Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Dead Man's Chest
    Dead Man's Chest
    Dead Man's Chest
    Ebook325 pages4 hours

    Dead Man's Chest

    By Kerry Greenwood

    4/5

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries, now streaming on Netflix, starring Essie Davis as the honourable Phryne Fisher

    Dot unfolded the note. "He says that his married couple will look after the divine Miss Fisher...I'll leave out a bit...their name is Johnson and they seem very reliable." Phryne got the door open at last. She stepped into the hall. "I think he was mistaken about that," she commented.

    Traveling at high speed in her beloved Hispano-Suiza with her maid and trusted companion Dot, her two adoptive daughters Jane and Ruth, and their dog Molly, Phryne Fisher is off to Queenscliff. She'd promised everyone a nice holiday by the sea with absolutely no murders, but when they arrive at their rented accommodation that doesn't seem likely at all.

    An empty house, a gang of teenage louts, a fisherboy saved, and a missing butler and his wife seem to lead inexorably toward a hunt for buried treasure by the sea. Phryne knows to what depths people will sink for greed, but with a glass of champagne in one hand and a pearl-handled Beretta in the other, no one is getting past her.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Integrated Media
    Release dateDec 5, 2017
    ISBN9781464208270
    Dead Man's Chest
    Author

    Kerry Greenwood

    Kerry Greenwood was born in the Melbourne suburb of Footscray and after wandering far and wide, she returned to live there. She has degrees in English and Law from Melbourne University and was admitted to the legal profession on the 1st April 1982, a day which she finds both soothing and significant. Kerry has written three series, a number of plays, including The Troubadours with Stephen D’Arcy, is an award-winning children’s writer and has edited and contributed to several anthologies. The Phryne Fisher series (pronounced Fry-knee, to rhyme with briny) began in 1989 with Cocaine Blues which was a great success. Kerry has written twenty books in this series with no sign yet of Miss Fisher hanging up her pearl-handled pistol. Kerry says that as long as people want to read them, she can keep writing them. In 2003 Kerry won the Lifetime Achievement Award from the Australian Association.

    Read more from Kerry Greenwood

    Related to Dead Man's Chest

    Related ebooks

    Historical Romance For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Hair-raising Heirlooms

      Apr 13, 2021

      If you’ve got a spare five minutes, a quick search of internet selling sites will bring up numerous supposedly cursed antiques for sale. ‘Haunted’ objects on offer range from dolls to tea sets, mirrors to watches – and many of the adverts are posted

      4 min read

    • Article

      Not-so-deserted Island

      Mar 30, 2023

      Not-so-deserted Island
      6 min read

    • Article

      Summer Reading Guide

      Jan 2, 2022

      Summer Reading Guide
      6 min read

    • Article

      Suspicious Circumstances

      Aug 10, 2022

      Suspicious Circumstances
      7 min read

    • Article

      An Elephant On My Stoep

      Sep 9, 2022

      An Elephant On My Stoep
      9 min read

    • Article

      Suspicious Circumstances

      Aug 10, 2022

      Suspicious Circumstances
      7 min read

    • Article

      The Last Friend on Earth

      May 4, 2023

      It was as if Doreen Saunders had been waiting for me, passing the time until my arrival. She might as well have been sitting in a rocking chair, knitting needles clicking, jam tarts cooling on the side, the door wide open, waiting for the next visito

      6 min read

    • Article

      Ghost Girl, Banana

      Aug 21, 2023

      By the time I was 25, there were only two things I remembered about Mumma. The first was that she smelled of watermelons, the second was that we were happy. We’d taken our father’s name of course, but a name is only half a story. The other half exist

      6 min read

    • Article

      Fear Of The Ferryman

      Jul 11, 2024

      My radio alarm wakes me. The newsreader has a plummy, authoritative voice. “Police have abandoned the search for more survivors of the weekend’s tragedy in the North Sea. Eleven emergency vessels, two fixed-wing aircraft and three helicopters were in

      5 min read

    • Article

      Cricket League

      Sep 1, 2022

      First prize 10 and under Tang Li, age 9 Palmetto Bay, FL My name is Anisa. I was in Hawaii on vacation. I enjoyed sipping refreshing drinks, overlooking the turquoise ocean, and dancing with others, before I overheard that the priceless Fire Ring wa

      10 min read

    • Article

      Two Poems

      Jul 1, 2023

      I The teenaged girl is searching for a placethat goes through, the holeto put the tampon inside. When she finds itshe asks her mother, Is this where the penis would go?Yes, her mother explains.Then I will never have sex. II Sweltering New York City.

