Dastardly Deeds

by Evans, Ilsa

  However, lengthy wallowing would make me late for the meeting with Deb, so I allowed myself only ten minutes before dancing into the shower. Twenty minutes later I was dressed in white shorts and a black sleeveless shirt. I searched for my black hat before remembering that it had hit the deck in the Grand Bazaar, so I opted for the bandana look once more. I exited the room and nearly ran into Milo, our cleaner. I realised that he must have been waiting, given our room was usually cleaned first thing in the morning. I apologised profusely and made a mental note to leave a tip at the end of the cruise.

  Deb and Petra were already ensconced in one of the semicircular lounges on the deck overlooking the pool. Deckchairs lined the outer area, lumpy with beached bodies that shone with suntan oil. I stopped at the bar to order a champagne and orange juice before settling myself alongside Deb.

  ‘Orange juice?’ she asked, eyeing my drink.

  ‘Vitamin C,’ I replied, taking a sip. It was perfect. Everything was perfect.

  ‘Petra was just telling me that your mother’s leaving early,’ said Deb with concern. ‘Hope everything’s okay?’

  ‘Fine. I think she’s just a little homesick. Nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Deb was just showing me her sunglasses,’ said Petra. ‘She bought them from that guy that ripped you off.’

  I took the cue. ‘Nice, Deb. Did you pay for them yourself?’

  ‘Yes, but there was no problem. He must’ve just made a mistake with you. I mean, we were all buying them, shoving money at him, and he was great. Probably just one of those things.’ She gave me an odd look. ‘At least it was only ten lira. That’s, what, five bucks? Hardly worth making a fuss.’

  ‘Money’s money,’ I said primly.

  ‘Nice sunglasses though.’ She took off hers and examined them. ‘Worth more than what we paid. So they were still a bargain.’

  ‘Did everyone buy some?’ asked Petra.

  ‘Um, I think so. Except Donald. He wears prescription glasses.’

  Petra flashed me a brief glance. ‘What about Scott?’

  ‘What’s with the fascination around sunglasses?’ Deb looked from Petra to me. ‘Is there something going on?’

  ‘Not at all,’ I replied smoothly. ‘Petra just has a little crush on Scott, that’s all.’

  Deb stared at my sister. ‘Do you?’

  ‘It seems so. Who’d have thought?’

  ‘Well, not me.’ Deb laughed. ‘You do remember that he’s hopeless at relationships?’

  ‘That’s right. Well, bugger. Okay, I’ll move on then.’

  Deb picked up her cocktail. It was a vibrant raspberry colour with an orange umbrella. ‘My theory is that he never really got over Anna. Our uni friend who died. They went out for ages, broke up just after graduation. Her doing.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘He took it pretty hard. I think he hoped they’d get back together at some stage, and then she died. Hit by a car. He wrapped himself around the bottle after that. Wasn’t until he met his first wife that he started to get everything together again. That marriage lasted about ten years. The next one wasn’t nearly as long.’

  ‘Sounds like a real catch,’ said Petra. ‘I’m definitely over my little crush now.’

  ‘Nice guy though,’ Deb went on hurriedly, as if not wanting to put Petra off altogether. ‘Give you the shirt off his own back.’

  ‘I’ve got my own shirts, thanks.’

  ‘There you are!’ called Phoebe from the steps. ‘Hang on, I’ll grab a drink.’

  ‘Shit,’ muttered Deb. She flushed guiltily. ‘Not that I don’t love Phoebs – I do. It’s just, well, sometimes I need a bit of space. Although I suppose that’s what you two were saying the other night when I turned up at your room.’

  ‘Not at all,’ I replied loyally. ‘It was fun.’

  Petra was watching Phoebe as she lined up at the bar. ‘What’s her story?’

  ‘Believe it or not, she works as a clerk of courts.’ Deb followed her gaze. ‘Everyone’s always surprised because she comes across as quite alternative. She got voted most likely to join a cult at uni.’

  I laughed. ‘Most likely to join a cult? What did you get?’

  ‘Most likely to break the glass ceiling.’ She grinned. ‘Which was based solely on a women’s lib badge I wore once. Anna gave it to me.’

