Gone guest, p.2
Gone Guest, page 2
He glanced at his clipboard again. “I believe you’re being accommodated for the night? In that case, be sure to take your luggage with you.” Then a look of reproach. “You guys are the last to arrive, so don’t dawdle. Head straight up.”
“Yes, sir!” Perry replied, giving a small salute while Lynette tsked from the back.
“You are incorrigible, Peppy,” she said as her sister continued through the open gate and up the steep, paved driveway. “Try to behave tonight. It’s a big deal for Ronnie.”
“At least I’m here,” he retorted, “which is more than I can say for half her rellies.”
“I wonder why so many ‘wriggled out of it’,” said Queenie.
“More fool them,” said Claire, ogling the view from her side-door window. “Did you see that fabulous court back there? Dreamy. I wish I’d brought my tennis whites.”
She sighed some more as they rounded the last bend, passed a small dwelling that was barely visible through the trees, and finally reached the grand mansion. It was even more impressive up close, and breathtakingly large, like the guardhouse on steroids.
Built in true Gothic style with steep gabled roofs and pointed arches for doors, it boasted twenty rooms across two levels and a thousand square metres, the east wing almost reaching out to the cliff face. There was a garish fountain out the front and a six-car garage on the southern side, with guest parking next to that. And that’s where Alicia finally brought the car to a stop.
“Good thing I gave the Torana a wash before we came,” she said as she ogled the luxury vehicles around her.
“Oh yeah,” said Perry, clambering out behind Missy. “A bit of dust is the only difference between this hunk-a-junk and all these Jags and Porsches and oh my God is that a Lamborghini?”
“A Lamborghini Urus,” said Queenie. “They finally brought out a decent SUV. It’s much sleeker than the Rambo Lambo, but honestly, if you’re going to splurge on a Lambo, why an SUV…?”
Her voice trailed away as she realised they were now ogling her.
“Never would’ve picked you for a revhead,” said Lynette.
“I see a lot of nice cars in my line of business,” she mumbled.
Queenie’s business was really Claire’s husband’s business, LLE—a luxury hospitality development company where Queenie worked as Simon Barrier’s executive assistant.
“Is that right?” said Perry, snatching up his Louis Vuitton duffle bag from the boot. “What do you drive then?”
“Oh, I don’t have a car. No time for road trips.”
“That’s depressing,” he replied.
“So’s this,” said Lynette as they strode back towards the front of the mansion (which was really the back of the house, the side without that stunning, easterly view).
One of the tall arched doors was now propped open, and they could see straight into a shadowy, candlelit foyer. It was like peeking into the great hall of a Tudor castle with its dark timber flooring and high decorative ceiling. The thick stone walls were covered in woven tapestries, pretentious oil paintings, and a dozen faux candelabra.
“It is a bit creepy,” agreed Missy.
“I love it,” gushed Claire, clapping her hands together.
“You’re late,” snapped the woman who had opened the door.
She was almost as imposing as the house—tall and angular, her sharp hips poking out from a full-length, black satin dress, which matched her tightly cropped black hair and the dark look she was now offering them. Her cheeks were equally sharp, her lips the only plump thing about her, heavily glossed and clearly Botoxed, much like her forehead, which would’ve been frowning if it had been given half a chance.
“We’re so sorry,” said Alicia, stepping forward. “We’re—”
“I know who you are. The book club, yes?” Before they could respond, the fifty-something had turned and began gliding across the floor as if she were skating. “I’m Bethany Westera, Veronica’s niece,” she called back to them. “I hear you’re staying over. Let’s get your luggage into the study and some champers in hand. The fireworks are about to start, so there’s no time to sort out sleeping arrangements, let alone time for changing.”
She turned back and gave Missy the once-over, her eyes darting across her rockabilly-style polka-dot dress with its full circle skirt and black tulle petticoat.
Missy gulped, then giggled. “Oh no, I mean… this is what I’m wearing.”
