“Is he inside the house?” she whispered.
Wynne felt her stomach lurch. “Ted?” He’d been so rude to Venus at lunch, but Wynne had put that down to some form of generic meanness that had seen him insult Wynne after she’d left the room as well. Surely the old man hadn’t scared —
“The policeman, “ Venus hissed, reaching forward to snatch at Wynne’s arm and pull her into the pantry. The door swung closed behind her and the light abruptly extinguished.
It was close and warm, and over the doughy smell of flour and biscuits Wynne was abruptly aware of the scent of Venus’s damp hair. Of course, Wynne had smelt other girls’ hair lots of times when they’d been standing close, but for some reason this time her stomach gave a funny little lurch. Not in fright. “Are you in trouble with the police?” she asked softly.
“I think so.”
“What have you done?”
“A man died,” Venus answered, then she hiccupped a breath and Wynne heard loud swallowing. “A shark ate him, but before that he… I remember he grabbed me, in the water. I was in a weak physical condition. My legs were… not working properly,” she went on, her voice shaky, her breath grazing Wynne’s cheek. “I remember his hands on me. I was so frightened. I just wanted to get to the beach. I thought I was going to die.”
“What did he do to you?” Wynne found herself turning towards Venus and the girl’s breath brushed her lips.
“Baz told me the man was trying to rescue me but… I felt so sick when he touched me.”
No mistaking the fear in her voice. Wynne wished she’d been there. She would have shot the bastard herself. “But if a shark killed him, why do the police want you?”
“I don’t know. I’m just scared.”
Wynne heard a soft intake of breath. A sob? She reached out in the darkness and fumbled to pull Venus’s head against her shoulder. “It’s all right, baby. You’re safe now,” Wynne said, her all men are bastards button firmly depressed. Venus was like one of Wynne’s senior girls, way too young to know how to handle a situation like that, and she wished she’d been there to protect her.
“But the police have come back.” Venus’s voice was starting to rise again. “They’ll take me away —”
“Shush, shush,” Wynne soothed, stroking Venus’s hair, pushing it away from her face. “I won’t let them find you.”
“Oh, Wynne.” Venus hugged her then, and though Wynne was in her highest heels, she still only came up to Venus’s chin. So consequently she found herself with her lips against the other girl’s throat.
“You’ll be fine,” she said, but it came out as a croak and her patting hands suddenly felt awkward on Venus’s all–but–naked back.
“You smell delicious, Wynne,” Venus whispered. “Like strawberries. I like strawberry jam.”
“It’s my lip gloss,” Wynne replied, realizing it would now be smeared against Venus’s throat. She pulled back a little.
“Can I taste it?” Venus said, and before Wynne could suck in a surprised breath, Venus had tilted her head up to —
“No!” Wynne gasped, and pushed out of Venus’s grasp to skitter back up against the door. “I’m not gay!”
“But don’t you want pleasure? I do,” Venus replied, and Wynne would swear the girl was smiling. Bloody darkness.
“I told you I’m not gay,” she hissed.
“You don’t know unless you try,” Venus said, as though Wynne was being unreasonable.
Wynne shook her head “I’m getting out of here,” she said, and scrabbled for the doorknob behind her.
“The policeman,” Venus hissed. “Someone needs to get rid of him.”
“Baz can handle it.”
“He’s not here,” Venus whined. “I heard him talking to his father at sunset, then they both went away. Baz was upset.”
“All right then, I’ll find him.”
“That will be too late. Please, Wynne.”
Wynne gritted her teeth in the dark, overcome by the insane urge to lead the policeman right back to the pantry, to get rid of Venus who was trouble with a Capital T.
“Please!”
“Oh all right I’ll do it,” Wynne snapped, knowing quite well she wasn’t going to turn the poor girl in just because she’d tried to kiss her. Venus needed adult guidance, not a jail sentence. She and Baz could work out how to do that when the policeman was gone.
“What will you tell him?” Venus whispered urgently.
