Note Before Dying (Ghostwriter Mystery 6)

by Larmer, C. A.

  “That’s funny. I was under the impression that’s exactly what happened. All bullshit, no substance.”

  He exhaled smoke again, this time straight at her. “You don’t need to be a bitch about it. I’m just saying we can work together.”

  “And she’s telling you to bugger off!” It was Sam’s voice again, and he was now standing behind Roxy, hands on his hips, a deep frown etched into his forehead. His dog, a large, black and white border collie-Alsatian-cross, was beside him, looking almost as angry as his master, his eyes trained on Macker, the hair on his back standing on end.

  Macker looked from Sam to his dog and back again; a sliver of a smile on his chapped lips.

  “Well, if it isn’t Big Brother Sam. Haven’t you got a little sis to be sobbing about?”

  “Go fuck yourself, Macker.”

  The dog growled sensing Sam’s anger, and Macker held his hands up defensively. “Hey, take a chill pill, mate. I’m just having a friendly conversation with a fellow journo, that’s all.”

  Roxy recoiled at this, but before she could say otherwise, Sam stepped towards Macker, hands now by his side, fisted into balls. “She doesn’t look too friendly to me,” he said, “and don’t call me mate. I’m no mate of yours.” Then to Roxy he said, “You okay?”

  She shook her head, but she wasn’t sure she needed Sam Forrest to rescue her either. The man had other ideas.

  “How about I get you out of here.” He tilted his head in the direction of his Jeep, parked in the café parking lot. He must have already been here when she walked up.

  Roxy hesitated, loath to play the damsel in distress, yet a quick glance at Macker told her the slimeball was going nowhere fast. He was now leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over, smug smile barely able to hold his cigarette in place. Without her own wheels, she might struggle to shake him off. What if he followed her all the way back to the Moody property? That was the last thing anyone wanted.

  “Go on then,” Macker said. “Run away with Sooky Sam.”

  Roxy railed. “Hey, he lost his sister, you don’t need to be so rude about it.”

  “You think that’s what he’s crying about?” Macker snorted. “He’s sooky because his sister was a slut who got her kit off for kicks—”

  Sam roared with anger and lurched at Macker who ducked out of his seat, his fists up. He was laughing. “Come on, then, you stupid sop. You’ve been wanting to do this for months.” He was pointing to one side of his jaw now. “Come on, give me your best shot.”

  “That’s enough!” Roxy yelled, reaching out to Sam, trying to stop him from throwing himself across the table at the photographer. The entire café was now watching them, and now Hans was approaching, a grim look on his face.

  “Come on, Sam,” Roxy said, grabbing his arm and pulling him away. “Let’s get out of here. I could do with the fresh air anyway. This place was starting to stink.”

  She flashed Macker a furious glare then pulled Sam in the direction of his Jeep.

  “You are an arsehole, Macker Maroney, and I will get you one day!” Sam was yelling, his dog bouncing around his feet yelping along with him. “You are history, you hear me, history!”

  Sam shook Roxy off and began striding towards his vehicle, his dog dashing ahead to stand by the driver’s door as if waiting for it to open. Sam whistled once and the dog looked around then ran to the back of the truck and leapt up into the tray where he positioned himself into a corner and sat down. Sam held the passenger door open for Roxy and she got in. Without saying a word, he then slipped into his side, cranked the engine to life, checked his rear-vision mirror, and pulled out onto the main road in a hail of dust.

  Neither of them gave Macker so much as a second glance.

  After a few minutes driving along, the wind whipping Roxy’s hair up through the open window and cooling down Sam’s temper, he glanced across at her and said, “I’m really sorry about that. The guy’s a lowlife. But I shouldn’t’ve lost it with him.”

  “Don’t worry about it. He was out of line.” She glanced around then, suddenly aware they had not taken the Jasper Road turn off. “Hate to break it to you, but you missed my turn.”

  He looked at her briefly then back at the road. “You said you wanted fresh air. I know just the place.”