Bethany blinked back like she was waiting for the punchline, then gave a little shudder before turning to two waiters hovering in her shadow. She instructed one to fetch drinks from the bar outside, the other to take their luggage to the study.
“No, leave it,” she told Perry who had tried to help. “That’s what he’s here for.” Then she fluttered long, manicured fingernails and added, “Party’s out on the patio. That’s where we’ve set up the bar and also our delightful chef, Kenji. He’s world-famous you know. Do take a moment to enjoy his spread. As for Veronica…” She tried to frown again. “She’s probably in the centre, holding court like she owns the place. Ah, here’s the Bollinger.”
They looked around to see the waiter with a tray of glistening champagne flutes. As they helped themselves, Bethany said, “Excuse me, I have so much to get on with. The official program’s been brought forward; it’s put me in quite a spin…”
And off she trailed as she slipped across the floor and down a long corridor towards a separate wing of the house.
“That’s us told off then,” said Perry.
“Do you think I should change?” asked Missy, her face stricken.
“You look divine, Missy,” said Claire, who really did look divine in another fifties-style dress but more like something Grace Kelly would wear, with a fitted black bodice and white silk taffeta skirt. They had all dragged out their best frocks for the event, and Perry his finest velvet burgundy smoking jacket, but now wondered if they were underdressed.
Through the cavernous entryway, they could see Ronnie’s guests milling about on the patio outside, bright lights overhead and the tinkling of a string quartet nearby, and most were in long shimmering gowns and tuxedos.
“I wish she’d told us it was formal,” said Missy, chewing on a fingernail.
“Who needs formal when we look this fabulous?” scoffed Perry. “Let’s go out and dazzle.”
They were just reaching the adjoining doorway when a very old, very tiny woman approached. She was dressed in a frilly pink party dress that was several sizes too large and had half a dozen spangly hairclips clinging on to her wispy grey hair, as if a six-year-old girl had got at her with gusto.
“What time is it now?” the woman asked, eyes boring into Alicia.
“Oh, um…” Alicia checked her watch, wondering if they were about to be scolded again for their tardiness. “It’s—”
“It’s my birthday today,” she announced, her voice as creaky as she looked.
“Really?” said Alicia. Glancing back at the others. “You too?”
“I’m not two, silly. I’m eighty-nine today. Eighty-nine. What time is it now?”
Alicia blinked. “Twenty past seven.”
“BoBo says there’s going to be a big chocolate cake and I can eat as much as I want, and we’re going to play games. All my favourite games! BoBo says we can even play hide-and-seek. I love hide-and-seek. I’m very good, haven’t played for ages but. What time is it—?”
“Biddy!” came a booming voice behind them, and they swung back to see a man in his fifties approach. He was the male version of Bethany, tall but lumpier, with his own shock of black hair, slicked back and slightly receding. He was dressed in an oily tuxedo with a gaudy maroon-and-gold cummerbund, and he had a weary look in his eyes, which evaporated the moment he caught sight of Lynette.
“Well, hello there,” he said, his chapped lips breaking into a smile below his red, bulbous nose. “You must be Veronica’s mysterious book club. She didn’t tell us you were quite so young.”
He managed to make that last word sound lewd as his eyes flickered from Lynette to Claire and Queenie then back, lingering on Lynette’s clingy camisole dress.
“Bronson Westera’s my name,” he announced, shoving a hairy paw towards her. “I’m Veronica’s nephew.”
That caught Alicia by surprise. He wasn’t at all what she was expecting. Like Claire, she recalled Ronnie raving about her “darling nephews” that first weekend together. Amidst all the murder and mayhem, the elderly socialite had gushed about how her sweet nephews were back in Sydney minding her cats. This one looked like he’d skin the cats and hand them to Kenji.
Before they could introduce themselves, Biddy was pushing in front of Bronson, fingers aflutter.
“What time is it now?” she asked, her eyes on Lynette. “Is it time for chocolate cake yet?”
There was an audible groan from Bronson. “Don’t mind Biddy. She’s been away with the fairies since she was born. Haven’t you, Biddy!”
