Murder Most Fancy, page 31
Six upright display cases were built into the back wall, a mirror image of the six display cases you could see from the street, complete with matching vestibule doors in the centre. I imagined the interior vestibule doors led to the offices, workshop and gem vault.
There were two freestanding gold and cream glass-topped and fronted display counters to the left and to the right. A perfectly pressed and presented salesperson stood behind each one. Two female security guards stood silently at either end of the store. They were armed.
There would be bulletproof glass screens secreted under the floor in front of the display cases and hidden in the ceiling above. In the event of a robbery, they would swiftly emerge, connecting in the middle, imprisoning jewellery and salespeople alike in glass fortresses. I’d bet a pearl necklace there was a big red press-in-case-of-emergency button on the back of all four counters to lock down the store. The vestibule we had just entered through would no doubt lockdown too, as would the vestibule leading to the offices. I’d left our security detail outside; it was not getting much safer than this.
And there, in the corner of the room, outside the hidden boundary of the secret security screen, was a simple but beautifully crafted wood and cane occasional chair with a small worn gold velvet cushion. It was inconspicuous and empty. From its position, it had a view of the entire store. I imagined that was where Max sat, quietly surveying his dazzling empire. It said something about him that he had chosen not to be locked in in an emergency.
I now understood why the retired tooth man Lucas Carr thought buying Max’s daughter Tahnee a piece of jewellery was such a bizarre decision. You did not present a gold-medal winner at the Chelsea Flower Show with a bunch of dripping cellophane-clad Woolworths roses.
By the time I reached the centre of the room, the doors of the internal vestibule had opened. A long, lean First Australian woman in her mid-thirties with impossibly smooth light brown skin briskly stepped out. Her dark hair was pulled back into a slick ponytail and she sported a blunt fringe that perfectly suited her alert, carefully rimmed eyes. She wore a white silk camisole tucked into a perfectly pleated black silk skirt that fell below her knees. I recognised her close-toed, black with white edging, elastic clasp Manolo Blahnik pumps. They were elegant and classic. I had an identical pair.
Although she did not have Max’s fairer features, she carried some very distinctive markers that made her identifiable as his daughter. She had the same swimmer physique, the same cheekbones and, when she extended her hand to mine, it was Max’s hand I was shaking. The long, elegant fingers and oblong nail beds were unmistakable.
‘Tahnee Harraway?’ I asked.
‘Yes, Indigo-Daisy … uh, Amber, ah … Mrs Hasluck-Royce—’
‘Indigo. Indigo is fine.’
She put her hand to her chest. ‘Tahnee.’
‘Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, Tahnee.’ I smiled.
‘Us?’ she said, glancing at the blank space behind me.
I turned around. Esmerelda had not made it a metre past the front vestibule. She was staring around the store, slack-jawed. Franny and Steve had also entered but they were politely perusing. Carlo, who I had specifically asked to stay outside with his SWAT counterpart Shane, was standing next to Esmerelda, making a brave attempt not to look impressed.
‘Friends with absolutely no benefits,’ I assured her.
‘Is that the same as relatives with no benefits?’ she replied, checking her certainly 24-carat gold watch.
‘Almost identical I would expect. Except mine can be fired. Probably.’
She nodded in understanding. ‘You wanted to commission a black pearl prayer bracelet for your mother?’
‘Yes, she’s currently a Buddhist and I thought it might be a bit nicer than the one she picked up at the Ubud markets.’
‘Yes,’ she said with a smile. ‘I think we can comfortably top that.’
‘I saw your father, Maxwell, wearing a black pearl prayer bracelet last week,’ I said, diving right in. ‘It was quite beautiful, and I thought Mother might like one just like it.’
‘You saw my father wearing—’ She stopped and said quizzically, ‘You saw my father? Last week?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘Here? In the Northern Territory? But I thought you’d only just flown in.’
‘Yes, I did. We just touched down. I didn’t see him here.’
‘You saw him in Sydney? You do live in Sydney?’
‘For the most part, yes.’
‘Like, don’t you also have houses in New York and Italy?’ Esmerelda asked, finally joining the conversation. ‘Your stuff in here is like totally wild, man,’ she said to Tahnee. ‘Like, you know. Wow.’
‘Esmerelda, my PA,’ I said tightly.