      5 min read

    • Article

      Fear Of The Ferryman

      Jul 11, 2024

      My radio alarm wakes me. The newsreader has a plummy, authoritative voice. “Police have abandoned the search for more survivors of the weekend’s tragedy in the North Sea. Eleven emergency vessels, two fixed-wing aircraft and three helicopters were in

      5 min read

    • Article

      A Lost Prayer

      Feb 2, 2023

      A Lost Prayer
      10 min read

    • Article

      Stay and Fight

      Jul 9, 2019

      Stay and Fight
      16 min read

    • Article

      Prevarication Jones

      May 1, 2019

      Prevarication Jones
      16 min read

    • Article

      Red Kite Grey Shadow

      Nov 3, 2022

      Red Kite Grey Shadow
      6 min read

    • Article

      The Coming Of The Tempest

      Sep 22, 2022

      The Coming Of The Tempest
      9 min read

    • Article

      Braving the STORM

      Aug 17, 2021

      Braving the STORM
      6 min read

    • Article

      Night Flying

      Aug 2, 2018

      Night Flying
      10 min read

    • Article

      One Carrot

      Jul 2, 2020

      One Carrot
      5 min read

    • Article

      THE Dark Light

      Oct 28, 2020

      THE Dark Light
      9 min read

    • Article

      Dolly’s Star Turn

      Jul 12, 2023

      Dolly’s Star Turn
      7 min read

    • Article

      A tender THREAD

      Dec 22, 2021

      A tender THREAD
      9 min read

    • Article

      Just Fancy That!

      May 11, 2022

      Just Fancy That!
      3 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Dead Man's Chest

    4/5

    131 ratings16 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

    • 5/5
      Phryne and family are off to Queenscliff for a holiday by the sea. No murders, no mystery, just sun, salt air and relaxation for all. She has rented a house, with a couple who are housekeeper and butler, for a few weeks. Upon arrival, they find an empty house and the couple are missing! No letter or not where the couple have gone and the couple’s furniture is missing along with all the food and kitchenware. Is it kidnapping, burglary, murder or? So much for a peaceful getaway.The group pulls together and manages to make their domestic scene pretty normal. Making friends with some of the locals, they find help there. Domestic harmony is established.Then there is the matter of the phantom pigtail snipper who goes around cutting off girls’ long braded pigtails. (A common hairstyle of young girls in the 1920s) Who is terrorizing the girls and why?A film crew is in town shooting a movie about pirates and a fair maiden. The town is fascinated to watch, and a number of locals are hired to work as extras. But trouble erupts there and another mystery is born.Needless to say, this was not the relaxing getaway that Phryne had in mind…
    • 4/5
      Synopsis: After the excitement of recent events, Phryne decides that the entire family needs a rest by the seaside. They go on holiday expecting to be met by two retainers of the house, but no one is there. Where did these people go, where is their furniture, and why did they leave their beloved dog behind. Phryne et al take on this mystery, deal with odd folks, hunt for treasure, and adopt another person into their household.Review: This is another really good story. The addition of Tinker is a good one.
    • 4/5
      A favorite - very different from the TV show - nice to see Hugh making strides. Not sure about Tinker....
    • 5/5
      I would like to thank Netgalley and Poisoned Pen Press for a review copy of Dead Man's Chest as Phryne Fisher mysteries are amongst my favourite.
      I really enjoyed this book even if it is a bit different from the others: no amorous interest, different settings.
      The book is well researched and the different sets of characters, like the surrealists, are really interesting.
      The cookery part was really interested and I am curious about the Impossible Cake.
      One note: even this could be a stand alone book having read the previous books helps.
      Funny, entertaining, a really good read.
    • 5/5
      I want more of this story......

      Phryne Fisher (flapper & P.I. extraordinaire) takes Ruth, Jane & Dot to Queenscliff on holiday, however when they arrive they find that the domestic staff of Mr. & Mrs. Johnson have taken a bunk along with their furniture.... Odd thing being Gaston, the Mrs. Johnson's much loved terrier has just shown up.

      Being without help @ the height of the season Phryne takes on Tinker (Eddied a local ruffian) and Maire a young Irish woman. Ruth, Dot & Jane help in the kitchen (some recipes included).

      Then things take a turn.....Phryne & Tinker begin the search for the Johnsons, the neighbor's son & his loutish friends cause a stir, thus needing a comeuppance, the nasty nosy neighbor dies, a film crew begins filming, the "plait" snatcher is on the loose, and the Surrealists take a liking to Phryne..... Lin Chung is making ready for an appearance, but that will be in the next book!

      Whew! Lots of action and fun. The Hon. Miss Fisher is delightful as always....
    • 4/5
      lots of good eating and drinking and holidaying. most excellent
    • 4/5
      Phryne goes to the seashore, but mystery inevitably follows. In this episode, Phyrne rents a house in a seaside town, but when she and her family arrive, the promised servants are not there to greet them! As she delves into this, she discovers an appealing new henchperson -- a small but effective boy -- and a collection to a nasty bunch of smugglers. Like its precursor, "Murder on a Midsummer Night", this didn't strike me as one of Phryne's best efforts; for one thing, she is getting awfully domesticated. But any Phryne is worth reading.
    • 5/5
      I'm biased because I love this series, it's one of my all time favorites. This one did not disappoint. I'm not usually a fan of books within a series that take place 'elsewhere' - a mystery while the protag is on holiday, etc. But Kerry greenwood did a very nice job with this story, keeping me from missing the regular secondary characters. As an expat living in Melbourne, i love reading about 1929 melbourne. It is depressing to think I now have to wait another year...
    • 4/5
      One of my favorites of the series so far. Lots of delicious food and fabulous outfits and rescuing people and other people getting their comeuppances. Plus Surrealists!
      It was just the perfect thing to read in the park on a sunny afternoon.
    • 3/5
      In the 18th instalment of the Phryne (pronounced Fry-knee) Fisher series set in 1920′s Australia, Phryne and her entourage have left Melbourne for a summer holiday in the seaside town of Queenscliff. They are to occupy the home of an anthropologist acquaintance of Phryne’s but when they arrive they find the Johnstons, a servant couple who were to look after the holidaymakers, appear to have left in a hurry and taken all the supplies with them. As well as being wealthy enough to get herself out of most pickles the Right Honourable Phryne is both unflappable and resourceful so soon has the house running smoothly with the help of her extended family. Practicalities dealt with Phryne and company turn to considerations of the Johnston’s disappearance and the alarming matter that has occupied the town’s gossips: who is cutting of the plaits of all the young ladies?

