Just Murdered Page 17

  Peregrine smiled. ‘My goodness, Detective Steed! Does this mean you think I have the makings of an investigator after all?’

  Steed returned her grin. ‘Is that the time? I have to go.’ He handed her a card. ‘I’ve written my home number on the back, just in case.’

  ‘Why, Detective!’ She swatted his arm playfully then took a step back. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Don’t mention it. I mean, really, don’t mention it—especially not to the inspector!’ Steed moved to the top of the stairs then paused, serious once again. ‘There is one thing I’ll say, though. If crossing professional paths with your aunt taught me anything, it’s never to underestimate a woman named Fisher.’

  The top of Steed’s hat was just disappearing when Peregrine called out, ‘Detective! One more question! About my aunt!’

  Steed came back up a couple of steps so he could look at her over the top of the planter box.

  ‘I was going through her old case notes. In a copy of the notebook that the inspector took, there’s a reference to Madame Lyon being like the goddess who guards secrets. Did Aunt Phryne ever say anything to you about a goddess or a hiding place? Anything like that?’

  Steed shook his head. ‘Your aunt and I were colleagues of sorts and I like to think we were also friends. But Phryne Fisher’s secrets were always strictly her affair. The one time I asked her something along those lines she stared down her nose and said telling me would entirely defeat the purpose, because then it wouldn’t be a secret anymore.’

  Steed touched the brim of his fedora in farewell and vanished down the stairs.

  Peregrine carried the file into the bedroom, climbed into her pink bed and spread the pages out around her, except for the information about Florence. Steed had told her the most important thing—Florence had not committed suicide—but she wasn’t quite ready to read a detailed account of her friend’s injuries. There was no question in Peregrine’s mind: Florence had been killed because she’d discovered something about Barbie’s murder.

  ‘So if I find Barbie’s killer,’ she murmured, picking up the first page, ‘I’ll know who killed Florence.’

  The hours crept by as she shuffled back and forth between the papers, scribbling notes, looking for something that would point her to a solution. But as the darkness outside her window gradually faded into dawn, Peregrine realised the only thing she’d learned was that Barbie Jones had a landlady who was either very motherly or very concerned about her tenant’s safety. According to the file, Detective Steed had spoken to Mrs Dulcie Meadows, who confirmed Barbie was in her own apartment by 11 p.m. the night before the bridal show. Mrs Meadows knew this because Barbie had flicked her lights on and off to signal she was safely home.

  Peregrine looked at the notes she had made: the phrase safely home was so heavily circled the pencil had broken through the paper.

  ‘Why “safely home”? And why was Barbie signalling to her landlady in the first place? Was she afraid of something?’ Peregrine mused, leaning back against a mound of pillows. She’d already gone over Dulcie Meadows’s statement four or five times and there was nothing out of the ordinary except for those two little words. But if Mrs Meadows was very close to Barbie, she might know more.

  Peregrine made a note of the landlady’s address then returned all the loose pages to the folder, being careful to keep everything in order. Despite staying up all night, she was wide awake and buzzing with energy, eager to get on with the job. However, 6 a.m. on a Saturday was what her mother would have called an ungodly hour and not a good time for social calls, let alone pumping a stranger for information. There was time for a quick nap before Peregrine paid a visit to Dulcie Meadows, and she snuggled down between the silk sheets and closed her eyes, trying to relax. Details of the case kept bouncing around in her brain, but just when Peregrine was about to give up on the idea of getting any sleep, she remembered one of Pansy Wing’s tricks for looking serene: think pleasant thoughts.

  ‘Pleasant thoughts,’ she sighed. ‘Pleasant thoughts.’

  And just before drifting off, she remembered Detective Steed had called her Peregrine.

  Peregrine found Mrs Meadows’s house and the lady herself; she was outside on the street, sweeping a path that already looked immaculate. The floral apron protecting her beige house dress was equally spotless, and her blue-rinsed hair was set in a style copied directly from the Queen Mother. The overall effect was of a woman who brooked no nonsense, and Peregrine could feel herself being sized up as she approached on foot. The Austin-Healey was parked around the corner and Peregrine had dressed in a way she hoped was fashionably demure: stylish enough that she could pass herself off as one of Barbie Jones’s friends, but prim enough to meet with an older woman’s approval.