  Roxy smiled. “Oh. I was just referring to Macker’s bad breath. I actually just want to return to the Moody property, thanks. I need to get back and talk to Houghton, see how things are going with Annika.”

  Sam’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. “I can’t do that, sorry, not just yet.”

  “What?” Roxy glanced across at him and he shot her a quick look then returned his eyes to the road.

  “Just need you to come with me for a bit. It won’t take long.”

  A flutter of trepidation hit Roxy’s stomach, and she shook it away and half laughed. “Oh, I see, kidnapping me now, are you?”

  “Something like that.”

  There was no trace of humour in Sam’s voice and Roxy’s smile sunk like a lump of cement. “You’re kidding, right?”

  He shook his head. No, he was not. She turned her whole body to face him now.

  “What’s going on, Sam? Where are you taking me?”

  This time he didn’t look at her and he didn’t speak; his jaw was tense, his knuckles were white, and she felt the flutter in her stomach turn into a gale.

  “I really don’t know what you think you’re doing,” she said, “but I’m not impressed. You need to turn this car around and take me back to the Moody property please. Immediately!”

  Again, Sam ignored her and kept right on driving, and the blood drained to her feet. Oh God, she thought, what the hell was I thinking?

  In her haste to escape the sleazy paparazzi, she had just gotten into the car of a man she knew nothing about, the same man the police had been asking pointed questions of the night before. The man who’d just, minutes earlier, threatened to kill a photographer.

  It was as though she had willingly jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire.

  Chapter 13

  As the Jeep rattled along at breakneck speed, Roxy wondered whether she should try to make a break for it. The “breakneck speed” thing gave her pause for thought, though, and she simply shifted in her seat, flinging glances every which way and hoping that a car would come past and she could scream out.

  Yet they did not pass a single vehicle and the road quickly turned from sealed tar to loose gravel and then to badly potholed dirt. When he eventually slowed down to take a left turn at a road marked Grears Crossing, Roxy felt her apprehension intensify.

  “You can’t do this!” she blurted. “Kidnapping’s a serious crime.”

  He finally responded and looked across at her before saying, “Kidnapping’s the least of my worries right at this time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Again he did not respond, so she tried pleading a second time: “Look, Sam, I don’t know what’s going on, but I just want you to take me back to the Moody property, please. And let’s leave it at that.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t, I’m really sorry.”

  “Why not? What’s going on? What do you want?”

  Once again he said nothing.

  Roxy thought then of her mobile phone and instantly her heart plummeted. In her quest for coffee, she had left it behind in the bails; had no way of calling for help. She considered punching the guy, grabbing the steering wheel, putting an end to this, but she didn’t do any of those things; she simply sat back with a huff, arms folded, her anger now edging out her fear.

  Who did Sam Forrest think he was, kidnapping her in broad daylight!

  Her thoughts turned to Macker Maroney. Would he alert the police or had she just burned her bridges with him? The sleazy photographer no longer seemed like the enemy. She glanced across at Sam who was driving more carefully now, concentrating on the badly kept roads, his eyes straight ahead.

  What did he want?


  The Jeep dropped down a few gears and Sam took another left turn, this time at an old metal milk barrel labelled Lot 21. It led down a long, winding driveway, past a forest of towering eucalypts and camphor laurels and into a clearing beside a small timber cottage.

  This is when Roxy’s fear returned, her head swinging from side to side trying to look for signs of life, but apart from a few swooping black cockatoos, there was none. The place was deserted.

  “Where are we? Where have you taken me?” she demanded as he brought the vehicle to a stop.

  Sam ignored this and simply opened his door and stepped out. He then whistled and began striding towards the cottage, the dog leaping out of the back tray and catching up to him in seconds. Roxy took a quick look at the steering wheel, hoping he’d left the keys behind. But of course he hadn’t. Damn it. She slowly opened her own car door and looked around. Sam had disappeared into the house and she swept her eyes back down the driveway towards the direction from which they’d come. Maybe she should try to make a run for it? She heard a tap running and glanced back to find Sam filling up a water bowl for his dog, who watched patiently, waiting for a signal before leaping on it and slurping it up.

