Murder most fancy, p.33
Murder Most Fancy, page 33
‘No, you moronic girl,’ Grandmother snapped. ‘He’s had the best numbers in a decade with you on the cover. That’s why.’
‘Really?’ I said, hoping, once again, I sounded less shocked than I was.
‘Yes,’ Grandmother snorted. ‘With those numbers, they’d put your personal shopper there on every cover in that entire stable if they could.’
‘A decade?’ I echoed, seating myself opposite Grandmother.
Esmerelda held her hands out in question. ‘Like, what the?’
‘You sold more copies of Pazzia Australia than any celebrity or supermodel has in the past ten years. You’ve made the publisher a lot of money,’ I explained.
‘And,’ Dame Elizabeth added, ‘provided a much needed boost to the Australian fashion industry. My dear girl,’ she said, squeezing Esmerelda’s hands, ‘we need young Australian women like you!’
‘God help me,’ uttered Grandmother.
‘I would consider it a personal favour if you would reconsider the cover,’ Dame Elizabeth said. ‘You could just about name your terms. You could wear an unknown designer. You could wear,’ she scanned Esmerelda’s ensemble, ‘that.’
‘Uh,’ Esmerelda looked to me for help. ‘Like, I don’t think so.’
‘Leave it with us,’ I interjected. ‘We will reconsider the offer under these new terms.’
Esmerelda shot me a death stare. I gave her a tiny but reassuring shake of the head. We would let Dame Elizabeth down gently another time.
‘Wonderful!’ Dame Elizabeth clapped.
‘So glad I could postpone the takeover of a billion-dollar company to witness that,’ Grandmother griped. ‘Are we going to be fed at some point, Elizabeth?’
Right on cue, the maid delivered the first course—green pea soup. Esmerelda stared down at the table. There was a lot of cutlery. It was going to be five courses, six including the cheese. Dame Elizabeth always ended with a cheese course.
‘Just move from the outside in,’ I said and demonstrated by picking up the outermost utensil, the soup spoon, collecting the pea soup in it front to back. Esmerelda’s jaw slackened as she tried to concentrate on the foreign movements.
‘If you would be so kind, Indigo,’ Grandmother said, making the hurry up sign with her right index finger.
I turned to Dame Elizabeth. ‘We found Max’s family.’
Dame Elizabeth’s cheeks began to shudder and she pursed her lips to hold back the emotion.
‘They think he’s on a three-month retreat in a national park. Max Weller was not Max Weller,’ I said to her, offering as sympathetic a face as possible.
‘Like, totally not even close,’ Esmerelda said, poking at her soup with a dessert spoon.
‘He was Maxwell Harraway,’ I said, soup spoon hovering.
Thoughtful expressions crossed the faces of both women. Grandmother got there first. ‘Maxwell Harraway, the pearl baron?’
‘Phoenix Pearls, Maxwell Harraway?’ Dame Elizabeth added.
‘Yup,’ Esmerelda said, poking her tongue in trepidation into a spoonful of soup. ‘Same dude.’
‘That’s not possible,’ Grandmother said. ‘Maxwell Harraway is a recluse. The man never steps foot outside the Northern Territory. I’ve tried to get him on a number of boards, but he’s like a hermit crab.’
‘Are you sure?’ Dame Elizabeth asked me.
‘Quite sure, yes. Esmerelda, would you mind showing Dame Elizabeth the most recent photograph of Maxwell and his daughters?’
As Esmerelda retrieved her phone, I continued to explain. ‘You were very close with the names of his daughters. Carley is Tahnee and Ellie is Lizzy. Elizabeth.’
I let that information hang in the air for a moment.
Dame Elizabeth held Esmerelda’s phone in her hands and examined the photograph.
‘Is that Max?’ I asked gently. ‘Your Max?’
She nodded, stroking the screen where Max’s face sat. ‘His hair was longer, and whiter, and he was clean shaven, but yes, it’s definitely Max. Are those his girls?’
‘Yes.’ I pointed to the screen. ‘That is Tahnee. And that is Elizabeth.’
It finally dawned on her. ‘Elizabeth? What a small world.’
‘Dude. You have no idea.’ Esmerelda slurped enthusiastically. ‘This weird green soup is not totally disgusting,’ she added.
‘Maxwell Harraway,’ Grandmother said, still shaking her head in disbelief.
