Page 88 of A Murder is Going Down

‘I have a theory,’ Marianne says.

I clear my throat. ‘It was you.’

Then

Lilia calls me the next day. Twice. I don’t call her back. Does she think we’re partners in crime? I bet she thinks we’re partners in crime.

Now

‘I can’t listen to this,’ Marianne says.

‘What?’

‘You think I killed your brother?’

‘No.’

‘Because I never even met – what did you say?’

‘It was ajoke, Marianne. Take it easy.’ And I give her my shit-eating grin, the one I save for when I’m daring someone to punch me in the face.

Marianne slaps a palm against the lift wall. ‘Ridiculous.’

‘The more you interrupt the longer this will take.’

It’s a warning, and Marianne takes it as such and shuts up. Maybe I should have forgotten about the act and been a bitch right from the start? This might have been over already.

Then

Normal life starts to assert itself.

Michael and Patrick have bought their return tickets to Melbourne and I still haven’t asked Patrick about his conversation with Elena at the café. Part of it is cowardice, part of it is not being sure what I think it all means. Clearly, Patrick and Elena know something about Felix’s death that I don’tandthey’re not telling me. It doesn’t mean that they killed him, but it does make them co-conspirators and it makes Patrick a big fat liar. I want to ask Patrick about it, but once I do, I won’t be able to walk it back. That scares me.

So, I do nothing. The coward’s choice, maybe, but also that of the pragmatist who still has to live in the same house as these people.

Over dinner the next evening, Elena tells us she’s decided to move in with her friend Mischa until she sells the house and finds a new place to live. Apparently, Mischa, who lives closer to the school where Elena works, is in need of a roommate after an ill-advised flirtation with crypto. Aunty Sam, who I thought would be sad to see Elena go, seems instead relieved.

Patrick and I banter about bad TV, good music and the merits of Tim Tams vs Kingston biscuits, but not about Felix’s death.

Lilia has called and messaged, but I haven’t worked out how I feel about her yet.

And I’m going back to school in less than a week.

Uncertainty about the next step in my investigations into Felix’s death turns me into a hermit and I slide into a rut of TV and daytime naps. At one point I get so bored, I even wash and iron my own school uniform – an act so sad I only perform it when everyone else is out of the house.

Things change the day before Michael and Patrick are scheduled to fly back to Melbourne.

Aunty Sam proposes a family excursion to pack up the house and get it ready to be sold, now that Elena is definitely not moving back in.

Armed with rubbish bags, spray-and-wipe and cardboard boxes, we head off. Lilia calls and I switch my phone to silent.

On the drive, Michael and Aunty Sam talk about how Melbourne’s changed since she lived there in her twenties (everything, apparently), while Patrick, Elena and I sit in the back, like little kids getting driven to school by Mum and Dad.

‘How do you feel about flying back tomorrow?’ I ask Patrick when I can no longer feign interest in Melbourne laneway culture.

‘This was not the most relaxing holiday of my life, if I’m honest.’

‘How can you say that when you’re about to spend your last day of it cleaning out your sister’s house?’