by C. A. Larmer
“Has it started yet?” he asked.
She craned her eyes to the circle and watched as the skinny woman held her hands up to quiet the crowd. “Any moment,” she said. “So, what have you done now?”
He blinked several times. “Sorry?”
“Oliver took one look at you and bolted. Should I prepare myself for another horrible story in the Tele?”
“None of my stories are horrible, you should know that,” he said, smiling. “No, don’t worry about Oliver. He’s just a sore loser, that’s all.”
“What do you mean? What’s going on?”
He shrugged. “So I switched agents, big deal.”
Roxy’s eyes widened. “Really? You’ve dumped Oliver?” He shrugged again as if it didn’t mean very much at all and she felt her temper rise. She didn’t want to yell at him today, to lose control, but he wasn’t making it easy. “You don’t seriously think Oliver did this? You don’t think he murdered three people?”
He looked at her deadpan. “If I did I’d hardly try to piss him off further by dumping him as my agent. That’d be suicide. I’d be next on the hit list.” She didn’t look impressed by this, so he quickly added, “Whether Oliver’s guilty or not is irrelevant. This is a purely commercial decision, Roxanne. Oliver is no use to me while he’s under a dark cloud. You’ve seen him. He’s preoccupied, he’s vague, he’s a mess.”
“Thanks in part to you!” she snapped, her anger boiling over. So much for staying in control.
“Hey, I’m not the enemy here, Roxanne. Don’t keep taking it out on me.”
She tried to calm down. “Sorry, but I just don’t get it. So he’s having a bad week. Why dump him?”
“It’s simple. I haven’t got a week to waste. I need to get on with my career, and my new agent can help me do that. It’s Amy Halloran, have you heard of her?”
The name did ring a bell, thought Roxy, but it was probably because there weren’t that many agents in the country.
“She’s amazing,” David was gushing. “Really dynamic, loads of energy. You should meet her, you’d love her. I can’t believe I wasn’t with her all along, to be honest. Been with her one day and she’s already signed me up for a book deal on these murders. Oliver never even thought of it. Amy’s keen to get your book going as well.”
“Whoah! Hang on, a book deal on the murders? What, Tina’s, William’s and Seymour’s?”
He nodded. “Yep, Amy likes my ‘Last Writes’ theory and has sold the idea to Penguin. I need to get the first draft to them within the month.”
“But it’s not even solved yet.”
“It will be by then.”
She stared hard at him. “What do you know? What are you not telling me?”
He smiled. “Don’t you worry about that. As I say, the good news for you is Penguin also wants the book you’re doing on me, so you really need to get cracking on that one, too. I’ll have to make some time for you, obviously, but you have lots of names and contacts you can interview in the meantime. Start with my English teacher. As I told you, she adored me.” He winked. “How long before you finish the Tina article?”
“It’s almost done. Was just going to add a few notes from today, then get it in.”
“Good, then can you get onto my book? Is that going to work for you? We really don’t want to muck around.”
“But what about Oliver? I thought he was a partner in all this.”
David shook his head firmly, raising one hand to wave at someone in the distance. “Nope, no way, Amy has looked at the contract and says we can easily cut and run. We never finished signing it properly, anyway. She suggests we sign up with her and get the book done within the month as well. Bring both books out together. Such a great idea, the sort of thing Oliver wouldn’t have dreamed of. This is going to be huge, Roxy, really huge! For both of us!”
Roxy recoiled. “I don’t want to cut and run from Oliver,” she began and he looked at her with such disappointment in his eyes.
Just then a loud “Whoop!” came from the circle and they both watched for a few minutes as a large man began fluttering rose petals in the air while several others danced around him, singing some high-pitched song.
Bloody hippies, she wanted to say but she kept it to herself.
“When are you going to learn?” David said eventually and Roxy turned back to him.
“Learn what?”