  ‘Mrs Meadows?’ Peregrine moved her sunglasses to the top of her head.

  The woman stopped sweeping. ‘Yes, I’m Mrs Meadows.’ Her voice was cautious.

  ‘My name is Peregrine Fisher. I’m—I was—a friend of Barbie’s. From the store.’ Peregrine hated telling a lie like that, but if it meant finding Barbie’s killer she was prepared to make an exception.

  ‘Oh, pet!’ Mrs Meadows propped her broom against the fence, wiped her hands on her apron and bustled forward. For a moment Peregrine thought she was going to be hugged, but the older woman grabbed both her hands and squeezed tightly. ‘Poor Barbie! Such a lovely girl! I can hardly bear to think about it.’

  ‘She told me how kind you were: how you kept an eye on things and looked out for her signal when she got home.’

  Dulcie Meadows turned to look up at the first floor of the block of apartments directly across the road. ‘Well, I did worry—young thing all alone in the city—and I can see her balcony from the window of my lounge room, here.’ She let go of Peregrine’s hands to gesture to the triple-fronted cream-brick-veneer house behind them.

  ‘So whenever she came in late, Barbie would turn the lights on and off a couple of times?’

  ‘That’s right. And sometimes I’d give a little wave.’

  ‘Did she wave back on that last night?’

  ‘No, but she didn’t always wave back. That night she flicked the lights as usual but she didn’t wave. I think she must have been worried about something, because she sat up for ever so long. I could see her up there in her little lime green dress …’ Dulcie Meadows sighed and her chin gave a tiny wobble.

  Peregrine felt her pulse quicken. ‘Why would Barbie be worried? Was she having trouble with her boyfriend?’ She watched to see how Mrs Meadows would react, but the other woman simply shook her head.

  ‘I don’t think so. She certainly never said anything.’

  ‘But you thought she was worried,’ Peregrine persisted.

  Mrs Meadows patted her arm. ‘There, dear, it’s probably just me being all dramatic, what with everything. It was just that she didn’t usually sit up so late—at least not when she had a big show the next day. And after the stalker …’

  ‘Stalker!’ Peregrine stared open-mouthed at the other woman.

  ‘Well, not really. Barbie thought I was being quite fanciful when I pointed out the white van to her. It was parked in our street several nights a week these last few months—right in front of the apartments! She said it was nothing and I wasn’t to worry. But I’m sure that’s why she agreed to our little signal with the lights. Just to set a silly old woman’s mind to rest. Funny—I haven’t seen the van this past week.’ Mrs Meadows frowned and stared thoughtfully at a spot in the road currently occupied by a battered grey Morris Minor.

  ‘Mrs Meadows …’ Peregrine began.

  Dulcie snapped out of her reverie. ‘Yes, dear?’

  ‘I wonder … I don’t suppose you could let me into Barbie’s apartment, could you?’ Peregrine crossed her fingers behind her back. ‘It’s just that she borrowed a favourite dress of mine. It’s rather special—I had to pay it off bit by bit each week—otherwise I wouldn’t bother you.’

  Dulcie Meadows studied
Peregrine for a moment then her own face broke into a smile. ‘You young girls and your frocks! I’m not so old I don’t remember what it was like to scrimp and save for pretty things or to swap clothes. I’ll have to send you up by yourself, mind; my knees aren’t what they used to be.’ She rummaged in the voluminous pocket of her dress and pulled out a bunch of keys.

  Peregrine could hardly believe her luck. ‘Thank you, Mrs Meadows. That’s very understanding of you.’

  ‘Nonsense, dear.’ She sorted through the keys until she found the one she wanted, detaching it from the chain and handing it to Peregrine. ‘The lock can be a bit sticky, but just give it a jiggle. Drop the key back when you’re done.’

  ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’ Peregrine smiled as she palmed the key. This was much easier than sneaking in and picking locks.

  She let herself in the front door of the apartment building as Dulcie Meadows retrieved her broom and resumed sweeping.

