THEN
In the car, Ben is in a stink, but even Lilia doesn’t seem fussed, because we have bigger things to talk about. ‘You guys didn’t know that Elena and Felix had a fight the evening he died?’ she asks while we’re still clicking in our seatbelts.
‘No,’ Patrick says. ‘We should find out what it was about.’
‘We could ask Elena.’ I hope Patrick knows that by we I mean you.
‘What fight?’ Ben asks.
‘Although if they did fight, that might make Elena look like a suspect,’ Patrick says.
‘But she’s the one person who couldn’t have done it because she was stuck in a lift the whole time,’ I say.
‘Do you think Sarah and Farnoosh were telling the truth about the fight?’ Lilia asks. ‘You’re taking it for granted that they were telling the truth, but does that really match up with what Sarah said about how sweet Felix and Elena were with each other? Maybe they lied.’
‘Who’s Farnoosh again?’ Ben asks.
‘Why do you say that?’ I ask Lilia, ignoring Ben’s question. I’m too curious to ignore her too.
‘You’re taking it for granted that they were telling the truth. Maybe they lied.’
‘Why would they do that?’
Lilia gives me a look like the time I told her I hadn’t known our history teacher was gay, despite his fondness for letting us watch the film Some Like It Hot when we were supposed to be learning about the Great Emu War.
‘If Sarah and Farnoosh killed Felix and want to frame Elena for it,’ she says.
‘That went real dark real quick,’ I say.
‘I like where your head’s at,’ Patrick says to Lilia (a minor betrayal). ‘But what would be the point? They know Elena was stuck in the lift when Felix died. She’s the only one with an airtight alibi.’
‘Dammit,’ Lilia says.
‘Where am I driving to?’ Ben asks.
Patrick looks at me. ‘We should probably get home. Michael asked me to run through some lines with him and I need to suck up to him if he’s going to let me stay here once school goes back.’
‘Michael’s your older brother, is that right?’ Lilia asks.
‘Yeah, he’s the eldest of the three of us,’ Patrick says. ‘I live with him in Melbourne.’
‘Where are your parents?’ Ben asks.
‘Dead,’ Patrick says bluntly. He’s only being half-honest, given he has no idea whether his dad is still breathing or not, but it shuts Ben up (which I think was the point).
I scramble to change the subject to something less depressing than the death of a parent. Unfortunately, sibling infidelity is the best I can come up with. ‘Maybe Felix found out about Elena’s affair,’ I say. ‘That could have been what the fight was about.’
‘Elena was having an affair?’ Lilia asks.
Patrick is nodding, but at me, not in response to Lilia’s question. ‘If he knew it was Adam—’
‘If it was Adam,’ I butt in.
‘Who’s Adam?’ Ben asks.
‘Felix could have confronted Adam at the party,’ Patrick says slowly. ‘Things got out of hand and maybe Adam pushed him or Felix got aggro with Adam and it was self-defence.’
‘Sarah and Farnoosh didn’t say anything about Adam going outside with Felix,’ I point out.
‘Maybe they didn’t notice. Or they were covering for Adam,’ Patrick says.
‘I guess,’ I say, unconvinced.
‘Your mouth says I guess and your face says you dickhead.’
‘I know conspiracies work in books and movies. In real life, I don’t think that many people can keep a secret for long,’ I say. I try not to think about the secret Lilia and Ben kept from me before deciding to do the right thing, which is code for at least informing me that they were arseholes.
‘We’ve got Adam’s number,’ Patrick says. ‘Assuming nobody steals this phone,’ he taps his second-hand phone through his jeans pocket, ‘I can arrange a time to see him. Are you free tomorrow or the next couple of days?’
‘I’m free the next couple of everythings. I have no plans,’ I say.
‘We’ve got school tomorrow,’ Ben says.
‘Sucks for you, bro,’ Patrick says.
‘Do you think Elena’s the type to cheat?’ I ask Patrick. ‘She seems too kind to do something that awful.’ If Lilia and Ben have any emotional wound from cheating on me, I’m pouring salt into it now.
‘She’s my sister, so I’m afraid I’m unable to consider her sex life or admit she has one,’ Patrick says.
‘Don’t be a baby.’