Dame Elizabeth’s eyes moved from the picture on the phone to me. ‘Why wouldn’t he tell me who he really was? Why would he lie?’
‘He’s not in financial trouble,’ Grandmother put in. ‘Harraway Industries turned a healthy profit last quarter. Hermit habits aside, Harraway has a solid reputation, professionally and personally. No mistresses. Very clever wife, who he built the business with, also reclusive, died several years ago. Cancer. There’s nothing for him to hide.’
Grandmother liked to keep abreast of her fellow billionaires. However, I suspected her assessment of things Maxwell Harraway had to hide was somewhat lacking.
‘Why would anyone hurt him?’ Dame Elizabeth asked, staring once again at the photograph.
I wanted to answer both of her questions and, with a little help from some unorthodox friends, I was confident I could.
I gingerly put my hand under the hand Dame Elizabeth was using to hold the phone and supported it. I swished the screen gently, going backwards in time: Max with his wife and young children, Max on the pearling boat, Max on the beach, Max on the farm with his cousin, Elizabeth.
Dame Elizabeth stared at the final photograph.
‘That,’ I said, pointing to the teenage boy in the photograph, ‘is Max. And that,’ I pointed to the teenage girl, ‘is his cousin, Elizabeth.’
Grandmother narrowed her eyes, finally catching on. ‘Another Elizabeth?’
‘I know, right?’ Esmerelda put in, pushing the soup dish away. Apparently not totally disgusting was still not good enough to finish. ‘Like Lizzy, Max’s daughter, is named after the cousin Elizabeth.’
Dame Elizabeth’s hand shook slightly. ‘He named his daughter after … his cousin?’
‘Yes. They must have been close,’ I nudged.
‘She’s like totally dead but,’ Esmerelda added.
‘Dead?’ Dame Elizabeth queried, looking up at Esmerelda.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘According to Max’s children, his cousin Elizabeth died in childbirth at a young age. She was his only real family. Max was an orphan.’
A tear slid down Dame Elizabeth’s well-preserved cheek.
Grandmother leaned in over the phone, scrutinising the black and white photograph.
‘What?’ I asked her. ‘Do you recognise the location? The people? Max? Elizabeth?’
‘No,’ she said shortly, but her eyes were glued to the screen.
‘They must have been close,’ Dame Elizabeth said, pulling back from the phone. ‘For him to have named his second daughter after her.’
She motioned for the soup to be taken away. A small tomato salad replaced it.
‘Why not the first child?’ Grandmother wanted to know. ‘That is the tradition.’
‘First kid was—’
‘Tahnee,’ Dame Elizabeth mused, cutting Esmerelda off. Unintentionally, I am sure.
‘Yep. It’s Kaurna for “breaking wave”,’ Esmerelda said, poking a tomato with her main course fork.
Dame Elizabeth swallowed hard. ‘Is it?’
‘What on earth is Kaurna? It sounds Danish, but Harraway’s wife wasn’t Danish,’ Grandmother said, swishing the picture on the phone back to the family photo. ‘She was First Australian. See.’
‘Yeah, totally,’ Esmerelda agreed. ‘Like, the wife’s name was Wula, water. Kaurna’s a First Australian language.’
‘So, the first child is named after the mother and the second after the cousin. Honestly, it could have been Danish, the man was so secretive.’
Grandmother was right: almost nothing was known about Max’s family. His parents or grandparents or great-grandparents could have been Danish. He was a recluse’s recluse.
‘Did you tell his daughters about me? About their father?’ Dame Elizabeth asked.
‘No,’ I said hesitantly. ‘They think he’s on a meditation retreat. They’re not expecting him back for several weeks. I wanted to be completely sure Max Weller was Maxwell Harraway before I …’
I was not quite sure what I was going to do when I had DNA confirmation. Perhaps notification of next of kin was a job for the authorities? Perhaps not. As for telling his children about his relationship with Dame Elizabeth, that was a thousand per cent not my job.
‘Yes,’ Dame Elizabeth said stoically. ‘I think you’ve done the right thing, Indigo. Wait. Be sure.’
The untouched salad course was removed. Meanwhile, I was onto my second glass of sauvignon blanc, as was Grandmother. Esmerelda had burned through three iced teas. Dame Elizabeth had not drunk anything. I poured her a small glass of merlot from the decanter that had been waiting patiently for the roast chicken.
