Last Writes (A Ghostwriter Mystery)

by C. A. Larmer

  “I can see he’s worked his charms on you, too, missy.”

  “It’s just business. I never mix the two.”

  “Fantastic philosophy. And nor should you! So, tell me, what other hunks are worth devouring at this soiree?”

  “Hang on, not so fast. We hadn’t finished discussing William Glad.”

  “Really? I thought we had.” She batted her eyelids innocently.

  “Come on, give me something. I won’t mention anything to Mr Lone, I promise. I’m just curious, that’s all. David says there’s a direct link now between William Glad’s murder and Seymour’s agent, a guy called Norman Hicks.”

  Gilda sighed. “I guess it’s okay. It’ll be in all the press tomorrow so ... Yes, David’s right, there is a direct link. And God knows how he found that out. But it’s been tarnished.”

  “Sorry?”

  She sighed again. “Okay, this is off the record and you never heard this from me, right?” Roxy nodded firmly and Gilda scowled at her briefly. “Well, we found the murder weapon, the gardening shears that killed Mr Glad.”

  “I didn’t realise they were missing.”

  “Well they were and they showed up Thursday afternoon, in the back of a certain motor vehicle. You will not believe whose.”

  Roxy’s jaw dropped. “Norman Hicks?”

  “Norman Rodney Hicks,” Gilda confirmed, swallowing some champagne and looking like it suddenly tasted of acid.

  “So there is a connection, then, between the two deaths? That’s extremely damning for Norman.”

  Gilda held her glass out for Roxy to refill. “Not necessarily. You see, Mr Hicks is a very lucky man. He happens to have an ironclad alibi for the time of William Glad’s murder on Wednesday night. So unless he paid someone to do it, and we’re still looking into that, he’s off the hook.”

  “That’s a pity. What’s his alibi?”

  “Oh, some dinner party at his place, seven equally creepy sci-fi types to vouch for him. The party went late, finished up around 2:00 a.m. There was no way Mr Hicks could have snuck off and killed William Glad then returned. Not without being noticed. It was a pretty intimate affair and he was the host, after all.”

  “Damn it. So how did the gardening shears end up in Norm’s car, then?”

  “That’s the million dollar question. Would’ve made our lives very easy if we could have pinned it on Mr Hicks. Now we have to look at scores of people who were at that blasted funeral.”

  “Funeral?”

  “Yes, well, if Hicks is innocent—and no one’s saying he is yet, so let’s not get too carried away—then my people believe the shears were probably planted in his vehicle the morning after the homicide, during Seymour Silva’s funeral. Couldn’t have happened any earlier. Mr Hicks had his car in his lock-up garage the night before and only removed it to drive directly to the Crematorium on Thursday morning. There’s little chance anyone could’ve snuck it in earlier. So they either planted the shears during the service, or maybe later at the wake.” She turned in her seat. “You were there, I believe?”

  Roxy nodded. “Just at the funeral. I went along with Oliver, then he dropped me home and he went on to the wake. But there were dozens and dozens of people there. You’ll have your work cut out. Anyone could have slipped out during the funeral and done it. Was the car unlocked?”

  “’Fraid so.”

  “And does David know all this?”

  She nodded. “Of course he does, he knows everything. I tell you, he’s like an insidious insect. So, as I say, it’ll be in all the papers tomorrow, hence the reason I’m being such an unbelieveable blabbermouth. Now,” she scooped up her glass and held it high again. “Enough talking shop, already! No more mention of death, murder, suicide or anything remotely like it. Promise?”

  Roxy rolled her eyes, pretended to scowl and then laughed. “Fiiiine, let’s just focus on pretty things like butterflies.”

  “Oh, darling, I think we can do better than that! Tell me about sexy Maxy. You still keen on him or what?”

  Roxy shrugged. “We’re just friends, always were, I honestly don’t know why everyone carries on about it.”

  “I’m not carrying on. He’s too cute to be wasted on the likes of you anyway. But you didn’t answer my question. I know you’re just friends, but are you keen on him?”

