Forbidden Fruit (19 page)

I closed my eyes briefly. Beside me I could hear Uncle Jim shuffle awkwardly in his chair. All I wanted to do was go home and drink myself stupid. Apart from anything else, I would have thought that Rex Fletcher’s right- or left-handedness might have indeed come into play over the weekend, so to speak, otherwise surely it reflected poorly on the
breadth
of his capabilities. But one thing was for sure: I wasn’t about to enter into a debate.

‘So she goes, How would you like a proper shower? And I’m like,
Would
I!’ Ruby’s face moved jerkily on my computer screen. It was like a hundred stills all cobbled together, with every second one missing. ‘Mum, are you listening?’

‘Of course I am. So you had a shower?’

‘Yeah, it was
bliss
ful! They have everything in their camp! Get this, they even have a sauna! Not that you need one with this humidity.’ She ran a hand through her hair. ‘Enough about me, what’s new there? I can’t believe I’m missing out on everything!’  

‘Not that much, really. Things should be sorted out soon.’

She frowned, her mouth moving just before the words emerged. ‘Doesn’t sound like not much. You find a body, your dad’s over there for the first time ever,
and
he gets arrested. Then some other bloke tops himself in your bedroom!’

‘These things always sound like a lot when they’re, well, said.’

‘Yeah, sure. And there’s Scarlet due in a week or so and Lucy
today
.’ She hesitated, the words following her into silence. ‘I was thinking, maybe I should …’

‘If you want to come home, Ruby, then do so,’ I said quickly. This daughter had a record of never finishing anything, and of finding an excellent reason not to do so. ‘But don’t use all this as an excuse. You’re nearly at the halfway mark. That’s amazing! So before you make a decision, ask yourself one thing – will you regret it?’

‘Yeah, I suppose …’

‘Those babies will still be babies if you see your contract through. If anything, they’ll just be more fun.’

‘Yeah.’ Her head turned to the side, and then swam jerkily back. ‘It’s just, I’m a little homesick, Mum. Actually, a lot.’

I stared at her, wanting so much to tell her to come home. Right now. Instead, I took a deep breath before I spoke. ‘And we miss you like crazy too. But this isn’t about us, or home, or anything else that’s going on. It’s about you. Make the decision that’s best for you, honey, and the one that you won’t look back on in five years and regret. Okay?’

Her lips didn’t seem to move. ‘Okay.’

We exchanged the usual endearments and then rang off. I watched her face vanish, knowing that one word from me, one encouraging word, and she would be on the next flight home. A mix of guilt and irritation swam uncomfortably in my gut. It did not feel good. To distract myself, I closed Skype and detoured into my inbox. There were several new messages, most inquiring about Lucy’s health, and one from Deb Taylor asking if I knew anything about the disappearance of my street sign. I ignored them all, clicking instead on one I had received on Friday evening. This was not the first time I had reread it since then.

I had already checked past emails, and this was the first that he had signed with ‘love.’ It was also the first in which he had mentioned that he missed me, but then again every other email had either been sent just after he had seen me or just before he was about to, so that was more understandable. The apology I found a little confusing, since the bad ending to that phone call had been more my doing than his. I wondered if it was a tactical ploy, to put me off guard, and I wondered whether his mention of ‘blazes’ was supposed to conjure up images of heat and fire and sweat-slicked lust. And I also wondered if I was investing a little too much time in dissecting this email.

I closed my inbox with a sigh and swivelled my chair to face the two lone sheets of paper stuck to my wall. Now I had an even greater reason to work this whole thing out, because the sooner it was done and dusted, the sooner we could have that conversation. I wasn’t very good at deferred gratification.

I peeled the sheets off the wall and carried them out into the kitchen just as my front doorknob rattled noisily, and then opened. Petra came through quickly, slamming the door behind her.

‘Come in, come in,’ I said jovially. ‘Make yourself at home.’

‘That reporter’s sure persistent.’ She moved over to the bay window and peered outside. ‘He followed me all the way from the car thrusting his thingamajig in my face.’

‘The lengths these people will go to for a story.’

‘You know what I mean.’ She let the curtain fall and then flopped down into an armchair, dropping her bag on the floor. ‘Coffee, coffee, my kingdom for a coffee.’

