by C. A. Larmer
Missy stared at him aghast. “But that was her strength! That was her ruse; it was how she managed to wheedle the truth out of people and work out whodunit. It was a ploy, you must know that!”
Lynette sighed impatiently. “What I know is that time is ticking away and we haven’t even got to the book yet. Can we drop the feminist lecture please, Missy, and focus on the actual mystery? I think it was epic.”
And so they returned to the plot, something they all had to agree was as good as any mystery starring the indomitable Hercule Poirot.
It was not until they were finishing the dregs of their second pot of tea and smudging the last cake crumbs onto licked fingers that Claire remembered to mention the upcoming event.
She rescued the flyer from beneath a china plate and presented it to the group with a caveat. “I know we’ve already read and dissected this one, some time ago, but I’d love it if we could all go along this Saturday night. It’d be such a laugh. Who’s keen?”
Perry snatched the flyer from her hands and read it aloud.
An evening under the stars!
The inaugural
Balmain Moonlight Cinema
featuring:
Agatha Christie’s
Evil Under the Sun
Starring: Peter Ustinov & Maggie Smith
Cost: $15 adults / $5 children
Gates open 6pm / Screening from 8.15pm
at the Dame Nellie Johnson Park
BYO cloche hats and blankets
All proceeds go towards the maintenance of the park.
Brought to you by the Balmain Ladies Auxiliary Club.
“Ooooh I’m in,” said Missy, and Perry rolled his eyes.
“Well there’s a shock. I guess I could do it. Now that I have my weekends back.”
Alicia glanced quizzically at Lynette, who explained, “He got dumped unceremoniously yesterday.”
“Oh no, there was plenty of ceremony,” Perry retorted. “There was a long, elaborate letter, left under a white carnation, no less, with a bottle of—wait for it—Chardonnay! Tacky? Anyone?”
Alicia thought a bottle of wine was a lovely break-up gift and wondered if she should organise one for Anders. She shrugged the thought away and said, “This film will cheer you up then.” She looked at Claire. “I’m definitely in. I’ve never made a secret of the fact that it’s one of my all-time favourites.”
Claire smiled. “Mine too. And you, Lynette?”
“Sure. Can we bring partners?”
Claire really wished she hadn’t asked that and snapped her eyes to Anders, who was busily checking his smartphone.
“You know cheating husbands don’t like public events, right, Lyn?” This was Perry, who hadn’t cottoned on to the faux pas and was having a dig at Lynette’s usual predilection for older, richer, unavailable men.
Lynette grabbed a plush cushion and smacked him with it, which helped defuse the tension. For a moment at least.
“Maybe we should just restrict it to club members,” Claire began, but Anders was shaking his head as he got to his feet.
“I’d like to bring someone. Sounds like a plan.”
Now all eyes swept to Alicia, whose jaw had tightened considerably.
So that’s how he wants to play it, hey?
“Good,” she said. “Let’s all bring someone along. That’d be great!”
The book club ended a little awkwardly that day.
Chapter 2
The stars were not out yet, the sun still clinging on to the horizon, and thank goodness for that, thought Alicia, as she plucked her way carefully through the crowd and around the numerous brightly coloured rugs and cushions towards the right-hand side of the park where, she had it on good advice, she would locate the rest of her book club.
For now all she could see was a writhing mass of bodies, some standing, some seated, some billowing blankets, others opening picnic baskets, many texting, probably reaching out to equally lost friends.
In front of them all was an enormous white screen, blank at present, and beyond that a stunning view of the twinkling bay, bookended by the Sydney Harbour Bridge at one end and a smattering of apartment blocks at the other.
Alicia noted that some of the audience had dressed up for the occasion, and she was delighted to see lots of cloche hats, as requested on the flyer, as well as a few wider Chinese straw hats, in keeping with the movie’s plot. There were dainty day dresses and beaded “flapper” frocks, and several men had gone out of their way to wear cream linen suits and bright silk cravats, old-fashioned pipes unlit in several mouths.
