“Bottoms up,” Annika said, handing her a martini glass with the lurid orange concoction inside. She took a good gulp of her drink, sighing after she did so, before pushing open two of the French doors and stepping out onto the veranda.
The living room was stunning, but the veranda was clearly the heart of the house. Typical of a historical home, it had hardwood floorboards that wrapped right around the structure, and extended so deep there was room to hold several leather lounges and an entire dining suite. The railings had all been painted white and many were dripping with wisteria, small Chinese lanterns hanging at random intervals between tinkling chimes and fairy lights above. There was a wide set of stairs in the centre of the veranda leading down to the rolling green lawn, and beyond that a magnificent view that included the lush rainforest in the foreground and hazy valleys that dipped and dived as far as the eye could see.
At one end of the lawn, Roxy spotted part of the tall timber building she had noticed when she drove up, and at the other end an old shed on stilts with a wide timber deck that was strewn with party lights. A pebble pathway led back from the shed to a smaller set of stairs on the east side of the veranda that appeared to lead directly to the bar inside.
To the left of the main staircase sat a long wooden dining table, cluttered with dripping candles and what looked like detritus from the previous night—empty beer bottles, wine glasses, an old cheese platter and several ashtrays full to overflowing.
Annika had now positioned herself on one of the leather lounges, her long legs spread out in front of her, her little dog coiled into a ball beside her.
Roxy waved a hand to the view and said, “I’d tell you it was breathtaking, but you don’t need ‘stupid city folk’ to state the bleeding obvious.”
Annika looked up at her and was about to say something then appeared to change her mind. She smiled, her features softening a little. “I’ll drink to that.” She held her glass high.
Roxy held her own glass up. “Cheers,” she replied, wondering if this was a truce of sorts, or if they were just toasting the end of round one.
Chapter 4
As she leaned against the railing, looking out at that seemingly endless view, Roxy wondered whether Jed was around and how soon she could get started.
As if reading her thoughts, Annika said, “He’s in the studio. Could be there for hours, even days, so you might as well settle in.”
“Days?”
She stared into her glass. “He comes up for air eventually. It’ll give us time to have a chat first.” Then she pointed her glass at the chair beside her.
Roxy took a fortifying gulp of her cocktail and sat down. She knew how these things went. This would be no idle “chat”. This was Annika’s chance to interrogate the writer before her husband showed up. Annika was not just Jed’s wife, she was also the band’s manager and she called the shots. At least, that’s what Roxy was led to believe from the press clippings she had devoured on the flight up, and nothing Annika had done thus far gave her cause to dispute this. The woman was clearly bold and outspoken, but that wasn’t unusual in Roxy’s line of work. While she’d never written a book on a musician before, she’d done plenty of magazine interviews and she knew how these things worked. No manager worth her weight in gold would let a journalist loose on their client without a few road rules first. That must go doubly so for a manager/wife.
This time, however, Roxy was in for a surprise.
“Tell me about yourself,” Annika said, one hand now softly stroking Coco’s head.
“You mean, my credentials as a writer?”
She stopped stroking. “Oh, I don’t give a crap about that. That’s Houghton’s business. I want to know where you were you born and bred, where you live now, that kind of thing.”
It was a strange request. Roxy wasn’t used to discussing her personal life in interviews; that was considered a no-no amongst good journalists. It was also the reason she had become a journo in the first place. She didn’t like talking about herself; was not interested in being in the spotlight. It was other people’s lives she wanted to illuminate, not her own.
Annika had other ideas. “Are you married? Any kids?” she persisted.
Okay, thought Roxy. I can play along. “I’m Sydney born and bred, have a little pad in Elizabeth Bay that’s about the size of your bar fridge.” She paused, but Annika did not laugh. “Um, I’m not married and don’t intend to be any time soon, much to my mother’s disappointment, and there are no kids to speak of.”
“Not even a dog?” It sounded as though she was equating the two, and Roxy shook her head.