“Learn that you have to do what’s right for you sometimes.” He indicated towards Max who was moving around the circle, madly taking snaps. “You let all these other people lead you on, dance around with your life. Oliver’s been the worst. You should have earned a stack load more from your last two books. My new agent would have got you twice what Oliver got. They were superb stories, brilliantly written. He should have at least negotiated to get your name on them.”
“I’m a ghostwriter, David, that’s the whole point.”
“Rubbish,” he snapped and then, noticing he’d turned a few heads, dropped his tone a little. “A good agent could have worked around that. You wrote those books, Roxanne, not those old snobs. Your name should have been front and centre.”
She was dumbfounded. She didn’t care about that but he hadn’t finished his lecture.
“Have you ever stopped to ask, ‘What do I want? What’s going to make me happy?’” He waved again at someone at the other end of the park and turned towards her, staring deeply into her eyes. “What’s wrong with being ambitious, Roxy, what’s wrong with making some bloody money out of all this horror?” Now he was indicating the ceremony, which was in full swing, the skinny woman warbling a woeful tune while the crowd bowed their heads mournfully.
Roxy wanted to tell him he had her pegged all wrong, he didn’t know her at all, that she didn’t care about money or ambition or selling her friends for any of it, but there was a small side of her that stalled. That said, “Maybe you should!”
She thought then of David’s spacious home and his luxury furnishings, she thought of his glamorous film launch and his seemingly endless book deals, and she wondered, suddenly, if maybe he was right. Maybe she needed to stop standing under the shade and demand her time in the sun. Perhaps there was a grander destiny for her than a crappy little unit in Elizabeth Bay and lonely dinners with her mother and Charlie while pining for a man who just wasn’t right.
“There’s Tina’s ex-husband, I need to get a quote,” David said, oblivious to the turmoil he had stirred up inside her, and he dashed off, a digital recorder suddenly appearing in one hand.
Roxy watched him go then glanced towards Max who was still snapping away, his camera now focused on Oliver who was in the middle of the circle, holding hands with two glammed up women who might easily be men. Roxy felt suddenly deeply sad. This time it was not Tina or Oliver for whom she mourned, but herself and her confused, messed up, going nowhere life.
Tina’s memorial service wrapped up after a loud and colourful hour and the motley crowd of hippies, tarts and transvestites eventually headed off to a local pub, Oliver leading the charge. Roxy told him she’d see him there later, and made her way over to Max who was back beside his tripod putting his gear away.
“Get everything?” she asked, and he looked up surprised to see her.
“Oh, Roxy, hi. Yes, I think so. You’re not going to the wake?”
“I’ll follow on soon enough. Just wanted to see how you’re going.”
“Well, I think I covered most of it. Got some good shots of the celebrant, and that fat yogi guy. Surreal memorial service, eh?”
She nodded. “I meant how are you. How are you going?”
“Oh,” he glanced at her and away. “I’m okay, Roxy, I’m always okay.”
“Good.” She paused. “I’m not sure Oliver is, though.”
“Yeah, he wasn’t looking crash hot.”
“David Lone’s just dumped him as his agent. That’s gotta hurt. He just didn’t need that right now.”
“Bastard,” he said and then glanced up at
her and away. “What’s the latest, what does Gilda say?”
“Gilda? Nothing, I spoke to her on Monday and she wasn’t giving too much away. Told me to stay out of it.”
This surprised him. “She told me she’s been trying to call you for days. She wants to talk to you about the case. Mull it all over.”
“Really?” Roxy wondered how Max was so well informed, but she didn’t want to ask and she didn’t want to think of all the phone calls Gilda had left for her that she had so childishly ignored. Maybe it was time to grow up and call her back.
“I’d better get going,” Max was saying. “I’ve got a Jeep advertorial that starts this arvo, and it’s going be grueling.” He paused, coughed a little. “Um, Caroline’s been asking about you, too. Thinks you’re terrific. Wanted to know if you wanted to come for dinner one night. Better just do it so we can stop her nagging ... I can make myself scarce if you’d like—”
“No, of course not! I’d love to come to dinner, to see both of you.”
