Murder Most Fancy, page 30
‘You were here, at my house, and you just sat back and watched as a known criminal dropped a catastrophic explosive device at my front door?’
Silence.
Our tax dollars hard at work.
‘To be fair,’ Searing said, putting his hands up in defence, ‘we only just managed to catch Borrag getting buzzed in. He drives like a maniac. We had no idea you lived here, Indigo. You can’t even see the front door from the street.’
Palm Beach. Palms everywhere.
‘Oh,’ Burns said under her breath. ‘It’s Indigo now, is it?’
‘We didn’t know what was in the package,’ he continued.
It was time to go. I began pacing the open kitchen, hunting for items to pack in my handbag.
‘Dude,’ Esmerelda said, following my lead, not that she had anything to pack, but she checked her phone and re-did the laces in her sneakers. ‘I totally could have been blown up!’
‘Again, that was obviously a mistake. But as I said, we didn’t know who lived in the house, we had no hard evidence Esmerelda worked at the Bankstown Boutique, or that she could formally ID Stolonosky. Or that Stolonosky was trying to kill her. Although,’ he paused, ‘Burns suspected.’
Burns smiled victoriously.
‘I totally never got busted doing that Bankstown Boutique gig,’ Esmerelda said, smirking proudly. She immediately spread her arms out and began backtracking. ‘’Cause I totally never did work there. And like, for the record, I never saw the dude, never did meet Stollywood or Stolonosky or whatever his name was. No idea what he looks like. Nope.’
‘A back-pedalling parolee,’ Burns stated deadpan. ‘Shocker.’
‘You were only here when the explosion went off because you were looking for Stolonosky?’ I asked.
‘Yes. Which makes sense,’ he replied, ‘because Stolonosky, or one of his cronies or associates, has been following Esmerelda. By following Stolonosky, we found Esmerelda. So, it follows that if we shadow Esmerelda, Stolonosky will eventually appear.’
‘You want to use Esmerelda as bait?’ I asked, wide-eyed.
‘Yep,’ Burns said.
‘No,’ Searing countered.
I eyeballed him. ‘Really?’
‘Okay,’ he relented, ‘maybe a little bit.’
There was no way on earth that was happening.
‘How many properties are there between this one and the spot on the beach where the explosion occurred?’ I asked calmly.
The detectives exchanged uneasy glances.
‘A couple,’ Burns said.
‘Four.’
Boy, Searing really was a Boy Scout.
I hefted my last season Chanel tote over my shoulder. ‘We have a meeting to attend. You may, as my guests, use the outside areas in your investigation. Nowhere inside. Unless you have a warrant. Or want to make coffee. Or have a cold drink.’
I wasn’t a savage.
I thought I saw steam shoot from Burns’s nose and ears.
‘We,’ I took Esmerelda by the shoulder and made for the front door, ‘are leaving.’
‘Being rich rocks,’ Esmerelda exclaimed triumphantly.
‘You’re not rich,’ Burns spat.
‘Totally close enough,’ Esmerelda counted.
‘There are three properties between this one and the site of the explosion,’ I said sweetly. ‘Not to mention the properties on the other side of the explosion. The Mui Mui purse could have come from any one of them. You only saw this Borrag character enter the gates, not the house. And you just said you have no idea what was in his package. Plus,’ I added, ‘the Mediterranean Men’s Club isn’t even a real thing, officially.’
‘Indigo,’ Searing warned. ‘Stolonosky is dangerous and determined. You need protection. You need to cooperate. Both of you.’
‘Our official response at this time is no comment.’
‘Indigo, this is a bad idea,’ he said, approaching me.
‘Any other questions?’ I asked, continuing without waiting for an answer. ‘Please call Earl Stevenson or Nigel Barker. Or both. You still have my lawyers’ numbers, right?’
‘But—’
I made the universal hand symbol for telephone as I opened the front door.
‘Call my people, Detective.’