  Roxy blushed and glanced away. She didn’t understand why talking about Max was so difficult for her. She realized, then, that it was probably because she no longer had any idea how she felt about him. Once upon a time she could clearly say he was a friend, nothing more. Now, well, she didn’t know what to say, so she glanced back at Gilda and shrugged again.

  “I honestly don’t know what I feel anymore. I’m a bit messed up.”

  Gilda smiled. “I love messed up! Makes life much more interesting.”

  “No wonder you’re a cop then.”

  “That and the chance to carry a big, fat gun. So, you never answered my earlier question. Any other gorgeous men at this do?”

  “I’m sure there’ll be a few. If I know Max, he’ll have all the beautiful people swanning around him.”

  “Then we should fit in beautifully. Come on, drink up, we’ve got a party to go to!”

  Chapter 13

  Roxy and Gilda stepped out of their taxi in front of the large Darlinghurst warehouse that served as Max’s home and photography studio and stared at it for a few seconds. Roxy reapplied a little lip gloss, tossing the tube back in her handbag, straightened her black fringe down, then took a deep breath and led the way in, past a crowd of people who had gathered outside, smoking God knows what. As they walked along the stairwell and through the open doors, she wondered how Gilda dealt with the obvious drug scene at Sydney parties, but decided not to ask. She probably feigned ignorance, and it wasn’t like she was the straightest matchstick in the box.

  Once inside, it was clear that Max’s party really was awash with the beautiful people. Whippet-thin models loitered at every glance, trendy stylists and makeup artists hung close by, as did all manner of thespians and bookish types. Unlike David’s film preview earlier in the week, this crowd was less “A-list” and more “underground cool” with hipper hairdos, weirder body piercings and more original tattoos. Watching them glide about in a mixture of bright, lollipop coloured jeans, dark leather and vibrant mini dresses, half of them with non-prescription black specs on, Roxy felt even more boring in her oversized man’s shirt, and wished she could go home and change. Again.

  As if responding to her earlier thoughts, Gilda whispered, “Listen, at these kinds of dos, I see no evil, hear no evil. Frankly I just don’t want to know. And if anyone asks, I’m a public servant, got it?”

  Roxy laughed. “Got it. Now shall we get a drink?”

  They made their way to the open-plan kitchen which Max had transformed into a bar and where a sinewy black man was struggling to keep up with the orders. They eventually clinched a glass of wine and began to slowly circle the room, looking for the host.

  “I want to get this out of the way,” Roxy told Gilda.

  “He’s not a dentist, Roxy, you should lighten up.”

  “It’s just that I haven’t seen him for a while. It’s a bit awkward, that’s all.”

  “What’s awkward?” a familiar voice asked behind her and Roxy turned to find Max standing there, a wary smile on his lips.

  Unlike his guests, Max looked like he hadn’t even bothered to change clothes for the event. His checked cowboy shirt was rumpled and his black jeans well creased. As usual, his messy hair flopped across his face, and he was brushing it back now with one large hand while the other reached out to Roxy.

  “Hey Parker, how are you?” he asked.

  Before she knew what she was doing, Roxy had wrapped her old mate in a bear hug and they stood there, holding each other just a second longer than normal, Roxy wishing that the rest of the world would just bugger off for a while. She felt safe, she felt warm, she felt Max suddenly pull away. He seemed uncomfor
table and glanced across at Gilda, offering her one of his breathtaking, heart-stopping smiles.

  “Hey Gilda, glad you could come.”

  Gilda stepped forward and gave Max a quick kiss. “Thanks for inviting me. This is quite the par-tay.”

  He looked around the room, bemused. “I’m not quite sure how it got this big. I think we can blame my sister for that.” He turned to Roxy. “You heard Caroline’s in town?”

  “Caroline? No, I had not. How long’s she around for?”

  “Too long. She’s doing some real estate course.”

  “That must make your parents shudder.”

  Roxy had never met Caroline, but she knew that Max’s folks were old hippies. They’d fled office jobs and moved to Nimbin in the 1960s to join a commune and veg out, in every sense of the word. Despite this bohemian upbringing, or perhaps because of it, Max didn’t have a hippie bone in his body (don’t get him started on dreadlocks and djembe drumming), but he did have a laid back nature and a general disinterest in wealth, consumerism and keeping up with the Joneses. Caroline, it seemed, had no such qualms.