Wynne dragged her mind back from thinking about she and Baz as a team, to the situation with the policeman. “What should I tell him?”
“That I’ve run away. Baz told them I ran away two nights ago.”
“Baz… lied to the police?” The team disintegrated in front of Wynne’s eyes as she grappled with why Baz would do that. The obvious reason would be that he was attracted to Venus, but even if he had been, she was clearly gay. And young. If Baz had been creepy like that, there would have been rumors at school. Besides, she felt like she knew him now. That just wasn’t Baz. So she decided to believe that he was incredibly brave, protecting a poor defenseless girl from a wrongful accusation. “Okay,” she told Venus. “That was before I arrived so I’ll pretend I’ve only heard about you and not met you.”
“You’re very clever, Wynne,” Venus whispered and again Wynne wished it wasn’t pitch black. There’d been something in the girl’s voice, some… overtone she couldn’t decipher.
“So, where is this cop?” Wynne asked briskly, thinking it would be clever to get out of the pantry before Venus decided to get frisky again.
“I saw him outside,” Venus whispered back. “Looking around in the dark.”
“He didn’t come to the door?” The something not right alarm went off in Wynne’s head. “Are you sure he’s a policeman?”
“He came the other day. Baz said… the police.”
Wynne sniffed. “Then he’s not following procedure and he’ll get into trouble for that.”
“Be careful, Wynne.” Venus reached out and fumbled for Wynne’s hand. Strangely, the touch wasn’t repulsive. In fact, Wynne felt okay squeezing Venus’s hand in reassurance
“Just stay here,” Wynne said. “I’ll come back for you when he’s gone.”
“Wynne… I like you better than Baz,” Venus blurted.
Wynne wasn’t about to reciprocate that. She intended to marry Baz, and have Venus out of the picture. But not like this. Not being dragged off and harassed when she’d clearly been the victim. No–one deserved that. And when it came right down to it, women had to stand together. No matter what. “I’ll be quick,” she promised, then she let herself out, risking a glance back at Venus to smile encouragingly as the pantry light came on.
Then the door was shut and she was walking away through the kitchen, the image of that tiny bikini engraved on her mind. But only because it was so unique. After all, Wynne had always been interested in fashion.
Chapter Twenty–Seven
Liam Moore was pissed off. Seriously pissed off. Not only had he wasted hours searching the track for Venus Houdini Dalrymple, he’d just ripped his jacket on some spiky bush. Fucking useless torch batteries. Always giving out at the most inopportune moment. He should have stayed at the well–lit front door and kept knocking.
“Officer…? Who are you?”
Moore turned and all but growled in frustration.
A five foot nothing female, backlit by the moon, raised her chin. “And what are you doing skulking around here in the dark?”
Skulking?
“Perhaps you lack a torch, to go with your lack of procedure. I assume you have a search warrant. You’re on private property.”
Charming. “Have we met, Miss?” he said, squeezing civility out of himself. Blood out of a stone.
“No we have not,” she replied tartly. “However I will be acquainting myself with your superior in the very near future.”
Fucking delightful. “I’m looking for Mr Wilson, Miss. He didn’t answer the door —�
�
“You didn’t knock.”
“Your name, Miss,” Moore replied, trying to claim back some authority in the situation.
“If your presence here was lawful you’d have a search warrant and you would have knocked on the front door.”
“You. Name. Miss?”
The girl sniffed. “Winifred Malone,” she replied begrudgingly. “I’m a colleague of Balthazar’s.”
“Thank you, Miss Mal —”
“What are you looking for?”
Moore thought about that for a second and decided she couldn’t be any less helpful. He may as well ask her. “Venus Dalrymple. Or at least that’s the alias she’s using. We find no record of her on our computers. She’s supposed to be the housekeeper. Have you seen her?”
“I was told she ran away before I arrived.”
“In what direction?”
