Murder on a melbourne tr.., p.7
Murder on a Melbourne Tram, page 7
“Do you know any of the other guests who’ll be staying here this weekend?”
Smiling at Dusty’s use of the word ‘guests’, Sage answered with a shake of her head.
“We know Brian Chamberlain, of course, but we haven’t met the people he organised to come here to the Villa.”
“Neither of you knew Rafe Mason?” Sean wondered why Dusty repeated the question she had asked Coop earlier. On reflection, he realised Coop hadn’t given her a direct answer.
Sage’s open, friendly expression clouded over. Her eyes settled into a stare. Sean had the sense this was to prevent them sliding involuntarily in her husband’s direction. Coop was already engrossed in chopping onions, seemingly oblivious to their conversation. One hand gripped the handle of the cleaver while the other one held the blade steady. It made sharp staccato sounds on the chopping board as the chef brought it down through the onion in successive expert incisions.
Sage blinked to break her stare and smiled at Dusty. “Coop is Gracie’s godfather, but we didn’t see much of Gracie; too busy unfortunately. We never visited her at her place of work or anything like that. Didn’t see much of Brian either really but he and Coop have been friends since their school days. They have a strong link. That’s why we’re here; to support Brian in any way we can. More than anything we’d like to see Gracie’s conviction overturned.”
“You believe she’s innocent.”
“Of course she is.” Sage reached out to stroke Dusty’s arm gently. “I’m glad you’re here to help prove it.”
Before Dusty could clarify that finding the killer was not necessarily the same as proving Gracie innocent, Sage assumed a ‘let’s get on with it’ attitude and ushered them toward the dining area.
“Feel free to acquaint yourself with your workspace.” She smiled up at Sean. “The bar’s just inside the entrance on the left.”
Dusty and Sean took the hint.
Chapter 14
“Nice!” Dusty took in the gleaming mahogany parquetry floor and the wide oak table bathed in a warm light by a suspended arm of gold ceiling lights. Twelve well-padded straight back chairs were arranged around the table, four on either side and two at each end. Opposite one end of the table double glass doors opened to the outdoor area.
“Looks like this is where dinner will be served this evening,” she said.
Beyond the dining area was an open sitting space where a square of palatial ivory rug covered the middle section of parquet. A long white sofa with cushions in various colours stacked along the back bordered one edge of the rug. Matching wing-back chairs faced the sofa and the two double windows behind it that looked out onto the garden.
Sean examined the waist-high marble counter and four elegant bar stools in front of the deluxe bar. The white-grey marble extended to the back wall where shelves full of bottles of spirits provided a functional aspect to the decor.
“Think you’ll enjoy serving drinks in that bar?” said Dusty.
“I’ll do my best.”
“I think I’ll take a nice long soak in my white marble bathtub while you do your stuff.”
“My stuff?”
“You know, your barman thing. Listening. I’ll stay out of sight and have a late dinner in the apartment. I want you to absorb as much as you can about our guests and report back to me later.”
Slipping into the role of sympathetic listener was not a problem for Sean. However, what Dusty was asking sounded like character analysis. That was more her line than his. Noticing Sean’s hesitation, Dusty reassured him.
“You’re an excellent observer. Didn’t you once tell me Observant was your second name? You’ve been working with me long enough to know how to read people and you’ve learned a lot about murderers.”
“I don’t have the advantage of the Dusty Kent Lie Detector.” He was referring to her ability to know when someone was lying by listening to the changes in their voices, especially when answering questions. Having spent a great deal of her childhood exploring bushland with her godfather, an Australian Aboriginal man she called Uncle, she had learned the importance of listening closely and deeply. This early grounding had prepared her well for working with suspects. When he first met Uncle, Dusty’s godfather had given Sean a lesson in the art of listening, teaching him how to discern the nuances of the call of the currawong: an Australian native bird. While he had found the experience valuable, he could not match Dusty’s extraordinary ability.