“As I said, my place is tiny, wouldn’t really be fair to a dog.” She glanced at Coco who only had eyes for her mistress. It’d be nice though, all that unequivocal love. “Still, I do have some very loyal friends and a pretty sweet life.” If you didn’t count the stream of dead bodies that had been showing up lately. She decided not to mention that. “Anyway, it’s my work that really drives me. I’ve had the chance to interview some amazing people in my time.”
“Ever written a book about a musician before?” Roxy shook her head again. “They’re a unique breed, let me tell you that.” Annika placed her glass down on a wrought iron table to the side of the lounge and leaned towards Roxy, her voice dropping to almost a whisper. “When I first met Jeddie, I was a photographer-slash-model. He had a lot of women in his life back then, too many women.” She stopped, choked out a half laugh that didn’t reach the eyes. “You could say he had a different girl in every port. It took me a while but I eventually got their little claws out of him and brushed them out of our life. He’s with me now.”
“Yes, I realise—”
Annika held a long finger up to quieten her, clearly unaccustomed to being interrupted. “You need to hear this, Roxy, and I don’t want to have to say it again, so please listen up. Jed Moody is a very friendly guy, he’ll flirt with you, make you feel very, very special. It’s what he does, it’s why his music just ... works. You’re going to come away feeling like the centre of the universe, one very desirable woman, but it won’t last and it’s not real, so try not to take it personally or flatter yourself. He does it to all the girls.”
Roxy’s cheeks were now burning and her knuckles were white around her glass. “Annika, I’m not—”
She held her finger up again. “Of course you’re not, darling! They never are.” Her eyes glazed over briefly as she looked past Roxy towards the horizon and her anguish was now obvious in the deep groove between her eyes and the hardened downward turn of her mouth. When she looked back, though, her tone was acidic. “Jed Moody is my husband and he won’t be leaving me for anyone. Not now, not ever. He knows that, I know that, so I think it’s helpful that you know that, too. It’ll just save us all a lot of time and grief in the long run.” She had been stroking her crystal necklace and now sighed heavily, wearily, before picking up her martini glass again. “Just do the dreaded book and leave us in peace. Okay?” Then she closed her eyes and polished off her drink.
Roxy was stunned, mortified, too, and she wanted to rail against what Annika was saying. She’d never slept with a client, let alone a married one, and she didn’t intend to start now, but then she remembered how long she had dithered in front of the mirror that morning, how keen she had been to get her look “just right”. And she recalled the way her friends had all joked about “Juicy Jed” over breakfast, as though any rock star, married or otherwise, was fair game.
“You giving this journo a hard time, Annie?” A squeaky voice cut through the tension and both women looked up to find a man standing just inside the French doors, a plump smile on his lips. The strain on Annika’s face dissolved instantly and Roxy, too, felt a sense of relief.
This man was clearly not Jed, and she was glad of that. Thanks to Annika’s warning words, Roxy’s nerves were fluttering like bunting in the wind; it was not how she wanted to present herself to her client. She smiled at the man who was stepping out towards them.
He was the antithesis of Jed: short and plump with baggy clothes and thick, fuzzy orange hair—half Ronald McDonald, half Sideshow Bob.
To Annika he was more like Santa Claus and she jumped up to greet him, squealing with delight, causing Coco to leap off the lounge and start yapping again.
“Of course I am, darling!” she said throwing herself into his arms. “That’s what I’m here for, you know that!” She remained coiled around him as she turned back to look at Roxy. “You had to send him a pretty one, didn’t you?”
“Hey, I did you a service, at least she’s not blonde.”
“Ouch,” she said, throwing her head back and laughing for the first time, unleashing what sounded like rapid machine-gun fire.
Roxy watched all this in a state of perplexity. Annika’s animosity had completely thrown her, and she struggled to regain her equilibrium, to channel her cocky sense of self, the one that usually helped her slap down the antagonists in her life. She realised now as she sat blinking up at them like a deer caught in the headlights, that her self-confidence must have gone AWOL somewhere between angry Beard Man’s outburst and Annika’s condescending lecture.
