’ve all got my address but call if you get hideously lost.”
He air kissed them all and they made their way o
ut.
Once back at Woolloomooloo, with Max sufficiently walked and fed, and Lynette busily preparing a light supper in the kitchen, Alicia picked up the phone and keyed in Barbara’s mobile number. Once again it rang until the voice mail clicked on. She left another message, trying to sound light and breezy but probably coming off panicky and stalker-ish.
“Phone the ogre husband again!” called Lyn from the kitchen. “She has to be home by now.”
Alicia took a deep breath and placed the call. This time the daughter picked up.
“Mum?!” She sounded more angry than concerned.
“Er, no, Holly, it’s your mum’s book club friend Alicia. She hasn’t shown yet?”
“No she has not.” Again, the anger was palpable.
“Any idea where she is?”
“Nope.”
“Can I speak to your dad?”
There was a pause. “He’s not here.”
“Oh, right, is he out looking for her?”
“Why would he be doing that?”
“Well, I thought if she’s missing.”
“She’s not missing. Oh my God! She’s just, like, staying away so she can avoid Dad and me. She hates us, and she can get F-ed!”
The phone promptly hung up and Alicia sat back with a start.
“Any luck?” called Lynette, about to place several homemade pizzas into the oven.
Alicia put the phone back and joined her in the kitchen, reaching for a glass of water.
“No, the daughter reckons she’s just avoiding them, whatever the hell that means. And the husband is nowhere to be found.”
“He’s probably out searching for her.”
“Yeah, probably. Hopefully.”
Lynette reached for a stray chunk of goats cheese on the bread board and popped it in her mouth. “You sound worried.”
“I am. I mean, I’m trying not to be, but, well, so soon after Missy, I can’t help myself.”
Lynette pulled up a stool and sat down. “Missy? What’s she got to do with it?”
“She was run over, remember, by some unknown lunatic. And now another book club member has disappeared. It’s suspicious, don’t you think?”
The Agatha Christie Book Club Page 6