  Sam stood up and looked across at her. He called out, “I don’t bite, you know.” Then he stopped, smiled and added, “Unless that’s what you’re into, of course.”

  He chuckled and she bristled even further. The hide of the man! Wrapping her arms around herself, Roxy strode towards him. Fear wasn’t going to help; it was time to feed into her indignation.

  “How do I know you don’t bite?” she yelled back. “I don’t know who you are or what the hell you think you’re doing! First you rant at me like a lunatic, now you drag me to this secluded spot and scare the shit out of me!”

  He looked affronted suddenly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

  “What about your dog?”

  He laughed. “Lunar? Wouldn’t hurt a fly, would you, boy?” He gave the dog’s fluffy black and white head a rough tussle.

  Then he stood up, pulled a crumbling wicker chair off the deck and dragged it out into the sunshine just near a tall ghost gum. He waved a hand at it, offering her the seat before retrieving a second chair and placing it nearby. He sat down, spread his legs out in front of him and crossed them over.

  Roxy watched him for a few minutes, glancing back at the driveway, then sighed dramatically and walked towards him, still keeping her distance.

  “I’m really sorry I had to do that,” he said.

  “What? Threaten to beat the living shit out of someone, or kidnap me? Which one are you sorry about this time?”

  “Hey, you got in my car willingly. Even that scumbag Maroney will testify to that.”

  “You said you were giving me a lift back to the Moody place.”

  “Ah, no I did not. I never mentioned the Moody property. I said, ‘How about we get out of here?’ and you said, ‘Okay’.”

  There was laughter in his eyes and she glared at him, went to object, then sighed heavily again and took the seat beside him. “This is ridiculous. What exactly do you want, Sam? And don’t tell me you brought me here for the fresh air.”

  He leaned forward and clasped his hands together, prayer-like in front of him, his expression now serious. “I need your help. I don’t know where else to turn.”

  “Help? What do you mean?”

  “I mean Jed’s murder.”

  “Murder? We don’t know that for sure yet. The band-mates seem to think it was a terrible accident.”

  He scoffed. “That was no accident. I saw the fuse box. Someone had jammed a nail into it. The wiring on his gear also looked dodgy. He was deliberately electrocuted.”

  She sat back with a thud. “Oh shit,” she said and then, “Oh right.”

  “I know the way those cops think and they’re going to try to pin it on me.”

  Roxy thought of all the questions Detective Quick had been asking about Sam, and suddenly she couldn’t meet his eyes.

  He didn’t seem to notice. “I hated Jed Moody, everybody knows that. You don’t have to read crime novels to know that puts me at the top of the suspect list. They’re probably issuing my arrest warrant right now. I need your help.”

  “What were you even doing there last night, if you hate the guy so much?”

  “He invited me.”

  “Yeah, you said that already, but excuse me if I don’t believe you.”

  He shrugged. “Believe what you want. Jed and I went to high school together. Friends from way back.” The way he said the word “friends” spoke volumes. There was no love there. “He never told you that, hey?”

  “No, he did not.” Roxy thought then of the interview that never happened, of the life story that now would not be told.

  “Jed always invited me to his gigs. Trying to make amends.”

  “Why would he do that if you keep accusing him of killing your sister?”

  He shrugged. “Guilt, perhaps, or maybe just a lack of conscience. Jed Moody didn’t really have one. His ego was so mammoth, he never even noticed I had grown to hate him. Still thought the whole world was in love with him. Hell, if he’d survived that electrocution, he would’ve thought it was all just a silly accident.”

  “And it definitely wasn’t?”

  “That nail didn’t find its own way into that fuse box, Roxy. No, it wasn’t. And it had nothing to do with me.”

  “That’s what this is about? You want to declare your innocence to me? I’m not the person you need to convince, Sam. You need to speak to the police, or Annika, Houghton... anyone but me. I’m just a ghostwriter who turned up at the wrong time.”

