Forbidden Fruit (15 page)

‘What about the missing couple?’ asked Petra, prodding at Gusto until he clambered off the armchair. She sat down.

‘What missing couple?’

‘The other two. Leo and Clare?’

I picked up the photo. They grinned back at me. ‘
Rex
and Clare. They were only involved that weekend before Easter. Just opportunists, I suppose, who got in on the action.’

Petra grimaced. ‘Can you rephrase that, please? I’m already losing sleep.’

‘But you’ve got a point, it might be worth tracking them down. They may have picked up on some of the nuances of the relationships. Give us a different direction.’

‘Well, we need something. Because at the moment we’re just going round in circles.’

As I had suspected, Petra’s idea about Dallas being murdered at an earlier time hadn’t panned out. Paul not only recalled having seen his mother that morning, but had gone on a walk with her down to the shops because they had run out of milk. She had been well and truly alive when they left. Apparently, however, there were still pressing matters to discuss with Paul Junior, because Petra was meeting him in the city on Saturday night.

I pushed my coffee aside. It was my third of the morning and probably one more than my bladder could take. I had already added the milk-bar stroll to Dallas’s timeline, but it only made things murkier. The woman took time out from her escape plan to ensure there was milk in the fridge. That was taking altruism to a new level.

‘Have you spoken to our father recently?’ asked Petra. She swung a leg out and examined her ankle boot. ‘How’s he going?’

‘I rang him last night. He sounded surprisingly well. In fact, anyone would think he has nothing hanging over his head at all. He’s off to play golf this morning with Jim Hurley.’

‘Do you know,’ Petra spoke slowly, still staring at her boot, ‘it’s his attitude that convinces me of his innocence more than anything else. It’s like he has this supreme belief in the legal system.’ She swung her leg a little more and then looked up at me, giving a snort of laughter. ‘I can’t believe you thought you’d find something under the floorboards. A diary, perhaps? Or a note from the murderer?’

‘Why would she be looking for a note from the murderer
before
she died? If you’re going to be sarcastic, at least make sense.’

‘Do we know their surnames? Or where they live?’

‘Hang on a second. Just let me check my address book.’

‘Now who’s being sarcastic?’

Gusto ran over to the front door and barked. A split second later the doorbell gave a short, sharp peal, as if somebody had barely pressed it.

‘Perhaps that’s them now,’ I said, going across the room to answer it.

I pushed Gusto aside and then swung the door open to reveal Rita Hurley on the doorstep. I blinked, surprised.

‘Nell! Um, hello. I just thought I’d bring these.’ She thrust two cellophane-wrapped bunny-rugs into my arms. ‘For the girls. The babies. You know.’

‘Why, thank you. How kind.’

‘Hello there, Rita,’ called Petra from the armchair. ‘Why don’t you come in, have a look at Nell’s new home? You’d remember it, of course, from when it was a butcher shop.’

I stood back and Rita took a hesitant step inside. ‘I don’t really recall … I didn’t come here often. Looks lovely, though, Nell. So homely.’

‘Thank you,’ I said again. Her head swivelled as she took in as much as she could from her vantage point. Gusto sniffed at her foot and snorted. I glanced at Petra, raising an eyebrow.

Rita returned her focus to me. ‘How is your father, dear?’

‘Fine, I think. Although you probably know more than I do, living next door.’

‘Oh no, not really. Terrible business, though. Just terrible.’

Petra was staring at her. ‘Do you think he did it?’

‘What?’ Rita took a step backwards.

‘Petra’s just worried, that’s all.’ I shot my sister a frown. With Rita having delivered herself of her own accord, I didn’t want to lose the opportunity to question her. I put an arm around her shoulders, steered her forwards. ‘Come through, Rita, let me show you the backyard.’

She stopped still, unmovable. ‘The backyard? But isn’t that where …?’

‘Of course!’ I kept my arm around her but now added a sympathetic look. ‘I forgot you knew Dallas Patrick. I am so sorry. This must all be such a shock. Can I get you a cup of tea? Glass of water?’

‘Um, perhaps just a glass of water.’

I lowered her into the spare armchair before going to the kitchen. Rita had folded her hands into her lap and was now rubbing her fingers together, as if cold.

‘Can I ask you something?’ said Petra, continuing immediately. ‘Did you know a couple called Rex and Clare?’

Rita’s plump face paled. ‘Who?’

‘Rex and Clare. They owned a holiday house in Queenscliff. Apparently you spent a weekend there in 1970, along with our parents. And the Patricks.’

I passed her the glass of water and she grabbed at it, draining half instantly. She lowered it to stare at Petra, her eyes burning amid the pallor. ‘So long ago. I barely remember … memory like a sieve.’

‘It’s not the type of thing you forget,’ I said gently. I sat down on the couch. ‘Rita, I should tell you that our father told us everything.’

