‘He’d better.’ Dolores lips wobbled. ‘I could call the police station, to make sure.’
‘Good idea.’
She reached for the telephone.
Jack excused himself and went into Dolores’ shiny kitchen. She’d lately taken to cooking, as displayed by the egg-caked frying pan and dirty bowls. Jack put them to soak. Their housekeeper would take care of them later.
He heard Dolores ring off and strolled back.
Dolores frowned. ‘He’s not working today, or tomorrow.’
‘Did it sound true or like an excuse?’ Phil had come to Adelaide after his undercover work in Melbourne had made his life as a police detective too dangerous.
I don’t know. I asked the sergeant to give Phil a message to call on me at home.’
‘That’s alright then.’
‘If Phil has gone to ground, what do we do?’ Frances asked.
‘Rally our other troops.’ Marie exchanged a quick glance with Jack. ‘I’m sure Phil will pop up when we need him most, but he isn’t our only friend in the force.’
‘He’s the only one who wouldn’t ask how the incriminating bottles came to our attention,’ Jack said. ‘Unless you want to involve Sergeant Miller.’
‘He’s a sensible man,’ Marie said. ‘His wife can be trusted to tell him what he needs to know.’
‘In which case we still need to set a trap, so he can be on the lookout. We need our man to be caught red-handed.’ Jack rubbed his smooth chin.
‘Why would Mr Lucca keep the digitalin and tranquiliser?’ Frances had been puzzling over that question.
‘I can think of two reasons. The first is, that’s it’s not easy to rid yourself of evidence without anyone seeing you or finding it. Doesn’t matter if you throw them into the Torrens, someone will see you. With a dustbin, the homeless might search through them.’
‘And the second reason?’ Uncle Sal asked.
Jack set his mouth in a grim line. ‘As long as Rob isn’t convicted, something could always go wrong, and he’d need another scapegoat to frame.’
‘Or to murder.’ Frances swallowed hard.
‘Yes,’ Jack said. ‘That too.’
Bluey took only his wife, Frances, Pauline and Uncle Sal to the racecourse. The knife-throwing number was the last one that needed rehearsing.
Frances’s hands shook on the way. What if Mr Henry came across her, or worse, Mr Lucca and Mr Dunne? Pauline had done her best to make her unrecognisable, and the blonde wig should also help. Yet she was apprehensive.
She kept her gaze lowered as they walked in. Faint noises from upstairs signalled Mr Henry’s presence, and she thought she heard low voices from the office. Pots and pans clattered in the kitchen.
Marie quickly stroked her arm as she went off to finalise the catering arrangements. Flowers and trays with goodies for the large refrigerator would arrive the next morning, and she’d be busy decorating then with a few assistants.
Frances strapped on her roller skates. She fought hard to focus on being Signorina Francesca and forget about the murderer and the content of the safe.
Tony arrived, out of breath. He cradled a portable gramophone in his arms and sat it on a table.
In a bag he carried two recordings, or rather, two copies of the same music, in case one broke.
He checked the frame he’d built for the act and tugged as hard as he could on the wrist and ankle straps that would hold his fiancée.
Pauline twirled around in her sparkling costume, her bright smile rivalling with the crystal chandelier. Although she knew why they were at Morphettville, Jack and Frances had agreed it was wiser not to tell her too much about the firm suspicion pointing at the racecourse people. Pauline was prone to flights of fancy, and Tony too might give the game away if he thought his sweetheart was in danger.
Pauline snapped her fingers in front of Frances’s face. ‘Hey there.’
Frances broke her musings. ‘Sorry. Ready whenever you are.’
She skated over to the frame and helped Pauline step into the holds.
Uncle Sal sat on his wheeled chair and lifted his head. Just a few movements, and he’d turned from an elderly gentleman into a commanding presence.
Frances clasped the back of the chair.
Uncle Sal gave Tony a regal nod.
Tony lowered the gramophone needle, and soft music filled the room.