‘Fine. Objectively, I don’t think it’s her style. But I also don’t think there’s one type of person who cheats. I guess I don’t think that—’
Don’t say it, Patrick.
‘—cheating automatically makes you a bad person.’ Patrick sees my face and catches up (finally). ‘Although in some cases, it does,’ he adds.
‘Whose side are you on?’ I hiss, my lips practically on his ear.
‘Anyway,’ Patrick goes on, ‘it’s not like I know Elena’s type.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I was surprised when she married Felix.’
‘How so?’
Patrick looks like he’s trying to decide how much to say. Then he says it all. ‘Elena’s the best and Felix was not a great guy, Heidi.’
There’s no chance for Patrick to say more or for me to mount a spirited defence of my brother because Ben’s car has pulled up outside Aunty Sam’s.
‘Will you let us know if you go to visit this Adam guy?’ Lilia asks, sticking her head out the window. ‘Ben could drive you,’ she adds, correctly identifying the only card they have to play.
‘Don’t call us. We’ll call you,’ Patrick says.
I’m still fighting a smile when we get inside.
‘Hello, hello,’ Patrick says, stopping so suddenly that I step on his heel.
Aunty Sam, Elena and Michael are sitting together on the couch.
If I’d ever touched drugs, I might think this was an intervention.
I have to remind myself that they all have a reason to be here, Michael having now moved in with the rest of his siblings.
‘Where have you guys been?’ Michael asks, looking between the two of us. Patrick and I have a short conversation with our eyes. Unfortunately, he fails to act on the message I’m transmitting – make up a convincing cover story.
‘Visiting a friend,’ I say after a too-long pause.
‘A friend,’ Patrick repeats like a back-up singer.
‘You have mutual friends?’ Michael asks, raising one shaggy eyebrow sceptically. (I’ve always wished I could do that.)
‘Heidi and I go way back,’ Patrick says.
‘You’ve never mentioned it,’ Michael says.
‘I have a rich and fulfilling private life.’
‘That seems unlikely.’
‘Now that you’re back,’ Aunty Sam says a bit too loudly, which might be due to the open bottle of champagne on the coffee table or might be her trying to change the subject, ‘do you want to sit down? We’re celebrating.’
‘Michael’s finally potty-trained?’ Patrick says brightly.
‘I’ve had some news,’ Aunty Sam says. ‘Freddy and Teddy are doing a US tour and they want me to come along.’
‘Congratulations,’ I say, meaning it.
Freddy and Teddy – Frederick and Theodore legally but only to people they hate – are a pair of jazz musicians who are about as famous as it’s possible for jazz musicians who live in Melbourne to be.
(They’re not very famous.) They’re old friends of Aunty Sam’s and, when they came to visit her a couple of years ago, all three of them slept in the same bed, so friends might not be the correct word.
I do and do not want to ask if they’ll be sharing one hotel room on tour.
‘It’s not until July and I’ve already asked Elena if she’d be open to staying here to keep an eye on you,’ Aunty Sam goes on.
‘I’m fifteen,’ I say.
‘Exactly.’
‘Nearly sixteen.’
‘And yet neither of those ages would make you an adult capable of living alone,’ Aunty Sam says.
I smile at Elena to communicate the absence of hard feelings. The truth is I think I have too much imagination to stay here alone, wondering if every creak I hear in the night is a branch on the roof or my future murderer.
‘That’s not all of it,’ Aunty Sam says, squinting at the champagne and messily splashing some in the general direction of Elena and Michael’s glasses before filling her own.
‘On the strength of that future income I had a meeting with the bank today, who are going to help me buy Elena out of this place.’
‘Elena?’ Patrick frowns at his sister. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Felix owned part of this house,’ Elena says, lifting her full champagne glass, then setting it back down like it’s a bad idea. It’s the old-fashioned kind of glass – the one that’s supposed to be shaped like a boob, even if mine would struggle to fill it.
I look at Aunty Sam in surprise. ‘Since when?’
‘Years ago, when the landlord was going to sell this place and we were renting, Felix had his inheritance from your parents and offered to help me with the deposit. I’ve never really been in a position to repay him.’ She gets an expression on her face that I can’t quite place.
My inheritance, if you’re wondering, is all tied up in a trust until I’m eighteen. The way house prices have gone since Mum and Dad died, I’ll be lucky to afford a deposit on a garden shed with it.