She looked from me to Petra and back again, resembling nothing more than a trapped animal. I felt sorry for her, but needed these answers. Better to ask her than Yen. After a few moments of silence, when it became obvious neither of us was going to let her off the hook, she visibly shook herself. Her face hardened. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, girls. I do vaguely remember spending some time in Queenscliff at the Fletchers’ house, but you know Jim and I have had a few holidays over the years.’ She gave a stiff, wary smile. ‘Long marriage and all.’

‘Did you know Dallas Patrick well?’ asked Petra abruptly.

‘No, not very well at all. Apart from knowing that your father was head over heels for her.’ Rita’s odd smile was still in place. ‘Sorry to say that, but it’s the truth. Would have done anything for her, he would. As for me, no great cause to use the chemist back then. Of course, nowadays it’d be a different matter! More pills than you can poke a stick at. That’s age for you.’ She rose, putting her glass down on the coffee table. ‘Thanks for the water, dear. I’d best be off. Things to do, places –’

The phone rang, cutting across her goodbye speech. Her smile slipped.

‘Excuse me for a moment, Rita.’ I jumped up to answer it. ‘Hello?’

Silence answered me. A hollow, echoing silence.

‘Hello? Is anyone there?’

‘The wrong place,’ said a deep, husky voice brusquely, almost barking the words. ‘You’re looking in the wrong place.’

I stared across at Petra, widening my eyes. ‘We’re looking in the wrong place? Ah, who is this?’

‘Paul Patrick’s expecting you. He has the answers.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Paul Patrick,’ repeated the voice with a note of exasperation. ‘Go now! Right now!’

‘Why would Paul Patrick be expecting us? What answers would he have?’

‘For fuck’s sake,’ said the voice. ‘Just do it!’

‘But –’ I stopped as the dial tone sounded. Whoever it was had hung up. I put the phone down, still staring at Petra. ‘An anonymous phone call. Apparently we’re looking in the wrong place. Paul Patrick has all the answers.’

‘Junior?’ asked Petra hopefully.

‘I’m thinking Senior.’ I glanced from her to Rita, who was still standing in the middle of the room. Her face was even paler. ‘Rita, are you okay?’

‘Yes. Yes, of course. It’s such a shock, that’s all. Anonymous phone calls on top of everything else. I just want a little peace.’ She sounded plaintive. ‘I want things to go back to normal. Is that too much to ask?’

‘I’m really sorry if we upset you,’ I said. ‘We were just –’

‘No, that’s fine. I understand. He is your father, after all.’ Rita moved across the room determinedly. ‘Terrible business. Just terrible.’

I opened the door. ‘Yes, it is. But thank you for the bunny-rugs. The girls will be thrilled.’

She nodded perfunctorily and began walking swiftly down the path towards her car. She looked like she’d just been released from prison. With the door still open, I turned to Petra. ‘Well, it looks like another road trip. Ballarat, here we come.’

*

Not quite an hour and a half later, we were pulling up outside the wrought-iron gate belonging to Paul and Margie Patrick. This time there was nobody waiting on the porch. We had discussed the mysterious phone call at length during the drive, with Petra grilling me on the voice. On the whole, I thought it might have been male but wasn’t one hundred percent certain. The depth may well have been faked, and the huskiness a ruse. I was, however, quite sure that it was an older person; there had been a raspy timbre that, in my experience, it was impossible for a younger person to pull off. My bet was that it had been Paul Patrick himself.

The gate creaked as we pushed it and I saw a curtain move in the lounge room. Seconds later, the front door opened, before we had a chance to ring the doorbell, and Margie Patrick came bustling through to the porch. She raised a finger to her lips. ‘Shhh, shhh. He’s asleep. Needs his rest. Doctor’s orders.’

‘Hello again,’ I said, rather stupidly.

‘Oh, it’s you, Nell.’ She smiled, wiping her hands on a seersucker apron. ‘I didn’t recognise you with your hat on. And this
must
be your sister! Long time, no see!’

‘Hello,’ said Petra. ‘How are you?’

‘Well, I’ve been better if the truth be told. What a turn up for the books, hey? All these years thinking Dallas had done a runner and there she was, buried in some backyard! Could have knocked us over with a feather when the police came round to tell us.’

I was nodding sympathetically. ‘I imagine it was a huge shock.’

‘Huge is right! And then of course there’s all these questions. The husband is always top of the list of suspects, you know. Lucky Paul had an alibi, hey?’ She beamed at us and then her face fell as she suddenly made the connection. ‘Oh, your
father
! Oh my. Goodness. Um, I don’t think you should be here.’

‘But we got a phone call telling us to come.’

‘Come
here
?’ She frowned and then shook her head. ‘Well, I don’t know who that was, dear, but I think someone’s pulling your leg.’

‘Maybe it was your husband?’ asked Petra gently.

Margie shook her head emphatically. ‘Impossible.’

‘Could we ask him? We’ll only be a minute. Somebody
did
ring.’

‘Well, it wasn’t him.’ Margie’s mouth thinned. ‘He took a turn for the worse after the police spoke to him last Friday, had a mild stroke. Only got out of hospital this morning. They reckon it’ll get better but his speech is a little slurred. He can barely say my name, let alone make a phone call.’