“We don’t need my famous lie detector yet,” laughed Dusty. “All I want from you is gut reaction. The guests-cum-suspects don’t know I’m going to be here this weekend. Neither will they know you’re my assistant. You’ll have the advantage of being ‘the invisible barman’. It’ll probably be our only chance to observe them in unguarded interaction.”
“Right. No pressure.”
“Relax. Just make a mental note of anything that strikes you as relevant. That’s all. Then tomorrow…ta-da! Dusty Kent announces her presence. Let’s see how they react when I spring on them. That’s when I really need your observational skills. Watch their faces tomorrow morning.”
“Right, Boss.” Sean gave her a mock salute.
Dusty made a face at him in return. “I’ll leave you to get acquainted with your workspace. I’m sure they’ll have Guinness in the fridge to whet your appetite before your customers arrive.”
Sean was wiping down the bar when his first patron made an appearance an hour later. The neatly dressed grey-haired man with amber eyes who strolled in and sat on a stool in front of Sean was Butler Collins, as he and Dusty had correctly identified from their balcony.
When the introductions had been made, Butler requested a bourbon and coke. He made no attempt at small talk. After a sip of his drink as if assessing its taste, he held the glass out and stared into the dark liquid. The man’s air of inscrutability unsettled Sean. Or was it an air of secrecy? Sean found it difficult to read emotions in the man’s expression. His face might as well be covered in the wrappings of an Egyptian mummy. To break the ice, Sean asked him about his name.
“Do you have Irish ancestry?” When this was met with an uncomprehending stare, Sean elaborated. “Butler is an Irish name. More as a family name than a first name though.”
“No Irish ancestry that I know of. It’s a nickname bestowed on me when I arrived in Melbourne yonks ago. I come from a suburb in Perth called Butler. Some wag said something about me looking like a butler from Butler. The name stuck after that.”
“Right. You’re in good company.” Sean returned the bottle of coke to the fridge. “Ireland’s famous Nobel Prize winning poet has the name Butler. That’s what the B stands for in W.B.Yeats.”
Butler smiled, politely pleased with his connection to the Irish poet. He tossed back more of his drink.
“And the W?” he asked.
“More mundane. W for William.”
Butler nodded. “My first name’s Dennis. Also mundane.”
Sean gave himself a pat on the back for successfully unwrapping a little of the mummy.
“You know,” Butler continued in a conversational tone. “This all seems a bit surreal. I’m beginning to wonder if I did the right thing in agreeing to come.”
Sean shrugged. “You don’t have to stay, do you?”
Butler downed his drink and twisted his mouth in a wry smile as he placed the empty glass on the bar. “If I don’t, my fourteen-year-old son will not be pleased with me. My cruise ticket included the option of taking a companion. My son put his hand up straight away. Now he’s super excited about going on the Queen Elizabeth.” He raised his hand to decline a second drink.
Miss Pink Hair, now wearing a sleeveless dress with a multi-coloured swirl pattern on a bright pink background and yellow ankle boots, waltzed into the dining area with a casual air and looked across at Butler and Sean. Watching her from the balcony when she arrived, Sean had not noticed her nose ring. Confronted with it now, he wasn’t at all sure it was an enhancement, but he suspected Elsa Vine had not chosen it for that reason.
“Some swish place this, isn’t it?” She joined Butler at the bar and looked questioningly at him. He returned her gaze but said nothing.
“My room,” she raised her fingers to enclose the word ‘room’ in imaginary quotation marks, “is bigger than any apartment I’ve ever lived in. It’s got two walk-in wardrobes and built-in robes all over the place. The en suite has a humungous bath in the middle. You wouldn’t believe the balcony; it’s big enough to have a party on.”
She sat down on a bar stool, declined Sean’s offer of a drink and swivelled around to survey the dining area and the sitting zone beyond.
“I’m Elsa, by the way. Elsa Vine.” She glanced sideways at Butler. “What’s your room like?”
“Not as opulent as yours, going by your description, and no balcony, but it’s certainly much grander than I’m used to.”
