Just Murdered Page 14

  ‘A missing girl?’ Steed asked, suddenly tense.

  The storeman jerked his head to the left. ‘Audrey here,’ he said, indicating the mannequin under his arm. Peregrine and Steed dutifully looked at the blank-faced plaster figure, currently dressed in a green mini.

  Steed’s shoulders dropped and he let out a heavy breath.

  ‘Don’t you worry, Detective—I knew she’d be about somewhere so I hunted her down!’

  Peregrine winced, but Knox didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘She was here all along, just stuck in a corner over there. Only she’s missing an arm. How someone managed to lose her arm, I’ll never know. But I’ll find it or get her a new one. Either way, she’ll soon be back to her lovely self and ready for the shop floor!’

  ‘Fine, Mr Knox.’ Steed inclined his head, inviting the other man to pass. ‘Just stay out of the alterations room until further notice, all right?’

  ‘Of course.’ Knox’s face was unreadable behind his thick glasses as he effortlessly carried the two dummies past them, into the section of the basement set aside for an assortment of male and female mannequins and torsos. Peregrine and Steed watched as he carefully stood each figure upright, gently dusted them off, and pulled a wig—long and black—from the pocket of his coat. Reverently Knox stroked Audrey’s bald head before placing the wig on the other mannequin and adjusting the angle of its fringe, murmuring to both inert forms as he did so.

  ‘Is it just because I’m a woman that I think the way he’s acting is really creepy?’ Peregrine whispered.

  ‘No. He is genuinely weird,’ Steed whispered back, then raised his voice. ‘We’ll let you get on with your work, Mr Knox!’

  ‘Hmm? Oh, right you are!’ Knox began whistling a tune to himself.

  As she and Detective Steed walked out of Blair’s Emporium and into the morning sunshine, Peregrine still had the melody stuck in her head. It wasn’t until she’d walked all the way back to the Austin-Healey and was sitting behind the wheel that she remembered the name of the tune.

  The storeman had been whistling a song called ‘Endless Sleep’.

  The rest of the day was a blur. There was no need for Peregrine to break the news to the members of the Adventuresses’ Club: when Birdie had gone to look for Florence, the police were already at her apartment. Peregrine arrived to find the mansion on Greenwood Place strangely silent, its normal undercurrent of activity and enterprise replaced by a heaviness that seemed to squeeze the air out of every room.

  Birdie spent the afternoon with a glass of whisky at her elbow, seesawing between sorrow and anger, her rage directed at Sparrow, police, men in general and herself, for not being there when Florence needed her.

  ‘It seems to be something I’m good at,’ she told Peregrine in an unguarded moment. ‘Not being there when it matters most.’

  ‘If anyone’s to blame, it’s me,’ Peregrine responded. She was sitting sideways in a large wingback chair, her legs dangling over one of the arms.

  Dirty coffee cups and crystal tumblers were scattered about the room and a plate of sandwiches, their edges dry and curling, lay untouched on the table. Violetta and Samuel were seated together on an overstuffed sofa, but the other Adventuresses had retreated to different parts of the house, unwilling to intrude on their president’s raw grief.

  ‘Neither of you is to blame,’ Violetta said, quietly but firmly.

  Peregrine and Birdie both turned to her in surprise; Violetta had been largely silent since hearing the news and they had all but forgotten she was in the room.

  ‘We know Florence didn’t do anything, either to herself or to Barbie Jones, therefore there was nothing for either of you to see in her demeanour to provoke a reaction. The only person to blame is the person who murdered her.’ Violetta nodded once for emphasis.

  ‘Violetta’s right.’ Samuel leaned forward. ‘And this is getting us nowhere. Peregrine, you need to get back to Blair’s.’

  Peregrine nodded. ‘I think so too, although I thought I might stay here tonight.’ She inclined her head very slightly in Birdie’s direction.

  ‘Yes.’ Samuel’s voice was full of relief. ‘I think that’s a very good idea.’

  ‘Not on my account,’ said Birdie, suddenly defensive.

  ‘No, no,’ Peregrine replied. ‘Just until we have a better idea of what’s going on.’

  Now Birdie sat up and rested her forearms on her thighs. ‘But that’s exactly the problem, isn’t it? We have no idea what’s going on! If Florence was killed because she knew something about Barbie’s death, why didn’t she tell someone?’

