Just Murdered Page 15

  ‘Nothing,’ he soothed. ‘You said it yourself the other day: a detective checks the facts before making assumptions.’

  Peregrine, hands on hips, rolled her eyes in exasperation. ‘I said a detective gathers evidence rather than trying to make the facts fit a theory!’

  Steed shrugged. ‘It amounts to the same thing. Anyway, I need to go.’

  ‘Before you do, speaking of evidence … I saw your boss take a bribe from Terence Blair this morning. How’s that for evidence?’

  ‘What? What did you actually see?’

  ‘I was up in the secretary’s office and Sparrow arrived—he didn’t recognise me—and marched straight through to see Blair. The door was open and I saw Mr Blair take a big roll of notes from his pocket and give it to Sparrow.’

  Steed shrugged and jammed his hands into his pockets. ‘Could have been a donation to the Police Widows and Orphans Fund,’ he said, although his voice lacked conviction.

  Peregrine snorted. ‘Oh, come on, Detective! More like a donation to the Inspector Sparrow Retirement Fund. If it’s not a bribe, then it must be a blackmail payout!’

  ‘Miss Fisher!’ Steed barked.

  Peregrine, shocked, took a step backwards.

  ‘Leave it alone! You don’t know what you saw. I need you to stop meddling in this investigation and, above all, I need you to stay out of Inspector Sparrow’s way! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have police business to attend to!’ He yanked down the brim of his hat then pushed past her.

  Stunned, Peregrine watched him stalk off and step onto the escalator. She could see his flushed face as he rose to the next floor, but Detective Steed didn’t look at her, instead keeping his eyes rigidly focused on the back of the woman in front of him.

  Steed expected Peregrine would try to follow him again. Of course he was going to do exactly what he’d told her: talk to his colleagues at South Yarra police station then confront Colin Blair. He knew the story Peregrine had passed on to him was probably true, and Maggie Blair did not have an alibi for the time of the murder, but he had no intention of letting Peregrine know that. Helping Phryne Fisher had almost cost him his job, and just when order seemed to have been restored, just when James Steed was starting to feel in control of his own cases, Peregrine Fisher had burst into his life.

  He barely registered the garden furniture, barbecues and beach umbrellas as he strode through Blair’s outdoors department, his mind entirely focused on the investigation and following up on Peregrine’s work. He realised he was being childish, and that he’d have to apologise to her later, but it was just a little bit galling to discover information this way.

  Then there was Inspector Sparrow and the money. Whatever was going on there could not be good, but Steed couldn’t see himself broaching the subject with the boss: Oh, by the way, sir, I understand you palmed a wad of cash from Terence Blair. Anything I should know about? That would be career suicide, at the very least. Steed had known for a while that his boss could be a bit dodgy, acting in a way some coppers would describe politely as ‘old school’. But in the interests of his own job—not to mention a somewhat grudging respect for the man he thought Sparrow had once been—Steed had kept his head down. Now, though, with the evidence right in front of him, Detective Steed was angered by his own inability to act, and for the first time he was ashamed of being part of the police force. He hadn’t meant to take that out on Peregrine either, but perhaps his strong reaction would make her back off. Of course, if Peregrine Fisher was anything like her aunt, his outburst had probably made her more determined than ever to get to the bottom of things.

  Passing through sporting goods, Steed approached the Blair’s Tea Garden, an elegant, palm-filled cafe within the store. The smell of toast and something sweet wafted out to meet him, and his stomach rumbled in response. Unfortunately, there was no time for food. Steed’s destination was actually the bank of four public phone booths located just outside the cafe. He let himself into the nearest one and the heavy glass door closed with a satisfying thump, instantly muting outside sound. If Peregrine was hovering around somewhere hoping to listen in, she was going to be disappointed.

  His smugness was quickly tempered by the fact that it took less than five minutes to be connected to the desk sergeant at South Yarra and confirm that Peregrine was right. Colin Blair had reported his mother missing at 6.30 a.m. on the morning of the bridal show. He told officers he had no idea how long she’d been gone from the house and she didn’t turn up until almost half past nine.

