Before I unleash chapter 4 on you, a few words to you, my beloved readers. Firstly thank you for your feedback. I do read and appreciate every single word. While of course I want to hear that everything's wonderful, feel free to write me also if you think something didn't quite work for you. I strive to get better as I go along. Big thanks go to the beautiful duskbutterfly, who has taken it upon herself to teach a clueless Kraut proper punctuation (admittedly with limited success so far ;)) and also helps me with my brainscramble.

A comment or two about the story: I sat down intending to write a proper murder mystery, which I am afraid will be long and on the slow side. But yes, there will be romance, angst, violence and a bit of unapologetic smut in the future. I am deeply enjoying writing it and hope you will find the same joy in reading.

Chapter 4: Down Pour

Jack was standing at the window of the small dining room he had picked for interviewing. Unseeingly he stared out into the rain, trying to sort through his first, or rather second impressions of the "hard group" that had stayed after most guests had left around midnight. There was of course Phryne, she would hardly be someone he had to worry about. At least not in regard to his case. Then Annabel and Brad Sinclair, a rather non-descript couple of middle age, a bit too nice. The kind of people who knew that they needed to pretend to care for the less fortunate in order to consider themselves kind-hearted. He had briefly conversed with them last night. She had been drinking too much and too fast for the Inspector to believe her marriage to be quite as harmonious as she made it out to be. He had been mostly busy telling people about his achievements, his business, his property and his charity work without convincing him either. The detective had the feeling that they could also not fool Marie White, a woman that was about Phryne's age and of similar intelligence if the look in her remarkably dark green eyes was anything to go by. She'd donned last nights dress and fur with the elegance of a pure bred lady. Her husband-to-be, one David M. Price, was in for a handful he guessed. The man seemed however up for the challenge; he was as slick as an eel and equally hard to grip. Whatever she found about him was beyond the Inspectors judgement. Which left Captain Phil McStanley, an old seaman past his prime who Jack imagined would start on the rum around 8 am and on the dirty jokes around 10. Quite a mixed selection of suspects.

The inspector sighed. And while he was busy sorting through mostly unnecessary mountains of information, his crime scene, wherever it might be, would be swept away by the pouring rain. He felt the clicking of the door more than he heard it.

"Let me guess." She said, right behind him, her warmth radiating through her dress waking in him the sudden urge to lean back against her and close his eyes, case be damned. He resisted. Barely.

"You are worrying about the water damaging your crime scene."

The Inspector turned around. The twinkle in Miss Fishers eyes awoke other urges in him that he currently really didn't need. She cocked her head.

"I read your mind."

Despite himself, he smiled.

"Well, Miss Fisher, then I am sure you can tell me who I want to talk to first."

She rolled her eyes in mock thoughtfulness and twisted her red lips into a smile.

"Marie, of course."

Jack leaned back against the table and crossed his arms over his chest.

"And whatever brings you to this conclusion?"

"You know I promised Pauline her company, and..." she said in turning to the door; "...she is also a fascinating woman, rebellious. The kind you like, Jack."

She was back out the door, before he had decided if to kiss or strangle her.

Only seconds later the handle was pushed down again and a drenched Hugh appeared.

"My god, Collins, did you have to drive in from Sydney?" The Inspector asked without much sympathy.

The Constable shook his head to rid himself of the raindrops, reminding the higher officer of a puppy dog that had taken an involuntary bath.

"Sorry, Sir, I'm afraid Dottie and I had quite a fright on the way here. Erratic driver ran us off the road, Sir."

"And that even though Miss Fisher was here the whole time." Jack stated dryly under his breath.

He bit back the question why exactly Collins had brought Miss Williams along to start with. He could imagine the answer to that.

"Sorry, Sir?"

"You didn't by chance notice the number plates, Constable?"

"Afraid not. I was too busy clutching onto my life."

The Inspector nodded.

"Fair enough. Since I assume Miss Williams is safely deposited into Miss Fisher's company, I'd like you to speak to the staff."

He made a pause to check his notes.

"I believe the Butler, a Mr. Ellis, found the body while in a search party with the wife of the deceased. So he might have noticed something before she broke down in hysterics."

"Anything else?"

"Just try and stay out of any more troubles, Collins."

"I'll try my hardest, Sir."

X

It was dislike at first sight, Dot could not have explained it any other way. The moment Miss Fisher introduced her to Marie White, some alarm clock went off inside her head that didn't seem to have any intention to quiet down again. It didn't appear to have an off button either. It wasn't so much that Miss White intimidated her. Even though she could feel herself still trembling after their adventure on the road while the short trip from the car had left her lovely coat drenched and the lady looked rather perfect, despite still wearing last nights dress. Dorothy couldn't quite put her finger on what exactly rubbed her the wrong way about the red-lipped smile and the carefully picked words. But when Miss White wandered off in direction of the Inspectors makeshift interview room, she breathed a sigh of relief.

"You alright, Dot?"

"Perfectly fine, Miss." The companion tilted her head. "How exactly do you know Miss White?"

Phryne looked at her companion curiously but decided to play along.

"We've been introduced by a shared acquaintance, Mrs. Pauline Denier, whose husband decided to take an unfortunate bath this morning."

"I'm sorry Miss Fisher, was he a close friend?"

Phryne waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "Not really, Dot. But Pauline I'm rather fond of and she has taken it hard. We better find out just who off'd her husband."

"So where do we start?"

"Right here, I'd say."

Only now Dot noticed that Miss Fisher had walked her down a maze of corridors during their conversation and they had stopped in front of a dark brown door that looked rather solid. She watched her Mistress fish for a hatpin.

"You're not intending to break in, Miss, are you?"

"How else do you propose we get into Marcel's private rooms?"

With a triumphant smile Dot pressed down the handle which resulted in the door swinging open with a very dramatic creak.

"Now that's cheating, Dot."

With a proud smile on her lips, Phryne slipped the hatpin back and swept past her grinning companion. Dorothy followed behind slowly. Despite having been Miss Fisher's assistant sleuth for some time now, she was still not quite comfortable walking into someone else's rooms. It was just not decent. Miss Fisher seemed to have no such reservations; she thoughtfully ran a white gloved hand along the sideboard sweeping her trained look over the sitting room for anything out of the ordinary. It wasn't a particularly pretty room she found, fighting back her dislike. It was... pompous seemed to be the word she was looking for. Heavy furniture, dark leather, gilded clutter that didn't really fit. She couldn't say she was surprised by it. Marcel had always been more mouth than trousers so this was suiting his character rather well. Dot had gotten over her hesitance and was riffling, if very carefully, through the paperwork strewn over a writing desk of dark oak.

Phryne watched her with a fond smile. The once shy maid had come a long way since their first meeting, she mused. Her companion even used the telephone without hesitation nowadays. The lady detectives eyes went back to the job at hand, scrolling through the clutter assembled on the fireplace.

"This is odd."

Dot looked up. Her mistress inspected a small circular stain with interest, running her gloved finger over the wood.

"It almost looks as if something was missing here."

Dorothy tore herself away from the pile of papers and stepped closer, when suddenly she came to a halt mid move.

"Miss! I think you should look at this!"

Phryne Fisher glanced up from the emptiness that have had a firm grip on her attention when she heard the agitation in Dot's voice. It was a small marble statue of a rather naked Greek goddess that seemed to be the cause of her companions excitement. Carefully Phryne picked up the white lady to inspect her closer.

"Well done, Dot. It appears Aphrodite here has gotten blood on herself."