“Awww, don’t mind us,” said the short, fat man as he extricated himself from Annika’s embrace and shuffled towards her, his arm reaching out to shake her hand. “We’re just mucking about. Don’t mean anything by it! I’m Harry Houghton, the band’s publicist. Welcome to the sticks.”
“Thanks,” Roxy managed.
“You found the place okay?”
“Yes.” She took a deep breath and steadied her nerves. “It’s very beautiful out here.”
“Yeah, but who’d wanna live here, right?” He laughed loudly, his fuzzy hair wobbling as he did so. Then he wedged a fat forefinger to his lips and whispered, “Just don’t tell Annie. She thinks it’s paradise.”
“Oh, you love it here!” Annika hissed, flinging herself back onto the lounge.
“Only when you’re around.” The look they gave each other then almost smouldered. The man was half Annika’s height and twice her size, but there was definite chemistry between them. “Speaking of which, where’s the grump?”
Annika nudged her head towards the tall timber building to the left of the veranda.
“Where else? Been at it for days. I’m bored beyond belief. Get yourself a drink, darling, and replenish ours while you’re there.”
Houghton turned to Roxy. “Annie will be a very generous host, Roxy, but you’ll notice there’s always an ulterior motive.”
“I’m just asking for a vodka cocktail, darling, not your life blood.”
“You’ve already sucked that dry, hey?”
She barked with laughter again. “In your dreams, Mr. Naughty Houghty.”
Once again they seemed to forget that Roxy was there and simply stared at each other as though under some spell. Eventually Houghton coughed and she smiled and shook her head. “You are such a wicked man.”
There was some sort of private joke between them, that much was obvious, and Roxy watched them closely, wondering about it and feeling suddenly peeved. If anyone was doing the flirting around here, it was Annika and the publicist.
“Another cocktail, Roxy?” Houghton asked and she nodded.
She had a feeling she was going to need it.
Chapter 5
No sooner had Houghton returned with fresh drinks than Annika leapt back to her feet and declared it was time “to fetch us some goddamn grub”. As she stepped inside, Houghton took her place on the lounge and smiled warmly at Roxy.
“Annie have a bit of a chat about the rules, did she?”
“The only rule I heard was ‘no flirting with the talent’.”
He chuckled. “Don’t worry about that, hey, don’t give it another thought. Annie’s little green monster is on heightened alert these days, that’s all.”
“Why?”
“Ohhh, there was a bit of an incident not long ago, nothing for you to concern yourself with. No, no. This is a feel-good book, am I right or am I right?”
“It’s whatever you want it to be, you’re the boss.”
“Nah, love, that’d be Annika, just don’t tell Jed that.” He chuckled again. “Rightio, so I’d best go through some of the basics, you know, just to make sure we’re all on the same page, that kind of thing.”
“Go ahead.” She didn’t bother bracing herself this time, just took a good gulp of her cocktail. She was already on heightened alert.
“Rightio, so...” He took a swig of the beer in his hand then said in his strange, squeaky voice, “First point, an important one: please don’t give out any detail about the house and contents, or where it’s located, that kind of thing. Too many nutters out there, not to mention paparazzi, don’t wanna give them the heads-up.”
“You might be too late for that. Some photographer already nabbed me at the local café, gave me his business card.”
His eyes narrowed. “Beefy bloke, bad ponytail, mid-fifties?” She nodded and he frowned. “That’d be bloody Macker Maroney, I’d say, local pap. Tries his luck from time to time, the bugger. A bloody hopeless photographer, too—specialises in far away, fuzzy shots. Let me know if he tries it on you again, otherwise just keep your distance, okay? Oh, and tell me if you see him on the property, I’ll call the cops.” He found his smile. “Right, so, what else? Um, try not to bring up the wife and kids if you can help it.”
Roxy blinked, surprised. “I didn’t think they had kids.”
“Exactly. That’s off-limits.”
