Chapter 24: But Dust and Shadows

"You?"

He spun angrily, almost throwing himself off balance. "How did you get in here?"

Jalboo shrugged.

"The door was open."

"That is not an invitation to just walk into my house," Aidan exclaimed angrily, slamming down his empty glass. The older man didn't think an answer necessary.

"Did you think about our conversation?" he asked.

"This is hardly the time," Aidan slurred, filling his tumbler. "My wife has informed me that she is considering a divorce. Have you ever heard the like?"

"Even more reason to face the truth," Jalboo insisted, attempting to wrestle the glass from the man's hands with little success.

"They're nothing but lies!"

The drunk farmer made for a pathetic sight as he emptied the tumbler in one big gulp. Jalboo sighed.

"Suit yourself. Nobody can accuse me of not trying."

He took his hat from the table and left. Harper sat for a while in drunken stupor, contemplating, then pulled himself to his feet and unsteadily made his way to the shed.

X

Rupert didn't notice his wife's empty stare into the distance as he entered the hotel room. At least, he tried very hard not to. Neither did he see the flinch in her shoulders when he talked.

"I believed you came up here to pack?" he enquired with forced casualty. Honestly he couldn't wait to leave this place and hopefully, back in town, he could also have his wife back.

Silence answered him.

"Iris?"

"I can't leave just yet," she said quietly, dipping her eyes to the floor. Rupert attempted to stay calm. In vain.

"Please tell me you are joking!"

She watched on in silence as he began pacing the room.

"Your cousin was punched in the face today, your sister receives threatening notes from some madman and your uncle is bickering all day with the hotel staff. Please don't tell me you are enjoying yourself too much to leave!"

His voice was dripping sarcasm, but Iris just slowly shook her head.

"Of course not." She took a deep breath. "It's Christian..."

She stopped when she saw his expression turn to stone. He nodded, his jaw clenched.

"I should have known," he said slowly, rage still boiling underneath the surface, but there was also a sense of defeat that confused her. "You didn't come here for the race, did you?"

She straightened her shoulders.

"I didn't," she admitted, without taking her eyes from him. His face was flushed with anger, but the dark shadows underneath his eyes scared her more. Rupert's voice was unreadable when he continued.

"I accept that there is a picture of a strange man standing on our mantelpiece. I bear that his mother telephones our house, but hangs up if I answer myself. I even allow that his brother shows late at night at our doorstep, demanding to speak to you in private!"

She opened her mouth to cut in, but his expression silenced her.

"I accept him overshadowing our life, because, Iris, deep in my heart I fool myself that maybe, just maybe if I humour you, someday you will be truly mine."

He stopped. The anger fell from him like dust. Iris found herself scared of the collapse she witnessed in her strong husband.

"And you prove me wrong again," he added tonelessly. She opened her mouth, closed it again.

"I am yours!"

It was exclaimed without thought. He shook his head.

"I knew coming here was a mistake," he mumbled, before straightening. "But suit yourself. I will return to Melbourne in the morrow and you can follow when you feel ready to tear yourself away from him."

He turned to leave but found that he couldn't. A strong hand had grasped his arm and wouldn't let go.

"I need you here," she said, tears glittering in her eyes. "I can't do this without you. I've tried."

Rupert gulped, attempting to sort his racing thoughts.

"Whatever are you talking about?"

Her eyes darted to the bed, then back to him, trying to find words to explain and coming up empty.

"Stay there!"

Rupert watched in astonishment as his wife dove underneath the bed and returned a moment later with dust on her dress and a metal box clutched in her arms.

"Iris..."

"Meet Christian," she said, stubbornly holding his gaze. He realised that she had extended the box towards him. Slowly Rupert took the offered item.

"Is this a joke?"

Iris shook her head.

"This is my first husband - what's left of him, beside memories. And I don't wish to take him back with us." She looked up at him, her eyes still dangerously translucent, willing him to understand. He bit his lip in a gesture that she knew. He was torn and confused. "You're right, Rupert. It's time to let him go."

Her whispered urging seemed to have the desired effect. Rupert gently sat down the morbid box before wrapping his arms around her. Now, finally, Iris allowed herself to cry. He held her tightly until she was done, then slowly retreated, handing her a handkerchief.

"Could you do me a favour, please?" he asked, still looking shaken as he watched her dry her tears. "Would you mind just sharing those things as they happen? I really don't enjoy feeling like a jealous idiot."

She gave a watery laugh at this.

"I promise I'll tell you if any other former spouses show up in a box."

"That would be most appreciated," he grumbled before he kissed her.

X

To their surprise they found a familiar horse tied to the picket fence surrounding Dr. Doyle's cottage. As they walked down the path an angry, female voice swept through the open window.

"I merely want to know if you had anything to do with 'Evening Wind's death!"

There was a pause.

"This is a ridiculous accusation. I am Aidan's friend!"

"Well, maybe that's the point. Maybe you did him a favour, Doctor."

Doyle turned from where he had been lighting his pipe.

"What?!"

"I'd be incredibly interested in that train of thoughts as well."