Sean moved a discreet distance away to the other end of the bar where he could observe and evaluate according to Dusty’s instructions.
Elsa jumped down from her stool, swirled around with her arms spread wide as if to indicate the grandness of the surroundings. Her effervescence seemed to draw Butler out. He smiled and pointed to her left leg.
“Is that a black swan tattooed on your calf?”
“It is. I had it done after a visit to the Sanctuary.” She looked down at the tattoo. “The Healesville Sanctuary,” she added. “They have this awesome wetlands track there. You can learn lots about the water birds. Did you know that black swans originated in the Southern Hemisphere?” Butler raised his eyebrows, a noncommittal response. Elsa interpreted this as interest and imparted more knowledge about the stately aquatic birds. “And did you know that even though people in the Northern Hemisphere found out about the existence of black swans over three hundred years ago, they still describe swans as ‘white’ in their dictionaries?”
This time Butler’s raised eyebrows were accompanied by a slight bend of his head to indicate he had not been aware of this startling fact.
“What’s the matter with them over there?” Elsa clamped her hands on her hips. “Are they stuck in the past or something?”
Sean laughed. “I think they prefer to use the term ‘steeped in tradition’.”
Elsa’s derisive snort indicated what she thought of that. She pirouetted and skipped out through the open glass doors to the lawn area.
Butler’s mobile buzzed. He slipped off his stool to walk through to the lounge holding the phone to his ear. At the end of the call, he stood in front of one of the double windows, hands clasped behind his back. Observing Butler in the mirror behind the bar shelves while ostensibly rearranging the bottles of spirits, Sean wondered if the sports teacher was contemplating the idea of leaving the Villa. Had he worked out Brian Chamberlain’s ulterior motive for the complimentary weekend? A guilty man, realising a trap was being set, might deem it prudent to manufacture an excuse to leave immediately. Was Butler considering claiming the telephone call he had received was a summons to an urgent family matter, or some other sort of crisis?
Chapter 15
Turning to face the front again, Sean was accosted by a pair of striking cobalt blue eyes framed by long eyelashes and manicured brows. He blinked and widened his vision to take in the sharp features and gold hoop earrings of Holly Johnson. The combination of blue eyes and straight black hair, now released from the tight bun, reminded him of one of his sisters. However, unlike his sister, this woman radiated an air of bellicosity. She held his gaze in a penetrating stare before smiling and introducing herself.
“What’ll you have?” he asked.
“Can you mix a mean martini?” Ignoring the flirtatious tone in her voice, he maintained a professional expression although he couldn’t help noticing the way her short black dress moulded her trim body.
“Vodka or gin?”
“Vodka.”
Sean refrained from asking the ubiquitous question: stirred or shaken? From his hospitality training he knew martinis were meant to be stirred so that’s the way he made them.
When she had taken a sip of her cocktail, Holly looked across the top of the glass at him. “Excellent. You do know how to mix martinis.”
No longer penetrating, her eyes were now soft with pupils dilated as she appraised him from head to toe. Sean was not about to accept the invitation in her glance.
“My fiancé likes the way I mix martinis too.” He shaped the truth to make a point.
The blue eyes chilled. With her drink in one manicured hand, Holly turned her back to Sean and stood up. The clicking of her high black stilettos on the parquet caught Butler’s attention. When he turned from the window and saw her, he smiled in greeting. Holly raised her martini in response.
Ben, now wearing a slim-fitting long-sleeved black shirt with a spread collar with his immaculately pressed trousers, gave Sean a cheerful smile as he passed by the bar on his way to the lounge area. He paused to offer the nibbles he was carrying to Butler and Holly before placing the plates on a low table.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” he announced, before returning to the kitchen. Appetising aromas confirmed his statement and enticed Elsa back indoors.
She peered in the direction of the kitchen. “Something smells good.”
A short time later, Ben and Sage carried platters of food out and placed them in the middle of the dining table. When they had finished, Sage introduced herself to the guests.
“What’s this all about then?” Holly had apparently assumed Sage was the weekend hostess. “Is this one of those murder-mystery weekends where we all become detectives?”
