The Agatha Christie Book Club

by Larmer, C. A.

  Anders took a very large swig of his wine this time, almost demolishing it in one gulp. Then set the glass back down with both hands, as if afraid it would fall over again.

  “Look, do you mind if we don’t talk about this? It’s not why I wanted to get together today.”

  She stared at him confused, her heart feeling wrenched in every direction. “I just thought...”

  “What?”

  “Nothing, sorry, stupid of me. I just misunderstood... Anyway, it’s really none of my business. I mean, it’s not like you and I...”

  She let the sentence dangle as he watched her, his brown eyes piercing.

  “Never mind,” she said, desperate to change the subject, “so how’d you go with your friend?” She felt flat. A little numb. Stupid, even.

  “Huh?”

  “The gorgeous one.” Now her tone was surly and it caught him off guard.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. I just can’t stay long so let’s get on with it. What did your friend Georgie have to say?”

  “Oh, um, okay. So, yes, as I said, I did manage to catch her—she was at still at Bondi, doing a little sun-baking—”

  “Yeah, yeah, spit it out.” Alicia was not in the mood for more news of other women in Anders’ life.

  “Right, well, she did have the goss. You want it in laymen’s terms?”

  “Hm-mm.”

  “According to her sources, and I know for a fact they’re reliable, Arthur died from blunt force trauma to the back of the head. Believed to be from a golf club.”

  “A 9-iron?” she asked hopefully.

  “Sorry, didn’t get quite that much detail. Why’d you ask?”

  “Never mind, go on.”

  “Not much more to say. No defensive wounds. Coroner suspects he was taken by surprise. Certainly no indication he fought back.”

  “No DNA under the nails then?”

  He almost laughed. “Nope.”

  “Well, I guess that’s only fair. Agatha Christie had to work it all out pre-DNA, so now it’s our turn.”

  He went to say something and then stopped.

  “What?” she asked.

  “It’s just that... well, I wanted to talk to you about something a bit, um delicate. It’s the reason I asked you here.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m worried.”

  “Worried? About what?”

  “I just wonder whether we really should be interfering in all of this. The Agatha Christie Book Club, I mean.”

  A feeling of dread crept up on her. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it’s not what we all signed up for is it? It was just supposed to be a bit of fun, discussing crime fiction once every fortnight. I didn’t think we’d end up interviewing real-life killers, you know?”

  Alicia felt her temper rise. This rendezvous wasn’t turning out at all as she’d hoped. First Anders had confessed to a mysterious wife, now he was trying to weasel his way out of the club.

  “Nobody said you had to investigate, Anders. You can opt out any time you like.”

  She tried to sound casual, didn’t quite pull it off. Anders stared at her, frowning as she took a large gulp of her wine and tried to calm down. She felt like a fool. Alicia had thought the book club members were enjoying the process as much as she was. She thought they were all committed to this investigation. Clearly she was wrong.

  He softened his tone. “That’s not what I’m saying, Alicia.”

  “Then what are you saying?”

  “I’m just saying I’m worried—”

  “Well stop worrying, Anders! This is not your problem to worry about. Just walk away, find another book club, one you can have loads of fun with. Hey, you might even find yourself a bit on the side and you won’t have to put your life in danger for it.”

  She knew it was a ridiculous comment, completely unjustified—what did she know about this man and his life? The hurt and confusion that swept across his face now made her flinch. She felt terrible, and suddenly extremely drained. She pushed her wine glass aside and stood up.

  “Sorry, Anders, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just tired. I need to go.”

  “What... where are you going?” He struggled to his feet.

  “Look, it’s nothing personal, I just need to get to the DVD shop before it closes.” She stopped, turned back. “I know you don’t want to investigate but I do and I know something that might help.”

  “Alicia, you don’t understand—”

  She held one hand up. “Don’t worry about it, honestly. It doesn’t matter. You’re right. It wasn’t supposed to be about missing people and murder. Hell, even Missy got run over, that wasn’t supposed to happen. It was just supposed to be fun. And if you’re not having any you need to quit.” She feigned a smile. “Thanks for the wine.”

