Murder at the Races

by Carmen Radtke

  The cabinet had another simple lock. Frances wished she could see the desk drawers, but she had no reason to venture on the other side of the desk.

  Bluey took out the envelope and weighed it in his hand. Mr Dunne held out his hand for it.

  Frances cleared her throat, to remind Bluey of his next lines.

  ‘I’d need a geek at the rooms first,’ Bluey said with a slow chuckle. ‘I’m sure it’ll all be good as gold, but you know how it is.’

  ‘Indeed. May I commend you on your business practice.’ Mike Dunne’s voice was as clipped and British as Frances had heard it on the wireless. It either meant he’d arrived in Australia not too long ago, maybe receiving free passage after the war, or he deliberately used it to establish his superiority.

  He locked up after them.

  Bluey insisted on inspecting the ball room, which would easily hold seven hundred people and a full orchestra, plus cloak rooms, washroom and a small room which could be used as a dressing room for Dolores.

  Frances kept her silence. The less she talked, the smaller the risk that Mr Dunne might identify Miss Whitford as Signorina Francesca or whatever form her role would take. Instead, she wrote down all he details she could see, and the measurements. She had no idea if this information was useful in any way, but it fitted her role.

  The rooms had all either recently been built or refurbished, with high ceilings, good ventilation and lighting that made them perfect for a ball.

  The kitchen was smaller than Frances had expected, but the food preparation for their show was going to be done elsewhere anyway. A few of Marie’s war nurse friends had banded together and ran a small catering business, with leftover food donated to the soup kitchens.

  Bluey nodded his approval every minute or so. ‘This is bonzer,’ he finally said. ‘Just right for us. That is - ’ His forehead creased as if he’d hit upon a new and disagreeable thought. Frances admired his acting skills.

  ‘Yes, Mr Fitzpatrick?’

  ‘Call me Bluey. We’ll likely see a lot of each other, with rehearsals and all that.’

  Bluey ruffled his hair. ‘I hate to ask it, but is your security any good? Some of these instruments would fetch a pretty penny, and the band would have to stow some of them away overnight.’

  ‘Certainly.’ Mike Dunne motioned Bluey and Frances over to a window, overlooking a low-slung stable block, with a kennel at the end. ‘See that kennel?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Every evening from six up until I or my assistant arrive in the morning, guards make their rounds, together with highly trained dogs.’

  ‘And during the day? It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to nobble a favourite to swing a race.’

  Mike Dunne stiffened. ‘Not in Morphettville, I can assure you. We have a guard on duty every day we have horses on the premises.’

  ‘Good-oh. Miss Dolores will be happy to hear that.’ Bluey patted the breast pocket with the envelope. ‘How about doing the paperwork?’

  He signed the document with an easy flourish that made Frances think Jack let him do more of the background work than she’d thought. She knew that Jack trusted Marie’s business sense, but it appeared there was a lot more to Bluey than his physical strength and unquestioning loyalty.

  The men shook hands.

  ‘Pleasure doing business with you,’ Bluey said. ‘We’ll be over tomorrow to set up and start preparations.’ Then, as an afterthought, he extracted ten tickets to the ball from his wallet. ‘For you and your men. Wives too, of course. It’s going to be a beaut. The mayor and half the city’s big-wigs have already announced they’ll be there.’

  ‘Can’t miss that then, can we?’ Mike Dunne locked away his signed copy, together with the envelope, in a desk drawer. They key was on a separate ring from the door key. He slipped it carelessly into his jacket.

  ‘You were brill,’ Frances said as soon as they eased onto the road away from the racecourse.

  A faint pinkish hue appeared on Bluey’s cheeks, but that could have been due to the sunlight. ‘You make a fine secretary yourself,’ he said. ‘What did you make of the cove? Bit too posh?’

  ‘And too keen to show us he wasn’t dying to get his hands on the cheque.’ Another thought occurred to her, one she couldn’t bring up with Jack. ‘Bluey?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘This must all cost a fortune. I mean, hiring Morphettville and everything.’ She bit her lip. She should offer to pay for the costs, but there was no way she could and still hire a lawyer.