      DEAD MAN’S CHEST provides that all too rare phenomenon: an intelligent cosy mystery with the bonus of a sense of humour and set against the backdrop of the roaring twenties. Phryne is the kind of very strong female character who you’ll either love or hate and she has grown on me over time. She is beautiful, rich and intelligent (which could get annoying after a while) but is also a fiercely loyal friend and is far more impressed by a person’s abilities and character than she is their social status. She is also not one to stand idly by when she sees an injustice or other wrong-doing being committed: a trait the world is surely crying out for. She has two adopted daughters who have both been rescued from some form of poverty or danger and during the course of the novel acquires another young charge, a boy named Tinker who starts out as a kitchen-hand but soon becomes integral to Phryne’s crime solving. There are a plethora of other characters to enjoy, both nice and not, but my favourites were a crowd of surrealists who provided just the right smidgen of bizarre that most books could benefit from.

      Although fairly easy to follow, as befits a cosy mystery, the plot here has plenty to keep the reader’s attention and there’s a nice balance of background historical detail and plot advancement throughout the story. There’s a film about a local treasure myth being shot in the town which provides for a lot of the action and there are many social gatherings (always accompanied by lashings of marvellously described food) and little adventures to maintain interest. Although this is a long series you could easily start with this book, particularly as it involves only the core group of Phryne’s retinue as she’s not in her usual Melbourne haunts. I have only read a couple of the very early books in this series but I had no trouble picking things up as I went.

      Stephanie Daniel’s narration of this novel is outstanding, providing a myriad of accents and voices for the rather large cast of characters but never feeling like it is a forced performance. It has been a long time since I acquainted myself with Phryne Fisher and her extended family and I found myself pleasantly surprised with the meeting. It feels like Greenwood has put just as much work into this instalment as she would have done her first (not something that can be said about all authors with long-running series) and the characters were fresh an interesting. Highly recommended to fans of light historical or cosy mysteries, or those wondering if they should give one a go.