  Phoebe appeared by the divan, beaming. She was wearing loose cheesecloth pants with a thigh-length shirt and cotton vest. Her hair was in its customary long plait, draped over one shoulder. She looked more likely to organise a sit-in at the courts than work in one. Petra moved over to make room for her.

  ‘Enjoying yourself?’ asked Deb brightly.

  ‘Oh, yes. Had a go at bingo this morning. Haven’t played that since I was a child. And nothing’s changed.’ She smiled. ‘I still didn’t win.’

  ‘Oh, I love bingo!’ I said. Petra flashed me a disdainful, are-we-even-related glance.

  ‘How’s the writing going?’ asked Deb of me. ‘Any improvement?’

  ‘Yes.’ I felt anew the rush of contentment. ‘Finished off a column this morning. About how amazing Rome was.’ Barely had the words left my mouth than I realised they were a trifle insensitive. I would have grabbed them back if I could. Both Deb and Phoebe were looking at me. I rushed on, ‘Not that I wrote about that, about your … about anything, actually. Nothing at all.’

  ‘Well, that should make for an interesting column,’ said Petra.

  ‘It’s okay, Nell,’ said Deb softly. ‘You’re allowed to have enjoyed yourself. We had a great time too, before April died.’

  Phoebe was nodding. ‘I’ll always remember Rome fondly, despite what happened. It was the last place we were all together.’

  ‘Then do you mind if I ask …’ Petra paused as she looked from one to the other. ‘If you were having such a good time, there really was no warning? No signs?’

  Deb was already shaking her head. ‘None at all.’

  ‘Apart from …’ Phoebe ran her fingers through her fringe. It looked like white fairy floss. ‘She did say how hard it had been lately. Remember how you’d been worried about her the day before, Deb? How you’d wanted to check on her?’

  ‘Well, yes. But I never thought … I just thought she was sad.’

  We all lapsed into silence for a while. I reached out to squeeze Deb’s shoulder and she smiled at me gratefully. Then I realised that Petra was trying to get my attention. She waggled her eyebrows and then looked down at her hand. It was positioned by her glass, two fingers stretched out in a V sign. Her burgundy nail polish glittered in the filtered sunshine. I frowned, puzzled. V for victory? For vendetta? For peace? Petra cast me an exasperated look.

  ‘What’s the plan for the rest of the day?’ asked Phoebe. She looked at us expectantly.

  ‘Thought I might spend some time with Lew,’ said Deb.

  ‘Really? Again?’

  ‘Well, he is my husband.’

  ‘Not on this trip,’ said Phoebe lightly, almost playfully. ‘Isn’t that what you said? He’s just another passenger, with his own group of friends.’

  ‘Do you have a partner, Phoebe?’ I asked, giving up on my sister’s inexplicable message. It took me back to our childhood, where her efforts at charades always ended in tantrums and tears. From her.

  ‘Not at the moment.’

  ‘Children?’

  ‘No, never went down that path. But no regrets. Everything happens for a reason.’ She finished her wine. ‘Anyone else for drinks?’

  ‘Nell and I’ll get them,’ said Petra, almost clambering over the top of Phoebe in her haste. She gave me a telling look. ‘Come on, quick sticks.’

  ‘You sound like our mother,’ I grumbled, getting to my feet.

  As soon as we were out of range, Petra grabbed me by the arm. ‘Two deaths! Not one, two!’

  ‘Is that what you were trying to tell me with your peace sign?’

  ‘How was that a peace sign? My palm was downwards. It was just two fingers!’
/>
  ‘Good job you’re not in the secret service. You’d be hopeless.’ I shook off her hand as we reached the bar. I looked at her expectantly. ‘What are they having?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Just get a chardonnay for Phoebe and one of those red cocktail things for Deb.’ She pointed to the menu. ‘I’ll have a chardonnay too.’

  I gave the orders and passed over our swipe cards before turning to my sister. ‘You can’t possibly think that April’s death is connected with Kim Satchwell’s?’

  ‘Two deaths!’

  ‘Yes, you’ve said that.’

  ‘C’mon, it’s just too much of a coincidence. Two deaths in a matter of days. Why didn’t we make the connection before?’