‘Now that Elena will inherit his share—’
‘It’ll take a few months for the legal paperwork,’ Elena interrupts.
‘—I can buy her out.’ Aunty Sam brightens. ‘And then you’ll have some money coming your way regardless of how the life insurance claim goes, Elena.’ She stands up, murmuring something about getting another bottle.
‘You never know, we might have some good news on that insurance claim, too,’ Patrick says.
‘My ridiculous little brother,’ Michael says. ‘Are you seriously angling for a deerstalker hat?’
‘I have no idea what that means,’ Patrick says.
‘You know Sherlock Holmes wears a deerstalker hat. We watched the TV show together.’
‘I know Benedict Cumberbatch – what’s happened to that guy, anyway? – briefly wore a silly little hat in one episode of Sherlock. Only a nerd would know what it’s called,’ Patrick says. I suspect, but can’t be sure, that he’s lying.
‘You know what I mean. Are you seriously trying to investigate Felix’s death?’ Michael asks. He knocks back his glass, then picks up Elena’s without asking. Older brothers.
‘Investigate is such an ugly word,’ Patrick says, while I busy myself with my phone (no messages, no missed calls), hoping nobody directs a question at me, because I don’t have Patrick’s gift for bullshit. ‘But yes, since you asked, we already have a promising lead.’
‘Like what?’ Michael echoes my thoughts.
‘My phone got stolen, remember?’ Patrick says. ‘Who would steal my phone if the photos on it weren’t significant?’
‘Someone who wants to sell a stolen iPhone? Also, brother, just a reminder that you go back to school next Monday, so the clock’s ticking on this Mystery of the Week.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously,’ Elena interjects. ‘School is important, Patrick. I thought you’d be dying to get back to Melbourne. You hate Perth.’
‘Perth’s okay,’ Patrick says. ‘Melbourne’s just the best city in the world.’
‘I don’t care how many times you say it, the Victorian Tourism Board is not giving you a gig,’ Michael says.
This feeble joke takes some of the heat out of the conversation, just as Aunty Sam comes back with a fresh bottle of champagne.
‘My only sister needs me here in Perth,’ Patrick says, smiling winningly at Elena. She just shakes her head.
‘Your only brother has to go back home to work so he can pay our rent,’ Michael points out.
‘I’m surprised you live in Melbourne and not Sydney,’ Aunty Sam says. ‘I would have thought there was more acting work in Sydney.’
‘If it was just me, I probably would have moved, but …’ Michael shrugs in Patrick’s direction.
‘Of course,’ Aunty Sam says. The two of them swap a little smile and I’m reminded that Michael and Aunty Sam were both forced to become quasi parents.
Patrick shits all over the moment, because, hello, have you met this guy? ‘Sydney.’ Patrick scrunches his lips. ‘Even if we could afford to live there, would we really want to share a space with coked-up hedge fund managers?’
‘Patrick.’
‘Sorry. I shouldn’t say hedge fund managers in front of Heidi. It’s not right.’
I don’t know if it’s Patrick’s inane joke or the empty bottle of champagne, but Michael cracks up and he sets Elena off too. Patrick and I start giggling and even Aunty Sam looks amused. None of us mention that Felix was one of those finance bros Patrick so clearly hates, although I’m thinking it.
‘You’d blend right into Sydney with your botox.’ Patrick is still going.
‘I do not have botox,’ Michael says. ‘I’m twenty-bloody-six.’
‘I should have known it would end this way the day you decided you needed a stage name,’ Patrick says.
‘It’s my middle name and I’ve used it since I was ten,’ Michael says.
Patrick looks suspiciously at Michael’s dark brown hair. ‘And since when have you started dyeing your hair? Are you going grey? Do I need to worry that premature ageing is coming for me too?’
‘It’s for a role,’ Michael says, his cheeks unexpectedly pink. ‘And I think you’re in the clear, Patrick. The utter lack of stress in your life means you’ll probably age backwards. Like Benjamin Button.’
‘Patrick, the toddler years,’ Elena says. ‘It’d be worse than puberty.’ And they all crack up again, laughing hard enough that I see a tear slide down Elena’s cheek.