  She strode quickly out through a side gate and onto the street while Anders stood there, watching her go, his heart now firmly in his stomach. He felt confused and anguished and sat back down with a thud, staring forlornly into his empty wine glass.

  He’d botched that up big time.

  Behind him the elderly couple was openly gaping, thrilled by the afternoon’s unexpected entertainment.

  *****

  Later that evening, as she sat sipping hot chocolate in her lounge room, Lynette beside her, Max snoring by their feet, the rain bucketing down outside, Alicia began watching a new copy of a very old Agatha Christie movie remake of Hallowe’en Party. She was still smarting from Anders’ comments and feeling confused and angry, mostly at herself. It had been foolish of her to think she could have a relationship with this man. What did she know of him? Really?

  And it had been even more foolish of her to assume that all the book club members wanted to spend their precious downtime investigating the disappearance of a woman they knew even less. Anders was right. All they had really signed up for was a bit of light reading. To expect more from them was pure fantasy, and she would tell them so next time they met up. Maybe other members were feeling the same way.

  Maybe they all needed an escape route?

  She shook Anders’ sad, crumpled face out of her mind and concentrated on the flick. Intrigued by what Missy had said earlier about going back to the victim, she had decided to rent the movie to hear Poirot’s quote for herself. Of course it would have been better to refer directly to the book, but it was Sunday night, the library was closed and time was of an essence. Perhaps the film version would be just as enlightening.

  It was certainly entertaining and the Finlay sisters were so caught up in the plot that they almost missed the pivotal quote when it finally came. One of the main characters, mystery writer Ariadne Oliver, was criticising a child murder victim when she stops herself and says to Poirot, “Is that unkind?”

  He looks at her po-faced and declares, “No Madame. In a murder it is not unkind to say what the victim is like.”

  “A-ha!” squealed Alicia, grabbing the remote and rewinding it. They listened again, then later for the line Missy had recalled:

  “The personality of the victim is the cause of many a murder.”

  When the film ended, Lynette sat forward and looked at her sister. “But how does this help us? I mean, what’s the point?”

  “Well, like Missy said, we don’t really know the victim at all. One person tells us she was a nightmare, another says she’s a saint. I think what Poirot’s trying to say is it’s important to be honest about a victim if you’re going to solve their murder or disappearance or whatever. Think about Arthur for instance. I mean, he wasn’t murdered because he was a lovely bloke. Quite the opposite, I’m sure, and it won’t help investigators to pretend otherwise. If you want to get at the truth you need to face it, head on. It’s most likely someone had had enough of Arthur’s patronising behaviour or his affairs or whatever.”

  “But if it’s a random attack, a mugging...” began Lynette.

  “Then that’s different, obviously. But if someone is murdered in cold
blood, there’s usually a good reason, and it’s usually because someone had a beef with them. Obviously. It’s called motive. So what did Arthur do to piss someone off so badly that they took a golf club to his head? And, more importantly, what did Barbara do?”

  Lynette sat back and thought about this. “But, but she might not have done anything. She might just have been in the way.”

  “In whose way?” Alicia asked. “That’s why we need to find out more about her. We’ve all been delusional! Missy can be irritating sometimes, the way she blabs on, but in this case she is spot on. We don’t know Barbara Parlour at all. How could we? We met her twice for a few hours each time. We only saw what she wanted us to see, or not see as the case may be. But who is Barbara really? And what did she do that caused her disappearance? The same could be said for everyone in the book club. What do we know about any of them? They’re all a bit, I dunno, strange. It’s like they’re all hiding something...”

  Lynette looked completely confused now. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, take Perry. He’s got some bee in his bonnet about Claire, God knows what that’s about. I’m too terrified to ask. And Claire... well, what’s her story? Seems like a bit of a control freak to me, and why hasn’t she married her fiancé? As for Missy—say what you like but it’s not every day that someone tries to run you over. What the hell was that about? And don’t get me started on bloody Anders! He tells us he’s single, turns out he’s not.”

