Roxy laughed. “It’s free range, Gilda, the healthiest egg you’re ever going to eat.”
“Looks scary to me. I like my food beige and bland, thanks very much. Anyway, before you get too excited, I still have to call the Powers That Be to see if I can wangle it.” She squinted her eyes a little. “Better check with Wiles first, too. Make sure I’m not treading on his handsome toes.”
“Sam would really appreciate that.”
“He may not, you know. I may end up coming to the same conclusion as Quick. I may decide there is no case to answer, that the poor girl did just drown. Or worse, killed herself.”
“Then so be it,” said Roxy. “Maybe then he’ll be able to let it go.”
Lunar’s ears twitched and he barked suddenly again, his every nerve on end, and Roxy knew that someone else was coming up the driveway. She smiled at the dog. Who needed an expensive security system with Lunar about?
This time, however, she had a hunch who it was as Lunar was already bounding down the road, his tail wagging maniacally. A minute later Roxy heard the roar of an engine and saw a flash of white through the gum trees.
Roxy felt her own heart lift then looked around guiltily for Gilda, who had taken the plates back inside. As the Jeep drew near, Gilda returned to the deck and the two women watched as Sam came to a dusty halt in front of the cottage. At some point he must have stopped and let Lunar in, because the dog was now beside him in the passenger seat, tongue hanging out, grinning like all his Christmases had come at once.
“Hey there!” Sam called out, his smile now visible, and Roxy tried to look indifferent as she waved back.
Gilda just snorted beside her. “So they finally let you out,” she yelled.
He jumped down from the front seat and laughed. “Had no choice. Got nothing on me.” He looked across to Roxy. “Of course. I didn’t do it, you know that?”
Gilda wondered why he needed Roxy to believe that so much and felt protective of her friend. “We know nothing of the sort, Mr. Forrest, we’re reserving our judgment for now. Aren’t we, Roxy?”
Roxy remained silent and Sam’s smile widened.
“Anyway,” Gilda said, growing uncomfortable with the situation, “Roxy and I have to head back to the Moody property now. Don’t we, Rox?” Roxy was still staring at Sam, as if mesmerised, and she gave her a little nudge.
“Huh?”
“You need to see whether you’re still doing the book, right?”
Roxy seemed to snap out of it then. “Yes, right. Of course.”
Sam’s smile deflated. “You’re still writing the book?”
“I don’t know yet.”
He went to say something but stopped, swallowed hard. “Well, thanks for looking after Lunar. He been okay?”
She nodded. “He’s been great. My protector.”
“No, no, no,” interjected Gilda. “That’s my job. Come on then, Missy, let’s get your things and give Sam his space back.”
Sam stepped towards Roxy. “You’re welcome to stay here, you know. If you do end up writing the book.” He paused, rubbed a hand through his shaggy short hair. “It’s just that it didn’t sound like Annika wanted you there and ... well ... it’ll be cheaper than a hotel room. Closer to Moody Views, too.”
Roxy glanced from Sam to Gilda then back to Sam again. “Oh thanks, but Gilda’s right. We should probably give you some space.”
He laughed. “I’ve got eleven acres here, Roxy. I don’t need all of it.”
Gilda wasn’t having any of it. “And where exactly do you propose she sleeps, hey? Out in the chook shed?”
“She can have my bed, of course, I’ll take the sofa.”
“No thanks, we’ll be fine.” Gilda pulled Roxy towards the door. “Come on then. Let’s get your stuff and get going.”
Sam shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’ll be feeding the chooks.”
As he strode off towards the chicken coop, Gilda grabbed Roxy’s arm and dragged her back inside. “Okay, so who the hell are you and what the hell have you done with my best friend?”
Roxy pushed her away. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Miss Gooey Eyes back there. Who was that?”
“I wasn’t gooey. That’s ridiculous.” She strode into the bedroom and began thrusting her clothes back into her bag.