  Bluey took one giant mitt of the steering wheel to give Frances’s hand a comforting squeeze. ‘The captain knows what he’s doing,’ he said. ‘Always.’

  ‘You’re right. It’s just – I don’t know.’

  ‘Listen, Frances.’

  Usually he called her Miss, Frances thought, putting her on a different plane from the others. She preferred it like this though.

  ‘You’ve been busting your gut to take care of your family, same as what Captain Jack does now. I don’t know where I and Marie and the littlees would be without him. I also know that he wouldn’t think twice about doing the same for any of us.’

  A warm glow enveloped Frances. ‘He’s pretty wonderful, isn’t he?’

  ‘Best man I’ve ever met, and I’ve seen a lot of decent men and a lot who were as crooked as a dog’s hind leg. If he says, don’t worry, then it’ll be fine.’

  Pauline waylaid Frances as she entered the cloakroom. ‘You’re harder to catch than a fart these days,’ she said.

  Frances’s mouth fell open. ‘Where did you get that expression from?’

  ‘Tony. My sweetheart picked up all kinds of useful things while he was travelling.’ She giggled. ‘You should ask him to tell you some of his stories one day. Bring your brother along.’

  So, the police report had fooled Pauline too. Frances should be happy about that, but it was a hollow victory. And Tony had trained as an architect. He could make sense of Frances’s notes about Morphettville. Maybe she should tell them.

  ‘Anyway,’ Pauline went on, linking her arm with Frances’s. ‘Now that I’ve got you, I need to talk to you about my costume.’

  Frances blinked in confusion.

  ‘For the show? Honestly, Frances, what’s going in with you? I thought we could have matching outfits, with lots of sequins catching the light. Mum could help.’ Pauline fluttered her eyelashes at Frances. ‘I’ve cut out a few pictures from Everyone’s. Miss Barden gave me her old copies.’

  ‘If Uncle Sal and Jack agree, that’s fine with me.’

  ‘You didn’t have a fight, did you? Or is it your mum? You make a face like Dismal Dan.’

  Frances made a quick decision. Jack would agree. ‘Can you fetch Tony and meet me in Jack’s office?’

  ‘You mean, now?’

  ‘He’s still working upstairs, isn’t he?’

  Pauline’s face took on a besotted look. ‘Too right he is. That man will never leave Adelaide again, if I have to nail his coat to the rafters to keep him here.’

  ‘I’m sure it won’t come to that.’ Jack had given Tony a regular job as a handyman, looking after the property he owned and cheaply rented out to his old war mates and their families.

  ‘Although if I had known, the magazine pays you good money for your love letters, I’d made him write to me once a week while he was gone, using different names. Too late now.’ Pauline swished off in a move copied from the pictures.

  ‘Good idea, to use Tony,’ Jack said. ‘It’s a miracle Pauline didn’t catch on to the racecourse murder, but you said she won’t blab.’

  ‘She’s never let me down. And she’s too much in awe of you.’

  They sat in the office, Frances’s notes on the desk and Uncle Sal pouring over them. Marie and Bluey prepared the props for the show to be transported to the racecourse.

  Pauline knocked. ‘Cooee,’ she sang out.

  ‘Come in.’

  Pauline nudged Tony forwards. He held his cap in his ha
nds and twisted it. That was the only sign of unease he showed. ‘Mr Sullivan. Folks.’ Tony’s blue eyes held theirs with a steady gaze, and he stood not too ramrod straight. After Jack and Uncle Sal, Tony was the nicest man Frances knew. Apart from Rob. A pang of fear shot through her. What if they failed?

  ‘Take a seat,’ Jack said. ‘And thanks for coming.’ He pushed Frances’s writings over to Tony. ‘Can you use these measurements and draw up a blueprint?’

  ‘Sure,’ Tony said.

  ‘You’re not building another place and leaving?’ Pauline’s eyes grew huge.

  ‘It’s the racecourse building,’ Frances said after a small signal from Jack. ‘That vet they arrested for killing a jockey is Rob, and we need to find the real murderer.’

  Pauline squealed, ‘Rob?’ She clapped a hand over her mouth.

