Chapter Six

Feeling unusually aimless, they wandered back out into the street. Across the road from the hotel was a bench, carefully positioned to allow guests to sit and enjoy the river view; so they decided to co-operate. Jack slid an arm around her shoulders, with almost no adrenaline lift at all these days for his freedom to embrace his wife in public; and then made himself a silent promise never, ever to take that freedom for granted.

"So, he quite often slept on the boat," she commented.

He assented. "Does you think the whole town knew?"

"Probably," she sighed. Then she sat up and looked at him. "On the other hand, how many people would have had access to the boat for sabotage, given how much the siblings loved it?"

He smiled. "I like your thinking, Miss Fisher – but then," he leaned in and dropped his voice to a whisper, "I so often do ..."

She smirked and then turned a blank gaze to the beautiful view, lost in thought.

"Who can we ask? I wouldn't want to ask Estelle – or Martin – not at first, anyway." She inclined her head to him, seeking approval. "My vote would be to go back to the crew. And ... we haven't really talked to Sam at all, yet, have we?" Her voice was all honey now. "Should I use my Wiles, Inspector?"

He suppressed the snort that was his automatic reaction to her question.

"Phryne, I would quite like to return to Bairnsdale before I die – it's already proving memorable – so if you could possibly restrain your Wiles that might be best."

He turned to her and tilted his head in mock-seriousness.

"On the other hand, if you chose to apply your motherly instincts to a young man who looks as though he's barely old enough to shave, I could only applaud your dedication to our cause."

She snorted.

"Jack, my motherly instincts can be encased within slightly less space than the nail of my little finger, so it could be a short interview!"

He raised his eyebrows. "You do yourself a disservice, Miss Fisher – as I think Jane, and all the other waifs and strays that have been so fortunate as to cross your path, would attest."

She clearly hadn't thought of her tendency to help young people in quite that way before, and narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. Unabashed, he met her gaze.

Sam, bless him, hadn't had a lot to add anyway – maternal comforts or womanly wiles notwithstanding.

"Mrs Robinson, the boat's a family thing. Like the hotel and the other stuff. The only people who would be on her would be Davy and Martin – and Joe and me, sometimes. Estelle would sometimes come out for fun, but it was the rest of us who were keeping the Cora May in shape."

Phryne gave her warmest smile in response to the dead end, and politely took her leave.

"I don't understand, Jack," she complained. "How could someone get on board and do a perfectly beautiful bit of sabotage without anyone in the family noticing?"

They were walking up the path to the hotel door by then, and were met by Estelle, and a larger, older version of the deceased. He stretched out a hand to Jack.

"Inspector Robinson? Mrs Robinson? Martin Baker."

Jack grasped the proffered hand firmly.

"Mr Baker, sorry to be making your acquaintance under such tragic circumstances."

How smoothly the practised phrases fell when needed. They were needed here. Martin Baker was not a happy man.

"Forgive me, Inspector, but I don't quite understand how you come to be involved in my brother's death? Apart from, apparently, being complicit in causing it?" sneered Baker.

"I understand your position, Mr Baker, but I can assure you that Miss…us Robinson and I are only trying to make sure that the important ground is covered as quickly as possible, to help find your brother's killer. I believe that Sergeant Stanford is on his way, but as a fellow member of Victoria's law enforcement community, I couldn't stand idly by and leave a colleague to pick up a cold trail for want of the smallest effort on my part."

Jack was trying hard to strike a balance between conciliatory and firm. For the most part, Phryne thought, he was succeeding. While clearly unhappy with the situation, Baker returned no reply, and with a rude shrug, walked off around the side of the hotel.

Estelle was apologetic. "Neither of us can really understand it, Inspector – Davy was well liked, and we couldn't think of any arguments at all that he might have had lately – well, apart from with the two of us!" she smiled sadly. "But then, siblings always argue, and even if I'd often felt like killing Davy, it would take more than him taking the last of the kitchen kitty to buy beer to make me do away with him."

Strong as she appeared, her eyes were filling, and she too turned away.

Dinner that night definitely lacked the sparkle of the previous evening, and Mr and Mrs Robinson took to their room early rather than prolong the discomfort.