  ‘Because there is none. Kim was murdered. April committed suicide.’

  ‘How do we know for sure? Maybe she was pushed. A second death changes everything. Maybe the same person was behind both. I told you it was that Scott.’

  The bartender placed three glasses of wine on the counter and went off to make the cocktail. I waited until he was out of range. ‘Hang on, it’s a long shot trying to make a connection between Kim and one of us, and now you want to throw April into the mix? What’s the connection between her and Kim? They didn’t even know each other.’

  ‘They didn’t need to,’ said Petra darkly. ‘All that mattered was that the murderer knew them. Think it through. Your theory, based on sound evidence, is that one of our group killed Kim. Well, apart from Ashley and Nick, you had the identical players in place when April died in Rome. Why couldn’t the same person have killed both?’

  I looked away, trying to think of objections. I didn’t want the idea to have any merit at all; it complicated things too much. But she was right.

  Chapter 16

  Leave Lego alone, you stupid woman.

  The view from the back deck was just as spectacular but, after seven days on this glorious ship, I was becoming desensitised to the superlatives. They were like the alcohol, a steady flow whose delights were ever so slightly blunted by constancy. Inebriation still occurred but resistance was building. It was a little sad, but things could hardly have remained like the first day, with conversations perpetually punctured by expressions of wonder. Cruise-ship passengers literally explode with excitement. Greenpeace bemoans resultant oil slick.

  The couple at the table beside me were engaged in a fierce, hissed argument, and had been for ten minutes. Apparently, while enjoying post-dinner cocktails with friends, he had paid an indecorous amount of attention to Marcia Lenham’s tits. His defence was that they weren’t that great anyway, which I felt was probably the wrong approach. His wife appeared to agree.

  I sipped my wine judiciously, mainly because I had consumed several during the afternoon and if I didn’t slow down, I would soon turn into a blithering mess. Ashley was running late. At the next table, Marcia Lenham’s admirer changed his defence suddenly, pointing out that he was not a tall man, and therefore it wasn’t his fault if his vision lined up with her tits. Which, he hastened to add, weren’t that great anyway. His wife suggested in that case it would have been preferable for him not to stand directly in front of her, with his nose buried in her cleavage. Or to have lifted his gaze every so often, and actually make eye contact.

  I had given a great deal of thought to Petra’s theory about there having been two murders instead of just one. It had merit, on the face of it, but I was having trouble making a connection between the two tragedies. I had accepted the evidence that one of our extended group played a part in Kim Satchwell’s demise, but now we were talking about a person who knew both women, and hated them enough to murder them. Not just a serial killer, but one who was cold-blooded enough to board a cruise with blood on their hands and a smile on their face, all the while planning their next murder.

  Ashley appeared by the glass doors, scanning the tables. He mouthed the word ‘sorry’ and then held up two fingers before detouring to the bar. This time I was fairly sure the gesture referred to minutes and not murders. Although, when he made his way across to me, he was carrying two glasses of wine, so perhaps it had been that.

  ‘Here you go.’ He set a glass down beside the almost full one I already had.

  ‘Are you trying to get me drunk?’

  ‘Not drunk.’ He grinned. ‘Just a little … relaxed.’

  I smiled but then changed tack. ‘So why were you late?’

  ‘Sorry about that.’ He leant back, stretching out his legs beneath the table. His foot nestled against mine. ‘We had a conference call with James back in Australia and it went a bit longer than expected.’ He beamed. ‘All the paperwork’s through now. Nothing standing in our way.’

  ‘You’re really going to do it then,’ I pulled my foot away. ‘Build a golf course.’

  ‘Yep. So bloody excited! It’s a new chapter. Nick’s already working on the layout. Did you know he helped design the one he’s been working at past Brisbane?’ He paused expectantly and then frowned. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Oh, good. He’s a top golfer too. Played pro for a couple of years back in the nineties. He’s going to run our pro shop. Are you sure nothing’s up?’

  ‘Positive.’

  ‘Is it because of your mother? I heard she’s going back tomorrow.’

  ‘No.’