His enormous, wolfish smile suddenly appeared and she inhaled. She’d forgotten how mesmerizing it was. “Great, how about Sunday night? You free?” She nodded and he said, “See you then.”
As he walked away Roxy finally remembered to exhale.
Chapter 24
The Pig’s Arms Hotel looked exactly as it sounded—rough around the edges and reeking of sweat—and the clientele certainly didn’t help. It seemed the entire congregation from the memorial service had descended upon the pub, and Roxy struggled to get inside, let alone find Oliver. Eventually she gave up and wandered around the side to the beer garden, which was quieter, with a small bar set up on one side. At least she could grab a drink while she waited for things to settle down inside.
As she ordered a merlot and watched the barman, a young British backpacker, clumsily pour it into a ridiculously small glass, a pudgy man with a shock of orange hair approached the bar. She recognised him instantly. It was Norman Hicks. Seymour Silva’s manager.
He recognised her too.
“Roxy, isn’t it?” he said and she nodded, taking the fat, hairy hand he was extending to shake. He asked the barman for a Guinness and turned back to her. “Fucking terrible mess all of this, eh?”
She agreed it was. “Do you think it’s all linked?”
“The three deaths?” He shrugged. “Who the fuck knows?! Maybe, maybe not. It’s working great guns for that tosser Lone, though. I hear he’s got a book deal out of it. Lucky turd.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Good news travels fast. How do you know?”
“Amy Halloran’s my agent, too, or didn’t you know that?”
That’s right, she thought, Oliver had mentioned it a while ago. No wonder Amy’s name rang a bell.
Aloud, she said, “All I know is, Oliver used to be your agent and David Lone’s. Now everyone seems to be deserting him.”
“Like a stinking fucking ship,” Norman agreed, unashamedly. “But remember I left him first. I get the credit for that.”
Roxy had had just about enough of all this Oliver-bashing. He was just metres away, inside the hotel, for God’s sake.
“I like Oliver, thanks very much,” she said, “and, unlike the rest of you, I won’t be deserting him any time soon.”
Norm looked her up and down with a snide smile. “Don’t get your fucking knickers in a knot, sweetheart. You do what you’ve got to do. It’s your funeral.”
“He didn’t kill anyone, Norm!”
“Tell that to the pigs. Besides, I left him long before this mess started.”
She took a calming gulp of her wine and then asked, “Why did you leave Oliver? Were you afraid he was going to reveal your little secret? Tell the world that Seymour was a fraud?”
“Nah, deep down I knew he wouldn’t say a thing. If there’s one thing I’ll give Oliver, he’s loyal. Nope, Amy came to me. Had a much better deal, that’s all there was to it.”
Roxy stared at him. “Really? She approached you?”
“Yep, lotsa motsa.” He rubbed his fingers together as though playing with cash. “She’s got shit-hot US contacts, too. Oliver can’t compete with that.” He took a long drag on his stout, some froth hanging on to his upper lip. He wiped it away roughly.
“What are you going to do now that Seymour is gone?”
“Onwards and upwards! I’ve got two more books about to come out. Amy says they’re more marketable now than ever. Seymour’s death was the best thing that ever fucking happened to us.”
Roxy’s blood ran cold and she was glad when he turned away and plunged back into the main pub. What a hideous human being, she thought, so unperturbed by Seymour’s death, and by Oliver’s bad luck. But her mind was quickly racing past Norm to Amy Halloran, the new agent.
Her name was cropping up a lot lately.
Roxy had a sudden thought. She took another mouthful of her wine then followed Norm inside. When she’d caught up to him, she tugged at his arm and yelled through the noise, “Hey, Norm, you couldn’t set me up with this Amy woman, could you?”
He turned around with a knowing smile.
Chapter 25
Saturday morning dawned hot and stifling. It was true beach weather and Roxy hoped that was exactly where everyone was headed. She didn’t feel like running into anyone today, least of all anyone related to Oliver Horowitz. She was meeting up with his competition, Amy Halloran, and she didn’t want word to get back to him.