‘This is a lot to take, I know. Perhaps you should have a little wine? Or would you prefer water, or a tea? Or something stronger?’
‘Scotch,’ Grandmother said immediately to the maid, who proceeded to pour two—one for Grandmother, one for Dame Elizabeth.
Dame Elizabeth put the crystal tumbler to her lips but couldn’t bring herself to drink. She put the glass back down on the table and blinked several times, deep in thought.
‘You’re right, Indigo. This is a lot of information for me to process. I am going to need some time. My apologies but I think we have to postpone. Perhaps we could reconvene tomorrow evening? Please, finish the meal without me.’
She stood to leave and we all stood with her, even Esmerelda.
‘Don’t you have a standing family dinner on Wednesdays, Elizabeth?’ Grandmother asked.
Dame Elizabeth exhaled, leaning on the back of her chair for support. ‘Yes, of course. I’ve rather lost track of the days. Perhaps after dinner then? Nine?’
‘Absolutely,’ I readily agreed. ‘We’ll be here.’
‘You won’t proceed without me?’
‘No,’ I fibbed.
‘I’ve missed my window to move. No point in going to London now,’ Grandmother said, making an exorbitant fuss about pulling out her own chair. ‘I might as well stay in Sydney for the remainder of the week.’
Dame Elizabeth stepped away from the table, far more upright than I would have been in her shoes. ‘You may tag along if you wish, Florence, since you seem to be at a loose end not pulling something apart. Or buying something. Or selling something.’
‘A lady needs a hobby,’ Grandmother retorted.
I had the impression Grandmother would have liked to see Dame Elizabeth out of the room but delaying business to stay in town had probably already stretched her Tin Woman heart to maximum capacity. Dame Elizabeth left alone. Her maid moved to remove the chicken and her Scotch tumbler, but I put myself between her and the table.
‘Could you possibly ask the chef for a vegetarian main alternative?’ I said, tipping my head towards Esmerelda. ‘For my assistant.’
The maid looked uncertain.
‘Vegetarian?’ Grandmother barked. ‘For a main?’
‘Oh, yeah. What I really feel like after weird green goop and a heap of tomatoes is like, more green stuff.’
I smiled at the maid, which completely threw her and she backed out of the room like a gazelle leaving a lion convention. I pulled a plastic ziplock bag out of my tote and, turning the bag inside out, used it like a glove to pick up Dame Elizabeth’s scotch tumbler. I poured the remaining scotch into Grandmother’s tumbler then sealed the top. Dame Elizabeth might not have drunk from it, but she did put it to her lips. I prayed that was enough.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ Grandmother demanded.
‘I need her DNA,’ I said simply, slipping the bagged glass into my tote. ‘To test against Maxwell’s DNA.’
‘You have Maxwell Harraway’s DNA?’ she asked, on the verge of sounding impressed.
‘Totally,’ Esmerelda responded.
‘Because of an old photo and a coincidental name? Do you have any other reason to think that Elizabeth and Maxwell Harraway are actually cousins?’ she said to me, her voice becoming lower with each word.
‘I just need to rule it out,’ I said with more calm than I felt. This was not how conversations with Grandmother usually went. I was being positively confrontational.
I quickly began to scour the room. Although asking the chef to prepare a vegetarian main would cause some delays, and some silent cursing, it would not keep Dame Elizabeth’s staff away all night.
‘I totally love birthdays,’ Esmerelda said from the other end of the room. She stood next to a side table covered in birthday cards. There were no envelopes this time. Surely just writing in a card caused a few hand or finger skin cells to rub off? I hoped so.
Esmerelda started on one end of the row of cards and I on the other. Esmerelda claimed Gregory and Bettina’s in moments and, after dizzyingly long seconds, I found cards from Gilly and Astor. The cards were halfway into another ziplock bag when the maid suddenly entered the room with a vegetarian quiche. The chef must have kept a few in the freezer for just such nuisance guests. I shoved the cards into the plastic bag as I spun away from her. ‘Oh my, what lovely … walls. Wallpaper. Yes, wallpaper. Very … papery,’ I said, patting the silver stencilled birds on the lavender wallpaper.
Esmerelda attempted to rush the maid, but Grandmother was too quick.
‘Ridiculous millennials,’ Grandmother sniped at Esmerelda, scanning the quiche in the maid’s right hand. ‘Is it vegan? She now says she requires vegan.’