  Steed set the receiver down with a clunk and stood for a moment, then with a sigh left the booth to look for Colin Blair. He’d only taken a couple of steps when he saw someone disappear behind a display of croquet sets—someone tall and slender with dark brown pigtails and wearing a Blair’s pinafore. Quick as a flash he raced after the vanishing figure, grabbed her arm and spun her to face him.

  ‘Really, Miss Fisher!’ Steed said triumphantly.

  Then stopped.

  The girl whose arm he was holding was not Peregrine Fisher. Steed looked at the horrified expression on her face and felt himself blush.

  ‘Sorry. I’m terribly sorry. I thought you were … Sorry,’ he mumbled, releasing her arm and backing away.

  Steed glanced around, half expecting to see Peregrine laughing at him from across the room, but he was alone. Chastened, he went to confront Colin Blair.

  As it happened, Peregrine was nowhere near James Steed. Feeling offended, she’d left him to his bad mood and headed in the opposite direction. Now she was back in the basement storeroom. The night she’d broken into Blair’s, Peregrine had hoped she might find the stocking used to strangle Barbie Jones. Instead, she had found Florence, and the missing murder weapon had turned up the following day, placed to cast suspicion on the designer. This time, Peregrine wasn’t quite sure what she was looking for.

  ‘What did you discover, Florence?’ she whispered to herself. ‘Why did someone want to kill you?’

  The door to the alterations room was closed and taped off, but Peregrine knew there was nothing for her in that room except regret. She stood there and surveyed the storage area, hoping something would catch her eye, something that Florence might have noticed as she was leaving.

  Nothing.

  The props were all as she remembered them and the crowd of dummies seemed unchanged. Peregrine shivered as she recognised one-armed Audrey in her green dress, although the mannequin’s bald head had now been covered by a floppy, broad-brimmed hat. She moved across to the rows of shelves—the place where she had stumbled across Florence’s lost shoe—to see if they held anything interesting. She found more props, but also an aisle full of shoes and accessories. Here the shelves were sectioned off and neatly labelled with the names of each of the house models. Shoes, gloves, hats, bags and pieces of jewellery were all tidily arranged in each section. Peregrine found an empty space with Barbie Jones’s name on it, while the shelf directly below was marked as Pansy Wing’s spot. And sitting right at the front of Pansy’s allocated space was a long gold necklace with red stones and a circular disc enamelled in blue and red.

  Somewhere a door closed softly. Without thinking, Peregrine snatched up the necklace and stuffed it into the pocket of her uniform.

  ‘Hello?’ she called. ‘Is someone there?’

  Footsteps, moving slowly across the concrete floor, were her only answer. Peregrine glanced behind her, but the aisle of shelves ran right to the wall: she was trapped in a dead end. She patted her pockets, trying to find the lipstick knife, only to remember it was still in her handbag, locked securely in the employee’s cloakroom. She swore silently, frantically scanning the shelves for something to defend herself with. As the footsteps drew closer, Peregrine spotted a pair of silver stiletto pumps on Pansy’s shelf, grabbed one by the toe box, and gave it an experimental swing. It wasn’t going to kill anybody, but if she could whack someone with the point of the heel it might do enough to get her out of this tight spot.

  A s
hadow appeared at the end of the row of shelves, growing more intense as the footsteps got louder. Peregrine raised the shoe over her head and held her breath. Then a man was standing there, blocking her escape.

  ‘All right, miss?’ It was the storeman, Knox, light glinting off his glasses.

  ‘Oh!’ Peregrine’s hand fell to her side, although she didn’t let go of the shoe. ‘Mr Knox! You startled me!’

  ‘It’s you, is it, Miss Foster? What are you doing down here all alone?’ He was still blocking the end of the aisle.

  ‘I was just …’ Peregrine looked at the shoe in her hand. ‘Miss Wing sent me to collect her silver shoes. She needs them to go with the outfit she’s wearing. I think these are the right ones! It took me a while to find them—there’s a lot of stuff down here!—but then I saw these shelves with all the models’ names on them, so …’ Peregrine’s words tumbled over each other.