“That aspect of your stay is not my area. My domain is the dining room and kitchen. I believe you will all be briefed tomorrow morning.” Sage gestured at Ben. “You’ve already met our footman. He’ll also do some light cleaning so don’t be alarmed if you discover him in your room waving a mop around.” She smiled and turned as her husband appeared. “This is the man who works magic with food. Just call him Chef; he likes that.” Coop bowed his head in agreement and returned to the kitchen as Sage continued. “There’s another guest yet to arrive but the food is ready. Chef wants it served straight away.”
She beckoned them to the table. “Please! Come and help yourselves.” Sage described the dishes, pointing to each one as she did so. “There’s roast beef, Tuscan chicken with tomatoes, fish pie, slow cooked vegan vegetable casserole, and assorted salads. We’ll bring the desserts out later.”
While the three guests settled into the dining chairs, Ben fetched several bottles of wine and placed them on the table. He opened one with a deft motion and went around filling the glasses at each set place. With his job finished, he stood a short distance away, back straight and eyes forward but with an air of being ready to offer assistance. He looked every bit a career footman.
When the tintinnabulation of church bells reverberated through the Villa, Ben grinned at the startled looks around the table.
“The doorbell,” he explained as he left his post and sailed out to the foyer.
“Whoever heard of a doorbell sounding like church bells!” Elsa’s tone dismissed the door chimes as unnecessary affectation.
“Holy Moses, look at this place!” The new arrival made his presence felt immediately, his strident tones carrying to the dining area. Butler Collins jerked his head as though in recognition. The man’s voice hinted at European ancestry. Perhaps Greek, thought Sean. This must be the final guest, Nick Lekkas.
By contrast, Ben’s tone was a deferential murmur. He informed the new arrival he would park his car for him.
“Thanks, mate. Couldn’t find the parking area.” Sean heard the jingling of keys. “Here’s the spare key. Car’s out the front. Red Lexus GS.”
“No worries. I’ll take care of it after I show you your room.”
Sean heard their footsteps on the marble floor, the fading of their voices, the opening and closing of the lift doors and the soft humming of the elevator as it rose to the next level.
The other guests had plates laden with food in front of them when Nick Lekkas returned from his room a short time later. Dressed in jeans and a tight-fitting black T-shirt that flaunted the muscles across his upper body and his dark hair cut in a severe mullet, he paused at the entrance to the dining area. Feet wide apart and thumbs tucked into his belt, he surveyed the scene as though he found it amusing in some way. A sneer slithered across his face.
The attention of those at the table was drawn to the posturing newcomer. Holly lowered her eyes quickly. Elsa’s critical gaze lingered while Butler nodded in recognition.
Sage, who had returned to the kitchen, reappeared. “You must be Nick Lekkas.”
“The one and only.”
“You’re right on time,” said Sage, steering him toward the table. “We’ve just started.”
Nick cast a glance back at Sean behind the bar. “Pour me a beer, would ya, mate?”
Sean obliged and was about to carry it over to the table when Ben reappeared and picked up the tray with the glass of beer on it. He placed the drink in front of Lekkas and returned the tray to the bar before resuming his footman pose. Efficiency itself, thought Sean.
Chapter 16
The four guests were quiet during dinner. Little was said apart from observations of the opulence of their surroundings, the sumptuousness of their meal and the hot weather. Sounds of cutlery being scraped and pots being stacked in the kitchen filled the gaps when the conversation lagged.
Knowing Dusty would ask for his impressions of the guests, Sean tried to picture each one in the role of killer. At first glance, Nick was an obvious choice, but Sean knew it was wise to look beyond the obvious. Quiet Butler Collins seemed a stronger candidate. It was not difficult to imagine a ruthless streak behind the composed facade. Casting Butler in the role of murderer for the sake of conjecture, he wondered who might have been his accomplice. Possibly Nick. Or was it Holly? He judged Holly to be capable of callousness, or at least vindictiveness.