“Spotted them yet?” asked the man behind her, and Alicia looked around at Liam Jackson, who had been following closely, a small icebox esky in his hand.
She looked out into the crowd again. “It’s hard, isn’t it?”
From her vantage point, it all just looked like a tangled mass of limbs and rugs and picnic paraphernalia, and it was hard to tell one individual group from another.
“Ah! There.” She pointed. “Not too far from the back, on the right-hand side, near the big white tent. I can see Missy’s bright pink hair.”
“Thank goodness for Missy,” Jackson said, and Alicia agreed, although she could just as easily have spotted Perry’s trademark lurid coloured suits or Claire’s eye-catching ensembles.
Jackson had met the gang, of course, but he didn’t know them that well, and she wondered what he would make of this motley crew that had come to mean so much to her. That was part of the reason Alicia had invited him along—to get to know them all better. The other part was staring at her now, an inscrutable look on his face, a stunning brunette by his side.
Ignoring the aforementioned brunette, Alicia made her way across and then sang out, “Hi guys,” as she approached.
The group all looked around with welcoming smiles and sang their hellos back. Anders got straight to the introductions.
“Alicia, this is Margarita. She’s Spanish and a literary professor.”
“Oh, hi, Margarita,” Alicia managed, wondering what her nationality or education had to do with anything. “And this is Liam Jackson,” she told the newcomer, wanting to add, “He’s Australian and a kick-arse cop” but decided to take the high road tonight.
The Spanish woman smiled vaguely at them both, then held out a plastic wine cup for Anders to fill with the bottle he was holding out. He did so dutifully, and Alicia caught Perry’s eyes. He was rolling them.
“Come and plonk down next to me, lovelies,” Missy said. “More room on this side.”
Alicia did as requested, and Jackson followed, waiting with the esky while she spread their blanket over the remaining patch of grass.
“You brought cushions!” Alicia noted, and Missy giggled.
“Well, I do have a tubby butt. It can get very uncomfy sitting on the ground. Here, you should take one.” Then she gasped. “Not that I’m saying you have a fat bottom! Oh my goodness, you didn’t think that’s what I was saying, did you?”
Alicia laughed. “It’s okay, Missy, no offence was taken. But thanks, I don’t need a cushion.”
“She’s got a lovely cushion of her own,” Perry noted with a wink at Jackson. “He’s not plump, but he’ll do the job.”
This caused Alicia to blush, and she slapped him with a Watch it! glare.
Jackson didn’t seem to notice any of this and simply placed his esky on the blanket before dropping down to join it, leaning back on his elbows, his legs out in front.
“Not on duty tonight then, Detective Inspector?” Claire asked, and Jackson tapped his mobile phone, which was in his hip pocket.
“Hope not. Time will tell, I guess.”
“Speaking of which,” she said, “Lynette’s going to miss the start if she doesn’t hurry.”
“Oh there’s plenty of time, panic merchant,” Perry said. “We haven’t been barraged with ads yet.”
As if on cue, the soft jazz music that had been streaming across the crowd came to a screeching halt, and the o
verhead screen flickered to life, inducing an eruption of cheers from the crowd. It began showing a series of advertisements, much of which got lost in the waning light. It did send the audience into a fluster, however, and many made a dash back to their blankets, others off to the portable toilets or the refreshment tents to stock up before the main entertainment started.
Within ten minutes, the sun had vanished, the last of the advertisements were showing, and the crowd had been lulled into a quiet murmur. Alicia glanced around, getting her bearings before everything went dark.
She guessed there were about a hundred people at the park, maybe more. It was hard to tell with the colourful quilt of blankets and cushions and the many bodies sprawled out. She noted that the closest white marquee, just a few rugs to their right, was dubbed the Booze Bar, and farther down there was a food tent, several Portaloos and a side exit.