Oliver was super-sensitive at the moment, and with good reason. Roxy had received another early morning wake-up call from her agent, and he was distraught. The police had not only issued a warrant to search his home and office last night, they had torn both places apart.
“I don’t know what they found, Roxy, but it’s not good. It’s not fuckin’ good.”
She sat up in bed, trying to kick-start her brain. She needed a coffee. Badly.
“What’s happened?”
“They’ve asked me in for more questioning, told me to bring my solicitor again.”
“Shit. Okay, have you got one? Did Sharon organise a good one?”
“Yeah, he’s all right. It’s Thomas Ronson, he did a good job for a client of mine a few years back. He’s meeting me in there in an hour. I’ve got to go.”
“Just quickly, before you do. I need to finish the Glossy article on Tina. Did you ever track down that missing book?”
“Book?”
“I’m sorry, I know it’s so trivial at this point, but it might help. You know, you said there were only two proofs made up. You were going to get one from her editor.”
“Oh shit, Roxy. With all of this, I’ve completely forgotten. Can I give you the editor’s details? Can you contact her yourself?”
“Of course,” she said, reaching for a pad and pencil. Oliver rattled off the name, number and e-mail address.
“The book is called something like Lover and Joy, something like that. Can’t bloody remember.”
“Okay, I’m onto it, don’t worry about that.”
“Worry? I’m beyond worrying, Roxy. I’m fucked.”
“Just take deep breaths, Olie. I’m sure everything is going to be okay.”
But she wasn’t sure, she had never been less sure of anything in her life, which is why she’d wasted no time calling Amy Halloran. She desperately needed to crack on with the case and she was becoming suspicious that this omnipresent agent had something to do with it.
For her part, Amy had not sounded at all surprised to get Roxy’s call and had agreed to meet that morning at Lockie’s Café. In fact, she was already sitting at a table up the back of the room when Roxy arrived, and she checked her watch. This one was punctual.
Leaping out of her chair, Amy thrust one rigid hand towards her, a toothy smile on her face. She was stick thin with long, black hair that had been straightened so stiffly, it looked brittle and ready to crack. She was wearing bright red lipstick and, despite it being the weekend, a similarly coloured suit with a lacy white camisole underneath.
There were pearls in her ears, an iPad on the table in front of her, and what looked like a leather briefcase by her side.
“Roxy Parker, hello at last!” she said. “Soooo exciting to get your call! I’ve been watching your work for years!”
Roxy smiled brightly back. “Hi Amy, thanks for meeting me.”
“The pleasure’s all mine!” she cooed, dropping back into her seat. “Now, where is that fabulous Lockie? I just love him, don’t you? We need to get you sorted with a coffee.” She glanced around frantically and Roxy waved her off.
“I’ll go and order at the bar. Have you ordered yet?”
“Yes, I’m having tea. Get yourself whatever you like, it’s my shout!”
Roxy strode across to the coffee machine where a young woman with deep blue spiky hair and multiple nose piercings was hard at work on a latté.
“Hey, Rox,” she said, glancing up, “the usual?”
Roxy nodded. “Thanks, Fenella. Where’s Lockie? Out the back?”
She nodded behind her. “Yep, hiding in the bat cave. Go and lure him out with your temptress ways.” She raised a pierced eyebrow provocatively.
“I will later, Fen, I’m having a very important meeting now.” She nodded towards the back of the café where Amy was watching them closely. Amy waved brightly in return, and Fenella looked at Roxy and gaped.
“I was wondering who dragged Miss Perky in. That’s why Lockie’s hiding out. She talked the poor guy’s ear off. It’s just, like, all so exciting!”
Roxy laughed. “Now, now, Cat Woman, put the claws away.”
Back at the table, Roxy took the seat across from Amy and smiled. “You didn’t sound too surprised to get my call.”
“Au contraire! I was extremely surprised to hear from you. I know how fantastic Oliver Horowitz is. Such an amazing agent!” The words were positive; the look in her eyes said otherwise.