  “He’s not?!”

  “No he bloody well is not. He’s married. There. It’s out!”

  Lynette stared hard at her sister. “Are you okay?”

  “Of course I’m okay, why wouldn’t I be okay?! What’s any of this got to do with me?!”

  “Alright, take a chill pill.” Lynette held up her hands to placate her. “It’s just that I thought that you and him, you know?”

  “No! No, not at all.”

  “Well, if you insist—”

  Lynette did not get a chance to finish her sentence as the phone began screeching from the other side of the room. Alicia jumped, staring at it and back at her sister. It was just after 11:00 p.m. Too late for a social call. Her first thought was that Anders was ringing to quit the book club. Good riddance! She thought even as her heart did a lurch. Then it occurred to her that something dreadful might have happened to her parents or her brother. A violent home invasion in Cairns, where they lived? A car crash, perhaps? Her heart lurched again.

  “I’ll get it,” Lynette said breezily, never as perturbed by late callers as her older sister. “Hello?”

  She spoke for just a few seconds when her eyes widened and she began clicking her fingers, pointing at something on the coffee table.

  Alicia shook her head. “What?” she mouthed, confused.

  “The remote!” Lynette said, holding one hand over the mouthpiece. “Put the TV on the ABC!”

  Alicia did as requested while Lynette held onto the phone. It was the late news bulletin and a bedraggled looking reporter was standing under an umbrella outside the Parlour mansion in Woollahra. She sounded flustered.

  “Yes, James,” she was saying, “that’s correct. Unfortunately, we don’t know any more at this stage but we’ll keep you posted.”

  The visual than clicked back to a well-groomed man at the station. “Thanks for that Verity. That was Verity Velour there reporting from Woollahra. We’ll have more on this breaking story as it unfolds. Now, to business matters and the ASX 100—”

  Alicia pressed mute and turned back to her sister who was speaking into the phone, shaking her head.

  “What! Really? Oh my God! Alicia was with her just hours ago... Yep, yep... Okay, well, you let the others know and... oh, absolutely, we need to meet again. Let’s try tomorrow... Got it... You will? Fantastic, I appreciate it. Have you got all their numbers? Excellent, okay... Yep, okay see you then. Thanks Missy. Bye.”

  She hung up and turned back to her wide-eyed sister.

  “Please don’t tell me they’ve found Barbara’s body.”

  “No, no, it’s not that at all.” Lynette sat back down, looking mystified.

  “Then what?!”

  “It’s about Arthur.”

  “Now what?”

  “They’re holding someone in connection with his murder.”

  Alicia relaxed a little. “Great. Who?”

  “Wanda Birchin.” Lynette squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the scream, which came very quickly.

  “No way!” Alicia cried. “Why? When?”

  “Don’t know much more than that. Missy just heard it on the news. It said something about holding her for questioning.”

  “Which we all know is police speak for being under arrest. Oh shit! I just can’t believe it. She must have spoken to the cops like I asked her to. Oh God I feel terrible!”

  “Don’t you dare,” said Lynette. “They wouldn’t be holding her if she didn’t have something to do with it. They must have searched her place and found something. Or maybe they got her to confess.”

  “I can’t believe that.”

  “Maybe it was manslaughter or she’s an accessory after the fact, covering up for the hubby?”

  “Hmm, maybe. Still, I can’t help feeling terrible. Bloody hell, I really thought she was innocent. I thought she’d confess her affair, maybe ruin her marriage, and that’d be it...”

  She thought then of what Anders had said and realised that she had spent the afternoon in the house of a killer. He wasn’t over-reacting after all.

  “You don’t really know Wanda,” Lynette was saying, reading her thoughts. “It’s exactly what you were just saying, and you’re right. We’re all relative strangers in this. Apart from you and I, none of us really know each other, let alone Wanda or Barbara or Arthur. Think about it, you met Wanda, what, twice?”