CHAPTER 23
COME FLY WITH ME
Shane and Carlo were, as promised, waiting for us in the Lexus. I could see why Patricia was so reluctant to let them go. It was like driving with several Avengers cast members. Not at all unpleasant. Against Avenger advice, I rearranged the seating, moving Carlo and Shane into the back. I was on edge. As trustworthy as the Avengers seemed, I needed a known quantity at the wheel, even if that meant letting Esmerelda drive.
Carlo and Shane were at the beginning of their shift and were unopposed to some quick interstate travel (and the accompanying overtime). But would two security people provide enough protection while in transit, and in Darwin? No. We needed at least three. I was about to order more when I remembered we already had a third: James Smith.
Two people also seemed suddenly insufficient to guard Mother’s moderately sized Vaucluse estate from a ruthless human trafficker. I had Esmerelda call and double the security there. I’d grown fond of Esmerelda and was not about to let some underworld zombie take her. Not to mention the risk I might get taken with her.
Searing and Burns would no doubt double down on their efforts to find Jeff ‘Stollywood’ Stolonosky and, much to my dismay, they would shortly be sticking to us like tape under a swimsuit model’s breasts or find another set of detectives to fulfil the same purpose.
The late departure from Palm Beach sank us deep into morning traffic. It took over two hours to get to the airport. We could have flown almost halfway across the country in that time. On the upside, it served as a segue, allowing my mind to move from the Esmerelda’s-being-targeted-by-a-killer-because-of-the-Mediterranean-Men’s-Club space back into the who-killed-Maxwell-Harraway? space. I would not let a man like Jeff push a man like Max aside.
How was a pearl baron a trafficked child? Or was he simply a child who had laboured excessively hard? Perhaps for his family? This was rare, but not unheard of seventy or eighty years ago. Commonplace a hundred years before that. Perhaps his parents had a factory, or a farm, or a really weird cleaning business?
The revelation about the tunnel connecting Grandmother’s and Dame Elizabeth’s properties, along with Dame Elizabeth’s claim that punctual Max cancelled dinner minutes before he was due, had convinced me that Max did arrive but was lured away before he made it to her front door. I also suspected that those shallow but identical and precisely spaced stab wounds in Max’s thigh came from a metal rake or some other tool one might find inside a garden shed.
But there were still so many questions. Why did Max lie to Dame Elizabeth about who he was? He was an extremely successful, well-liked, self-made man. I would have to check when we had more privacy, and when Esmerelda was not operating a car on the freeway, but I suspected the Harraways had more money than the Hollys. Was he ashamed to share his past? Were unpleasant childhoods even a topic of conversation between couples dating in their seventies or eighties? What did he think would happen when she found out who he really was? And why hadn’t Maxwell Harraway’s daughters reported him missing? Where did they think he was?
And the biggest question: at what point should I tell Dame Elizabeth that Max Weller was really Maxwell Harraway?
True to his word, James was waiting by Grandmother’s Dassault Falcon 900, ready to escort us, uninvited, to Darwin to meet Maxwell Harraway’s daughters, Tahnee and Lizzy.
Before James, Shane, Carlo, Esmerelda and I trooped on board, Grandmother’s rather surprised flight crew were frisked by James, Shane, Carlo and Esmerelda. The cabin was then searched by Shane, Carlo and Esmerelda. The jet’s engine was then checked by James and Esmerelda. And the breakfast and lunch supplies were checked by Shane, Carlo and Esmerelda. All except the latter were given a clean bill of health. The food supplies were found lacking by Esmerelda because of their high fruit and vegetable content.
This brought a whole new meaning to pre-flight checks.
Despite having been on board multiple times before, Grandmother’s jet never failed to impress Esmerelda. Her fascination with it was, well, fascinating. It was just an overgrown limousine, except it had a kitchen, a bathroom and a bedroom, and maybe a few more seats and lounges. As far as mogul air transportation was concerned, the Falcon was very tame. The nutmeg leather recliner seats, silver satin metalwork and high gloss rosewood were standard. Esmerelda had informed me, on more than one occasion, that this was the same aircraft Taylor Swift owned. I was fairly certain that was a compliment.
We buckled in and were in the air just before 11 am.