  Minutes later, Peregrine stood in the doorway of Barbie’s apartment and let her eyes roam around the lounge-dining area and kitchenette. It all looked tidy. Well, as tidy as she’d expect, anyway. There were some record albums spread across the top of the stereo and the throw pillows on the couch looked as if someone had pushed them aside, but otherwise everything seemed normal. As though Barbie had popped down to the corner shop and would be back at any moment. Peregrine crossed to the window and looked out. She could see Mrs Meadows still sweeping, and she also had a clear view straight into the landlady’s lounge room. Dulcie Meadows would definitely have been able to see Barbie. As if to confirm Peregrine’s thoughts, the other woman suddenly looked up and waved. Peregrine waved back, then stepped away from the window. She was supposed to be collecting a dress; she didn’t have much time.

  Turning to the couch, Peregrine ran her hands between the frame and the seat cushions but came up empty-handed. Absently, she picked up one of the throw pillows and plumped it up. She was about to place it where she thought it should be—upright in the corner between the armrest and the backrest—when a faint smell reached her. She pounded the cushion again and inhaled. Aftershave, not perfume: a man had been here recently. Peregrine dropped the cushion and carefully examined the top of the couch. If Terence Blair had been sitting on this couch, there was a chance she might find some stray hairs. At first Peregrine couldn’t see anything, but then she moved her head and the line of sight shifted; there was something there. Carefully she plucked at the couch’s fabric then examined her find, holding it up to the light.

  ‘What on earth … ?’

  Between her fingers were several strands of orange fibre. Peregrine frowned at them for a moment then pulled out a handkerchief, carefully wrapped it around the fibres, and stowed the small bundle in her pocket. She stood for a moment, frowning, thinking about Barbie Jones and Terence Blair. With a sigh, Peregrine turned and went to look in the bedroom.

  Things weren’t quite as tidy in here, but the bed was made and there were no clothes on the floor. Peregrine opened the wardrobe, wondering what she should take in case she had to show Mrs Meadows ‘her’ dress. Flicking quickly through the hangers, she selected a heavily beaded, pink silk shantung shift and pulled it out. Then she hesitated. She couldn’t bring herself to make off with Barbie’s dress. If Mrs Meadows asked, she’d say Barbie must have sent it to the dry cleaners. Peregrine replaced the beaded dress and was just about to close the wardrobe when she realised something. There was no green dress. Dulcie Meadows had said she’d seen Barbie on her last night wearing a lime green dress, but there was nothing like that here.

  Peregrine went through the wardrobe again then got down on the floor and peered under the bed. Nothing. Dusting herself off, she went and checked the bathroom. No green dress. It made no sense, but Peregrine didn’t have time to think about it now; Mrs Meadows would be beginning to wonder what was keeping her.

  As she hurried across the lounge room towards the door, her hip caught one of the records sitting on top of the stereo and sent it spinning to the floor. It was The Beatles’ Please Please Me, and the fall caused the LP to partially slip from its cover. Peregrine stooped to pick it up and was about to let the vinyl drop back into the sleeve when she saw something else tucked in with the record. She pulled it free.

  ‘Ha! Yes!’ Peregrine was triumphant. In her hand was a photograph of Barbie Jones, but this was no modelling shot. Barbie was leaning back with her head against Terence Blair’s chest, gazing up at him with adoring eyes, while Blair looked back at her with an expression Peregrine couldn’t quite decipher—something between bemusement and desire. She tucked the photo up her sleeve, replaced the record and let herself out of Barbie Jones’s apartment.

  Peregrine returned the key to Mrs Meadows and reported that she had not found her dress. She was keen to get to the Adventuresses’ Club, but the sympathetic landlady was eager to help.

  ‘Barbie was very careful with clothes, dear, and I’m sure she would have sent your dress to be cleaned before returning it,’ Mrs Meadows explained, and then proceeded to give detailed directions to the nearest dry-cleaning establishment.