Tahnee assessed Esmerelda the fine jewellery aficionado up and down: sleeveless T-shirt, worn skinny blue jeans, Converse sneakers.
‘Sure,’ Tahnee said slowly. ‘Okay. Thank you.’ Tahnee unglued her eyes from Esmerelda and refocused. ‘You saw my father in Sydney, or overseas somewhere?’
She seemed perplexed. Not surprising since Maxwell Harraway was a notorious recluse.
‘Honestly, I just cannot remember where I saw him. Has he been in Sydney recently? Or in Europe? The US? Asia?’
‘No. Father does not enjoy travelling out of the Territory.’
‘For real?’ Esmerelda asked. ‘Like he’s mega-rich and he just stays, like, here?’
No insult to the Northern Territory intended, I’m sure.
‘Yes,’ Tahnee said, clearly stretching the limits of her politeness. ‘He feels a deep connection to the ocean and the land here. To the art. The people.’
Before Esmerelda could comment, I began piloting Tahnee towards the back of the store. ‘I understand. I feel connected here too.’
Okay so it probably was not the deep, abiding spiritual and artistic connection that Max felt, but there was certainly something awe inspiring about the natural beauty of the Territory.
‘I would love to meet your father again,’ I said, skimming over the trivial question of where I saw him last. ‘He is such an impressive man.’
‘Yes. He is. He’s also very private,’ Tahnee said in a practised apology. ‘My sister and I deal with our clients for the most part.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t be any bother,’ I said, flashing my best Heiress smile. ‘Perhaps just a quick handshake? I’ll lock Esmerelda in a cupboard.’
‘I’m afraid that’s just not possible,’ Tahnee said shortly.
‘Oh, Nee, don’t be so mysterious,’ said a young woman, clapping Tahnee on the back. The woman was dressed in a pair of knee-length cut-off denim shorts, worn tan sandals and a faded T-shirt. She was tropical Esmerelda.
‘Lizzy,’ she said, introducing herself, offering her hand with a smile. That smile. It was the smile Max shared with Dame Elizabeth in the accidental snap from the theatre.
Lizzy’s smile. Tahnee’s hands. I was almost positively sure these sisters were Max’s children. But almost positively sure is not sure sure. Sure sure is DNA sure. Court-of-law proof sure. Our goal here was not just fact-finding, it was DNA hunting. Wait. What were the chances of Maxwell Harraway naming his youngest daughter Elizabeth, and then, in his twilight years, falling in love with a woman named Elizabeth? Elizabeth was not a dramatically rare name, true, but it was an odd coincidence.
‘Dad’s on a three-month retreat up bush. Won’t be back for weeks. Nee and I’ll fix you up. Custom black Tahitian pearl prayer bracelet, was it?’
‘Yes,’ I said, trying to stay on target. ‘For my mother.’
Esmerelda’s fascination with the jewels in the room faded as her attention locked onto the sisters. To the untrained eye, it was an almost imperceptible shift.
‘Your mum’s Cat Jones, right?’ Lizzy quizzed me.
‘Yes, that’s right. I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. I have no idea who your mother is, although I’m sure she’s delightful.’
‘Our mother was delightful. She passed almost ten years ago. Breast cancer,’ Tahnee answered promptly.
Mental palm face. Esmerelda said Max was widowed.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said sincerely.
‘You’re so bloody mysterious, Nee!’ cried Lizzy, nudging her stalwart sister. ‘Mum’s name was Wula, she was a Yawuru woman and she knew more about the waters around Broome than anyone else, including Dad. He would have drowned penniless without her. She liked Pop Tarts and Hazelnut Rolls, and always won at Yahtzee. She was a total legend.’
The lines around Tahnee’s mouth tightened. ‘And she appreciated privacy. As does our father.’ She raised her perfect brows at me. ‘Your grandmother isn’t exactly known for her socialising skills.’
Ooh, snap.
‘True,’ I readily agreed. ‘Grandmother does not play well with others.’
This got a throaty laugh from Lizzy.
‘Like, what’s up bush? And like what if he totally gets eaten by a crocodile or bit by a snake? What happens to him then? Do they have phones up bush or what?’
‘She doesn’t get out of the city a lot,’ I said to the sisters. ‘Does your father “go bush” often?’