  He shook his head firmly. “You said you had a cop friend. Someone who could help me.”

  “Er, no, I said I have a cop friend who helped me a couple of times. I wasn’t talking about helping you.”

  “But she can, right? Help me?”

  “No! She works in Sydney. You need to find someone closer. Besides, I was talking about your sister’s death, that has nothing to do with this.” She paused. “Does it?” He sat back, not answering. “Either way,” Roxy continued, “you could have just asked for my help without kidnapping me, you know?”

  “I did ask for your help last night, and you couldn’t be bothered. Told me to find my own contacts.” He frowned. “And you gotta stop saying that. I didn’t really kidnap you. I just took you on a nice drive. We can head back anytime you like.”

  Roxy stood up. “Good, let’s go now then.”

  The dog, who had been sitting patiently at his master’s feet, jumped up, as if hoping for some action, but when Sam did not budge, he sat back down and dropped his head into his paws.

  Roxy, too, returned to her seat. “How am I supposed to help? What am I supposed to do about all this?”

  She wondered if he had Googled her and discovered her bad habit of meddling in other people’s murder enquiries. It didn’t seem to be the case, though; he seemed more interested in Gilda Maltin.

  “I need you to call your cop friend, the one you mentioned last night. I need you to ask her to look into my sister’s case.”

  “Why do you keep bringing up your sister? What’s she got to do with—”

  “Sunny’s case was never investigated properly. The idiot detective in charge barely gave it an hour of his time. Asked Jed Moody a few questions then called it ‘bad luck’. Even worse than that, he hushed it all up.”

  “Are you talking about Detective Quick? Why would he do that?”

  “Because he’s a groupie dickhead, enthralled with Jed just like everyone else in this godforsaken place.”

  Roxy’s memory shot back to the evening before, to the way Detective Quick had headed straight for Annika, soothing her with hugs and platitudes. Perhaps it was the wife he was more enthralled with. “How long have they known each other? Quick and the Moodys?”

  “Wouldn’t have a clue, but I do know they’re thick. When Jed says, ‘
Jump’, Quick asks, ‘How high?’” He growled. “It’s the same for all of them. It’s like Jed can do no wrong. Abuses them all, shows up to gigs hours late, tells them all to bugger off when he’s had enough, and they all just bow and scrape like he’s some kind of god. It makes me furious.”

  Furious enough to kill? she wondered. “Okay, but what’s that got to do with all this, or me, for that matter?”

  “If you could just ask your cop friend to take a quick look at my sister’s case, she’ll see that the investigation was a joke, Quick didn’t do his job, and then maybe he’ll get taken off this case. If he stays on it, I’m screwed.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s got it in for me. Reckons I’m unduly badgering poor little Jed, like he’s some innocent child. He’s pulled me up on it a few times.” He sighed. “Quick’s not going to investigate Jed’s death properly, he’s just going to pin it all on me.” He stared at her stunned expression. “Look, I know I’m sounding really paranoid.”

  “You think?”

  He half smiled. “I just need Quick out of the equation or I’m screwed. The guy is as good as useless. He jumps at the first logical conclusion to anything. My sister looked like she’d drowned in a creek so he just assumed she’d drowned in a creek. Never bothered looking into it. And now, well...” He broke off.

  “Now it looks like you were the one with the beef against Jed Moody, so he’s going to jump to the conclusion that you did it?”

  He didn’t answer that, instead he said, “I’m just asking, very nicely, please, if you could get your copper friend to take a look at the case.”

  “But she’s in Sydney.”

  “So? They don’t have access to the files?”

  Roxy chewed her lower lip. “I don’t know.”

  “Can you find out?” He held out his mobile phone. “If your mate says it’s all above board, I’ll give it up, put my faith in the system. Hell, I’ll even hand myself over to Quick if she thinks he’s up for the job.”

  “He’ll probably come for you sooner than that.”