Read Online Good Murder by Robert Gott - Free Book Online

Maryborough for the first time.
    ‘Ladies and gentlemen’, I announced into the inadequate microphone. Although it made my voice sound a little flat, there was nothing I could do about it, and so I ploughed on. I introduced myself suavely, gave the Power Players a plug, and thanked the organising committee of the dance as well as the ladies who had given of their time to decorate the hall so beautifully. Well, I was hardly going to tell the truth and declare the paper streamers and arches of bougainvillea tired and tacky. The Brown-Out orchestra struck up a jaunty swing tune, and the dance floor became crowded with couples. There were a lot of uniforms there, almost all of them airforce.
    I scanned the crowd from the side of the stage, trying to get a feel for the citizens of this town. Under the subdued lighting inside the hall, they scrubbed up pretty well. The women were well dressed, probably hoping to score a description in the next day’s paper. There was little evidence of clothes that conformed closely to the government’s austerity dress code. Several men were wearing double-breasted suits, and several others were wearing waistcoats beneath their jackets. Both of these were considered wasteful of cloth and labour, but perhaps they were ancient items taken from the back of the wardrobe and seen only at dances and funerals. The mayor was wearing the drab Dedman suit, the preferred official style, setting an example. I saw two men who I recognised from the bar of the George, as well as some of the people who had eaten in Tibald’s dining room. Adrian was there, hoping to pick up some soldier boy, no doubt, and no doubt he would succeed; and Bill Henty was there, too, wearing tails which fitted him snugly, and he knew it. Annie Hudson hadn’t yet arrived, but she was coming. ‘And not alone,’ she had said pointedly.
    The orchestra played three tunes before I announced the terms of the raffle and the existence of a door prize. Some lucky person would take home a hamper that contained starch and blue, sunflower seeds, condensed milk, camp pie, and Clement’s corn flour, ‘And let’s put our hands together and thank Hetherington’s for their generous donation’. My gracious recognition of the supplier didn’t arouse much interest. There was polite, desultory applause, and it was clear that I would have to work hard to get the crowds’ attention as the night wore on. The orchestra started again, and the swell of voices was overwhelmed by the music. I left the stage and walked along the side wall, behind the tables at which wall-flowers and non-dancers sat, towards the rear of the hall. The air had become thick with cigarette smoke, and I wanted some fresh air.
    I picked my way through the incoming throng of well-scrubbed young men and cheaply perfumed young women. I saw Topaz before he saw me, and I saw that the glamorous creature on his arm was Annie Hudson, all dolled up and accepting the looks she was getting like the gracious star she thought she was. Topaz was wearing a decent suit, borrowed probably, and he was grinning like the cat that ate the canary. Annie, in fact, looked like a canary, in a yellow dress that made no attempt to hide what lay beneath. They made their way over to me.
    ‘I’m going outside,’ I shouted against the din. Topaz just nodded, but I felt his eyes on the back of my head as I reached the door and left the hall. On the lawn outside, lightning bugs of inhaled cigarettes flickered here and there. The moon was strong, and white teeth glowed amid the laughter and the shouts of recognition as friends met.
    I felt a hand fall heavily on my shoulder. The fingers curled into a painful clutch, which I ducked out of, and I turned to see who had had the temerity to grab at me. It was Fred Drummond. He was in uniform and he was drunk — bloody-minded drunk. Breath hissed from behind his teeth, his rage so raw it was beyond language. He stood there, like a Neanderthal, arms hanging by