by Sarah Kelly
One thing was for sure, she wanted to speak to both Hayden and Mark again.
Taking a walk around the sprawling beach house, hoping to bump into one of them, she marveled at the beauty of the place. Someone had obviously paid a great deal of attention to detail, as every single item in the house had been specially hand picked to fit in with the color scheme and theme of each room.
She paused at the doorway of a lovely drawing room, which led onto a totally different veranda that she had not yet stepped onto. In a strong contrast with the beige, pale blue and muted tones of the rest of the house, this room exploded with color. A deep pink rug stretched clear across the polished wooden floor, and the white sofas were drowning with cushions in bold limes and olives and parakeet greens. Every single object in the room was pink, green, white, or a combination. The walls were painted in a muted green, but bright pink abstract art pieces were hung up in huge white frames, and the effect was quite stunning.
“Why are you always skulking about?” a harsh voice said behind her, unnervingly close.
She whipped around to see Mark Meyer’s unshaven face looming above.
“People might begin to suspect you,” he said. “You were here both days, weren’t you? When Erica was killed, and when Answer died.”
India felt a sinking feeling in her whole body. He was truly a horrible person to be around. “What motive could I possibly have? I don’t even know these people.”
He shrugged. “Maybe you’re one of those sick serial killers.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You might kill Gianna next.”
“Why Gianna?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “You seem to like killing women.”
India crossed her arms and thrust up her chin. “We both know I didn’t do it. Maybe you’re accusing me to throw the heat off yourself.”
“Don’t accuse me,” he spat.
“But you just accused me!”
“Any idiot can see it’s different,” he said. “No one will really suspect you. It isn’t you. I know that. But anyone could suspect me at any time. Any suspicion around me could lead to me spending the rest of my life in prison.”
India saw her opportunity, and grabbed it. “I understand. You know, it’s a nice day outside, why don’t we go onto the veranda? You can tell me your side of everything, and then I can vouch for you. Detective Kimble will be coming over for interviews in a couple of days, but if you repeat to me what you would say to him, it might give you more credibility.”
Mark sneered. “How stupid do you think I am? You’re trying to lure me into some trap. I’ll talk to you, because I have nothing to hide. But don’t think your little speeches are convincing me. You look innocent, but you’re about as innocent as a tiger lurking in the bush, waiting to pounce on its prey.”
“So you’ll talk to me?”
Mark pushed past her into the drawing room and walked toward the outside door. “I haven’t got much time, so you’ll make it quick.”
CHAPTER 8
India watched as a tiny hummingbird hovered around a patch of purple-pink bee balm flowers just outside the veranda railing. Its wings flapping so quickly that they blurred, it darted from flower to flower.
India glanced up to see Mark watching too, the corners of his lips turned down. His eyes were filled with sadness, with none of the glazed over hatred and fear that normally shone in them. Her heart went out to him for a moment. He was obviously suffering, but had too much pride to allow anyone to know it.
But was he suffering because of his affection for Onyx and Answer?
Or because of the dreadful guilt he carried?
India couldn’t tell.
She sat, taking in the cool breeze that blew in from the sea, letting her mind formulate all the links between unconnected events. Soon enough a question would bubble up to the surface.
“As soon as this business is over, I’ll be hiring a housekeeper,” he said. “In a mansion far far away from here. Perhaps the Caribbean. Or a Pacific island. I can’t be doing with this getting my own food and drinks stuff. And dust is beginning to accumulate on all the furniture.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” said India.
“You’re not the one trapped here,” he snapped back. “Now, sitting out here, we require drinks. Yet there is no one to bring them to us.”
It’s quite simple, India thought. Just walk to the kitchen and pour one yourself.
But she didn’t want to antagonize him, so kept her mouth shut.
India suddenly had a brain wave. It was risky, but who knew what it could bring out of him? The idea was too tantalizing to leave alone. “You know what I think?” she said confidently.
“What?” he said, then took a glance at his wristwatch.
“Gianna killed Onyx to get clear access to Hayden,” India said. “Then Answer found out and was going to go to the cops so Hayden killed her to save his lover.”
“No, no, no,” Mark said impatiently. “As I told you before, Answer was the one that killed Erica, by putting poison in those silly little bottles. She wanted the money from her will, because a whole lot had just come in from the show tickets.”
“Then who killed Answer?”
“Hayden, obviously,” Mark said. “Even though he was madly in love with Gianna, he still was fond of Erica.”
“Hmm.” India crossed her arms and looked directly into his eyes, which were clouded with suspicion. “Another theory I had is that Gianna and Hayden were working together. They killed Onyx so they could be together freely, and then when Answer found out they killed her, too.”
Mark looked out over the sea. “You’re not the only one who has considered that.”
It struck India then that she was face to face with a rather intelligent man. He had evidently been thinking about the case in depth, and who could have committed the crime. He had trimmed his facial hair and was wearing a light gray linen suit that complemented his deep tan complexion. In truth, he was rather striking, like a glamorous movie star of the olden days.
India found herself wondering why he had been so antagonistic. Had he been hurt so much in the past he couldn’t open up and be vulnerable?