I flicked the jug on. ‘I should have just enough milk. So how was the big date last night?’

‘Good.’ She smiled slowly. ‘Very good indeed.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘Really? On your first date? Don’t you have
any
self-control?’

‘Not much. You’re a long time dead.’

‘Oh, great philosophy.’ I let Gusto inside. He trotted past me and then put on a burst of speed to ascend the stairs, no doubt intent on rejoining Quinn, who was having her Sunday morning sleep-in. ‘But did you actually find out anything useful?’

‘Depends on your definition of useful. And the context of this usefulness.’

‘I’ll take that as a no.’ I poured our coffee, using the last of the milk, and took Petra’s mug over to her. Then I returned to the bench and picked up my list of suspects. ‘Okay, let’s get to the matter at hand. The reason for this little meeting …’ I paused, shook my head. ‘I can’t believe you slept with him already.’

‘Twice, actually,’ said Petra. She took a sip of coffee and then put her mug down on the coffee table. ‘It was the least I could do, considering the trauma he’s been through.’

‘No, the least you could have done was
not
sleep with him. People manage that all the time.’ I looked at her curiously. ‘All jokes aside, is this just a fling or do you like him?’

‘I never sleep with people I don’t like,’ said Petra primly. ‘But … yes, I rather think I do.’

I smiled, pleased for her. ‘In that case, congratulations. I hope it all turns out well.’

‘Me too.’ She rose to her feet and came over to the bench, taking the list from me. ‘Okay then. Let’s go through these one by one. Paul Patrick Senior. Alibi. Margie Patrick. Alibi.’

‘I know everyone says they didn’t leave Ballarat that day, but … I don’t know.’

‘I do. The police have gone over his movements with a fine-toothed comb. It’s
always
the ex-partner. Besides, you said yourself after you met him that he totally believed she’d done a runner. Now her –’ Petra tapped Margie’s name ‘– I’m not so willing to dismiss. She would have been more of a peripheral figure at the Anzac Day march; they weren’t her kids for starters. And even though everyone says she didn’t leave, I don’t know that they would’ve noticed her absence in the same way. Paul and I spoke about it last night.’

‘But what would her motive be then? Assuming she was after Paul Senior, you’d think she’d be thrilled that Dallas was leaving him. Why would she follow her?’

‘True. Okay, next we have Mr and Mrs Forrest.’ Her voice changed. ‘The Disgustingtons.’

I regarded her thoughtfully as I sipped my coffee. ‘How many guys have you slept with?’

‘Pardon?’

‘It’s a serious question. Counting your latest conquest last night, how many guys have you slept with? C’mon, ballpark figure. More than five? More than ten? More than twenty?’

‘I suppose … more than ten.’

‘Okay, so even including Yen’s brief walk on the wild side, her number would be four max, and that’s including the two long-term relationships. Not sure about our father, but seeing as he met Edie within months of landing in England, I’m thinking he’s still going to come in at less than ten.’ I waited for these numbers to have impact. ‘And then we have you …’

‘It’s a different time.’

‘So what? You’re grasping at straws.’

‘And I don’t have children.’

I smiled. ‘And now we’re at the crux of it. This isn’t about what they got up to; it’s about the impact on you. Him leaving and all that.’

‘What if it is?’ she said defensively.

‘Well, then you’re probably being a bit rough on Yen. She didn’t leave anyone. And besides, nobody’s making excuses for him. Not even he is. So be angry if you want to, you’ve got every right, but don’t let it rob you of the chance to get to know him a little. It might be your only chance.’

Rather than answer, Petra just stared at me. But I was the expert in that game, not her. She soon gave up. ‘Okay, let’s put all the psychoanalytical crap to one side, hey? Get back to our suspects, of which he’s still number one. He had the means and the motive. Never underestimate the bitterness of spurned love. All that jovial matey stuff may be just a front.’ She ran a manicured nail beneath his name.

‘All right. What about Yen then?’

Petra laughed. ‘You seem a lot more willing to throw her under the bus!’

‘I’m just trying to be as clinical as you,’ I replied stiffly. ‘She could have seen him go over there that day, been overcome with jealousy.’