      My rating 3.5
    • 3/5
      Phryne, her stepdaughters and companion Dot drive off for a holiday while her house is being renovated and discover their rental is abandoned and apparently been robbed of kitchen items and other incidentals. What happened to the caretaker and his wife the cook? The next day their little dog comes back bedraggled and alone. That's about it with a movie set, ruffians and bootleggers thrown in.
    • 5/5
      Absolutely love this series. I haven't read all of them yet, but they are great fun for any cozy mystery lover. Enjoy. They take place in the 1920's.
    • 3/5
      Despite constantly "bragging" that we live about an hour from just about anywhere... it does mean that every trip in the car do to anything takes a while. We've recently turned to audio books to fill in the hours of dodging kangaroos and potholes and the most recent that we've been listening to is DEAD MAN'S CHEST by Kerry Greenwood. Number 18 (good grief.. really!) of the Phyrne Fisher series, the audio version is read particularly well by Stephanie Daniel who does an excellent job of individual accents for each of the characters - and there is a lot of characters in this book, many of them are new to the series.That is probably because Phryne, companion Dot, daughters Ruth and Jane and dog Molly are on holidays in Queenscliff having to deal with missing servants, cleared out pantries, lost dogs, no cook or kitchen maid, an errand boy, surrealists on one side and a rather overbearing lady and her son and his rather nasty friends on the other, a mean old lady over the road who watches everything, her companion and... well lots of things really.DEAD MAN'S CHEST is classic Phryne Fisher, albeit without a few of the normal extended household from Melbourne - but with the nice additions of some quite colourful locals to keep the story moving. The sub-plot of this book is the phantom hair snipper terrorising the young ladies of Queenscliff by sneaking up behind them and pinching their plaits - who eventually seems to be involved in something much more violent. But the main plot is the missing cook and butler from the house in which Phryne's family are holidaying. This normally reliable, staid and serious couple just don't seem the sort to up and disappear - particularly not the sort to leave their much loved little dog behind. Phryne investigates, Ruth gets her long held desire to be a cook, Jane finds a library full of books, and the possibility of smuggling and other nefarious goings on brings Dot's much loved policeman fiancé to town so everyone is happy.As light entertainment, particularly willing away the hours on the road, Phryne Fisher books work well. There are enough touches of humour to keep the driver and passenger's awake and involved in the story, the stories aren't the most taxing of plots to follow so occasional interruptions when not driving aren't the end of the world and the antics of everyone in Phyrne's family keep your interest no matter how long it takes to work your way through the book. Phyrne Fisher books are not my normal reading fare - but we've found that as audio with the wonderful reading style of Stephanie Daniel and the excellent production from Bolinda Books - they are becoming increasingly popular car listening.
    • 3/5
      Nothing is as fun as a Phryne Fisher mystery set in the 1920's Australia. In this caper, Phryne and her household of Dot, Jane, Ruth, and Molly go to Queenscliff for a vacation, while their house undergoes renovations. Mayhem abounds as the group enters the rental house to find the couple tending the house and all the furniture and all the food gone. Phryne begins her investigation into the disappearance of the Johnsons amid other problems. Phryne follows the many diversions to follow, but misses the amorous caresses of Lin Chung. Greenwood brings into the story a lesson into surrealism, a location filming of a movie, and the struggles of the lower class. Greenwood presents rich characters, sumptuous meals, and 1920's haute couture.
    • 4/5
      Phryne Fisher takes her household on holidays to the beachside town of Queenscliff, only to find the servants have disappeared and there is a mystery ponytail-snipper terrorising the young ladies of the town. A lot of fun, like all the Phryne Fisher books, but the mystery seemed a bit of an afterthought throughout, with more focus on Ruth's cooking exploits. I would have liked more time spent on the mystery, but it was relaxing fun to read. The 1920s setting is always a pleasure to read about, and even though Phryne is occasionally anachronistic I think Kerry Greenwood usually pulls it off. A perfect beachside read, but a flawed detective story.
    • 5/5
      Publisher's blurbPhryne Fisher needs a rest. It's summer. She packs up her family and moves to Queenscliff, a quiet watering place on the coast. Where she meets with smugglers, pirate treasure and some very interesting surrealists, including a parrot called Pussykins. What is the mysterious Madame Selavy hiding? Where are the Johnsons, who were supposed to be in the holiday house? Phryne has promised everyone a nice quiet holiday by the sea but when they arrive at the holiday house to find the live-in help missing, along with all the pantry supplies, the fun is just beginning. The house belongs to an anthropologist, and acquaintance really, who is travelling some where in the Far North of Australia. He has assured Phryne that the missing couple are very reliable, which makes their absence all the more puzzling. Phryne has with her her companion Dot, and her two foster daughters Ruth and Jane, and so they all decide to see if they can fend for themselves. They soon acquire another member of the household in the form of Tinker, a young boy loaned from the house next door. Her search for the missing Johnsons results in Phryne being mugged on her way home one night and so she becomes even more determined to solve the mystery. Tinker shows he has a real aptitude for sleuthing, Ruth delights in cooking for the family, and Jane is in seventh heaven when she manages to get into a locked room in the house.The Phryne Fisher series are generally set in Victoria in the 1920s. In DEAD MAN'S CHEST a film is being made about a local legend, Benito's Treasure. Pirate Benito Benita is said to have buried plundered Spanish treasure in a cave in the cliffs of Swan Bay in 1798. Other aspects of the legend entail Benita being caught in the act by the British navy and sealing the cave entrance with gunpowder. moreIn many ways the Phryne Fisher books are cozies. There is a development of characters from one book in the series to the next, although they can also be read as standalones. In DEAD MAN'S CHEST there is a range of credible and incredible characters and enough mystery to whet the appetite.

    Book preview

    Dead Man's Chest - Kerry Greenwood

    Dead Man’s Chest

    A Phryne Fisher Mystery

    Kerry Greenwood

    Poisoned Pen Press

    29375.png

    Copyright

    Copyright © 2010, 2017 by Kerry Greenwood

    E-book Edition 2012, 2017

    ISBN: 9781464208270 Ebook

    All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

    The historical characters and events portrayed in this book are inventions of the author or used fictitiously.

    Poisoned Pen Press

    4014 N. Goldwater Boulevard, #201

    Scottsdale, Arizona 85251

    www.poisonedpenpress.com

    [email protected]

    Contents

    Dead Man’s Chest

    Copyright

    Contents

    Dedication

    Epigraph

    Chapter One

    Chapter Two

    Chapter Three

    Chapter Four

    Chapter Five

    Chapter Six

    Chapter Seven

    Chapter Eight

    Chapter Nine

    Chapter Ten

    Chapter Eleven

    Chapter Twelve

    Chapter Thirteen

    Chapter Fourteen

    Chapter Fifteen

    Chapter Sixteen

    Chapter Seventeen

    Chapter Eighteen

    Chapter Nineteen

    Chapter Twenty

    Chapter Twenty-one

    Recipes

    Bibliography

    More from this Author

    Contact Us

    Dedication

    Dedicated to that strangely inspiring person Tom Lane.

    With thanks to my fearless researchers Jean Greenwood,

    David Greagg, Michael Warby, Jenny Pausacker, Ika Willis,

    Tamzin and Meredith Phillips.

    And in loving memory of Dennis Pryor, a perfect scholar.

    Epigraph

    Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest

    Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

    Drink and the devil had done for the rest

    Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

    —Robert Louis Stevenson

    Treasure Island

    Chapter One

    When I was at home I was in a better place; but travellers must be content.