The small shoulders shrugged. “Baz told me he woke up and she was gone. He’s looking for a new housekeeper currently. Do you know anyone suitable?”
Moore ignored that. “I’ll need to speak to the younger Mr Wilson. He’s given us permission to inspect Miss Dalrymple’s room.”
There was a pause while she thought that over. “Baz has gone for a swim,” she said at last.
Moore turned towards the pool area that he’d already reconnoitered. “I saw his father dozing on a banana lounge.” And had given him a wide berth. Strange old man.
“In the ocean,” Malone added, with an odd tone in her voice, as if she wasn’t quite sure about that.
He turned back and raised an eyebrow. “Balthazar Wilson is swimming in the ocean?”
“I don’t know when he’ll be back. But I can show you the girl’s room.”
“At night?”
“There are lights inside the house.”
“I meant the swimming. At night. In the ocean.”
“Yes,” she drawled. “He just wandered off without a torch. Lot of that going on tonight.”
Moore started to get an I’m sick of this whole investigation thing happening inside his head but he struggled to push it aside, to keep focused. “Fine. Lead on,” he replied and followed her up onto the back veranda
Then she pointed along it and said, “I’ll meet you at the front door,” so he had no option but to walk around the veranda and wait while she walked through the house to meet him.
When she’d opened the door and let him in they stood in the foyer, and for the oddest few seconds Moore wondered if she was about to throw him back out. Then he saw her glance down the hall furtively and he realised she was hiding something. “Miss Dalrymple’s room?” he asked.
She glanced back at him a moment longer then said, “I don’t know where it is,” and smiled apologetically. Forced smile. Scarlet red lips. Hairdresser perfect hair.
Moore blinked then, and in the bright light of the foyer he registered that she was all dolled up. He pointed to the dress. “Were you going out?” he asked.
“No,” she replied quickly. “They dress for dinner at Saltwood.”
“Really?” On his last visit he’d seen the elder Mr Wilson wearing pajamas under a cardigan. “So Balthazar got dressed for dinner, then he went for a swim?”
“Not in his formal clothes!” She laughed, but it was brittle.
Moore decided to follow his instincts. “So what was for dinner?”
Her mouth came open but she simply stood looking up at him with those big unblinking eyes. “Chicken,” she said at last. Unconvincingly.
Hmmm.
She blinked and added, “Roast chicken and vegetables. I helped cut the vegetables.”
Sure you did. “Then you went off and got all dressed up for dinner?”
She let out her breath. “Exactly.”
“Okay,” he said and nodded. Then he looked down the hallway. “I was here two days ago interviewing Miss Dalrymple. I remember the way to her room,” he said and pointed. “Can I lead?”
“Please do.” She stepped aside, unable to disguise the relief in her voice. Relief that he knew where to go? Or relief that the questions about Wilson were finished?
For now.
Moore set off down the hallway and was very much aware of her tap–tapping behind him in stiletto heels. She was lying to him — no doubt about that — but watching Waikeri had taught him that people often lied about matters that had nothing to do with an investigation. Maybe little Wynne was married and hiding an affair with her ‘colleague’.
Wilson had certainly been edgy when they’d interviewed him last, especially about his housekeeper’s sudden arrival. Moore would have put money on Dalrymple having been at Saltwood for some time before her ‘near drowning’, and that Wilson was her lover. If that was the case, Dalrymple’s disappearance could have been precipitated by Malone’s imminent arrival — nothing to do with involvement in a crime.
Unless the nail polish sample matched the victim’s body.
“How long have you known Mr Wilson?” Moore asked the little firecracker beside him as he stopped at the Dalrymple girl’s door.
“Ten … no twelve months I think,” she replied and gestured for him to open the door. “We both worked at the same school. He taught science. I taught art.”
“You two an item?” Moore watched her closely enough to see a blush spreading up from her throat.
“Is that a professional question?” she asked, chin up again.