Gilda watched her for a moment and let it drop. She just wanted to get Roxy out of Sam’s cottage and back to the Moody property pronto. There was something about Sam Forrest that put Gilda’s nerves on edge, and she couldn’t yet decide what it was. Roxy may have developed a soft spot for the guy, but Gilda did not trust him one bit.
Chapter 20
As Roxy steered her hatchback past the Goddess Café and back onto Jasper Road, she hoped she would not miss the turn onto the Moody property as she had done last time. Gilda had been following close behind in her own hire car since they left Sam’s property, and Roxy didn’t want to lead her astray.
This time, however, there was no chance. A large group had gathered by the Moodys’ front gate, some standing arm in arm, others seated on the ground around a collection of flowers, old guitars and djembe drums, as though this had become a kind of makeshift memorial site.
Roxy slowed her car down as she took the turn and noticed that the crowd was mostly made up of women in their late thirties and forties, old groupies, she suspected. She wondered, somewhat bitterly, how many of these women Jed Moody had slept with. Several of them cheered as she drove past, others just stared at her, their eyes wide with sadness and curiosity.
For all his sins, Jed Moody had certainly touched a lot of hearts.
When they reached the main house, Roxy noticed several more unfamiliar vehicles parked beneath the fig tree but no police cars, or at least none that she recognised. She pulled up to the side of the stables this time, and directed Gilda to do the same, then was just getting out when her mobile phone began to beep wildly. She stared at it, stunned. She hadn’t heard it make a sound in three days. There were eleven missed calls, including one from Caroline, two from Gilda, four from her mother, and the rest from her agent.
She rolled her eyes and glanced back at Gilda who was pointing her keys at her vehicle about to press the remote control lock.
“Don’t bother!” Roxy called out, but Gilda pressed it anyway.
“Can’t help myself,” she yelled back.
Roxy was about to suggest they walk around the side of the house to the back veranda when Houghton appeared at the front door, waving frantically. He had clearly been looking out for Roxy’s car and ushered her inside, nodding quickly at Gilda as Roxy did the introductions. For now they had decided not to mention Gilda’s police credentials, and if Houghton was curious about why Roxy’s “good friend” had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, he didn’t show it. He simply shook her hand quickly then indicated they should remove their shoes before following him down the corridor.
Gilda looked horrified at the thought but Roxy just dumped her boots by the growing pile of dusty gumboots, Crocs and trainers then followed Houghton along the hallway. It was amazing, she thought, staring down at her socks, how quickly one adjusted to country life.
“How’s Annika doing today?” Roxy asked as they stopped at the entrance to the living room, waiting for Gilda to catch up. She was still pulling off her heeled boots, a look of irritation on her face.
“She’s good, yeah, she’s up and about.” He nodded his head in the direction of the veranda where, through the French doors, Roxy could just make out Annika’s back, her dark hair arranged in an elaborate bun, a spangly kaftan on. There was a small crowd around her, seated on chairs, at her feet, several leaning against the railing, and Roxy recognised a few familiar faces from the night of Jed’s death.
Annika’s machine-gun laughter suddenly echoed through the house and it seemed incongruous with the events of the past few days. “They’re swapping old war stories about Jed,” he explained as Gilda approached, leading them through the
door to the velvet couch. “A kind of early wake, if you will.”
Roxy nodded. She bet they had plenty of stories to swap. Glancing back out to the veranda, she spotted the same elderly couple from the night of the gig, sitting grim faced and silent on one side. “Who is that older couple? Family?”
He followed her line of sight and frowned just slightly. “Oh, that’s the farmer from next door and his wife. They’ve come to pay their respects, which is, you know, bloody decent of them, considering.”
“Considering what?” asked Gilda, but he waved her off.
“Listen, Roxy, I’m really close, I promise I am, but I’m still waiting on the final approval from Annie for the book.” He rubbed a hand through his scruffy red hair. “She’s coming around, I know that much. I know the signs. I can read ’em. She’s starting to see some sense.” His face scrunched up. “Is there any way you can give us another twenty-four hours?”