  ‘Maybe she didn’t think it was important.’ Peregrine swivelled around and put her feet on the floor.

  ‘Or it was something she only found out last night,’ said Samuel.

  The energy in the room had changed.

  ‘Could it be that Barbie and Florence were killed for the same reason?’ asked Violetta. ‘I mean, not because of something Florence discovered about Barbie’s murder, but something that had happened in the past, to both of them?’

  Everyone stared at her for a moment, then Samuel’s eyes widened and he pointed an emphatic finger at her. ‘You mean like Barbie owed someone else money—which is why she tried to get it back from Florence—and because Barbie didn’t have it she was killed, and then the same person came after Florence?’

  Violetta nodded enthusiastically but Peregrine wrinkled her nose.

  ‘I suppose it’s possible, but it sounds very confusing,’ she said.

  ‘Peregrine’s right,’ Birdie said. ‘You’re making it too complicated.’

  Violetta shrugged. ‘It’s just a hypothesis. It’s what scientists do: look for different explanations and ways to refute the idea that something occurred by chance.’

  ‘We already know that Florence’s murder is connected to Barbie’s,’ Peregrine objected. ‘She wasn’t just a random victim.’

  ‘Ah, you know it, but you have to prove it. Science and investigation—both rely on solid evidence!’

  ‘At the moment, all I know is that Barbie Jones was pregnant and no one seems to have any idea who her boyfriend was.’ Peregrine stood up as she spoke and idly picked up a sandwich, then just as quickly put it down again.

  ‘So …’ said Birdie.

  ‘So that’s where I’ll start. Tomorrow.’

  Peregrine and Birdie looked at each other. Nothing was said, but something passed between them: a resolve, an agreement not to rest until the person who had killed Barbie and Florence was caught.

  The next morning Peregrine was back at Blair’s Emporium in her Penny Foster guise. She had come armed with her own black clipboard and a range of excuses as to what she was actually doing, from checking stock levels to monitoring customer interest in displays and sales. It worked very well, enabling her to move about the store with ease, but by late morning it had brought her no closer to learning anything about Barbie Jones. She’d eavesdropped, gossiped, and even asked a couple of pointed questions, but no one admitted to knowing about a boyfriend. Peregrine had also ventured into the menswear and appliances departments in the hope that Barbie’s mystery man might be one of the salesmen, and either the urge for a bit of locker-room bragging or shifty avoidance would point her in the right direction. A couple of young men had in fact eagerly confessed to a relationship with the stunningly beautiful model, but the first one was howled down by his mates and the second one blanched and began to stammer and backtrack when Peregrine hinted at the possibility of a pregnancy. She left convinced that whoever Barbie’s boyfriend had been, he wasn’t one of the salesmen on Blair’s shop floor.

  Peregrine had just decided to try her luck with Pansy Wing and the other house models when she rounded a corner and almost crashed into Maggie Blair, a pile of shopping bags and hat boxes at her feet.

  ‘Mrs Blair!’

  ‘Ah, Miss Foster! Excellent timing!’ Colin Blair appeared from behind his mother.

  ‘Hello, Mr Blair.’ Peregrine bra
ndished the clipboard. ‘I was just …’

  He shook his head then waved a hand towards the pile of shopping. ‘Whatever you’re doing can wait. Mother has been rather extravagant this morning. Would you take all this up to the office and leave it with Mrs Hirsch?’

  ‘Of course, Mr Blair.’ Peregrine smiled at the older woman, whose attention seemed to be entirely taken with a display of gloves. ‘That’s a lovely necklace you’re wearing, Mrs Blair. Most unusual.’ ‘Hmm?’ Mrs Blair looked down at her décolletage and lifted the necklace, holding it out for Peregrine to admire. The long gold chain was interspersed with ruby-red beads and at the very end hung a large gold disc, decorated with an intricate cloisonné pattern in shades of red and blue.

  ‘I’ve never seen anything quite like it,’ said Peregrine, bending in for a closer look.

  ‘That’s hardly surprising, dear. You won’t find anything like it in this country! My husband bought it for me on one of his overseas trips. He’s so thoughtful like that, always buying me gifts, and each time it’s something special and unique.’

  Colin Blair cleared his throat and glanced pointedly at his watch.