“Hayden told me you have a wife and three kids.”
Mark got up from the chair and went over to the veranda railing in an angry step. “Had. I’m single now. Not that it’s his business. Or yours.”
“Sorry, sir,” India said gently, but wanted to press on. “Is that because… because of your feelings towards Onyx… Erica?”
He whipped around to face her, and for the first time she saw him in a true expression of emotion. His eyes shone with unfallen tears. “Erica was very dear to me. We had our flirtations, but our love went much deeper than that. I rescued her. All the time I rescued her from herself, and from the world. Over and over again. She couldn’t take care of herself.”
“Yes,” said India. “I hate to be indelicate, Mr Meyer, but if you were so fond of Erica, wouldn’t it follow that you could have killed Answer? To avenge Erica?”
Mark paced the veranda. “Yes, it would follow. But I did not.”
“What were you doing when Answer was killed?”
He paused a moment, evidently thinking back. “I was in my room, on my phone.”
“Playing poker?”
Anger flickered across his face. “Yes. So what?”
“Was anyone there with you?”
He put his hands on his hips. “Like who? You really think Gianna was in my bedroom? Hayden? These could be killers I’m stuck with. I’m not about to ask them into my room for a tea party now, am I?”
India leant forward in her chair. “So you think Gianna could potentially be involved?”
He walked back to his white wicker seat and slumped down in it. “I cannot claim to know. In the past, I would have said definitely not, but now I am not so sure. I don’t think she’s the type to kill, but who can really tell? She’s feisty, but… well, she has a very soft heart.�
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“Yes,” said India. “She’s gorgeous, too, isn’t she?”
Mark shrugged. “Not really my type.”
“What is your type?”
He sighed. “Small, dark haired women, I suppose.”
India couldn’t resist. “Like Onyx? Like Erica?”
Mark stared out over the sea and made no reply. India decided not to press it.
“If Gianna did kill Onyx, to get her out of the way so she could have Hayden all to herself,” India said, “then she must have really thought that Hayden would never extract himself on his own.”
“Or they did it together, because Hayden would get his hands on her money,” Mark said bitterly. “Who knows?”
“How long has Gianna worked as Onyx’s image consultant?”
Mark thought back. “About a year now. We hired her especially for the concerts. Erica’s old image consultant from the glory days has long since retired.” He chuckled bitterly. “That’s how long ago it was.”
India watched the palm trees sway in the breeze. She knew if she didn’t stop thinking, soon her thoughts would be all tangled, her head would pound and she’d have no choice but to stop. So instead, she just let all her thoughts slip away. She would go with the flow, she told herself, let the questions come to her.
Good choice, mami.
Thanks, Luis.
“That must have been hard for both you and Onyx,” India said, without even thinking. “Losing all that fame, that money, that prestige. And quite scary to try and get it back, like you’re doing with these shows.”
He shrugged. “We had nothing to lose.”
“You had a whole legacy to lose! Onyx was a total icon in the early 90s.”
He looked her dead in the eyes. “Let me be frank with you. She was a washed up old pop star, who had lost her figure, her voice, which she didn’t have much of in the first place, and her youth. Up to her eyeballs in tax bills. I…” He looked down at his feet, then back up again, his face set like stone. “I am her washed up manager. With gambling debts. Lost my family. Lost my life. All we had was this second chance.”
India looked down. “I know this might sound insensitive because of Onyx’s passing, but you did get your money from the concert tickets already, right?”
“Oh yes,” he said. “I’m financially covered now, and can move on. I only wish I could say the same for Erica.”
“Yes.” India had never really known someone who had died before, much less been murdered. The idea that someone could be there, full of life one day, and the next be gone forever, was strange, and quite disconcerting.
“We should release a tribute CD,” Mark said with enthusiasm, like it had just popped into his mind. “That is how Erica would have wanted to be remembered. We can release all the work of her glory days, and bring her back for her last dose of fame, even if… she’s not here.” His eyes lit up. “Maybe she’ll even get a posthumous award!”
India softened. “I can see you care about her a great deal, Mr Meyer.”
“Yes,” he said, his eyes welling up again. “Yes, I do.”
A little while later, India passed back through the house toward the front door. She had no intention of doing any more investigating for the day. Even having gone with the flow, her brain still buzzed with ideas. She planned to head down to the beach and relax for the afternoon. Paddling in the warm, clear sea and pushing her toes into the soft sand always cleared her mind.
But as India stepped out onto the porch, fishing for change for the bus in her purse, she saw Hayden sitting under a coconut tree, slumped over. Her heart beat stopped for a split second. Fearing the worst, she dashed down the wooden stairs and sprinted towards him.
No, please, please don’t be dead.
Her hand was shaking as she reached out to touch his shoulder. Was he going to be cold to the touch? When her fingertips grazed his back through his crumpled shirt, she was so relieved to find he was warm. However, he did not move. She tapped him a little harder, and then, when he did not respond, she gave him a small thump.
“Oh!” he said, jerking awake so abruptly he made India jump.
She clutched her chest and laughed. “Oh god, Hayden, you scared me.”