    William Shakespeare

    As You Like It

    Dot opened her eyes. Only because the Hispano-Suiza had, at last, stopped. It was a four-hour journey from Melbourne to Queenscliff, the holiday destination of the Hon. Miss Fisher, her maid and companion Dot, her two adoptive daughters Jane and Ruth, and their dog Molly. Miss Fisher wanted to make it a three-hour journey and she drove like a demon. Only Phryne, Molly and Jane had really enjoyed the flashing panorama of fields, trees, cows, little towns, fist-waving motorists and shouting traffic policemen—Phryne because she loved speed and Jane because she was calculating how fast the car was going by counting seconds between milestones. She had been given a wristwatch for Christmas. Sometimes the car’s speed had exceeded eighty miles an hour. Jane was impressed. Ruth, who wanted to be a cook if she survived this trek, was feeling sick. She stared fixedly at the horizon and tried not to think of food. Dot had given up on courage and had just closed her eyes, crossed her maidenly breast and commended her soul to God. Molly had hung her head out the window and let the wind blow her ears inside out.

    Dot saw that the car had arrived in the main street of a respectable little town. They were at the bottom of a steep hill. In the road three well-dressed youths were tormenting a dungaree-clad boy carrying a basket of fish for which some cook was undoubtedly waiting. Impatiently.

    Phryne was getting out of the car. Dot closed her eyes. Miss Fisher was about to happen to someone again. She hoped that Phryne wouldn’t get blood on her shoes. That glacé kid was a beast to clean. Ruth took a deep breath of relief as her sickness subsided and grabbed Molly. Jane wondered whether there would be any interesting injuries.

    Phryne walked up to the group. Nice flannels, white shirts, blazers of a well-known and expensive public school. They had surrounded the young man and were pushing him from side to side, hoping that he would drop the basket so they could kick the fish all over the road and get the poor boy into trouble. Oafs, thought Phryne, disgusted. I just don’t seem to be able to get away from oafs.

    ‘Play time’s over, chaps,’ she said in a clear, authoritative voice. ‘It’s tea time, and Nanny’s getting cross.’

    ‘Who’re you?’ grunted an oaf with short blond hair, giving the fisherboy another shove.

    ‘Phryne Fisher. Who are you?’

    The curly-headed oaf was struck with an inconvenient memory when he heard that tone. He suddenly recalled a Maori storyteller from his childhood. One of their heroes had addressed an enemy: ‘What name shall I put on the cup I shall make from your skull?’ It had always made him shudder. He shuddered now, and began to back away.

    ‘Kiwi, what’s the matter with you?’ snarled the blond.

    ‘I never liked you, Fraser,’ said Kiwi. ‘Come on, Jolyon. This is a beastly sort of game.’

    ‘Moral courage,’ observed Phryne. ‘How proud your school will be when I tell them how their alumni spend their holidays. Surfing? Good game of tennis? Torturing the peasantry?’

    Fraser glared and retained his grip on the fisherboy’s arm, twisting it behind his back. He winced but still did not speak.

    ‘Let him go now,’ said Phryne. ‘Fun’s over.’

    ‘Oh, Lord,’ whispered Jolyon, stout and red-faced. ‘I know her.’

    ‘Why, who is she then?’ Fraser bared his teeth.

    ‘She’s the Hon. Miss Fisher,’ muttered the boy. ‘Like she said. My mother’s been angling for an invitation to one of her parties. She’s rich. And famous.’

    ‘So? Your mater’s a climber.’

    ‘Kiwi’s right,’ said Jolyon with considerable dignity. ‘I never liked you either. How about a game of billiards, Kiwi?’

    ‘Let that boy go right now,’ said Phryne, who had arrived somehow behind Fraser without him noticing that she had moved. ‘Or you will be really, really sorry.’

    He hesitated. Phryne, who was preparing to kick his feet out from under him and dance on his chest in her heavy driving shoes, observed the movement and caught his arm, putting him in the identical arm-lock but with a lot more skill.

    ‘Not so fast. Those fish will have spoiled. Dig into those pockets, fellows, how much have you got?’

    Such was her suasion that they assembled seven shillings and eight pence halfpenny and handed them over to Dot, who had left the car and was standing by to assist in any way, from yelling for the police to belting the nearest head with the tyre lever she held in her hand. She made Jolyon feel even worse. She was a plain young woman with a bun and a firmly fixed hat with orange geraniums in it. She looked so respectable!

    Phryne released Fraser, shoving him away, and put a hand on the fisherboy’s shoulder.

    ‘Just a moment. We’ll give you a lift to avoid any little recurrence of trouble. And boys, I’m going to be here for weeks, and if I see any of you so much as look sideways at an innocent man, woman, child or dog, expect retribution to set in with unusual accuracy and force. You hear me?’

    They nodded, hangdog, beaten. Phryne took the victim by the shoulder and marched him to the car. Molly, excited by his delightful aroma of fish, licked his face. Ruth moved over to accommodate him. The big car moved off. Molly paused to bark scornfully at the three schoolboys standing amazed in the middle of the street.