  Tony hugged her close for a second. ‘That’s daft.’

  ‘It is, but the police don’t see it that way,’ Jack said. ‘Which is why we need your help.’

  ‘Anything we can do.’ Tony set his jaw in firm lines. ‘You name it. No questions asked.’

  Pauline flung her arms around Frances. ‘You poor thing. How’s your mum?’

  ‘She’s fine,’ Uncle Sal said. ‘It’ll all be fine. The best brains in South Australia, eh?’

  ‘There’s one person we need to add to our suspect list,’ Frances said. ‘I only realised that when I saw the jockeys.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘The doctor. Wit all those injuries, they must have a man for the human patients too. He’d know what to steal from Rob and how to use it, and the security guards wouldn’t blink when they see him.’

  Uncle Sal thumped the desk in his excitement. ‘You’re right, and I might just need to see him with my gammy ankle after a rehearsal.’

  ‘You can lean on me,’ Pauline said. ‘I’ve always wanted to play a nurse, and a woman sees things a man wouldn’t notice.’

  ‘Excellent. The we’ll all move on to Morphettville tomorrow, with Tony as our set designer.’

  Pauline hugged Frances again. ‘Now you stop worrying. You should have told us sooner. Have you seen Rob?’

  ‘Once,’ Frances said with a heavy heart. ‘It would be too risky to visit, in case someone recognises me and puts Theodore Palmer and Frances Palmer and the Top Note together.’

  ‘But that can also happen on the racecourse, with the same last name.’

  ‘That’s why I made you create my disguise, as Miss Whitford. And otherwise I’m Signorina Francesca, assisting my Uncle Sal.’

  ‘That’s clever,’ Pauline said. ‘Tony can visit Rob. A bit of make-up, and his old clothes, and his own mother wouldn’t know him.’

  ‘Would that work?’ Frances’s eyes beseeched Jack. Having to accept she couldn’t see Rob was the hardest part. He’d feel lonely, and deserted, and she didn’t dare write him a letter if he wanted to claim he had no connection to Adelaide.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Open these.’ Uncle Sal laid a selection of five different locks on the kitchen table. He gave his collection of oddly shaped pins and hooks a gentle pat. ‘Don’t forget, easy breathing, and steady does it.’

  Two hours later Frances’s eyes smarted, her back ached, and she had mastered the art of picking three of the locks. Uncle Sal watched her with paternal pride as she slid the hook inside the lock and gave it an ever so slight twist, waiting for the precious moment she could feel it turn. ‘Done,’ she said and wiped her hair out of her forehead.

  Uncle Sal planted a loud kiss on her cheek. ‘And now we’ll do the same with the lights out.’

  She was too tired to protest. Instead she found herself agreeing.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ he said. ‘You need your beauty sleep, as do I. How about I make us a nice mug of cocoa?’

  She had been so focused on her task, she hadn’t noticed how cool the night had become, especially after the heat of the day. And how hungry she was.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ she said. ‘A sandwich to go with it?’

  ‘You’re reading my mind.’

  They lingered over their meal, both exhausted and both unwilling to retire to their comfortable beds when Rob was forced to sleep on a prison cot.

  Uncle Sal had shared enough stories about his early years in Vaudeville, when police would clamp down on travelling artists if they set so much as one foot wrong. In some places it took even less. It hadn’t been Australia, if Frances remembered correctly, but the tales of wrongful imprisonment for a day or two that thrilled and scared her and Rob in equal parts in their childhood now came back to haunt her.

  Judging by his somber look, they haunted Uncle Sal too. The only small mercy was the fact that they’d be careful to keep these anecdotes secret from her mother. She suffered enough already, and they’d weighed every word when they told her how well Rob kept up, and how there was no reason to worry or come back to Adelaide when Mum was needed elsewhere.

  Uncle Sal pushed back his chair and rested his hand on her shoulder. ‘Let’s turn in.’ Usually his touch was light. Not tonight though. His ankle must hurt like billy-oh, if he needed Frances to steady himself. At least tomorrow they’d try to have him seen by a doctor, murder suspect or not. And she’d ask the Chinese doctor Jack swore by for more of his magic ointment. With all the trouble brewing, Frances had forgotten to buy a new tub of the stuff. Uncle Sal should have done it himself, but while he wouldn’t mind spending his last penny on the family, he’d stint himself if it helped them.