‘A bit,’ Lizzy said simply. She gave Esmerelda a wink. ‘No, mate, no mobile phones up bush. There’s a chopper if someone gets bit. That’s about it.’
‘No phones?’ Esmerelda was horrified. ‘No internet? No Netflix?’ A thought occurred to her. ‘No ocean?’
‘Nope. Just quiet bush and the Katherine River in Nitmiluk.’
‘Dude,’ Esmerelda said gravely, shaking her head. ‘That’s totally harsh.’
Lizzy smiled. ‘That’s totally the idea.’
Tahnee rolled her eyes in exasperation. ‘Let’s take this to my office. I have some black Tahitians you can choose from. Lisa,’ she said to a woman behind the jewellery counter in the back-left corner, ‘the door please.’
Lisa the sales assistant nodded and touched something at the back of the counter. The double doors buzzed and Tahnee took the last few steps towards them and pushed. We all shuffled along behind her like ducklings. I was too afraid of all the security to break the line.
After passing through the vestibule, we entered a wide hallway with floor to ceiling glass on both sides. We passed two offices on our left and a jewellery workshop on the right. In the workshop, two men and two women in white aprons sat on high stools, intently focused on their workbenches. One was studying a large pearl under an oversized magnifying glass, another had what appeared to be a crème brulée torch in her hands, the last two were sorting through black velvet trays of diamonds and pearls with oversized tweezers.
The offices were just as opulent as the store. Polished wood floors covered with soft silk rugs, antique furniture accessorised with small precious objects. Everything was perfectly placed, artful, delicate, wonderful.
I understood why Max had taken up residence in the Forrest Suite at the Holly Park Hotel. It was a good fit. It did, however, seem contrary for that same man to, on multiple occasions if Lizzy was to be believed, ‘go bush’ with no comforts. Then again, Max was obviously a complicated guy. Plus, affluent first-world Buddhists are somewhat renowned for their annual attendance at sparse meditative retreats.
We were led into Tahnee’s luxurious office, third on the left. A refined yet still rustic Acacia timber desk sat at the head of the room. It was fronted by an eclectic collection of single armchairs; a creamy silk-covered wingback, a caramel leather slipper, a mahogany bergère in a simple lime cotton. A peach and pearl coloured hand-woven silk rug sat under two side tables fashioned from what had probably been the stern of an old pearl diving boat. A small array of spectacular shells and ancient sea trinkets sat on the tables. And photographs.
The first three photos were black and white. A barely post-teen boy, presumably Max, on the beach. Then the same young man and a few older men aboard a rickety boat. The same man, definitely Max, at least ten years later, smiling, holding a giant oyster shell, and standing next to him, an exceptionally beautiful First Australian woman holding a pearl the size of a small apricot.
The first coloured photo was of a middle-aged Max with a trim beard. This time he had his arm around the woman and two young children stood in front of them. Max with his wife and daughters.
There was also a recent photo of Max. He was bearded with rather dashing salt and pepper hair, cut in a precisely executed, almost military, short back and sides style. He wore a black pearl prayer bracelet on his right wrist and a diving watch on his left. He sat with a heavy, faraway expression on his face. Tahnee and Lizzy sat on either side of him, trying to force relaxed smiles. The photograph had been taken in this office, the Harraway family resting on the front of Tahnee’s desk.
Then, behind all the others, a small square photo in a simple silver frame. It was a teenage Max, resting on a farm fence, cows and chickens in the background, his arm around a teenage girl, their smiles sparkling, their eyes aware. I didn’t mean to pick it up, but I found myself grasping the silver frame, stroking the glass surface.
‘Dad’s only living relative,’ Lizzy volunteered. ‘His cousin, Elizabeth. I was named after her. She died young, in childbirth.’
‘Yes, thank you for the history lesson, Lizzy,’ Tahnee said, crossing the room and removing the photograph from my hands.
‘I’m sorry,’ I mumbled, embarrassed. ‘I didn’t mean to … it’s just such a beautiful photograph.’
I mean, I had come with the specific goal of poking very deliberately into their family history, but still, I had intended to be more subtle about it. I suspected those few photos, plus the one Dame Elizabeth had given me, were the only photographs in existence of Maxwell Harraway.