“Nah. Curiosity,” he said and pushed open the door to step into the white tiled entry which was splattered with a dark purple liquid. Not blood. “Interesting.” He followed the trail into the bedroom where he found the four–poster bed stripped of linen. The timber frame, the cream carpet and the mattress were all splattered in purple. “Do you think she did this?” he asked over his shoulder.
Wynne, who had been standing in the entry with her mouth open, followed him into the bedroom and looked around. “Baz told me he was redecorating the guest suite,” she said. “I’ve never been in here before. It’s…”
“A mess,” he finished for her, taking a digital camera out of his pocket and snapping off a few shots. “And it wasn’t like this two days ago. Not exactly what you’d expect from a housekeeper.”
Wynne just stood there blinking, looking from carpet to bed to entry. At last she said, “The cleaning lady comes Friday. Tomorrow. Baz told me that. Glenda, her name is,” she said, then added, “I was looking forward to meeting her. I wonder if I should try and… sort this out before she comes?”
“So you never met Dalrymple? The housekeeper,” Moore asked, stepping forward to inspect the mattress for tell–tales. There were certainly stains there that could be evidence of sexual activity, but no blue green scales.
“I arrived yesterday afternoon,” Wynne said faintly. “She was gone by then.”
“Good looking young woman,” Moore commented, walking back through the entryway to inspect the sitting room which was equally splattered. Easily hundreds of dollars worth of damage. Maybe thousands if the carpet couldn’t be restored.
“Why would you say that?” Wynne said. “To me?”
He turned back to find her in the sitting room doorway, her shock replaced by suspicion.
“Because it’s true,” he replied.
“I’m sure that has nothing to do with your investigation. Why tell me she’s good looking?”
He shrugged, “No reason,” and pointed to the closed front door. “Could I ask you to stand there, Miss Malone, while I take some samples for Forensics.”
“Samples of what?”
“Nail polish.”
“What do you need that for?”
“Our investigation.”
“I thought the man died of a shark attack.”
“No, he drowned before that,” Moore told her, watching her closely to see if she might give something away, something Wilson had told her.
She simply batted her thick, fake eyelashes and said, “You think this housekeeper had something to do with that?”
He shrugged. “Just following leads.”
“You’ve spoken to Mr Wilson. I’m sure he could vouch for her character. I mean, if she’s worked here for some time…”
Moore wanted to smile. So Wilson hadn’t told her everything. Maybe there was a love triangle. “According to Mr Wilson,” Moore said, “she arrived the day of the shark attack and ran away the same night. He told us she was the housekeeper he’d been expecting, but we’ve seen no ID to prove that. He could be lying. She could be a stranger.”
Wynne tried to laugh but it didn’t quite come off. “Why would he take in a stranger and lie about it?” she asked. But rather than countering Moore’s speculation, her words seemed to conjure his recent observation, good looking young woman, to hang in the air between them. For a moment she simply stood blinking, her face completely expressionless. Then she said stiffly, “I’ve only been here a day myself, Officer …”
“Constable Moore,” he said. “Liam Moore.”
“I’m hardly expected to know all the details of Mr Wilson’s… staffing arrangement.”
“How long are you staying, Miss Malone?” he asked.
She turned her attention back to him and seemed to note his watchful expression. That little chin came up again. “My car is bogged. I’ll have to phone the car club to get that sorted. Probably another couple of days. Am I part of this investigation now?”
Moore shook his head. “You’re free to come and go as you please. I’m sure you’re not involved in this… situation. Clearly, it all happened before you got here.”
Wynne nodded. “Very well,” she said coldly, “I’ll stand at the door,” but he noticed her eyes had the faraway look of a woman with plenty to think about.
Moore went about the business of searching the carpet and the furniture for blue–green scales. He found strips of purple fabric and lots of stains but despite a thorough searching, there were zero scales.
He kept the frustration out of his voice, however, when he came back to Wynne. “Were their any other rooms Miss Dalrymple inhabited?”
Marriage & the Mermaid (Hapless Heroes) Page 18