    The fisherboy, who was fairly sure that he was hallucinating, clutched his basket.

    ‘I have to go to Mercer Street,’ said the driver, an angel from heaven who had, doubtless for reasons of camouflage, appeared as a very well-dressed young woman. ‘Turn left?’

    ‘That would be right,’ he said, finding his voice. All his aches suddenly made themselves felt. ‘T’ank you, t’ank you, Missus! I thought I was gone and done for, so I did.’

    ‘West of Ireland,’ she commented. ‘Gaeltacht?’

    ‘Galway.’ He was beyond amazement. Angels knew most things and, of course, they did go everywhere. ‘Here’s your house, Missus.’ He pointed to a tall building a good height above the sea, unlit and shuttered.

    ‘Thanks. If you have any more trouble with those louts, you come and tell me. What’s your name?’

    ‘Michael, Missus Fisher. Michael Callaghan. T’anks,’ he repeated. As soon as the door was opened, he took his basket and alighted. He clawed off his flat cap and bowed. Phryne smiled at him. He was a wiry, red-headed boy with creamy Celtic skin much weathered at the wrists and neck. He gave her another clumsy bow and vanished, running, down the hill.

    ‘Well,’ said Phryne, ‘that was stimulating. Is this the right house? It is. I have the key and the owner’s note. No one appears to be at home,’ she added, as the doorbell pealed in an empty space. ‘Odd. What did Mr. Thomas say, Dot?’

    Dot unfolded the note. ‘He says that his married couple will look after the divine Miss Fisher…I’ll leave out a bit…their name is Johnson and they seem very reliable.’

    Phryne got the door open at last. She stepped into the hall.

    ‘I think he was mistaken about that,’ she commented.

    The house was of a pleasant, if familiar, design. Two storeys: a long hallway into the main rooms, kitchen and bathroom at the back, up the stairs to bedrooms. The floor was unswept. Leaves and sand had blown in under the door. Ruth, who read a lot of Gothic romances, released Molly with shaking hands.

    Molly ran barking down the hallway and into the kitchen, a place she could always find.

    ‘Dot, keep the girls here while I go and see if there is any reason to worry,’ said Phryne in a low voice. Dot nodded and herded the two young women into a search of the parlour and the withdrawing room.

    Phryne, who sometimes hated the way her mind worked, walked down the unlit hall into the world beyond the green baize door, dreading what she might find. Corpses, perhaps? There was no smell except for the sea and an overlay of dust. Molly was barking hysterically—but that’s dogs for you, she thought. Their solution to any problem was to give it a good barking.

    The house was dusty, unloved and uncleaned, but not for very long. No trailing cobwebs caressed her face as she opened the door into the kitchen, the butler’s pantry, the scullery. The house was making the usual creaks and groans of an old house but they were exaggerated by the still air. Phryne wished she had her little gun in her hand, though any peril must be long gone by now. She had left the gun in the car.

    She was relieved to find nothing more frightful than an open back door. Beyond, the kitchen garden looked dry but not desiccated. A strong scent of herbs came to her. That mint bed could do with watering. Now, what had happened here?

    The kitchen table was bare. The dishes from the last meal served here had been washed up and put away. The floor was damp because the ice in the ice chest had melted because the door had been left open. There was no betraying butter by which she could estimate anything by observing the depth to which the parsley had sunk. The sink was dry. The cupboards were void of anything, even salt, even tea. The kitchen had been looted. Cheap cutlery in the drawer, but the owner would not leave silver in a holiday house. There were plates, cups and glasses, and there was table linen in the linen press. The butler’s cupboard, however, was empty of even a sniff of cooking sherry.

    Molly came in from the garden grinning and panting. She had not found anything alarming.

    Off the kitchen were the servants’ quarters. These usually comprised a bedroom, a bathroom and a sitting room. They were quite empty except for a stripped bed, a wicker armchair which was unravelling quietly in the dusty sunlight, and some litter on the floor: a few crumpled papers, a bathing shoe, a scatter of coins and a broken shoelace. All the signs of a hasty—but thorough—departure. Phryne could see the man, sitting on the side of that bed, tugging angrily at a bootlace and swearing as it snapped in that charming way shoelaces have when one is in a hurry. No blood. No signs of violence.

    She returned to the hall, where Dot was looking worried.

    ‘There’s a few things missing, Miss,’ she said.

    ‘And from the kitchen, which is quite empty. Mr. Thomas’s married couple seem to have left abruptly, pausing only for a spot of pillage.’

    ‘There’s sheets and blankets and so on upstairs,’ said Dot. ‘But some ornaments and a painting are missing. You can tell from marks in the dust. What do you want to do, Miss?’

    ‘I’m not having you housekeep while we loll around,’ said Phryne. ‘Oh, for my Mr. and Mrs. Butler! Tell you what. Let’s bring the things in—I notice that our trunks are here—and settle in for the night, and tomorrow we can find some servants.’

    ‘I don’t reckon we’ll find anyone free in the season,’ said Dot. ‘But I don’t mind, Miss. Nice house like this.’