  Ashley examined my expression. His frown returned. ‘Ah. You’re upset because I didn’t tell you before Lew made his announcement last night. In my defence, can I say I didn’t want him to do that until everything was absolutely sure, and then I would have told you first. And also, not to be pedantic, but you were the one who broke up with me. Isn’t this just supposed to be a fling?’

  ‘That’s right. And it’s a bit hard to move on from a fling when the flingee is hitting a hole-in-one right up the road!’

  ‘I wish,’ he said fervently, before continuing with a rush. ‘Although yes, you’re probably right. I should have told you. But it’s not like you’ll be running into me. I live in Bendigo, and you don’t play golf.’

  There wasn’t much I could say to that. I sipped my wine, letting the moment stretch. At the adjoining table, the Marcia Lenham controversy had heated up, with the errant husband reverting to the classic shift-the-blame technique. This involved him pointing the finger at Marcia Lenham and her deliberate provocation, as well as the structural design of the push-up bra.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Ashley.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Although you should give it a try. Golf, that is.’

  ‘I think not.’

  ‘I could teach you.’

  I took another sip of wine and then examined the menu. The wife at the next table announced loudly that tomorrow, in Athens, she was going to buy a push-up bra herself, and then she was going to parade her own tits around. See how he liked that. This was probably his cue to insist she didn’t need one, and that she was beautiful the way she was, etc. Instead, unfortunately, his eyes lit up. She glared at him and then dragged her chair around to face the balustrade.

  ‘You’d have to think Greek push-up bras would be superior,’ said Ashley in a low voice. ‘They’re pretty good at architecture.’

  I grinned. ‘Are you ready to order? I’m having the ravioli.’

  ‘I’ll get it.’ He drained his glass and jumped up, weaving his way through the tables towards the bar. He was wearing jeans. I always thought he looked rather good in jeans, particularly from behind. I finished one glass of wine and then pulled the other across. I was feeling a pleasantly muted buzz. A little like white noise in the background.

  Ashley returned with two fresh glasses of wine. I glanced dubiously at mine. ‘Okay, I think that might be enough. I’d like to remain upright.’

  ‘Really?’ He sighed. ‘And once again we’re on different pages.’

  ‘Not necessarily. I just think you’re a couple of chapters ahead.’

  ‘Can I help it if I’m a fast reader?’

  ‘No. But if
you don’t slow down, you’ll be reading by yourself.’ I smiled, quite pleased with myself. ‘Now listen, I wanted to run Petra’s theory past you. You know that friend of Deb’s who committed suicide in Rome? Well, the theory is that her death and Kim Satchwell’s are related. That it wasn’t suicide at all, but they were both murdered by the same person. She says two deaths in a matter of days is too much of a coincidence otherwise.’

  Ashley was already nodding. ‘Yes, that had occurred to me.’

  ‘It had?’ I looked at him with surprise. ‘So you think April was murdered?’

  ‘Hmm.’ He grimaced. ‘I’m not sure. I don’t much like coincidences but it does sounds like the Italian police did a pretty good job. They’ve ruled it a suicide.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’ I paused. ‘Then again, they didn’t have the context we do: another death involving a woman around the same age.’

  ‘So you’ve got Petra on board, have you?’

  ‘She’s a good sounding-board,’ I said, a little primly.

  Our meals arrived, along with a basket of crusty rolls. Just in time, given the white noise of my buzz had begun to increase in volume. We ate steadily, every now and again looking up to catch each other’s eye. I felt warm and content. Everything was delicious. The food, the wine, the view, the company. It was one of those rare and wonderful moments where there was nothing not to like.

  Ashley put down his cutlery and regarded me thoughtfully. ‘Where’s your sister tonight?’

  ‘She’s keeping an eye on Quinn for me. They’ve gone to a show.’

  ‘I see. What time does it start?’

  ‘Eight o’clock. Why?’

  ‘Well …’ He twisted to glance at the clock over the bar. ‘It’s past eight now, which means your room is … empty. Just an observation.’

  I pushed my plate away. ‘An accurate observation.’

  ‘Seems a waste.’

  ‘True.’

  The silence lingered, broken only by the husband at the next table hissing angry apologies to his wife’s back. Ashley held my gaze, his eyes crinkling with a half-smile. ‘So … shall we?’

  ‘I think – yes.’