  ‘You’ve only got one,’ said Knox.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘One shoe. You’ll need both.’ He nodded at the shelf.

  ‘Of course.’ She picked up the other shoe and held them both up for him to see. ‘It’s great that you have this section all labelled for the models and such.’

  Peregrine began to move slowly towards him and was relieved when he stepped aside, allowing her to pass.

  ‘It’s all the little extras the models need for their outfits—shoes and gloves in the right size, that sort of thing,’ Knox explained.

  ‘What about the jewellery? Do they share necklaces and brooches and things?’

  ‘No, no, never jewellery! The models put dibs on the samples and floor stock. Anything that’s been pulled for use in-house.’

  ‘You know a lot about it!’

  Knox suddenly looked shifty. He lowered his gaze and shrugged. ‘I have to keep an eye on things, that’s all. Anyway. Can’t stand around and talk all day. Got a delivery run.’ He turned his back on Peregrine and began hefting boxes onto a hand trolley.

  ‘I’ll … get these to Pansy then.’ Peregrine started across the room, trying not to look as though she was hurrying. A small, stillpanicking corner of her brain wondered if the exit to the stairwell would now be locked, but to her relief the handle yielded to pressure and she was able to heave the heavy door open. As soon as it thudded shut behind her Peregrine exhaled, her tension dropping. Slowly she climbed the stairs to the ground floor, thinking about what she’d found. Emerging into the shabbiness of the staff-only area, Peregrine was still deep in thought, trying to work out where Pansy Wing would be at this time of day. It was vital that she talked to the model as soon as possible, and not about shoes.

  ‘Hold it!’ a man yelled from somewhere behind her.

  She froze, her heart rate skyrocketing again, then cautiously turned. Peregrine was shocked to see the storeman approaching, struggling to keep control of the over-laden hand trolley.

  ‘How did you get up here so quickly?’ Peregrine’s frayed nerves betrayed her, and the question ended with a high-pitched squeak.

  He stared at her for a beat before answering. ‘Freight elevator.’

  ‘Oh. Of course.’ Peregrine swallowed. She studied Knox, trying and failing to read his expression behind the thick glasses. The only thing that really stood out was the whiteness of his knuckles as he held the trolley in a death grip.

  ‘Couldn’t trouble you to get the outside door for me, could I?’ he asked casually. ‘Not allowed to prop it open. Not since …’

  Peregrine hesitated, wondering if this was all some sort of elaborate trick. But, then again, she was supposed to be a detective, and while it might not be the best way to unmask a criminal, if he tried anything, she’d be ready. ‘Sure.’ She made the word sound cool and relaxed.

  Peregrine trailed the storeman down the hall. When he stopped a few steps from the exit, she sidled past, her back to the wall, and flung open the door, letting the momentum carry her out into the open air.

  Knox followed.

  ‘Ta, miss,’ he said, as he parked the trolley next to the open back doors of a white van.

  Peregrine watched as he loaded the boxes into the van, chastising herself for being so jumpy. As Knox swung the van’s doors closed, she saw they were discreetly adorned with the logo of Blair’s Emporium, an interlocking B and E. She hadn’t changed her mind about him—the man was definitely strange—but he was just doing his job.

  ‘I have to get back,’ she called.

  Peregrine was still holding Pansy’s silver stilettos, but as she made her way through the store to ladieswear, she reached one hand into her pocket, closing her fingers around the necklace.

  Peregrine hid the shoes behind her back as she entered the models’ dressing room, but she needn’t have worried: Pansy Wing was touching up her make-up and was completely absorbed in the task.

  ‘Miss Wing! I’m glad I found you,’ said Peregrine.

  ‘I’m about to leave. What is it?’ Pansy leaned closer to the mirror and swept on a stroke of mascara.

  ‘I found something that I think belongs to you.’ Peregrine pulled the necklace from her pocket and held it up high enough that Pansy could see it over her reflected shoulder. Light glinted from the gold disc as it turned a lazy circle.

  ‘Yeah, that’s mine. Thanks. I don’t want to lose it. Pop it in my purse, would you?’ She stretched her lips wide and began applying coral-coloured lipstick.