Esmerelda and I sat in the midsection of the plane, on opposite sides of the aisle, facing the front. James, left with the choice of sitting in a section separate from us, either in front or behind, or sitting with his back to the pilot, elected to ride backwards opposite me. Carlo and Shane were seated at the very front of the plane, probably eating Esmerelda’s rejected fruit salad.
Twenty-five minutes into the flight, James informed me he had formulated a foolproof jail-proof plan to break into the FMCCC to retrieve Dr Bailly’s test results. However, the plan involved rendering Kevin Pasty unconscious. This was problematic for me. As sub-par as the deputy state coroner was, I was sure he would still recall being made unconscious. My already iffy commitment to the whole break-and-enter-of-a-government-facility was ready to topple.
‘It’s the only way, unless you know a buxom, doe-eyed, natural blonde who hangs out at your man’s local,’ James said, unbuckling his seatbelt, ‘who’d be happy to relieve him of his swipe card for a few hours. And who’s available on short notice.’
Esmerelda and I exchanged glances. Frighteningly enough, we knew just such a young lady—Josephine. White-blonde Bambi-eyed Josephine and her feisty and equally gorgeous brunette counterpart Halle, who commanded $10,000 an hour each as Magic Model escorts, had been inadvertently instrumental in solving Richard’s murder. In a moment of whimsy, I had made a real estate purchase that, along with the arrest of their bosses, enabled the genetically blessed entrepreneurial pair to take over the Magic Model operation.
Josephine, who sent me updates far more often than was necessary (the necessity being that she never send updates) had informed me they’d moved the business into a highly liberal, highly financially beneficial profit-share situation with their exclusive employees. They had also hired a gun accountant from Deloitte to set up generous superannuation accounts for each and every escort, waitress and barmaid, even the cleaners, and to host free monthly financial investment classes. A podcast was no doubt imminent.
‘Esmerelda? Josephine, please.’
‘On it.’
‘This isn’t how I imagined heiress business on a private jet got done,’ James said, getting to his feet and stretching.
Me either. I generally spent my flights planning my purchases or unpacking my purchases. Or sleeping.
‘Have you a plan to meet with the daughters?’ he asked.
‘Yes. We’re meeting to discuss a commission piece of jewellery,’ I said, unclipping my belt.
Esmerelda nodded in confirmation. ‘A black Tahitian pearl prayer bracelet.’ Her eyes wandered to the front of the plane.
‘They’ll meet in person over a pearl bracelet?’ he quizzed.
‘Dude, they’d meet her about a plastic squirt ring.’ Her eyes roamed forward. Again.
‘What?’ I bit in exasperation. ‘What are you looking at?’
‘Like, fruit salad?’ She pouted in exasperation. ‘Seriously? And beetroot salad? That can’t be right.’
‘Just go up and ask if they have anything else. And if that fails, you could try eating the fruit.’
She shot me a steely gaze, undid her buckle and stalked up the aisle to the galley.
‘Esmerelda is determined to make the very least of her God-given beauty,’ I said by way of explanation.
‘Fair enough,’ he said, immediately taking her vacated seat. ‘We don’t all want to move along the path of least resistance.’
I was about to say I did when I realised I wasn’t.
I desperately wanted to make pointless conversation with him. In my previous life, that had been one of my top five skills, but I was not fast enough and a silence fell between us. Silence between two people who are insanely and inappropriately attracted to each other is très awkward.
I forced myself to make eye contact with him.
‘About last night. I’ll understand if you’ve troubles with me,’ he said evenly.
Troubles? He should get a medal for being able to use his fingertips and lips like that. He should teach classes. On YouTube. Everyone should have access to that knowledge. Peace would reign. The attraction itself, however, was troubling.
‘I try to walk away from you,’ he said, staring at the floor, ruffling his hair in unconscious emphasis. He turned his eyes to me. ‘But I keep slipping. I can’t seem to get a handle on it.’
If he was telling the truth, that was one of the most romantic things, said to me by one of the most delicious men, ever. If he was lying … it was still hot. Not enchanting, but still.