  ‘Thank you for showing me, Mrs Blair.’ Peregrine began to gather up the boxes and bags. ‘I’d best get your things up to Mrs Hirsch now.’

  ‘Oh.’ Colin Blair reached into his pocket and handed Peregrine another small package, this one wrapped in plain brown paper. ‘Give that to Mrs Hirsch too, please, Miss Foster.’

  Peregrine, her hands already laden with bags and boxes, looked at him helplessly for a moment then stuck out her chin. ‘If you could just …’

  Obligingly, Colin Blair tucked the final parcel into the crook of Peregrine’s neck, and she clamped her chin down, holding it in place.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  Joyce Hirsch looked up from her desk as the elevator doors opened and Peregrine staggered out. ‘Has Mrs Blair been stripping the shelves again?’ she asked.

  ‘Hang on.’ Peregrine still had the small parcel tucked under her chin. ‘Could you … ?’ She leaned forward over the secretary’s desk. Mrs Hirsch held out her hands and Peregrine let the parcel drop. ‘Phew! I wasn’t sure I was going to make it!’

  She moved to the side of the desk and, as carefully as possible, allowed the rest of the boxes and bags to fall from her hands.

  Mrs Hirsch eyed the heaped purchases. ‘I honestly have no idea what Mrs Blair does with it all! She’d have to wear something new every single day and she probably still wouldn’t have touched half the things she owned.’

  ‘One of the benefits of being married to the boss, I suppose.’ Peregrine pushed some stray hair from her face.

  ‘Benefits? I don’t know about that.’ Mrs Hirsch was still holding the small, plain-wrapped parcel and now she shook it pointedly at Peregrine. ‘This’ll be Mrs Blair’s medication.’

  ‘Medication? I didn’t realise she was sick.’ Peregrine tried to look politely concerned.

  ‘Not that sort of sick.’ Joyce Hirsch cast a cautious eye towards her boss’s closed door then turned back to Peregrine and tapped her temple meaningfully. ‘Here.’

  Peregrine widened her eyes. ‘I had no idea. The poor thing.’

  ‘Yes, and she’s been worse lately. Hopefully whatever’s in here will do the trick.’ She dropped the package into her desk drawer.

  ‘Worse how?’

  ‘Oh.’ Joyce looked at the closed office door again. ‘The bridal fashion parade set her off. She was a top model you know, back in the day. Beautiful woman! But she can’t seem to come to terms with the fact that, even if you’re stunning, beauty fades. She wanted to be in the parade but Miss Astor put her foot down. And didn’t that cause a ruckus! Why, Mrs Blair was so upset she took off on the morning of the parade! Young Mr Blair—poor man—had no idea where his mother had gone, and of course with the state she’d been in … He got the South Yarra police involved. Reported her missing and then sat in that police station for half the morning while they combed the streets! Apparently they were talking about dragging the river when she turned up.’

  ‘Gosh! Was she okay?’

  ‘Dazed and a bit confused but none the worse for it, thank goodness. Colin even managed to get her here to see some of the fashion show, although in hindsight that probably wasn’t the best idea.’

  ‘Colin Blair seems very dedicated to his mother.’

  ‘Oh, he is!’ Joyce Hirsch leaned forward, her eyes bright. ‘Always looking out for her.’

  ‘What about Mr Blair? I mean Colin’s father?’

  ‘Such a busy man! He indulges his wife’— Joyce gestured at the mound of shopping—‘but running this place means he has precious little free time. It’s all he can do to squeeze in a game of squash two evenings a week!’

  ‘Squash! My father plays squash! Perhaps he and Mr Blair know each other. Where does Mr Blair play?’

  ‘Royal Southern, every Tuesday and Thursday night. He’s been a member there for years.’

  ‘Oh.’ Peregrine let her face fall. ‘Different club. Well, thank you, Mrs Hirsch. I really should be …’

  The elevator pinged. Peregrine glanced over her shoulder and was horrified to see Inspector Sparrow emerging. Quickly she turned her back and began fussing with Mrs Blair’s purchases, arranging the bags into a neat line while keeping her shoulders hunched and face carefully averted.

  ‘Inspector!’ Joyce Hirsch called, her tone suddenly brusque. ‘I’ll let him know you’re here.’

