Page 21 of A Murder is Going Down

A woman with blue hair asks Elena if she’s going to move back to Melbourne. (Elena’s not sure.)

A man in a suit recommends Elena see his psychologist, Tayla, who has really helped him ‘deal with all my stuff after Lily’. (Later, I watch him try to snog another guest, who claims to need the toilet and never returns.)

I hear Patrick ask at least four people whether they were there ‘that terrible night’. (They all say no.)

When I see Elena come out of the bathroom, pink-eyed, I trail after her as she escapes into the garden courtyard where Aunty Sam takes plants to die. I have an idea I should apologise for my role in railroading Elena into having this party, when she’d surely rather be wearing trackies, bingeing bad sitcoms and hiding from the world.

I slip out the courtyard door, wondering how to say sorry without revealing what I’m really apologising for, but stop when I hear her voice.

‘It’s not safe for you to be here,’ she says. ‘Especiallynot today.’

It takes a long beat to realise she’s speaking into her phone and not to me. That’s a relief, because if it’s not safe for me to be in my home, I’m fresh out of options.

I’m standing right there in the doorway, but Elena’sback is towards me, her phone pressed to her ear, and she doesn’t see me.

‘There are people everywhere.’ Long pause. ‘I know. Just give it some time.’

I should go. I should definitely go. Except … isn’t this party supposed to be a fact-finding mission? And isn’t this too good an opportunity to ignore? (‘Too good an opportunity to ignore’ is exactly what Felix said to explain his theft of my Year 8 diary. And by ‘theft’, I mean the time he tore out a bunch of pages and stuck them up at the local IGA because I had told Aunty Sam he was the one who let her budgies out of their cage. And by ‘let her budgies out’, I mean he k—)

‘I love you too,’ Elena says, pushing the memory of those poor budgies back into the past.

Then she ends the call, and I flee back to the party before she can turn around and catch me eavesdropping on … what, exactly?

I love you too.

It might not mean anything. Elena is the kind of sweetheart who probably tells her friends she loves them every day. Except … if it was her friend, why wouldn’t it besafefor them to come to the house? The only thing in danger at this party, so far as I can see, is Aunty Sam’s Turkish rug, which already has a wedge of brie mashed into it.

I find Patrick at the centre of a knot of people and tug gently at his elbow, like a bored toddler trying to hurry their mum at the supermarket. He gives me a look that suggests the comparison has occurred to him too.

‘Can I talk to you for a sec?’ I ask as quietly as I can. Despite being mid-anecdote (something about Elena’s first gymnastics competition and a ripped leotard), he untangles himself and bundles me off to the kitchen, sloughing off his Charming Patrick skin as we go. By the time we’re leaning against the kitchen bench, he’s recognisably Slightly Annoyed Patrick. The sick thing is, I think I prefer it.

‘What is it?’ he says.

I repeat the one-sided conversation I overheard and he listens without interrupting. He also gets there quickly, which I appreciate because I hate awkward small talk.

‘You think my sister is having an affair?’

Okay, it’s still pretty awkward.

‘Maybe.’

‘It might have been a friend.’

‘Why wouldn’t it be safe for them to be here, though?’

‘Because …’ Patrick can’t quite find an end to his sentence. ‘Maybe they …’ Nope. He stops trying. ‘Did you ask Elena about it?’

‘Um, no.’

‘Can’t judge you for that. Hard subject to bring up,’ he says. ‘The real question is, if Elena is having an affair, wasthat relevant to Felix’s death? I suppose if Felix found out about it, he might have killed himself?’

‘I’d be less surprised if he killed the other guy,’ I say.

‘Me too. Oh, I know! The secret boyfriend killed him?’ Patrick says it like he’s solved a crossword puzzle, not identified a potential murder suspect.

‘If so, he must have been at the party that night,’ I say.

‘I don’t know about you, but I’ve had no luck finding anyone who was there that night,’ Patrick says. ‘It’s like—’