    Phryne looked at Dot affectionately. She was mousy and quiet where Phryne was bold, devout where Phryne was outrageous, and good girl was written all the way through her, like Castlemaine through Castlemaine Rock. And Phryne relied on her as she relied on her own right hand.

    ‘Good. Well, girls?’

    ‘Nothing scary,’ said Jane, who disliked Ruth’s emotionalism and never read novels. ‘Have they gone, Miss Phryne?’

    ‘Yes, and taken a lot of little souvenirs to remember poor Mr. Thomas by.’

    ‘Are we staying?’ asked Ruth.

    ‘What do you think?’

    ‘I say yes,’ said Ruth, her courage much restored by not being expected to drive in that frightful vehicle anymore. Leaving would mean getting back into the Hispano-Suiza and Ruth was presently contemplating walking home to St. Kilda rather than doing that.

    ‘So do I,’ agreed Jane. ‘I wonder if the neighbours saw the truck?’

    ‘The truck, Jane?’ asked Phryne, who was getting peckish.

    ‘They must have had a truck to take all the things they stole.’

    ‘Good observation. Let’s ask them. You two carry up your own things then make up beds, and Dot can come with me. You’ll be all right on your own?’ she asked, seeing a shadow on Ruth’s plump cheek.

    ‘Of course,’ said Jane flatly, and led the way to the luggage.

    ‘I might just close and lock the back door,’ said Phryne. ‘Come and have a look at the kitchen, Dot. And where’s that note? Mr. Thomas said something about the neighbours.’

    Assisted by Molly, the girls opened the first trunk and began to haul their own belongings up the stairs. Dot walked into the kitchen and stared.

    ‘They’ve even taken the tea,’ she said, shocked. ‘And the condiments, and the flour—look, there’s been a whole sack here. And if it wasn’t them, Miss, who did?’

    ‘Perhaps someone who needed the flour more than we do,’ said Phryne absently. ‘The back gate might be open, too.’ She led the way into a rather bijou little herb garden.

    ‘Only been a couple of days without water,’ remarked Dot.

    The back gate, a heavy wooden construction topped hospitably with broken glass, stood ajar. Phryne shut and latched it.

    ‘Flour,’ she said, noticing traces of white powder on the gravel.

    ‘I don’t like this,’ said Dot quietly.

    ‘No, on consideration, Dot dear, I don’t like it either—but whatever has happened has already happened. Let’s call on the…what’s their name?’

    Dot consulted the note.

    ‘He says that the lady on the left is a Miss Rose Sélavy, she isn’t here all the time and he doesn’t know her, and the lady on the right is a nice Mrs. Mason, who will be delighted to introduce you to the worthies of Queenscliff.’

    ‘Then let’s go and call on nice Mrs. Mason, and see if she can spare someone to summon the constabulary.’

    ***

    Mrs. Mason, when they gained admittance to the spacious house next door, did not seem conspicuously nice. She was large, pink, suicidally blonde, bridling and suspicious, but it did not take Phryne long to divine the cause.

    ‘And I suppose you know Mr. Thomas well?’ she asked, keeping her visitors standing in the hall, which was not polite.

    ‘Not at all,’ said Phryne promptly. ‘Only met him once, at a big party. He said he had a house to lend and I accepted.’

    Mrs. Mason relaxed, smiled and ushered them into the parlour.

    Dot exchanged a glance with Phryne. Nice Mrs. Mason, apparently, had hopes of a closer relationship with nice Mr. Thomas.

    The sun parlour was spotless and comfortable, furnished with cane chairs and possibly just a thought too many wicker whatnots. A small maid came in with tea on a trolley, an innovation of which Phryne approved. The weight of the average tray of teapot, milk jug, hot-water jug, sugar basin, slop basin, strainer, and cups and saucers was far too much for any young woman. Not to mention what looked like a rather good pound cake, a succulent fruitcake and a mound of freshly made scones. Phryne was hungry.

    She allowed Dot to explain the situation as she made a healthy attack on the cake and loaded a scone or two with plum jam and cream. Mrs. Mason, now relieved of her fears for her nice Mr. Thomas’s affections, exclaimed in horror.

    ‘The Johnsons not back! I can’t believe it! No warning! No letter! That is not like them, really it isn’t,’ she said, raising her plump pink hands. Now that she was being nice Mrs. Mason, she had a pleasant, educated, alto voice. ‘And the kitchen empty?’

    ‘Not a crumb,’ said Phryne, taking over the conversation so that Dot could have her turn at the cake. ‘These scones are first rate, Mrs. Mason.’

    ‘Thank you—my cook is very good,’ said Mrs. Mason distractedly. ‘I really can’t imagine what might have happened! The Johnsons were on a week’s leave—they should have been back yesterday! But first things first. We shall telephone that nice Constable Dawson. Then we shall telephone Miss Miller, who has the employment agency. She might have a few people on her books, but really, this far into the season, I fear all the good people will be taken. But there might have been a cancellation,’ said Mrs. Mason bravely. ‘Then of course you will dine with me tonight, and tomorrow the tradesmen will call as usual and you can order replacements. And you say that your daughters are still in the house and not a bite to eat? I shall order a hamper to be sent over immediately. And a bone for the doggie, of course.’

    She bustled away. Phryne poured herself another cup of tea.