  ‘No need, Mrs Hirsch. I’ll tell him myself.’

  From the corner of her eye Peregrine could see Mrs Hirsch frantically pressing buttons on the intercom even as she heard the door to the inner office open.

  ‘Sparrow!’ Terence Blair’s voice held annoyance, surprise and something else Peregrine couldn’t identify. She risked a glance in the direction of the Blairs’ office. Sparrow had left the door open and she had a clear view of the two men, although they were now talking too softly for more than the occasional word to reach her.

  Inspector Sparrow and Terence Blair were standing in front of the large desk. Blair was clearly agitated, shaking his head and moving his hands in sharp, tight gestures as he spoke. By contrast, Sparrow was completely at ease. He hadn’t bothered to remove either his hat or coat, and he stood calmly as Blair talked, at one point replying with a huge yawn. Then, as Peregrine watched, Sparrow snapped his fingers and stuck out a hand. In response, Terence Blair reached into the pocket of his sharply tailored chalk-stripe suit and pulled out a roll of money. Without counting it, he dropped the bills into Sparrow’s outstretched palm then turned away.

  Peregrine ducked her head again as Inspector Sparrow doffed his hat—a gesture of exaggerated sarcasm rather than polite farewell—and turned to leave. The office door slammed behind him.

  ‘Always a pleasure, Mrs Hirsch,’ Sparrow said as he passed through the outer office.

  Peregrine waited until she heard the elevator doors slide closed before she straightened up.

  Joyce Hirsch’s lips were pursed in distaste. ‘Odious man,’ she muttered.

  Mrs Hirsch sent Peregrine off to the accounts department with a stack of approved invoices and, after completing that task, Peregrine returned to the ground floor of the emporium. She was still determined to have a proper search through the basement storeroom, but that would have to wait; right now she needed to see Detective Steed and she was hoping he’d stride through the main doors sooner or later. Peregrine managed to while away an hour straightening sales tables, tweaking floral arrangements and directing customers, and was just beginning to think he would never come when the distinctive silhouette of James Steed, artfully backlit by the morning sun, filled the doorway of Blair’s Emporium.

  She threw the lemon-coloured angora twinset she’d been holding onto a nearby counter and hurried to intercept him before he reached the escalators.

  ‘Good morning, Detective!’ she called.

  He stopped abruptly, shoulders immediately t
ense. ‘Miss Fish—’

  ‘Penny Foster! You remember!’ Peregrine bustled to a stop in front of him.

  ‘Miss Foster,’ said Steed through gritted teeth. ‘I’m rather busy this morning.’

  ‘Just a quick word, Detective. It is important.’ Peregrine widened her eyes and gave him a hard look.

  ‘Five minutes.’ Steed led her to a quiet recess beneath an escalator. Leaning against the wall, he folded his arms. ‘Well?’

  ‘Someone got out of bed on the wrong side this morning!’

  Steed took a deep breath. ‘I’m under a lot of pressure to finalise the investigation. The inspector wants to make a public announcement about Miss Astor’s role in the death of Barbie Jones.’

  ‘Oh. Oh, no! Well, maybe this will help you to find the real killer. Maggie Blair was desperate to be a catwalk model again, but Florence said no. Then on the morning of the bridal fashion show, Mrs Blair went missing for several hours—no one knows where she was or what she was doing!’

  Steed shook his head. ‘That’s not right. Maggie Blair was at home with her son, Colin. They were running late but arrived here in time for the end of the show. Colin Blair has given his statement.’

  ‘Well, then he’s lied to you. Mrs Hirsch, the Blairs’ secretary, told me Colin reported his mother missing to South Yarra police early that morning. He was at the police station while they were looking for her and then she just turned up—in a daze, supposedly, but well enough to make it to Florence’s show. Check with South Yarra if you don’t believe me. Or get Constable Connor to do it!’

  Steed narrowed his eyes but let Peregrine’s jab go. ‘I’ll call them myself right now, because if what you’re telling me is true, I’d like to have another chat with Colin Blair.’

  ‘What do you mean, if it’s true?’ Peregrine’s voice rose.

  Above them, a woman leaned over the edge of the escalator and peered down, her face alight with curiosity. Steed met her eye and touched his hat politely, waiting until the moving stairs had carried her away before returning his attention to Peregrine.