Tahnee ignored my apology. She carefully put the photograph back in its place and scanned the room. ‘Where did they put those Tahitian blacks?’ she asked herself. She peered through her glass wall into the hallway, searching for a staff member. No luck. She pointedly assessed each of the wayward women in her office. ‘Please, take a seat. I’ll be back in a minute.’
Lizzy, apparently accustomed to ignoring her older sister, wandered to the window on the other side of the office the moment Tahnee left the room. It looked out onto a private garden that seemed to form a green central square at the heart of the Phoenix Pearls facility. The garden was alive with colour; fluffy white baby’s breath, carefully trimmed spherical bushes of pink and purple Geraldton wax, furry kangaroo paws in deep red and emerald green, all begging to be patted.
‘I didn’t mean to pry,’ I outright lied to Lizzy. ‘I’m sorry to hear your father had no family at such a young age.’ That last part was true. ‘Did his parents pass in the war?’
‘Yeah,’ she said, focused on the garden.
‘He was orphaned?’ I pressed.
She nodded.
‘That must have been difficult for him. Did he live with his aunt and uncle? The parents of his cousin, Elizabeth?’
‘I think so. Until Elizabeth died. Then he was on his own,’ Lizzy said, tracing her finger along the glass. ‘Dad doesn’t like talking about the past. He’s a live-in-the-day type of guy. That’s probably why he’s so into Buddhism.’
‘Has he always been Buddhist?’ I asked.
‘No, just since Mum died.’
Esmerelda, who had been prowling the office, plopped herself down on the slipper armchair (which had no arms) and began peppering Lizzy with questions, none of which related to Max’s youth or family.
I had prodded inappropriately, but necessarily, enough into their family’s painful past. Esmerelda was the perfect distraction. I now needed to discreetly borrow something small from the Harraway sisters. And I needed to not get caught.
‘So, like, you can’t swim in the ocean at all?’ Esmerelda asked.
‘I’m afraid not,’ Lizzy said, turning to her. ‘The crocs have the run of the waters around here.’
‘Huh,’ Esmerelda said. ‘Do, like, people do it anyway?’
‘Swim?’ Lizzy asked, settling into the middle armchair, the Bergère, turning to face Esmerelda and the picturesque green square, conveniently showing me her back.
‘Yeah. Swim.’
‘Oh yes,’ Lizzy replied. ‘Quite often.’
‘Totally okay to swim then?’
‘No, not at all. Those people generally get eaten. And then those poor crocs get hunted down and made into cowboy boots and Birkin bags.’
‘You’re not into Birkin bags?’ Esmerelda asked, puzzled. Evidently, in her mind, all the female offspring of wealthy parents required a crocodile Birkin bag.
‘God, no!’ Lizzy cried. ‘My goal is to be completely vegan and animal product free within two years.’
‘Two years, huh? Like, how’s that goin’?’
‘I’m almost completely vegetarian. I have a weakness for chilli crabs. I’ve tossed my animal product jackets and belts, but I’m having trouble giving up my leather sandals. Shoes are a weakness.’
Amen to that.
‘Huh,’ Esmerelda said, looking down at herself. She had no belt and was currently sporting a pair of canvas sneakers. I assumed she ate meat, but I had never seen her do it. I only ever saw her eat pastries, pasta and pizza. And food that came from stay-fresh foil packets. For all I knew, Esmerelda was a non-leather using vegetarian.
I surreptitiously made my way around Tahnee’s desk. And there, sitting on the floor behind the desk was her very much cow leather, albeit snakeskin-effect, blue and black Chloé handbag. No Birkin. The handbag was overflowing with items, which happily meant it was wide open. Poking out of the top was a black leather purse, a purple Oroton make-up case, and a wooden hairbrush.
The make-up case was also open and full of shiny black cosmetic palettes stamped with the iconic interlocking Cs enclosed in a white circle. Sitting conveniently at the top of the pile was a shiny black lipstick case with a gold stripe. My money was on red.
Just as I was devising a way to procure the lipstick by stealth, the front edge of my shoe caught in a wrinkle in the silk rug. I was suddenly hurtling to the ground. How was this even possible? I had worn wedges! Not a stiletto in sight! As I fell, a frightening thought occurred to me. Perhaps this wasn’t just another unfortunate clumsy heiress occurrence. Perhaps misfortune was my fortune. Maybe Esmerelda was right about birthdays. Maybe I’d been born under a falling star.