He yelled the words in her face, like she was deaf, and the woman smiled serenely nonetheless and said, “I’m eighty-nine today.”
“Yes, yes, come on then. Let’s get you another lolly water, shall we?”
He took her by the shoulders and swivelled her like a bar stool towards the patio, then glanced back to them, adding, “Lady Muck is by the pool, in case you’re wondering. Surrounded by a gaggle of her gossips.”
Then he sniggered, leaving the book club with a mixture of expressions—stunned, confused and deeply unimpressed.
“Lady Muck? That’s rather rude,” whispered Claire.
“And how belittling was he to that other woman?” said Queenie.
“Come on,” said Perry. “Let’s go join the gaggle.”
Out on the patio they spotted Ronnie in the centre of a group of women, all similarly aged and holding up champagne flutes, screaming out “Orgasm!” as another lady took their photo. That one had long, woolly white hair, a Thai silk pantsuit, and an extraordinary array of beads and bangles, which jingled as she yelled, “Halt!” then dumped the camera, snatched up another one and proceeded to take more photos.
Ronnie laughed and said, “Peg! Enough already!” just as she noticed the book club watching, smiling from the side, Missy with her own phone up, snapping away. Ronnie broke from the group and tottered over.
And it really was a totter. The club had never seen Ronnie in high heels, let alone anything fancier than a tweed jacket. Tonight she was dressed head to toe in midnight-blue sequined chiffon, matching heels, her hair and make-up meticulous, her trademark pearls gleaming around her neck. She looked beautiful.
Clocking their surprise, she laughed. “You can blame Bethany for this palaver.”
“We’re so sorry we’re late,” said Alicia. “We got terribly lost.”
Ronnie followed the group’s gaze to Missy who was wincing. “I’m super bad at directions. I don’t know why they put me in charge.”
“Because you took the plum seat, darling,” said Perry. “That’s the rule. Steal the best seat, steer the vehicle.”
“Even if it gets us lost?”
He shrugged. “I don’t make the rules.”
“Sounds to me like you do,” said Ronnie, shaking her head at him. “I’m just glad you made it. Was worried you’d stood me up and I’d have to face the dreaded in-laws alone. Just hope it won’t be too dull for you.”
“Not at all!” said Claire. “Not with that delightful view.”
Ronnie’s gaze followed Claire’s across the patio and enormous Roman-style swimming pool to the cliff edge and the horizon beyond. “Mmmm,” she murmured, like she wasn’t that impressed. “We got lucky with the weather; it’s usually a lot gustier. Now… who can I introduce you to?”
“We met a really sweet lady inside,” said Alicia. “Seemed very interested in the time.”
Ronnie smiled. “Ah, you met Biddy.”
“That’s really her name?” said Queenie. “I thought your nephew was being rude.”
“Bronson? Oh, he is rude, terribly. But yes, Bridget has been known as Biddy as long as I can remember. She’s my late husband’s youngest sister. The middle sister, Jeanie—that’s Bronson and Bethany’s mother, long gone now, I’m afraid—brought German measles home when their mother was pregnant with Bridget. Biddy was born with an intellectual disability, which seems tragic except she’s always been such a delight. If you can get over being asked the time every five minutes. She’s an eternal child that one, although she’s not as dim as Bronson makes out.”
“Yes, we got that,” said Alicia. “Anyway, happy birthday!”
They all echoed the sentiment and reached in for kisses, then Missy insisted on taking a group selfie, so they gathered around for that, before Queenie produced a meticulously wrapped gift from her tailored jacket, which was as sharp and brown as her bob (despite her name, there was nothing flouncy about Queenie).
Ronnie tutt-tutted. “Now what did I tell you, Queenie?”
“It’s from all of us,” she said. “Just something small.”
Ronnie whipped off the paper to find a first edition of Agatha Christie’s Evil Under the Sun. It was the same mystery that brought them to Ronnie’s door—or to the outdoor cinema in Balmain where they first met. She got the reference instantly.
“How clever of you. But how did you find this? And so quickly?”