There was still a sizeable queue at the Booze Bar, and she was glad they had brought their own alcohol, happily accepting the bottle of Sapporo Draft that Jackson was now handing over.
“I don’t need it, Mum, cut it out,” came the snippy tones of a teenage boy nearby, and Alicia watched as the woman directly in front of them tried to wrestle jumpers over the heads of an assortment of wriggling children, all white-haired and freckle-faced. Alicia counted five kids, aged anywhere between five and fifteen, the eldest now sighing dramatically and trying to distance himself on the brown rug where his family was perched.
It was no mean feat. They were squashed right in, and she was not surprised when the boy stretched his legs out on the bright red rug that was lying temptingly empty in front of them.
“Ezekiel!” hissed a stern-looking fellow with a trim beard and John Lennon glasses. The father, no doubt, and the teenager folded his legs back and hugged his knees tight, looking both uncomfortable and mortified.
Alicia felt a pang of sympathy for him and then wondered why any of the children were there. It wasn’t exactly a family movie showing tonight. She was about to comment on it to Jackson when a burst of machine-gun-style laughter snapped her head up and to the right. On the other side of the red blanket, closest to the Booze Bar, two men in their early thirties were squatting on the bare grass, both heavily tattooed, with caps on head and tall bottles of beer in hand, their glowing cheeks and loud laughter suggesting this was not their first drop.
I hope they’re not too distracting, she thought just as she locked eyes with some elderly ladies seated in low camp chairs between her blanket and the men. They were clearly thinking the same thing and gave her a conspiratorial frown, before turning back to help themselves to a magnificent cheese platter they had set out on the tartan rug in front of them.
Some people really know how to picnic, Alicia thought.
“I’m here! Don’t despair!” came a familiar voice from one side, and the group all looked up to see Lynette hovering with a half-bottle of wine, a block of vintage cheese and a punnet of fresh strawberries.
“No, I didn’t have time to cook up a feast. This is all I could muster.”
“It’s all you need, my darling,” said Perry, tapping the sliver of rug between him and Alicia.
“Where’s…?” Alicia had forgotten the name of her sister’s latest beau but was saved by a loud sigh.
“Don’t even mention that man to me. He’s not coming.”
“Trouble in paradise?”
“He’s a fool.”
“Afraid he’ll run into his wife?”
That was Perry, of course, and she just glared at him before asking, “Who’s got glasses? I need a drink.”
“I have plastic cups,” Missy said, but Claire tsked loudly.
“We can do better than that, my dear.”
She produced a silver goblet from her handwoven willow picnic basket and handed it to Lynette, who promptly filled it up, then offered the bottle around.
For once, Alicia was disappointed Lynette had not brought a man along. It meant the only partners were hers and Anders’s, and it felt a little like Battle of the Beaus. At least they were separated by a few book club members, some plush cushions, two picnic baskets, and an icebox.
Still, it didn’t blind Alicia from the fact that the Spanish woman was stunning—slim and voluptuous, which seemed cruelly contradictory. Alicia had always struggled with her weight, having to exercise regularly and watch what she ate. Right now Margarita was thrusting what looked like a large chunk of prosciutto into her mouth, and Anders was watching her like he’d never seen anything so sexy.
“She’s probably a right bitch,” whispered Perry, following Alicia’s gaze.
“Behave,” she whispered back, trying hard not to laugh.
Then she glanced at her own beau who, again, seemed oblivious to this exchange, his finger tapping away at his smartphone.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Not sure yet. Incident nearby. I think they’ve got it under control.”
She nodded, thinking nothing more of it just as the giant screen went dark and then lit up again with a flourish of orchestra music. The crowd gave out another cheer.
Evil Under the Sun was just starting.
Chapter 3
By the time a pasty-looking Hercule Poirot was making his way across the glassy Adriatic Sea to the boutique island resort, Alicia was taking another moment to glance around. In front of the squirming family, the red blanket remained unoccupied, and she wondered about that.