‘Oh, god. I’m so sorry.’ I tried to make sense of this, but failed. ‘But we saw Paul and Jen the other day – they didn’t say anything about it.’

Margie gave me a piercing look. ‘I didn’t know you knew them.’

‘Oh, we just caught up recently,’ I replied quickly. ‘Old times and all.’

‘I see.’ She was still frowning. ‘Well, if you must know, I didn’t tell them. It wasn’t like their father was in actual
danger
, and Paul Junior tends to … well, it mightn’t be wise. Doctor says I need to keep him calm, settled. I’ll tell them later, when he’s fully on the mend.’

I thought this was odd, but kept it to myself.

‘We’re very sorry to disturb you then,’ said Petra suddenly. She took a step backwards. ‘We won’t keep you any longer. Best wishes with your husband.’

She took off towards the car and I had no choice but to follow. As I shut the gate I glanced back towards the porch, but Margie had already gone inside. I jumped into the passenger seat and glared at Petra. ‘What was that about? We might have been able to get some more information!’

‘Think it through, Nell.’ She started the engine and shot forward, driving quickly down the narrow street. ‘We got a phone call insisting we drive to Ballarat, but the people there know nothing about it.’

‘Yes. So?’

‘So what could anyone possibly gain by sending us on a three-hour wild-goose chase?’

‘I don’t know. Get rid of us for a while?’

She turned onto the main road and put her foot down. ‘Exactly.’

‘But what does that achieve? Apart from leaving my …’

‘House empty,’ finished Petra. ‘Somebody wanted access without being disturbed.’

‘Christ.’ I dragged my mobile from my bag and switched it on. A plethora of messages pinged into being, but I ignored them, dialling Lucy’s mobile instead. She answered on the fourth ring.

‘Hello?’

‘Oh, Lucy.’ I sagged with relief. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Of course. You only saw me this morning. What’s up?’

‘Where are you?’

‘Kate and I are in Castlemaine. There’s this wonderful avant-garde –’

‘Oh, excellent,’ I said enthusiastically. ‘I’ve got to go. Talk soon.’

‘I didn’t think of that,’ said Petra, shaking her head. ‘But she’s not there?’

‘No.’ I slipped the phone back into my bag. ‘Why would someone want to get into my house?’

‘I have no idea. But I suspect we’re about to find out.’

We pulled up in my driveway, behind my car. There was nobody else around. I got out slowly. ‘Maybe we were wrong.’

‘Maybe,’ said Petra. She locked the car and strode towards the front door, then stopped. ‘Did you lock this?’

‘I honestly can’t remember.’ I joined her. ‘But even if I didn’t, then I definitely would have shut it at least.’

The front door stood ajar. I could see a sliver of my lounge room through the three-inch gap. But I couldn’t see Gusto. Petra reached out and pushed, the three inches slowly widening. ‘Should we ring the police?’

I had an image of Eric Male, dour and suspicious. I shook my head. ‘Not yet.’

Petra took a step inside, peering around. All was still, the clock ticking away the seconds. On the landing, the cardboard dalek stood guard, his turret pointing towards us. With a surge of relief I saw Gusto at the sliding door, scrabbling at the glass. Had I put him outside before we left? I had a sudden thought and pushed past Petra, heading across the room. I pushed the sliding door open so hard that Gusto leapt backwards as it bounced in the frame. But the backyard looked undisturbed, with both Dallas’s corner and my father’s handiwork pristine. I walked out into the centre of the yard, scanning the entire area to make sure.

‘Nell,’ called Petra from inside. Her voice sounded strange.

I hurried back, the dog at my heels. My sister was standing halfway up the staircase, staring towards my bedroom. ‘What is it?’

‘Um, I think we need to call the police now.’

I came up the staircase behind her, my heart forming a fist within my chest. I wanted to ask her what, or who, but couldn’t find the words. I drew level, following her gaze. My bedroom door stood open, the floorboards a glossy expanse beyond. Apart from a foot. It extended from beyond the other side of the bed, clad in a camel-coloured sock and a slip-on brown shoe. An older man’s shoe.

I registered all this within an instant, and then ran up the rest of the stairs, bounding across the landing and into the room, coming to a halt by the end of my bed. Now he was totally visible. An older man indeed, in brown pants and a tan cardigan. The type that had cable knit running down either side of the zip-up front. His grey hair was neat, apart from the black-lipped bullet-hole in his left temple. A tiny amount of crusted blood tracked down his pale skin, almost the same colour as the sheet pinned against my window. His eyes were closed and his large, rather fleshy nose pressed against the carpet. This was a man who may have enjoyed a drink or two. But it wasn’t my father.

‘Look,’ said Petra, pointing.

A matt-black pistol lay by one of his hands, the barrel partly hidden beneath the valance.

‘Not that.
That
.’

On my bed lay a note. It had clearly once been folded, the creases now smooth and even. I walked forward carefully and peered down to read the spidery script.
I did it all for love
. Indeed.