Page 35 of A Murder is Going Down

‘And what’s your tennis buddy going to do for us?’

‘It’ll give us data. If Hap tells me it’s an electrical fault, I’ll believe it.’ Marianne pronounces the worddata, the American way, and it occurs to me that, while I’ve been spilling all my family secrets, I don’t know all that much about Marianne – other than the fact that she is powerful in her industry, kind of a ruthless bitch and scared of confined spaces. Has she spent time in America or is this a quirk, like the way I pronounced Hermione before I saw the Harry Potter movies?

‘Sounds like a plan,’ I say, because I don’t know what else to say.

‘You do it,’ she says.

I stab the intercom button. When the voice on the other end says ‘Hello?’, I explain about Hap and that Marianne would really like to talk to him.

‘I’ll try to find him. But this electrical fault is causing problems all over the building, so Hap is running around putting out fires.’

‘Fires?’ Marianne says from the other side of the lift.

‘I think the fires are metaphorical,’ I whisper.

We sit in silence until Marianne says, ‘Come on then, what happened next? Did you really team up with Lilia andBen? He seems like such a weasel.’

‘He is. Are you sure you still want to hear it, though?

‘Can you summarise it for me? Give me dot points?’

‘It’s not really a dot point kind of a story.’

‘It would be if you finished this sentence:Felix’s death was a…?’

‘Forget it.’

‘Sorry. I’m being insensitive.’ Marianne doesn’t sound very sorry.

‘It’s fine.’

‘I would like to hear your story,’ Marianne says carefully, like it costs her. ‘It really does help distract me. Until I hear from Hap, at least.’

A long silence.

‘Okay. But I’m not giving you dot points.’

Then

When I get home from our spot of Entering (hold the Breaking), there’s a man on the couch with Aunty Sam and Patrick. (I circled the block to avoid arriving thirty seconds behind him, because Patrick is not as fast a walker as he thinks.)

Even if I didn’t already know to expect Michael, I would have known he was related to Patrick and Elena. He has Patrick’s eyes and bone structure and Elena’s dark brown hair. He’s also wearing a pair of high-waisted pleated pants that could only be pulled off by an elderly man or a hot twenty-something-year-old guy into menswear. He falls into the latter category on account of his extreme handsomeness. (He’s an actor, so I guess a certain gorgeousness is to be expected.)

Elena comes in from the kitchen, a bottle of wine and three glasses resting on her lap. ‘Heidi,’ she says. ‘You’re back too. Have you already met my brother Michael?’

Patrick, reclining on the couch, smiles at me and says, ‘Hey, Heidi. Long time no see.’ Like we weren’t hiding under a desk together an hour ago.

I give him ayou’re too muchglare.

‘I’m Michael,’ says Michael unnecessarily.

‘Heidi,’ I say, just as unnecessarily. ‘Nice to meet you.’

‘I think we met at the wedding,’ Michael says, ‘but you spent most of it under the table with my little bro.’

‘I knew I recognised him from somewhere,’ I say, but only Patrick laughs.

‘Michael’s just flown in today,’ Elena says. ‘He’s been in a play.’