  Frances looked back over her shoulder as she followed Uncle Sal upstairs. The locks had gleamed, and there were no tell-tale scratches. He must have bought them while she was at the racecourse, pretending to be Miss Whitford.

  The phone rang in the Miller household as the sergeant came down, with a shiny morning face and his uniform shirt crisp and starched.

  Andie dashed to pick up. ‘Hello?’

  A minute later she hung up, poured tea for her husband and herself and hoped her little girl would sleep until her father was gone for the day.

  There were three slices of crispy bacon on a plate. She helped herself to one of them and offered the rest to her surprised husband.

  ‘Have I forgotten a special day?’ he asked. Although with a regular salary they couldn’t complain about hardship, luxuries like an extra slice of bacon were save for rare occasions.

  Andie switched on the wireless. They now had several stations to choose from in Adelaide, and she fiddled with the control knob until she heard soft music. ‘Do you have any idea how long it is since we last went out?’

  Her husband pulled a face. ‘I’m sorry, love. I could ask my mum to babysit if you want to go out for tea on my day off.’

  ‘I’ve got something even better in mind.’ She placed the two tickets Marie had given her next to his plate.

  ‘What’s that?’ He stopped eating.

  ‘We’ve been invited to the big do at the Top Note. Only it’s no longer to be held at the club, because Marie says they need more space.’ She gave him an irresistible smile. ‘Please say we’ll go.’

  ‘We sure will, if you think my suit is up to it. Where is it to be then?’

  ‘Morphettville racecourse.’ She refilled his teacup. ‘I’ve always wanted to see it. Just imagine to be rich enough to own a racehorse and watch it win a cup.’ She sighed. ‘Makes you wonder who’d do such an awful thing, to cheat and spoil people’s trust.’

  ‘It’s money. People get greedy.’

  ‘That painted horse. Have you found out its real name? I mean, the owner surely must have known.’

  Her husband stirred a lump of sugar in his tea. ‘It’s a strange case, that one. Word on the station has it, the owner named on the papers is an eighty-year old widow from Hobart.’

  ‘Fancy that.’

  ‘The only trail we have is the racecourse where the blacksmith swears he saw the gelding. He shod five nags there. But the case will probably be closed soon. It’s the murder that matters, not some fraud.�
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  His voice sounded unconvinced, so Andie added another question.

  ‘Do you really believe that young vet was the mastermind?’

  He wiped his mouth and folded the napkin before he laid it aside. ‘It’s not my job to ask, but between you and me, there’s something about this that gives me heartburn. Strictly between you and me.’

  ‘Mum, Mum, Mum!’ Naked feet padded along the hallway, and into the kitchen.

  ‘There’s my good girl!’

  Janey hugged her father’s knees. He swung her high into the air, to her squealing delight.

  Andie’s heart filled with happiness, as her husband placed Janey in her high-chair and kissed them both good-bye.

  ‘Sergeant Miller, ready to protect this fair city,’ he said, as he’d done for the last three years every working day.

  Her response likewise hadn’t changed. ‘Adelaide and I rely upon you.’

  She shut the door and smiled. Marie would drop off Bobby in an hour, and they’d have an interesting chin-wag ahead.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bluey crawled on the ball room floor, drawing chalk lines wherever Tony instructed him to. Occasionally, the thunder of hooves and cry of jockeys reached their ears, thanks to opened windows. Without that, the building would be almost soundproof, with the horses hopefully undisturbed by the upcoming ball.

  Frances, in her disguise as Miss Whitford, marvelled at the sheer amount of work it took to relocate from one venue to another.

  Tony had drawn up plans to accommodate the bands plus Dolores on a dais. He’d also designed a swing chair for Dolores that would allow her to float through the air under a blazing chandelier. The effect should be spellbinding. At least that was the plan. If they had no earlier chance to search the office, the ball itself would be the last chance, and Dolores was the one act nobody would want to miss.