‘Now,’ Uncle Sal said. Frances sprang into action, counting the beat in her head. One, two, three, four … All her senses were heightened as she anticipated Uncle Sal’s every sharp move. Nothing existed except for the rhythm, the movement and the odd sensation of
having left her old personality behind.
‘Enough,’ Uncle Sal said. Frances dug in her heel to stop herself and the chair.
Pauline squealed with delight as Frances helped her out of the straps. ‘That was brilliant.’
She flew into Tony’s arms. ‘How did I look?’
‘Like a star.’ They gazed into each other’s eyes.
‘Your smile slipped for a moment,’ Uncle Sal said.
‘It did?’ Pauline’s face fell.
‘Only for a second,’ Uncle Sal said. ‘Think of the applause. That’ll help.’
‘You all looked fabulous to me,’ Marie said from the door.
Frances hadn’t even registered it opening.
Pauline’s face lit up again. ‘Good-oh.’ She snuggled into Tony’s arms.
‘Are you done here? We need to set to it if we want this place to dazzle the crowd in two days.’
Frances turned to Uncle Sal. This was his call. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’m good, and my girls are too.’
They filed out of the room.
‘Hello?’ Frances spun around as she heard Mr Dunne. He barely glanced at her. ‘Isn’t Miss Whitford here today?’
Marie sighed. ‘Her mother’s been taken ill. She had to go home for a few days.’
‘That’s a shame.’ He pondered. ‘Could I entrust you with something instead?’
‘Sure,’ Marie said. Frances relaxed.
Marie followed Mr Dunne back to the office. She waited by the door as he neatly folded a letter, put it in an envelope and sealed it.
He glanced at the floor. ‘That’s odd.’ He picked up something small and orange.
Marie cursed silently. A petal from the Kangaroo’s Paw. It smelled strongly, too. Or, rather – she grinned. ‘Is it possible that Miss Barden was here?’
‘Yesterday.’
Marie took the petal and the envelope from him. ‘Bless her, she loves orange flowers.’
‘I still don’t see the connection.’
‘She adores to wear a flower pinned to her dress. The petal must have fallen off when she changed her shoes.’
Mr Dunne relaxed. ‘That would explain it.’
‘Will that be all?’ Marie gave him a carefree smile. ‘In that case, I’ll see you later.’
‘He had no idea who I am,’ Frances said as they piled into the car, with Tony as chauffeur.
‘I told you so.’ Pauline pouted. ‘As if anyone could see through your disguise. It’s my best work ever.’
‘It is.’ Frances could have hugged her friend. In the confinement of the back seat, she had to settle for a big grin instead.
‘What happens now?’ Tony asked.
‘You and me and Pauline will get our decorations out and start decking the halls,’ Marie said promptly. ‘And Uncle Sal and Frances will stay out of the way. The less she is seen, the smaller the danger that anyone will recognise her, and he can keep her calm.’
‘You’ve worked miracles,’ Frances said. ‘But you know how Jack can be.’
Pauline rolled her eyes. ‘Do I ever. Not that I can blame him. Tony would be the same, wouldn’t you?’
Tony chuckled. ‘You better believe it.’
The one thing that Frances and Marie didn’t mention was the fact that they’d also be busy at the Top Note figuring out exactly how to trap Mr Lucca.
Andie Miller had been instructed to alert her husband to the possibility of an incident which might require his assistance. They’d agreed it would be unwise to say too much, in case the Millers betrayed their interest.
Frances had timed how long it took from the ball room to the cloak room where they’d install Bluey, and to the office. The cloak room was in between the two. They’d put up a wooden barrier to make sure none of the party guests would venture beyond.
Unless Phil came to their aid, the starring role would have to go to Marie’s friend Gillian, a former nurse and veteran member of an amateur dramatic society. She could be relied upon a convincing performance, and she could throw her voice while seemingly whispering.
Jack went through every aspect three times with Blue, Frances and Uncle Sal. Their plan wasn’t watertight, or easy to rehearse when so many things depended on the party, but it was their best shot.