Roxy frowned. “Look, Houghton, if Annika’s not interested, there’s really no point pushing her into it. That just makes my job a lot harder, and it’s not really fair to her.”
“Yeah, I know what you’re saying, but what about Al and Doug? What’s fair for them?”
“They want me to write the book?”
“We all do, we’re just trying to get Annie on board that’s all. We want it to be a group effort and we need to get it happening before the tour.”
“The tour?” Roxy blinked. “You’re still doing the tour?”
“Yeah, well, it won’t be the same tour, of course, but we’re thinking a set of memorial gigs might be just the ticket, might see if Barnsey or maybe the bloke who took over for INXS could stand in for Jed. I think we can make it work.”
“You’re kidding, right?” said Gilda, one eyebrow cocked high.
“Not at all. No. I mean, it’s the songs that make the band, and you saw the fans out the front. People love this band, they loved Jed, and they want to hear those songs one more time, at least. Am I right or am I right?”
“What about Jed’s new material?” Roxy asked. “What about the new album?”
He waved a hand at that. “Not so important now. I mean, sure, we’ll put that stuff out later, but I think it’s his greatest hits that people want. I’m negotiating with the record company to rerelease his entire back catalogue then, with the memorial tour—and your book, of course—we’ll rake it in.” He caught himself and had the decency to blush. “And more importantly, of course, we’ll honour poor Jeddie’s memory, eh?”
Roxy was aghast. She didn’t know if she wanted to be part of this money making machine, but then her agent was right. What choice did she have? Her next mortgage payment was beckoning and it wasn’t like there were any other clients beating a path to her door.
“Look, I just need another twenty-four hours,” Houghton said. “Just a bit of extra time to get Annie on board. She’s close; she’s just got to get her head around it, that’s all. If not, I reckon we can still do it, but we’re going to need some financing. That could take a bit longer.”
Roxy held a finger up to stall him. “You can discuss all that stuff with my agent. I stay out of that.”
“I have been discussing it with your agent, but we haven’t firmed it up as yet. Oh, and he says to call him, by the way. Says he’s left you a few messages.”
Roxy cringed. “That’s an understatement. Okay, I’ll give him a call now.”
“But can you hang around? Just in case? Got somewhere you can stay?”
Roxy’s mind went straight to Sam’s cottage, but the glare she was getting from Gilda put paid to that. She turned to Houghton and said, “Know any good hotels in town?”
As Gilda returned to her car to make a few calls, Roxy remained in the lounge and logged into the Moodys’ WiFi. She needed to e-mail Caroline, Oliver and her mother to let them all know she was safe and would call when she got a chance. She knew the e-mails were a cop-out, but it was all she could muster. She then began scanning the Internet for hotels in Byron Bay. The three places Houghton had suggested had no vacancies, and she was reluctant to ask Annika for advice.
The grieving widow was still holding court on the veranda and she looked like she was in her element, hugging, air kissing and laughing a lot. Roxy wondered about that. Was she lapping up all the attention now that the spotlight had finally fallen her way?
“Don’t be a bitch, Roxy,” she scolded herself silently. Wasn’t that the whole point of a wake—comfort and support for the ones left behind?
Houghton had some phone calls to make and had left Roxy with the promise that he’d get a final word on the book by the following morning. Until then, she needed to find backup accommodation, so she tried to concentrate on that but was struggling to find anything that was both available and within her price range.
“That one’s okay,” Gilda said, suddenly glancing over her shoulder.
“Too pricy,” Roxy replied. “And way too white.”
“Is there such a thing? Beach pads must always be white, darlink.”
“Yeah, but you don’t want to be blinded by it. Anyway, I’m not convinced we should be staying at the beach. I mean it’s a long drive from here. Shouldn’t we be looking for something closer, something in the hinterland?”
“What, like Grears Crossing?”
Roxy ignored this and reset her Google accommodation search to include the words “Byron Hinterland.” As she typed, Roxy asked Gilda, “So how’d you go, with your boss?”
“I’ve got good news and bad news, which do you want first?”