  “Oh yeah, she’s the black sheep in our family now. But, well, Caro could sell ice to the Eskimos so she’ll be a very rich black sheep one day. Actually, I’m a bit over her to be honest. She’s high maintenance, you know how I hate that.”

  “Is she staying here?” Roxy suddenly remembered that throaty woman’s laughter in the background, last time she had spoken to Max, and she felt foolish. It must have been his sister. Relief quickly replaced folly and she cheered up considerably.

  “Yep, hopefully not for long,” he was saying. “She needs her own digs. She’s exhausting the crap out of me. Hyperventilates if she stays in more than two nights in a row, and God knows how many blokes she’s brought back with her. I can’t keep up.”

  “Cramping your style, is she?” Roxy asked jokingly, but the wounded look that was now crossing his face made her instantly regret it. She quickly changed the subject. “So, have you been getting a lot of work lately?”

  “Um ... yeah, the usual stuff. You know how it is. Too many anorexic models and diva fashion editors to count. Honestly, I think I need a career change. Hey, listen, I’d really love for you to meet Caroline.” He looked around anxiously. “Can’t spot her just now.” He turned back to Roxy and studied her for a moment. “You look beautiful.”

  His unexpected compliment threw her and she blushed crimson red just as a shriek of laughter came from near the front door. Max swung around.

  “Argggh, more people are flooding in, I’d better go say hello.” He turned back. “Have fun, guys, help yourselves to more drinks, and let’s try and catch up before the night slips away from us. Good to see you again, Gilda.”

  Gilda waved him off and then turned to her friend who was staring after him looking melancholy.

  “Like two ships, passing in the night …” she murmured, then clicked her wine glass against Roxy’s. “Come on woman, you heard the man—it’s time to have some fun! Now, where shall we start?”

  She glanced around the room then pulled Roxy in the direction of a group of black-clad men at one end. Roxy rolled her eyes and followed like an obedient puppy but was secretly glad she’d invited her friend along. If there was one person who was guaranteed to get her spirits up, it was the indomitable Gilda.

  In fact, thanks to Gilda, the night would turn out to be a complete disaster.

  Chapter 14

  As the party got into full swing, a DJ now pumping out tunes from a turntable in the corner, Max found his way back to Roxy’s side and she felt a flutter of excitement. They were standing to the side of the makeshift dance floor and he quickly pulled her and Gilda away.

  “In case someone tries to make me dance,” he said, shuddering. “Can’t bloody stand dancing.”

  “I hate it too,” announced Gilda and he smiled.

  “Really? I would’ve pegged you for a dancer.”

  “God no,” she said, launching into a long and embarrassing story about a recent dance floor incident at a Police Union Ball.

  Max found it hilarious, and proceeded to grill her about her life on the beat. He was soon so caught up with Gilda that Roxy began to feel like a spare tire. Useless and neglected.

  Was Max playing some kind of game? she wondered. Or was he suddenly, genuinely fascinated in the policewoman and her entire life story?

  As Max prodded Gilda with endless questions and laughed uproariously at her every joke, Roxy recalled his invitation, suggesting she bring the policewoman along. It tugged at her heartstrings. Was Gilda the real reason she was invited along? Or, worse, the only reason?

  “Okay, it’s official, I am stalking you,” came a deep voice beside her and Roxy looked around to find David Lone standing there, two Coronas in hand, one with a sliver of lime in the neck of the open bottle. He thrust that one towards her.

  “Looks like you need it,” he said. “Having a bad night?”

  She laughed him off, unconvincingly, and gladly took the bottle. “Just not really in the mood, I guess.”

  He glanced towards Gilda and Max who were now so deep in conversation they barely registered his arrival. Something flickered across his eyes. She couldn’t read it but he seemed to be reading her now, like a book.

  “Come on, I know how to cheer you up. I want you to meet someone.”

  Taking her hand, David led Roxy away from Max and Gilda, and towards the back of the warehouse to a small lounge setting where a few people had gathered around a table bursting with candles, cheese platters and a motley collection of glasses. Sitting in the middle of the group was a stunning blonde with a vivacious smile. She looked up at David and then across to Roxy, her smile deepening.