‘Go home and get some rest,’ he said to Frances after they’d finished their discussion. ‘Ring up your mother and tell her everything will be fine.’
‘Listen to the man.’ Uncle Sal held out his hand. ‘Come on, love. We’ll see you tomorrow, Jack.’
To her surprise, Frances fell asleep on her bed and only woke up when Uncle Sal called her for their evening meal. He’d lit candles and opened a bottle of wine, a rare occasion. He raised his glass. ‘To friends and to Rob.’
‘To Rob,’ she said. Her mother had sounded chipper enough on the phone, but then she had experience with a stiff upper lip. Rob’s wife and the unborn baby kept well enough she’d said.
Frances hoped it was true. It would have been lovely to talk freely, but for the operator and for her sister-in-law’s sake they had to skirt around the topic, relying on platitudes. Yet hearing her mother’s voice had been oddly comforting.
Frances rose with a jolt as the sun shone through her curtains. She staggered downstairs where Uncle Sal had laid the breakfast table.
Frances rubbed her gritty eyes. Past ten already. ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ she asked as Uncle Sal poured her a cup of coffee.
‘This will give you energy,’ he said. ‘You were all done in, love. And there’s not a lot left for us to do.’
Frances had to admit he was right. They lingered over egg and bacon. ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ she said when they had emptied their plates. Uncle Sal’s skin had a pasty tone underneath his tan, and she probably looked like a ghost, too.
She barely recalled the last day they’d spent in the sunshine. She was either cooped up in the telephone exchange, which seemed like a lifetime ago, or lately at the Top Note or the racecourse.
‘Elder Park?’ he suggested. ‘We could take a picnic. Maybe Jack can spare a few moments too.’
She shook her head. Jack had already given up every free hour and more. She dreaded to think how hard it must have been to keep the club running with everything else going on.
‘Just you and me,’ she said. ‘Like we used to.’
They say by the river, feeding the ducks with breadcrumbs and wilted lettuce from their kitchen.
A light breeze rippled the water and the sun glinted like diamonds on the gentle waves. Frances leant back on her elbows. ‘It’s so peaceful.’
‘Not a lot of that around lately,’ he said.
His cheerful tone couldn’t mask his pain. Poor Uncle Sal. What should have been a triumphant final return to his beloved stage had become a dangerous burden on all of them. Maybe they could perform their act at the Top Note once Rob was free and all this lay behind them.
She shot him a sideways glance, only to notice Uncle Sal watching her. They broke into laughter. Whatever happened, they’d have each other.
He rose and swung her to her feet. ‘Your nose is taking on a rosy hue,’ he said.
She clapped a hand over her face. Fashionable as sun tans were, she didn’t want to end up with a red nose and forehead. They’d have to buy a cooling tonic on their way home.
Frances and Uncle Sal strolled arm in arm, both content in each other’s company. Maybe she should miss her mother more, Frances thought with a stab of guilt. But as much as she loved her, at least for now, Uncle Sal was enough.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
‘The big day.’ Jack had assembled Bluey, Marie, Frances and Uncle Sal in the main room of the Top Note. There was something reassurance in his sleepy smile and his broad shoulders.
Frances sat there with a notepad on her lap. Any spur of the moment idea was welcome.
‘Any news from Phil?’ she asked.
‘Not yet, but he’ll be there tonight.’
‘If he isn’t, and we need Sergeant Miller to fall back on, how will we warn him?’
Jack motioned to Uncle Sal.
‘It’s going to be an almighty racket,’ Uncle Sal said. ‘About the same as the Top Note on New Year’s Eve.’
‘Which will make it impossible to send out a signal.’ Frances had thought about this problem without coming up with a solution.
‘Except that we’ve got orchestras and all the instruments under the sun.’
‘As soon as we bait our trap, Tony will play a drum-roll. We’ll make sure the bands are on break.’ Uncle Sal beamed at Frances.
‘That should work,’ Marie said. ‘I’ll ask Andie to stick around with her husband, so he doesn’t take a moonlight stroll at the wrong moment.’