Roxy scowled. She loathed this question. It was like being offered ice cream in a cone of dried dog vomit. The bad always seemed to ruin the good. “Go on then, let’s start with the good.”
“The good news is they are sending Wiles to lead the Moody investigation. He’s flying up as we speak. Should be here by close of day. He’ll take over from Quick.”
“Good.” As far as Roxy knew, Wiles had no association with the Moody family and would at least investigate the case without prejudice. “And the bad news?”
“The bad news is, the boss says we’re way over budget and there’s no way he can divert funds towards Sunny Forrest’s case when he’s about to fork it out big time for Jed Moody.”
Roxy’s shoulders slumped. “That’s a pity. Can’t he see what a botch up it was? Surely it’s in the public interest?”
She smiled. “Which is what I said, so he’s come ’round... Well, to a point. He’s given me forty-eight hours to make my case.”
“Really?”
“Yep, I get two days—off the books—to look into it, probe a little deeper and convince him and the Public Prosecutor that it’s worth the money and manpower to reopen the case. Until then, I’m on my own. I’ve got authorisation but not funds.”
“Do you need funds?”
“Not if we choose wisely,” she said, glancing back at the iPad screen.
“And you’d do that? You’d investigate for nothing?”
“Well, it’s hardly for nothing. I’m on paid leave for the rest of the week, and it’s not like hanging out in the Byron Shire is any great effort. Plus, I’m not prepared to head back to Sydney with you hovering around, getting your nose stuck where it needn’t get stuck. I think it’s in everyone’s best interests, most of all yours, that I stay and snoop.”
“Sam is going to be thrilled.”
Gilda shook her head. “I’m not doing this for Sam. I’m doing it for Sunny. And I only have two days to prove there’s a case to answer. I may come up with nothing, and if I do, that has to be the end of it. Sam has to let it go.”
“I’m sure he will. He just wants a second opinion; you can’t blame him for that. So what happens now?”
“We find cheap digs, my darling, and we start digging! Ooooh, that one looks lovely.”
Gilda was pointing to a leafy picture of a small red cottage that had sprung up on Roxy’s screen. Roxy clicked on the link and opened it to find the details for a b
ed and breakfast called Bindi’s Eco Hideaway, which was nestled in lush rainforest. She double- clicked on its location and smiled. “And only a few kilometres from here!”
“From Sam’s place, you mean?”
Roxy decided to ignore that comment.
Chapter 21
As the crow flies, Bindi’s Eco Hideaway would have been an easy five-minute trip from Moody Views, but there were few direct roads in these parts. Instead, it took the women a good fifteen-minute drive, past the Goddess Café and down several winding gravel roads, through gullies and across two causeways before they reached their destination. Bindi’s was really just another timber homestead, a two-storey structure that had been meticulously renovated, painted a deep red with pretty yellow trimming and towering Bangalow palms planted beside a wide deck out the front.
There were enormous glass windows on both sides, which looked out over a leafy pond in the middle of a recently mowed lawn, and beyond that a patch of old-growth forest. A rainbow-coloured hammock hung between two mango trees and several freshly painted rattan chairs sat underneath another.
It was very pretty and Roxy fell in love with it instantly. Gilda was not so convinced.
“I still think it would have been more fun to be down in Byron, near the beach, where all the action is.”
“I thought you were here to look into a suspicious death, not hang out with the tourists.”
“A girl’s allowed to have fun, isn’t she?”
“Namaste, welcome,” came a soft, melodic voice as they stepped through the front door and into the front room-lobby. The room featured a small, bubbling water fountain below a large framed photo of an elderly Indian man with a ragged white beard and flowing orange garbs.
A woman in her sixties was standing behind the front desk, round glasses propped on her nose, her hair grey and soft around her face. She, too, was wearing a flowing outfit, all white with an orange trim, and she had a bright red bindi smudge between her eyes. She was clearly not Indian, although her whole getup and the way she held her hands, prayer like in front of her face, suggested she wished she was.
Note Before Dying (Ghostwriter Mystery 6) Page 13