    ‘I know what you are thinking,’ she said to Dot, who was nibbling her second slice of cake.

    ‘Yes, Miss?’

    ‘You are thinking that I attract mysteries,’ said Phryne, a little uneasily. She had promised everyone a nice holiday by the sea and absolutely no murders. Though the Johnsons might be alive and well and living on damper (made from Mr. Thomas’s flour) on Swan Island, of course.

    Dot swallowed and considered.

    ‘Well, yes, Miss, you do. But I don’t reckon this was anyways your fault,’ she said generously, much restored by tea and pound cake, her favourite. ‘We just walked straight into this one.’

    ‘Thank you, Dot. Have a scone? They’re very good.’

    ‘Thanks,’ said Dot. ‘I will.’

    They had made considerable inroads into the scones before Mrs. Mason came back. She escorted a stout, self-possessed woman in an apron, who brought with her an appetising smell of onions and cucumber and mixed fruits. Mrs. Mason introduced her with a small chuckle.

    ‘This is Mrs. Cook, my cook.’

    ‘Cook by name and cook by profession,’ put in the round woman, inspecting the newcomers with interest. She had bright blue eyes, red cheeks, and the very clean hands of one who has been making pastry.

    ‘It’s fate,’ said Phryne, smiling. ‘My butler is called Mr. Butler.’

    ‘Is he, dear? That’s fate for you. You say the Johnsons have not come back?’

    ‘They have not, leaving only a broken bootlace behind,’ Phryne replied.

    ‘I wouldn’t have thought it of them,’ said the cook slowly. ‘Seemed perfectly devoted to that Mr. Thomas. Been with him a long time, too. And to steal the provisions—that I can’t believe.’

    ‘Nonetheless, a good-sized mouse would starve in that kitchen. Now, what are we to do?’

    ‘You’ll have to find someone else, dear, that’s true. I can lend you my scullery maid to get the new things settled in but she can’t cook for toffee.’

    ‘I thought of calling Miss Miller,’ suggested Mrs. Mason deferentially. It was clear where power lay in this household. A good cook at holiday time must be worth her weight in diamonds.

    ‘She won’t have no one suitable,’ the cook assured her mistress. ‘Not this far into the season. I’ll ask around, Miss,’ she said to Phryne. ‘I’ve sent the boy over with a hamper which will feed you through breakfast tomorrow, then we shall see.’

    ‘Thank you,’ murmured Phryne.

    ‘And I’ve told him to light the pilot light for the hot water,’ said the cook. ‘You’ll be wanting a wash after all that travelling. You can hang on to the cheeky young monkey to do some of your lifting. If you can get any work out of him you’ll be doing well. It’s more than I can do.’

    ‘Thank you, Mrs. Cook,’ said Mrs. Mason. The cook smiled at Phryne and Dot and bobbed something which might pass for a curtsey.

    ‘Can’t leave my puff paste for long,’ she said, and went with a whisk of her apron.

    ‘She’s a character,’ said Mrs. Mason admiringly.

    ‘She certainly is,’ agreed Phryne.

    ***

    Returning to the house, Phryne found that the hamper had arrived and her household was gathered around the kitchen table watching Ruth make tea. She was managing it with a fine flourish. Mrs. Butler taught her pupils well.

    Jane was calculating how much the water would need to cool before she could drink the tea, and whether it was better to put the milk in first or last in order to cool it most expeditiously.

    A lanky boy lounged in the doorway. His cap was on the back of his head, a gasper was in his mouth, and he did not look like a representative of the great working class.

    ‘Girls, you deserve tea, so you shall have it. George, you haven’t done any work yet, so you will have to earn it,’ Phryne announced briskly. ‘Stub the smoke and start on the trunks, if you want anything to eat before these starving ladies scoff it all.’

    ‘My name ain’t George,’ he scowled. ‘It’s Eddie.’

    ‘George it will be until I see some progress. Come along! Policemen will be here any moment.’

    ‘P’lice?’ said George, awestruck. Phryne diagnosed an avid reader of shilling shockers.

    ‘Off you go, Sexton Blake,’ she told him. He gaped at her. No one had read his mind since that strange lady next door had got him in the street and told him he was destined to be a cop. He ground out the gasper and almost ran into the hall.

    ‘You’re very good,’ said Dot admiringly. ‘The cook said she couldn’t get a hand’s turn out of him.’

    ‘Just a matter of knowing where to apply the lever,’ said Phryne.

    Chapter Two

    From time to time a prince would try to force his way through the hedge to get to the castle, but no one ever succeeded.

    Brothers Grimm

    ‘Sleeping Beauty’

    Mr. Thomas had been prepared for visitors. There was a trunk hoist for lifting the luggage to the top floor.

    Phryne, deciding that the best thing she could do was get out of the way of the domestic preparations, climbed the stairs in a thoughtful frame of mind. It might be a good idea to have a look at the scene of the…crime, perhaps…before it was converted entirely to Phryne’s household usages.

    The layout of the house was simple and agreeable. The main staircase debouched onto a substantial landing, rather dark but provided with a skylight, and on Phryne’s right, at the back of the house, was a formidable

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1