The ball room was decked in flowers, the chandelier blazed, and black velvet curtains festooned with crystals muffled any sound from outside.
Marie’s catering friends had outdone themselves with crustless sandwiches, sausage rolls, mini pies, pastries and fruit cut into flower shapes.
Dozens of covered trays waited in the kitchen, together with a tower of champagne glasses. Jack had pulled a few strings to receive a special liquor permit, because the charity show would also be attended by “bona fide travellers”.
A dance troupe waited in the wings, to open the event.
Jack stood at the door, greeting guests together with Mr Dunne who welcomed them in his function as manager.
Frances bustled about in the dressing room while Pauline pinned up Dolores’ hair with diamante clips.
‘I should be having stage fright, not you,’ Pauline teased her.
She could easily say that, Frances thought. Her friend had no idea how much depended on this night. Even Dolores had only been told that they needed Phil if he made an appearance at all.
‘Stand still,’ Dolores said. Frances stopped walking. She’d come to Morphettville ready dressed and wearing her wig. All she needed were her roller skates before her big act.
Dolores chucked her a lipstick tube. The metal felt cool in her hand, and smooth, despite the engraved flowers. ‘Swipe it on. It’ll calm your nerves.’
‘Is that Elizabeth Arden?’ Pauline’s voice held an edge of awe.
‘It’s your colour, Frances.’ Dolores gave her an appraising glance. ‘My Chanel is too red for you.’
‘Give it to me, and I’ll paint your lips,’ Pauline said.
Frances gave in, to please and to pass the crawling seconds. Also, Dolores swore by the calming powers of lipstick. If ever Frances needed those, it was now.
Marie called from outside. ‘Fifteen minutes. We’ve got a full house.’
‘Pout,’ Pauline said to Frances, who dutifully pursed her lips.
“Don’t forget the perfume.’ Dolores sprayed herself from a cut-glass bottle. The scent of Chanel No 5 filled the room.
Frances declined. The ball room would reek of a dozen different perfumes, and she didn’t want to overload Uncle Sal’s nose, or alert anyone in the wrong moment to her presence.
She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and counted to twenty. They’d rehearsed as much as they could. Nothing more they could do now.
The orchestra played a soft drum roll.
Frances hurried towards the ball room, and Uncle Sal.
Together they stood on the side-lines and watched Marie’s old nurse friends glide through the crowd offering champagne.
They’d set up a bar, and a dining room area, at one end, as far from the hallway and office area as possible. They couldn’t afford a single mistake.
A spotlight shone on Jack in his tuxedo. He smiled at the guests as he stepped up to the microphone.
‘Welcome to this evening’s entertainment,’ he said. His voice was even, and there were none of the metallic noises and screeches that happened so easily with cheaper microphones. ‘As you all know, this show will go towards helping those who are a lot less lucky than all of us assembled here. I have the great pleasure to not only promise you a few numbers no-one has ever seen before, but also the raffle of a great prize. The winner will spend a weekend at the Oriental Private Hotel in Glenelg, courtesy of the proprietors.’
Screams of excitement interrupted him. Frances could understand. An excursion to Glenelg Beach on the tram was the most fashionable and exciting trip she could imagine before meeting Jack, and only well-to do people could afford more than a few hours by the jetty.
‘Tickets for one shilling each will be sold in the first interval. But now, ladies and gentlemen, let the music begin.’
The orchestra played the first song, and the ball was under way.
The dancers were still on stage for the opening act when it became clear that the evening would be a resounding success.
Dolores had yet to come out of her dressing room, but then she never made a public appearance before she was due on stage.
Jack navigated the room with the same ease he showed at the Top Note, all the while keeping a close watch on Mr Lucca who chatted animatedly with, of all people, shy old Mr Henry.
Mr Dunne with busy flirting with a golden-haired debutante, and Dr O’Leary stuck close to the bar.
‘It’s going swell,’ Uncle Sal said as the dancers left the stage to ecstatic applause and the orchestra changed to a foxtrot.
Murder at the Races Page 17