‘Number one, Dallas knocked him back. Number two, she was already in a relationship with Jim Hurley. Number three, can you imagine her involved in a crime of passion?’

‘Never underestimate the bitterness of spurned love.’

‘But it wasn’t … never mind.’ Petra fetched her mug from the coffee table and brought it over to the bench. ‘Okay, next we have Rex Fletcher, who has just been ruled out on account of being left-handed. He could, of course, still be the lover she was on her way to meet.’

‘And in that case, I’m moving Clare Fletcher up my list. Anyone who dyes their hair the night their husband kills himself is capable of murder.’

‘Are we sure he killed himself?’

‘It seems that way. The police haven’t said anything about suspicious circumstances. The only thing they seem to be unsure about is the note. I think that’s what Ashley was trying to tell me. Maybe the note was added afterwards, to make it look like he also killed Dallas.’

Petra grinned at me. ‘Speaking of the ruggedly charming Ashley Armistead, how’s it all going there?’

‘Okay.’ I shrugged, took a sip of my coffee. ‘He wants to move forward.’

‘That bastard! How
dare
he? What a cheek!’

‘Very funny. But I think I’ve sort of been given an ultimatum. Either move forward or he’ll find someone who will.’

‘I see.’ She hesitated for a moment. ‘Well, don’t get pressured into anything you don’t want. But, look, you met him so quickly after everything fell apart with Darcy that I don’t know if you fully appreciate how rare it is. Meeting someone when you’re older, I mean. Someone without serious baggage, anyway. Ex-wives, troubled children, phobias.’

‘Ah, so you think I should go for it regardless? Because this might be my best hope?’

Petra looked exasperated. ‘That’s not what I meant and you know it.’

‘Let’s get back to this.’ I waved my hand, dismissing Ashley and his idiosyncrasies. ‘So the scenario is that Clare finds out Rex is leaving her for Dallas. She waylays and kills her. Which makes sense – except how would she have known that Dallas would even be here?’

‘Which rules her out,’ Petra sighed. ‘Okay, moving on we have the Hurleys, but no reason for either of them to kill Dallas Patrick. If Rita was going to kill anyone, it would’ve been Yen. And I can’t see him as the lover either. Apart from anything else, I can’t see him writing those notes.’ She looked up at me, frowning. ‘Hang on. The notes. Can you print them out?’

‘Sure.’ I raised an eyebrow but she had dragged her phone out and was scrolling rapidly. I went into the study and pulled up the email with the scanned copies, and then printed them both. I handed them to her at the bench and she laid them beside her phone.

‘Rex wasn’t her lover,’ she said flatly. ‘Bugger it.’

‘What? Why?’

‘I took a photo of the suicide note. It’s on my phone. Compare the writing.’

I leant in and realised instantly that she was right. On Petra’s phone, the grey square of notepaper had the words
I did it all for love
written in a rearward slanting, measured script, while both the letters were written in a cursive scrawl. The former spoke of control and methodology, the latter of passion and persuasion. They were written by different people.

‘This is ridiculous,’ I said crossly. ‘So now he wasn’t the killer
or
the lover? What did this guy do? Just go around looking for attention?’

Petra was still frowning. ‘No, just a minute. It doesn’t mean he’s
definitely
not the lover. Just that, if so, then someone else wrote this suicide note thing. Which seems a little sloppy. Anyway,’ she went on, lifting her head, ‘I think he might be a red herring. We need to push all his stuff aside so that we can be objective. The key
is
the lover. Who was she running away to that day? All the rest will fall into place after we work that out for sure. Hey, do you have anything our father has written?’

I gave this some thought, but the only missives received nowadays were Christmas cards and they had been binned weeks ago. Had Yen been a more sentimental type, she might have kept some of our childhood letters but, as it was, I suspected they were long gone. ‘No. But there must be a way of getting a sample. In fact, we need to talk to all the players again. No pun intended. We’ll divide and conquer. Find out more about the Fletchers. Ask if Dallas showed any special fondness for anyone during that Queenscliff weekend. We also need to find out if anyone liked drawing. That sketch took talent.’