This time both of them spun in surprise, finding the Inspector and his wife standing in the door frame. The Veterinarian bristled further.

"Could someone please explain to me why everybody feels the need to visit my house tonight? I have nothing to do with 'Evening Wind's' demise, tragic as it was."

"You were at the Station that day," Grace insisted. "I saw your car."

Phryne realised that there was also a great chance that Mrs. Harper had spotted her car earlier on and barely resisted the urge to blush. Doyle shrugged.

"I was. I had things to talk through with Aidan. But that's irrelevant since as far as I am informed, 'Evening Wind' was murdered in the middle of the night."

"True," Phryne cut in. "But he was drugged much earlier I am guessing."

She fished the small bottle from Jack's trouser pocket, which caused him to barely audible drag air through his teeth. The Lady Detective smirked to herself. Sadly she had no time for erotic daydreams right now.

"What's that?"

"An empty morphine vial we found in your stables," the Inspector explained, watching Mrs. Harper inspect the piece of evidence. "Is that something you use on your farm?"

Grace shook her head. The Veterinarian sighed when three people turned to him.

"Look, of course I use it. Sometimes it's required. But I am far from the only one. And why would I have used it on Evening Wind? I had no business in drugging him or killing him for that matter."

He thought for a long moment.

"I did, however, leave a vial of it with the O'Neills the other day. One of their rams was in great pain. And Luke administers it himself."

The Inspector pocketed their find again, wanting to ask why exactly Grace thought her husband had asked Doyle to drug his horse, but for the time being playing along with the obvious misdirection.

"So you suspect that Mr. O'Neill drugged Evening Wind? Would it be even possible to do so without the animal being familiar with him?"

The Doctor laughed.

"A horse has nothing on a stubborn ram, Inspector. You are wasting your time with me. Go talk to O'Neill. He had a lot more reason than I would." With that he rose. "Now, if you'll excuse me. My dinner is going cold."

Doyle left his three visitors standing in the sitting room, staring silently at each other.

"You don't actually believe that Luke... he didn't do it!" Grace ground out.

"Why the sudden change of mind?" Phryne asked casually.

"He denies it and I believe him," the blonde explained hotly. Jack couldn't help but wonder what exactly that conversation had entailed. Not that it really mattered. He didn't believe for a moment that O'Neill had anything to do with the horse murder. But there was terribly little reason for a veterinarian to kill his friend's animals either.

"I am curious, Mrs. Harper. Why did you accuse Doyle of 'doing your husband a favour'?"

To his surprise, Grace Harper went flustered at this.

"I don't know," she ground out. "It was just said in the heat of the moment. Now, I had better head home and see what Aidan has gotten up to. He's returned home drunk."

She shook her head, sending her blonde curls flying.

"Goodnight, Inspector, Mrs. Robinson."

Phryne grinned broadly.

"Goodnight."

Under Jack's polite farewell Grace fled the scene.

"Nobody seems really happy to see us, Jack," Phryne complained, taking his arm.

He donned his hat while they stepped over the threshold out into the night.

"That might be because they are all lying and we ask too many uncomfortable questions, Miss Fisher."

"That's a possibility," Phryne grinned. "Now, shall we head over to the O'Neill's farm?"

"Oh why not? Lets humour Doyle and see what tales they have to share with us tonight."

X

"You are still here, Mr. Wilson?"

Robert looked up from his paperwork to give a little smile to Berta.

"I am just done," he answered, closing the book.

"You're wife must be worried, you coming home so late," she said casually while she dusted the sideboard in the small office.

"I rather think she hasn't noticed my absence yet," he answered, screwing shut his inkwell.

"Oh no, that's horrible," the girl exclaimed.

"I was joking," Mr. Wilson smiled. "But it is Racing Day, so there will be an awful lot of excitement at the hotel. Depending of course on who the winner is."

A observant woman might have noticed the shadow stealing over his face. Berta Mooser was many things, but not observant.

"Oh, haven't you heard?" she asked. She made damned sure he knew everything about the race by the time he finally had sorted his desk and rammed his hat onto his head. Robert sighed when he stepped out into the warm evening. It was quite a walk from the school to the hotel, but at least it was silent. Following the road creeping through dark hills, he made his way home.

A car racing down the street with screeching tires shook him from his thoughts. Blinding headlights froze him to the spot as the huffing monster approached. Robert held his breath, sure that he was going to die. The automobile made a sharp sway to the right at the last moment, missing him by a mere few inches.

"Are you mad?" he screamed when the car came to a stop somewhat further down the hill.

"What are you doin' in the middle of the road, you idiot?" the driver slurred without any real conviction.

"Jesus, you are drunk off your head, man! What's wrong with you?!"

Harper shrugged, his eyes glassy.

"Move over, I'll get you home," Wilson decided, ready to climb into the car. "You are going to kill someone."

"I could think of people I wouldn't mind killing," Harper said darkly, but obediently moved over to the passenger's side. Robert shook his head at him but started the unfamiliar car. He had sat behind a wheel before but never driven anything quite so expensive. He rather hoped that he was a quick learner. Something about Harper's expression told him that he was not in a forgiving mood.