She expected him to laugh along, but when he looked up, his eyes were hazy and confused.
“Hayden, are you okay?”
India knelt down in front of him, and it was then she caught sight of the empty bottle of alcohol that lay discarded on the grass next to him. “Oh, heck,” she said. “You’re really drunk, aren’t you?”
Hayden burst into tears and sobbed openly, with no shame whatsoever.
India’s first instinct was to hug him, tears springing to her own eyes, but she resisted. First, he was raging drunk, second, there was a good chance he might vomit over her, and third, he could be a murderer. So she crouched a way in front of him. “What’s wrong?” she said, almost having to shout to be heard over his sobs.
“Gianna won’t talk to me,” he wailed.
India had not expected that. “She won’t?” Already her mind was racing, trying to work out why that would be. Maybe Gianna was the killer, having kept it a secret from him, but now found it too hard not to tell him? Or maybe they had been in it together, and she had changed her mind and backed out? Or maybe he had done it alone, but she had found out? Or he had confessed? Or perhaps she was just so paranoid about everyone she was withdrawing into a shell? There were too many possibilities.
“No,” Hayden said, almost choking on his own saliva. “Now I’ve lost everything. Erica and Gianna.” He curled up in a ball on the grass and began to cry again.
India was at a loss for what to do, or what to think. In the end she ran inside to get Mark. Though she knew he wasn’t exactly Mother Theresa, she didn’t think it wise to fetch Gianna, given what Hayden had just disclosed. India only wanted someone to be aware of where Hayden was and what he was doing.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” Mark said airily, standing on the front porch and looking down at Hayden with disdain. “They always used to do this. Erica and Hayden. Get raging drunk, laugh and play games and swim, and then curl up and cry in the fetal position. It’s nothing new.”
“Oh,” India said. “It just… looks quite… well, disturbing, really.”
Mark leant against a veranda post. “The world of celebrity looks glamorous on the outside, but if anything it’s rotten to the core. Gaining fame, losing fame, gaining money, losing money, it does things to people. It destroys people.”
“Yes,” said India, shaking her head. “Yes.”
***
After a day on the beach, trying to think of anything but the case but unable to stop, India sat in the Indian restaurant across from Xavier. The place was gorgeous, bedecked with orange and yellow and deep red satin hangings, and golden lanterns strung up above them. A huge dark wood elephant stood in the corner, and a full wall fountain splashed down cooling water behind it.
“Feel like a feast tonight?” Xavier said, his eyes flashing.
“You bet,” India said with a giggle. “I think we could end up just as fat here as in Frankie’s.”
Xavier looked over the menu. “Fatter. Hey look, this is perfect! The Bombay Feast. That’s got a lamb tikka marinated in tandoori spices and grilled on skewers, plus a kashmiri murgh.”
“What’s that?” India asked, flicking through the menu trying to find it.
“Chicken in a mild sauce, with fresh mixed tropical fruit and exotic spices,” Xavier read.
India’s mouth was already watering. She had only picked up a small salad as she headed out to the beach. “Sounds like heaven.”
“Plus crispy popadoms, doughy naan breads, chickpeas cooked in sweet and sour sauce, spicy potatoes, saffron fried rice, and mango chutney.”
“Wow. Wow. Wow. Let’s get it.”
After they made the order, Xavier took her hands in his. “So, dare I ask how it went today at the mansion?”
“I thought you didn
’t really want to talk about it.”
Xavier sighed and pushed a stray lock away from her face. “I know I said I needed to relax from my job or whatever, but I figured since you said you’re where you’re supposed to be, and you feel like you’re doing the right thing, I’d have to be pretty selfish not to at least hear you out.”
India felt her heart warm toward him. “Zave, you have no idea how much that means to me.”
He smiled a beautiful, wide, genuine smile. “You’re so welcome.”
India smiled right back. “I’ve got a theory.”
“What? Really?”
“I think so,” she said, then broke away to fish a pen out of her bag. “But don’t hold me to it.”
“I’m listening.”
She placed her smartphone on the table and clicked onto the calculator app. “Well, I was doing some calculations down at the beach this afternoon. The tickets for Onyx’s concert cost $110 each, right, and according to some website 250,000 were sold.”
“Wow, that’s pretty good.”
“$110 times by 250,000 is $27 million.” India wrote it down on the paper serviette that she drew out from under her cutlery.
“Yeesh,” Xavier said.
“I’m guessing here, but maybe expenses are $7 million or so, which would take it down to $20 mil. Then Mark gets his 15% cut as her manager, which is $3 million, leaving her with $17 million. After tax, that’s about $10 million.”
“Major payday for the tax man!” Xavier said.
“I know, right? On some trashy celeb gossip site it said she had $6 million in tax bills, which would leave her with $4 million. 50% would go to Answer to distribute to charity, and 50% would go to Hayden. But now Answer’s died, maybe all that money will go to Hayden.”
“Oh, yeah!” Xavier said. “I didn’t even think of that. So you’re saying Hayden killed Erica to get the $2 million, and then, since Answer didn’t have time to give the money to charity, he could get the other $2 million by killing her as well.”