Who would spread out a blanket and then not bother to show up?
Perhaps they were stuck in the toilet queue, she decided.
“Sorry, oopsy, don’t mind us!”
Make that the bar queue, Alicia corrected herself, as she watched a late-twentysomething couple giggling and swaying their way through the crowd. They were both wielding bottles of champagne and looked very drunk, the man helping the woman who was swaying on her feet and giggling with every step.
They were a good-looking pair, your classic hipsters, both in matching grey fedoras. The woman, petite with dirty-blond locks splaying out from beneath her hat, had a silk camisole on over a flowing floral skirt and a brown suede jacket slung across one arm. Her white, oversized eyeglasses were almost falling off, and the man beside her, a hovering six-foot-plus, stopped to push them back into place before smacking a kiss on her cheek and continuing their shuffle across.
He had the hunky look of a Hemsworth brother about him, wide shoulders, a trim, straw-coloured beard, and a checked shirt over dark blue jeans.
They seemed to catch everyone’s attention, Poirot forgotten for now as they reached their blanket and fell down onto it—well, onto each other, in fact, with a snort of laughter that saw the nearby parents scowl and a neighbouring pregnant woman, who was nearly bowled over in the process, shift her blanket a little to their left.
“Sorry, babe,” the man said to her, and she gave him a cold smile before saying something to the man beside her.
He smiled sympathetically and shook his head.
Within minutes, however, all eyes were back upon the screen, and even Alicia managed to forget the early distraction and settle in to enjoy the film.
And enjoy it she did.
It had been a good few years since she had watched the Hollywood version of her favourite book, and while she was none too pleased by the poetic licence they had taken with the plot—relocating to a fictional island in the absurdly named Kingdom of Tyrania and creating whole new identities for almost every character—she knew the central crime remained unchanged and enjoyed looking out for the many clues that were being sprinkled on the screen above her head.
“I’ve never seen this one,” Jackson whispered in Alicia’s ear.
“But you’ve read the book, right?”
“Nope.”
She turned to look at him, eyes wide. She didn’t know whether to be jealous—he got to enjoy the plot for the first time—or shocked.
“I didn’t know there was anyone left on the planet who hadn’t read thi
s one,” she whispered.
“Well, I’ve already guessed that the smarmy chick in the turban gets it, but I don’t know anymore than—oh hang on a sec.”
He reached for his phone, which had been vibrating in his pocket, and pulled it out.
After reading the screen, he sighed and said, “And it looks like that’s not going to change, at least not tonight.”
He downed the last of his beer, then leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. “Duty calls. Sorry.”
Alicia tried to mask her disappointment. “You haven’t even got to the murder yet.”
“Got a murder of my own. This one’s real life.”
“That trumps this one then.”
He nodded. “I’ll call you tomorrow, find out whodunit.” He got to his feet, then leaned down again. “But I got my money on the husband. It’s always the husband.”
She raised her eyebrows knowingly. “Fifty bucks?”
“Okay, so it’s not the husband…”
“Shhhh!” came an angry hiss from someone in front of them, and Alicia looked around to find the bespectacled father glaring at them.
“Sorry,” she mouthed, then watched as Jackson quietly waved goodbye to the group and began plucking his way around the rugs and stretched legs and off to one side.
Alicia sighed. What is it with her and unavailable men?
“Everything okay?” Lynette whispered, and she nodded, then caught herself.
“Well, not for some poor soul. Sounds like a homicide.”
“Yikes, poor Jackson.”
Alicia glanced back at the screen, thinking how ironic it was. Here they were, paying good money to watch a murder play out for their own entertainment while Jackson had to be paid to deal with murder in real life.
********
Alicia didn’t know if it was Jackson’s homicide that had her on edge or the long, slow build-up to the murder on the screen above her head, but she felt a trickle of impending doom, and she couldn’t put a finger on it.