  Finally Peregrine made her excuses, gave Dulcie Meadows her phone number—‘Just in case the dress turns up, dear’—and started back to the Austin-Healey. Once she was sitting comfortably in the driver’s seat, she pulled the photograph of Barbie and Terence Blair from her sleeve, wanting to study it again. As she propped the picture up on the steering wheel, a cream-coloured Ford sedan turned into the far end of the street and cruised in her direction. It looked just like the unmarked cars she’d seen parked at the police station. Peregrine immediately tossed the photo into the passenger footwell and pulled out a compact, flipping it open and holding it up to shield her face. Hopefully she was wrong and it was just an ordinary car, nothing to do with her or Barbie Jones. The Ford slowed to a crawl as it passed Peregrine’s convertible and she risked a glance at its driver.

  Inspector Sparrow. He locked eyes with Peregrine and his face turned red.

  ‘You!’ he yelled.

  ‘Inspector! What a charming coincidence! I’d love to stay and chat but I have somewhere else to be.’ Peregrine twisted the key in the ignition and the Austin-Healey roared to life.

  Sparrow pointed a menacing finger at her. ‘Stay right where you are!’

  ‘What?’ Peregrine cupped a hand behind her ear, then with a shake of her head she put the car in gear and peeled out from the kerb. She watched in the rear-view mirror as Sparrow executed a three-point turn and started after her, only to be thwarted when an oblivious local reversed out of his driveway.

  ‘So long, Sparrow!’ she cheered.

  As horns blared behind her, Peregrine swung around the corner and pointed the convertible in the direction of Greenwood Place.

  She burst through the door of The Adventuresses’ Club and thrust the photograph at an astonished Samuel.

  ‘Quick, hide this!’

  Birdie appeared in the hallway. ‘Peregrine? What’s going on?’

  ‘Sparrow’s not far behind me.’

  Birdie jerked her head at Samuel. ‘Make it disappear.’

  Just then the gate buzzer sounded.

  Birdie hit the switch on an intercom. ‘Yes? Can I help you?’

  ‘Chief Inspector Sparrow!’ His voice echoed around the hall. ‘Open this bloody gate now or I’ll—’ The rest of what he said was lost in a burst of static.

  Birdie sighed. ‘You’d better go before he does whatever he thinks he’s going to do,’ she said to Samuel.

  ‘What about this?’ He held up the photograph.

  ‘Give it to me.’ It was Violetta, drawn from her laboratory by the commotion. She plucked the picture from his hand.

  He nodded, tugged the sleeves of his cardigan up ever so slightly, and strode off to respond to the inspector’s demand.

  ‘Where will you put it?’ Peregrine asked.

  Violetta pulled up the front of her fitted sweater, tucked the photograph between the waist
of her skirt and slip, then smoothed the sweater back into place. ‘Where he would never dare to look.’ She lifted her chin and fixed a look of icy disdain on her face.

  ‘You are full of surprises!’ said Peregrine admiringly.

  Violetta winked then schooled her face again as the front door burst open and Inspector Sparrow stormed in, Samuel trailing in his wake.

  Sparrow stomped up to Peregrine and leaned in so his face was less than an inch from her own. ‘What were you doing at Barbie Jones’s apartment?’

  Over his shoulder, Peregrine saw Birdie start forward and she gestured with one hand, low and small, to stop her. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, Inspector,’ she said coolly.

  ‘Don’t lie to me, Little Fish.’ Sparrow’s teeth were clenched. ‘I know you were there and I know you went in.’

  Peregrine arched one eyebrow but said nothing.

  ‘I have spies everywhere,’ he hissed. ‘Did you take something?’

  ‘No, but I think you might need to take something for your blood pressure. Your face has gone awfully red.’

  Sparrow straightened, breathing hard. Then he threw his arms wide. ‘I know you took something. I could tear this place apart if I wanted to.’

  Now Birdie stepped forward. ‘You’d need a warrant for that.’

  He whipped around to stare at her.

  ‘I can call our legal adviser, if you like. She’s in the building.’ Samuel came and stood next to Birdie.

  ‘Personally, I have far more important things to attend to,’ said Violetta from the opposite side of the room. She waited until the inspector had spun around to face her before pointedly turning her back and walking away.

  Sparrow looked from Peregrine to Birdie and back again, eyes bulging and the muscles in his jaw bunching. Suddenly he flung back his jacket, revealing the gun holstered under his right arm. Samuel gasped and took a small step forward, hands slightly raised, ready to make a grab. But Birdie curled her lip in disgust.