  “Roxy Parker, I presume?” she said, jumping up to embrace the writer in a warm hug. Roxy was taken aback and the woman laughed. “I recognize you from Max’s photos! I’m Caroline, the prodigal sister.”

  “Of course you are, sorry,” Roxy said, marveling at the woman before her. She was nothing like her brother. This sibling looked like she’d just stepped out of one of his cutting edge fashion spreads—her ’80s-inspired royal blue dress clashing with bright yellow beads and stilettos. It was bold and garish and should not have worked, but on Caroline’s tall, skinny frame, it looked sensational. She had a small tattoo of a rose bud on the back of her right shoulder, and bright, jangly bangles on both wrists. Roxy guessed she liked to dance, and often.

  “How long have you been in town?” Roxy asked.

  “Long enough. I can’t believe Max never introduced us. I thought you two were inseparable.”

  “Yeah, well ... So how do you like living in Sydney?”

  Caroline clapped her hands together, the bangles clashing loudly. “I love it! Although Max is such a bloody bore. Good thing I don’t have to rely on him for my fun!”

  She slipped one arm in David’s and he smiled.

  “So how do you two know each other?” Roxy asked, an unsettling feeling flooding her stomach. She wondered suddenly if they were a couple, and why this should matter. Lone shifted a little and Caroline laughed.

  “Ooh, he hates this topic,” she said. “You might want to take notes.”

  “No I don’t,” he replied. “In fact, you’re on the interview list for my new book, Caroline. You can tell Roxanne anything you like.”

  She laughed. “Oh it’s nothing major. We went out for about five seconds back in our university days, in Lismore.”

  Roxy relaxed considerably. “Of course, I did see your name on the list! So, you both studied at Southern Cross? That’s close to where your parents live, isn’t it, Caroline?”

  “Yes but puh-lease! I didn’t live with them in their crazy old yurt. I moved into town, where it’s much more civilised.”

  David scoffed. “You call that dump you lived in civilised?”

  She slapped him hard on the arm. “I loved that dump! It was right on the river—”

  “A flood plain,” interje
cted David.

  “And the rent was soooo cheap.”

  “Because it was a flood plain.”

  Caroline laughed. “True, that and the fact it was haunted.”

  Roxy’s eyes widened. “Haunted?”

  “Oh, I’d forgotten about that,” said David. “What was the story again?”

  Caroline reached down to the table to retrieve a champagne glass and took a quick sip. “Well, we’d heard that somebody had drowned to death in the old bathtub there once upon a time.” She looked at Roxy. “The place was like a hundred years old so I’m sure it had more than one skeleton in the closet. Anyway, that bathroom was definitely creepy. Definitely something dodgy in there.”

  “Dodgy?”

  Her eyes widened dramatically. “Yes, a presence! The blinds on the window would fly up whenever I was in the bathtub and ...” She turned to David. “Do you remember Jacko? That was my flatmate, a sweet, nerdy kind of guy—well, he swears he came home one night to find the bathtub filling with water.” She paused for effect. “But there was no one home!” She mock shuddered. “Creepy.”

  David laughed. “He made it all up, Caroline, you know that. As for the blinds, I’d say Jacko was perving on you. You were a looker back then.”

  “Back then?!” Caroline grabbed a pillow from the sofa and lobbed it at David’s head. He ducked. “Anyway, I’m not the only one who thinks the place is haunted, Roxy. They’ve never been able to sell it. Last time I looked it was derelict.”

  “That’s because, once again, people, it’s on a flood plain,” said David. “Plus it’s a dump.”

  “Oh I like the haunted story much better,” Roxy said, laughing. “See, David, these are the kinds of stories we want for your book, especially if you ever stayed over. Caroline, prepare yourself, I’ll be grilling you further about all this.”

  “Consider me a lamb chop and grill away,” she said, grabbing a packet of cigarettes from the coffee table and pulling one out. “Do you mind?”

  Roxy shook her head. “So what did you guys study at university, anyway?”