  “Still, you think your instincts will start clanging away or something. I just didn’t pick her for a cold-blooded killer, that’s all. I wonder what they found.”

  Lynette grabbed the remote from her and began flicking through the TV channels, trying to find more news. “You know, it makes sense if you connect the dots, Lis’. Think about it. She was having an affair with Arthur, we know that for a fact. We also know he didn’t want a whiff of a scandal in the lead up to his political campaign, he told Missy that himself. So why would he go to Wanda’s house and try and play around again? He knows the press are on to him; that would be stupid. Maybe Wanda lied to you about that afternoon. Maybe Arthur went to her house to break it off with her and Wanda wasn’t having it. Maybe she was so furious she killed him in a moment of blind passion. Or... or... maybe she killed Barbara first so she could be with him and when he found out he confronted her and she killed him, too. Maybe that’s why he dropped in to see her that day?” She stopped. “God, now I sound like you and Perry!”

  Alicia let out a long, sad sigh but she was no longer listening to her sister. Instead she was recalling another line from the film they’d just watched, another pearl of wisdom from the incomparable Hercule Poirot:

  “Old sins have long shadows.”

  She wondered now, which of Wanda Birchin’s many sins had finally caught up with her.

  Chapter 25

  The start of the new week was as glorious as a day could be—the sun was warm, the breeze was gentle, and the two Finlay sisters were not in the mood for work. It never helped when the weather was this good, but it was especially hard in the light of last night’s events. How on earth were they going to concentrate on something as mundane as work?

  Lynette was already holding up the white flag and had decided to take the morning off. Dressed in an extremely mini, yellow sundress and insanely high, wedge sandals, she was just hanging up the phone from her unimpressed boss when her sister appeared for breakfast.

  “You’re late for work,” Alicia mumbled, reaching for a cereal bowl.

  She’d had a terrible nights sleep, tossing and turning with feelings of both guilt and anger. Guilt because
she’d forced Wanda to go to the police in the first place, and anger because the woman had so blatantly lied to her face, over and over.

  Then, of course, there was that tiff with Anders. She kept replaying it in her mind. Did this mean he was no longer part of the Agatha Christie Book Club? And why did he tell them all he was single when he was not?

  Perhaps Anders and his wife were separated, she thought hopefully. She had certainly seen no signs of another woman in his house that day he hosted book club. But if that was the case, why didn’t he just say that yesterday? Why keep her in the dark? Her heart did its usual twist. Maybe Anders wanted to reconcile with his wife, maybe they were still in love?! She shuddered, trying to erase him from her mind.

  “I’ve just told Mario not to expect me this morning,” Lynette said, cutting through. “He’s spitting chips, of course, but tough luck. I’m determined to see Niles again, if it kills me!”

  “Having a little dip down at Balmoral while you’re there?” Alicia indicated the bikini strap that was poking out from beneath her sister’s sundress.

  “Why not? If this horrible affair has taught us one thing, Lis’, it’s to enjoy life while we can. Fancy joining me? We can get fish and chips afterwards. There’s a great fish place down there.”

  Alicia poured some muesli and milk into the bowl and dropped onto a kitchen stool to eat. “Sorry, you’re on your own. I want to go back to the house—”

  “Barbara’s house? I thought we’d all agreed to stay clear of the place.”

  “That was before Wanda murdered Arthur. Now I have to go back, see if we’ve missed anything. Besides, I want to see if Rosa’s there, ask her about that strange advertisement she put in the classifieds.”

  She took a mouthful of muesli and stared into her bowl glumly.

  “You okay?” asked Lynette, eyes squinting. “You look like crap.”

  “Gee, thanks Lynny.”

  “Sorry, but you look exhausted and, well, you were pretty bloody cranky last night. Want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “I’m fine, just had trouble sleeping that’s all.”