“Queenie has friends in high places,” explained Claire. “Or at least LLE has a client Queenie could lean on to find it for her.”
Ronnie clutched it to her chest. Tears appeared behind her silver spectacles. She was momentarily lost for words. Missy took the opportunity to steal a hug from her, and she sank into it.
“Thank you. It’s the most thoughtful gift I’ve received.” She pulled back and wiped away a tear. “Look at me blubbering, and the speeches haven’t even started yet. Speaking of which, let’s get those glasses refilled. Fireworks first, then the lies begin.”
“Fireworks before speeches?” said Queenie. It’s not how the executive assistant would run things.
Ronnie waved a hand about. “What can I say? Bethany’s in charge; I’m just following my niece’s orders. I believe it has something to do with getting Biddy to bed so Bronson can relax.” She leaned in. “Although just between us, it’s more to do with getting Biddy to bed before Bronson gets stonking drunk. He’s on Biddy duty and can’t be trusted that one.”
Then she narrowed her eyes at Lynette. “No, really, do not trust him. You’re just his type.” She glanced around. “In fact, I have two much sweeter nephews for you to meet. Blood nephews, so they don’t have scales beneath their tuxes. I just can’t see…”
Then her face broke into another glorious smile. “Seamus!”
She was calling out to a thirty-something in a smart three-piece suit who was just stepping out and onto the patio. “Come and meet the lovely book club I’ve been telling you about.”
Seamus Jones straightened his tie and made his way across. He had a mop of red hair and a faintly freckled face and, as promised, a smile so sweet it brought the dimple out in Missy’s.
“I’m so excited to meet you guys,” he told them as Ronnie made the introductions. “Aunty Ronnie’s been a woman reborn since she joined your club. Never stops talking about you and your famous little grey cells.”
“I’m not that bad.” Ronnie playfully slapped his shoulder, then her smile dropped. “Where is your brother? I haven’t seen Sebastian since the photos. The fireworks are about to start, and the speeches are straight after. Did Bethany tell you? She’s brought it all forward, and I haven’t had a chance to warn him.”
Seamus rolled his eyes. “Yeah, she gave me the heads up. Typical bossy Bethany.” He looked at the book club now. “She’s Bert’s niece—we’re not even really related—but for some reason she bosses us around like she’s our big sister.”
His hazel eyes returned to Ronnie. “I don’t know why you let her organise your party.”
“I didn’t,” she shot back. “She insisted. Charged in like a wounded bull. I barely got a… Oh dear, looks like Biddy has latched on to Hannah and Hugh. I’d better go rescue them.”
She went to go, then turned back as though hesitating.
Seamus waved her on. “I’ll get the message to Seb. Go enjoy your party.”
Ronnie blew him a kiss as she headed for Biddy, who was now flapping her hands at a bemused white-haired couple all dressed in black, the man holding up his wrist and pointing to his watch.
Seamus turned back to the book club, squinting. “Speaking of little grey cells, I’m wondering if I can put your sleuthing skills to use and ask you to help me solve the Mystery of the Missing Man.”
They stared at him, bewildered, and he added, “Or as Biddy would say, ‘Who’s up for a game of hide-and-seek?’”
Chapter 3 ~ The Search Begins
It turned out that the game Seamus was suggesting was more seek than hide.
“I didn’t want to alarm Ronnie, but I can’t find my brother,” he told them. “Seb’s gone AWOL, and he’s the main speaker. If he doesn’t show, I’ll have to do it, and believe me, nobody wants that to happen.” He grinned. “We may be twins, but he’s got the gift of the gab.”
“You guys are twins?” Missy gulped, like she’d been told they were a circus act. “That’ll make him easy to find.”
He waggled a hand. “Just look for a taller, hunkier version of me—he’s also the better-looking one, the bastard.” He laughed. It was a lovely, melodic sound. “I know you’ve just arrived, and I apologise for dumping this on you, but I don’t want to worry Aunty Ronnie. And I’d ask my girlfriend, but I can’t seem to find her either.”