“Is it a sore point?”
“Bitterly sore, just leave it alone, hey?”
“Have they struggled for a long time?” He gave her a sideways look that suggested, “Good try, lady”, so she said, “Okay, I get that, but his wife? Really? Isn’t Annika a huge part of Jed’s life? How do I not mention her?”
“You mention her, of course you do, but strictly as the band’s manager. We try not to emphasise the fact Jed has a wife ...” He grinned. “The groupies have got to have something to hope for. Let’s just stick to the music, hey? Leave the domestic stuff out of it.”
Roxy stared at him. “I have an entire book to write, Houghton. Usually the client’s home life comes into it. I’m going to need to ask him something.”
“Yeah, ’course you are! Music, ask him about his music.”
“Right, but—”
“Except his first band, Horror Story. They’re off-limits, too.” He leaned in closer and half covered his mouth with his hand saying, “They were a horror story—but don’t quote me on that!” Then he sat back chuckling at himself again before taking another good swig of his beer. “We’re going to need to see the full manuscript draft by draft, if that’s all right with you. Best not to give it all to us at the end, hey? Might be a bit of a shock when we have to chop it and change things around.”
“Chop? Change?”
“Yeah, yeah, Annika’s got full editing rights. Your agent told you that, right?” No, she thought, he did not. “So,” he rubbed his hands together. “How long do you think you’re going to need? I’m thinking three days tops?”
“Three?! That’s going to be a bit tricky. Annika just told me Jed could be locked away in the studio for days.”
“I hear ya, I hear ya, and I know what you’re saying. Let’s just see how it goes, eh? Just take it day by day. But let’s not try to drag it out too long. The boys have got an album to finish and lots of work to do before the tour.”
“And what if Jed can’t give me much time?”
“Then you might just have to work with what you’ve got.” He shrugged, slugged the Crown Lager again. “We don’t need a lot anyway, will fill half of it with photos. Just get the general gist—childhood background of the three guys, early bands—”
“Except Horror Story.”
He chuckled and pointed his beer at her. “You’re a quick learner, I can see that about you. I think this is going to work really well, really looking forward to it.” He smacked h
is lips together. “Rightio then, any questions or concerns, leave Annika out of it, if you don’t mind. Just come see me directly.”
“I thought you said Annika was in charge.”
“Yeah, but the book idea was mine, not hers. So ... well ... let’s not bog her down with all that. If you need to see me, just check out here.” He glanced around the veranda. “This is usually where I set up camp when I’m in town. Otherwise, you can find me in the cottage behind yours.”
“So, you’re not staying in the main house either?”
“We’re the hired help, love, we stay where we’re told.”
He went to stand up and Roxy grabbed one of his arms and drew him back down.
“Actually, there was something.”
She was determined to find out more about the drowning that occurred on the Moody property, but she never got a chance. Houghton was now staring past her and towards the sweeping staircase where something caught his attention and made his whole demeanour change. He sat up straight, ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat.
“Well, well,” he squeaked, stumbling back to his feet and towards the stairs, one arm extended, “look who the cat dragged in!”
Roxy turned to find a man stepping up onto the veranda, an iconic Akubra slouch hat on his head. It was Juicy Jed, in the flesh.
Chapter 6
Think of every stereotype you have of the aging rock star and you’ve got Jed Moody in a nutshell. Tall, lanky and larger than life, he had a battered, beaten-up look that suggested a life lived fast. Too fast... His face was as craggy as his hat, deeply lined with a tufty, goatee-style beard and there were tousles of hair falling down around his chiselled cheekbones, unwashed and streaked with grey (he’d ditched the dye at last, hurrah!). He was wearing a crumpled black cowboy shirt, black jeans and cowboy boots, and she could just make out a tattoo under one rolled up sleeve. Was that a set of naked breasts? To top it off he had a cigarette dangling from one corner of his mouth. Of course...
Note Before Dying (Ghostwriter Mystery 6) Page 3