The maid was too terrified of Grandmother to respond; she simply turned heel and left.
The moment the maid was out of earshot, Grandmother rounded on me. ‘Elizabeth had better come out of this smelling of roses,’ she warned. ‘If that’s not going to be the case, you can stop right now and forget everything you have found. Max could still be a nameless homeless man.’
‘She will,’ I responded without hesitation. ‘Absolutely. Roses.’
There was no certainty of that, but it was rather liberating to oppose Grandmother’s will with such conviction.
‘Are you lying to me, Indigo?’
‘No,’ I lied.
CHAPTER 25
BATMAN IN CHANEL
For the first time since Richard had passed, I slept soundly. This seemed strange since I had not yet clicked the last few coloured squares into place in my Max Rubik’s cube. That said, I had put a rush on last night’s final DNA samples and if the lab wanted their bonus, I would have all the results by dinner.
I collected the breakfast tray Patricia had left in my bedroom: French toast with Canadian maple syrup and Devonshire clotted cream with a soy latte. The quality of the tray and the relative silence with which it was delivered indicated Dylan Moss must have found another Heiress to harass. Or represent. Or was plotting new ways to penetrate our security. Perhaps I would keep the Avengers detail for a few more days. The things an Heiress had to do for a quality breakfast tray.
I was so close to the end. We had actually discovered Max’s identity. It was astonishing, and fabulous. Such a significant win really should be celebrated. Plus, I had nothing to do until 4 pm.
‘How about a spa day?’ I asked Esmerelda. ‘My treat.’
I was feeling brave. Perhaps I could just dip my toe into the public arena at a very private spa. My fear of gossip was losing the battle against my fear of mottled, bumpy skin, fine lines and unwanted body hair.
‘Are people gonna touch me?’ Esmerelda asked suspiciously.
‘Only if you want them to. You could have a day-long back massage or you could have every laser treatment known to spakind. Lasers don’t touch you.’
Esmerelda was semi-hackles up, unsure.
‘You can decide on the drive over,’ I said.
Thirty minutes later, we were greeted by Alexis Felix, the eternally effervescent owner of the Alexis Felix Spa, who declared her establishment a Team Indigo Zone. I had no idea what that meant, but Alexis seemed genuinely thrilled to see me and at this stage, that was enough. Her staff conspiratorially glowered at any clients who stared or whispered, and often forgot to refill their beverages.
In no time, I was sipping Champagne in an aquamedic pool filled with oxygenated water while being tenderised by needlepoint massage jets. This was followed by an aromatherapy steam, a five-headed hydrotherapy Vichy shower, a full body exfoliation with salt, ylang ylang, lime and mandarin, a frangipani and coconut body wrap, another Vichy shower and a full body massage. A quick light therapy laser facial, hair removal laser, a hydro-microdermabrasion session, a vitamin A peel, some microneedling, and a Sisley Black Rose Cream mask and I was done. Almost. A spray tan, manicure and pedicure also seemed in order. Plus hair and make-up. I was a hardcore spa athlete, a beauty black-belt, back in the ring.
Esmerelda spent the day floating on her back in the ‘totally Roman bath’ (the aquamedic pool), gazing at ‘the stars’ (tiny LED lights secreted in the concave night sky ceiling) and buying things on her phone. Which, it seemed, was water resistant. An underground sanctuary where no one could see her in a bathing suit appealed. She was eventually coerced, with much protest, into a treatment room. She emerged several hours later looking insanely incredible. People with genetic gifts like Esmerelda really had an unfair advantage when it came to spas. They went from a nine out of ten to a seventy-four out of ten. They should be charged much more. Having seen her in a bathing suit and post-treatment, I could only imagine what she looked like styled with Pazzia-standard hair, make-up and wardrobe. I understood how she had sold so many copies.
When James drove through Mother’s front gates at 4 pm, I was prepared. I was dressed entirely in black from Karl’s 2011 Grand Palais burglar collection: oversized black crêpe pants rolled up at the ankle, a fitted three-button wool jacket with a plunging neckline and oversized black flower ruffle collar, a sheer sleeveless rolled neck top and heavy leather ankle boots with flashlights secreted in the soles. And sheer gloves. I followed the collection’s hairstyle too: slicked down with a strong left part, secured in a bun at the back of the neck.