I had no idea what to say. He was five foot ten of flawlessly crafted (and dressed), mysterious, stylishly tousled, sandy blond, blue-eyed Celtic delight. He was also the brother of my dead husband. Even if, for argument’s sake, I was on solid moral ground, did I want a relationship? Did he? I had the distinct impression that James Smith’s lifestyle was more gypsy than girlfriend. And what about Searing? He was much more grounded, but if he couldn’t commit to a pet, a relationship was surely a long way off. And again, did I want a serious relationship? I’d already had several of those. None had worked out well for me.
No one was more surprised than me to realise I wanted to have my triple-layered sponge cake with clotted cream and sticky raspberry jam and eat it too. I didn’t want to be tied down to a one-man, Bran Muffin-type relationship. I wanted a no-ties, crème pat-filled, toffee-coated croquem-bouche tower. Hadn’t I racked up some mouth-watering, freewheeling relationship karma? Isn’t an Heiress, on occasion, entitled to some cream without committing to the entire dairy? Perhaps there was nothing wrong with a little slip, from time to time?
This was, of course, all in theory. In reality, I was frozen, unable to speak, let alone act.
Esmerelda saved me from having to commit to or articulate these thoughts by strolling down the aisle wielding a $300 cheeseboard. ‘She’s thinking again, huh?’ she said to him. ‘Like, did she say anything this time?’
James squinted at me, then turned to Esmerelda. ‘Yes. Something about not buying a dairy.’
Esmerelda stood pointedly next to him, waiting for him to renounce his hold on her seat. I saved everyone a large amount of trouble by standing and excusing myself. I needed to see Franny. My skin was the unique pallor of something-large-recently-exploded-quite-close-to-me. Franny was rapidly becoming the world’s premier mayhem makeover queen.
I emerged several hours later from the makeshift salon in the back of the plane, a new woman. I had no idea how people got along without a personal stylist.
The Northern Territory may be hot, wild and infested with many things designed to kill or maim you, but even with my limited experience I knew it was also imbued with a sense of peace, space and majesty. While downtown Darwin is more country town than grand capital city, the gorgeousness of the surrounding national parks like Kakadu and Litchfield propelled it into a class of its own. Besides, there were things trying to kill and maim us back in Sydney.
We moved like a ridiculous circus car parade along the dust-covered roads, through Darwin’s four stop lights to the first and, to the best of my knowledge, flagship Phoenix Pearls store. I had it on good authority that we were in possession of every bulletproof Range Rover limousine in the city. Both of them.
Carlo drove the first car with Esmerelda and I floating around in the back. Shane covered our rear, as it were, with Franny, who was keen to shop the famed store, and Grandmother’s long-time steward, Steve. Much conversation regarding the best products for frequent flyer skin was no doubt being had. James and Grandmother’s pilot, Emily, stayed to babysit the plane.
I slipped gracefully out of the car upon arrival and was immediately blasted by a fierce wave of dry heat. Only in Darwin was spring thirty-four degrees. Esmerelda’s lanky form lolloped out of the car, drawing much attention and completely torpedoing our mission to blend in.
The Phoenix Pearls store front was exactly what one would expect from an ultra-exclusive, high-end jewellery retailer: luxurious, elegant and highly secure. The gold-rimmed, perfectly lit front windows, three on each side of the double door entry, housed jewellery with six figure price tags behind bulletproof glass.
We walked through the doors into a beautifully lit square vestibule. The floor literally glowed with cool, pale azure lights and the vents pumped in blissfully chilled air. The glass walls on our left and right afforded us a new angle on the jewels in the shop front display cases. I felt the pressure seal as the front doors closed behind us, and then release again as the second set of doors unlocked, allowing us into the store proper. I nodded politely to the security guard as a new wave of freshened air washed over me.
‘Like, wow,’ Esmerelda said.
It was impressive.
Phoenix Pearls was a kaleidoscope of pearls and diamonds, running from strands of blindingly flawless pearls the size of golden grapes to enormous bright pink diamond studs. The rich and diverse shades of gold, cream, pink, silver and white ran not just from the gems in the display cases, but also through the sumptuous décor and the classical architecture. Literally everything in Phoenix Pearls sparkled and shone. Max had reinvented Aladdin’s cave. Even I had never seen anything quite like it.