  ‘The thing is’—Peregrine lowered her voice conspiratorially—‘you probably shouldn’t wear it around here. Someone is bound to notice and then, well, you know how people like to gossip.’

  In the mirror, Pansy frowned. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

  ‘I don’t mean to interfere. It’s just that it’s a fairly distinctive necklace and Maggie Blair has one that’s identical.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So … she said her husband bought it for her—on an overseas trip.’

  ‘What are you trying to say?’

  Peregrine shook her head in exasperation. ‘Look, men think they’re smart when really they just lack imagination. Same gift, two women. One for the wife and one for the girlfriend!’

  Pansy met Peregrine’s gaze in the mirror, her eyes growing wide as the meaning of Peregrine’s words sunk in. She spun around.

  ‘Oh my God! You think Terence Blair and I—? Oh my God, no! He’s old!’

  Peregrine looked at the model sceptically. ‘It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone.’

  ‘But I’m telling you that I’m not involved with him. I have a boyfriend! Terence Blair is …’ She shuddered. ‘Besides, that was Barbie’s necklace. No one came to claim her things, so we—the models—split her stuff between us.’

  Peregrine looked at the necklace in her hand. ‘So this belonged to Barbie?’

  Pansy nodded emphatically.

  ‘Now things are starting to make sense!’

  Pansy pulled the chain from Peregrine’s grasp and was about to tuck it in her handbag when she stopped, her hand frozen in mid-air. ‘Are you saying Barbie and Terence Blair were having an affair?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying. And I think I know when they were meeting, too! Do you mind if I …’ Peregrine held out her hand for the necklace.

  ‘Take it!’ The model let go of the chain abruptly, as though it had burned her fingers, and Peregrine snatched it as it fell.

  ‘Thank you, Pansy. You’ve been really helpful. Oh—here! These are yours!’ Peregrine thrust the silver stilettos at Pansy and almost ran from the dressing room, desperate to get to sporting goods then make her escape from Blair’s Emporium. She had other plans for the afternoon.

  Peregrine stood in front of the reception desk at the Royal Southern Squash Club, twirling her new racquet. She’d chosen a Teddy Tinling tennis dress—white dacron and cotton squared off with a band of blue—which was now attracting the admiring glances of a number of expensively attired women. It was clear the Royal Southern was a rather exclusive club.

  Th
e man behind the desk had eyed Peregrine coolly the moment she walked through the door, gauging her appearance against some unwritten code. Apparently she’d passed the test, because he had immediately relaxed, his face breaking into a welcoming smile. Now he was searching through a reservations book, running his finger down a column of names.

  ‘Blair, you said?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s right, Mr Terence Blair,’ Peregrine replied, giving her high ponytail a toss. ‘I was supposed to meet him here and he was going to give me a lesson. Perhaps he’s running late?’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t have a court booked under that name.’

  ‘Well, there must be a mistake. I’m sure it was today! He told me he plays every Tuesday and Thursday evening, but he’d make a special time for us on Friday. And I was so looking forward to it.’ Peregrine’s lip quivered and she inhaled shakily.

  ‘I’m not sure what else I can … Oh, now, please don’t cry.’ The man looked suddenly desperate. ‘Let me just …’ He leaned over the back of his chair and stuck his head into an inner office. ‘Randy, there’s a young lady here—’

  Peregrine couldn’t hear the rest of what he said, but he turned back with a relieved smile. Seconds later an athletic young man in tennis whites appeared. With thick blond hair, a deep tan and broad shoulders, he looked like he’d stepped out of an advertisement for high-end watches or sports cars. He smiled at Peregrine, displaying his perfect and dazzlingly white teeth. Then he vaulted the small gate that separated the business side of things from the reception area.

  ‘I’m Randolph, the club pro.’ He stuck out his hand. ‘I hear you came for a lesson, but’—his smile grew even wider—‘some incredibly stupid guy stood you up.’

  Peregrine accepted the proffered hand and they shook, but the pro didn’t immediately release his grip.

  ‘Come on. I’ll look after you.’ He gave her hand a gentle tug.