Chapter 34: Peppermint

It was quarter to three when the first guests arrived, but there was still no sign of the Inspector. Phryne might have been relieved, had she known that Jack had indeed gotten himself and Jane a little lost in the forest, before they had finally discovered the small creek gurgling through patches of moss. It had been quite a few years since he had been a regular visitor of the old trees. But as things stood, the lady-detective paced the room anxiously, while Crossley found himself a chair in the far end of the library, obviously trying to blend into the wallpaper. The next one to appear was Fred, a new bounce in his step and somehow looking less boring, Phryne noticed. Next Sam snuck into the room, freezing for a moment, when he spotted Christine Allister sitting with a confused expression beside the cold fireplace. After some hesitation, he sat down, turning towards her but at a safe distance. Laura came through the door, together with Iris, who had chosen to follow the spectacle, even though she was sure that she would not be called as a suspect. Mrs. Simmens sat down beside her husband, loosely grasping his hand in a gesture that seemed familiar to Phryne. She smiled inwardly at the thought of the magic a shared secret could work on a relationship. Miss Rucci appeared moments later, finding herself a chair beside Charles Crossley. She looked pale and as if she hadn't slept in days. A woman in mourning and Phryne's heart went out to her. She truly suffered and the detective felt a little sorry to put her through this. But the game had to continue. They had to beat the killer on his own playground. Phryne glanced at her watch. Still no Jack. Mr. Butler slipped through the door, without drawing any attention to himself.

"Did they get here alright?" Miss Fisher asked him quietly. Her servant nodded.

"Mr. Bert asked me to give this to you."

Phryne took the folded up piece of paper from her butler's hand and quickly swept her eyes over it. So it was exactly as she had expected. She smiled.

John Robinson returned from his trip down to Daylesford with a satisfied grin on his face and took the last empty chair. But one person was still missing, Miss Fisher realised.

"Has anyone seen Mr. Barton arrive?" she asked.

Shrugging and murmuring was the only answer she got. 'Fantastic', Phryne huffed silently to herself. So she would have to do this without her Inspector or the widower. But it might still shed some light on the case. On the other hand, she also might be able to get away with waiting. The clock stroke three while she thought this and she noticed Sam squirming unhappily in his seat.

"Are you going to do this now, Miss Fisher? I would rather read a book than join into this charade," he said pointedly. More disgruntled murmuring followed and Phryne realised that she could indeed not get away with waiting. She silently cursed Jack for disappearing and took a deep breath.

"Ladies and Gentleman, thank you all for joining me today," she smiled.

"I would rather like to know, why we are here," Mr. Crossley threw in, startling Miss Rucci.

"I will enlighten you in a moment, Mr. Crossley. The Inspector called you all here today, because you were all at one point suspects in this incredibly mysterious case," Phryne intoned, deciding to do this properly. She smiled dangerously, when she heard Walter's former Employee huff under his breath.

"Actually, why don't we start with you, Mr. Crossley. You claim to have been in Ballarat the morning Miss Spencer died. But there is no prove for that. You didn't meet your clients till hours later. And it is common knowledge that you didn't like each other much. She also found out that you helped yourself from the business accounts, didn't she? Maybe even shared this with her sister?"

Mr. Crossley had started to sweat profoundly, while murmuring picked up around him.

"My son. I...," he cleared his throat. "I made a mistake Miss Fisher, but I have absolutely not killed Miss Spencer. Why would I do that? Surely a few dollars aren't worth killing for and that's all I ever took."

His eyes pleaded with the detective and she gave him a slight nod.

"I believe you, Mr. Crossley. Do you know why? Because the fear of being discovered caused you to sneak through Wombat Hall during a storm. Your wet shoes proved that you were outside that night and there is only one explanation for you scrambling to cover up your betrayal. You didn't know that Miss Spencer was going to die."

The man breathed a visible sigh of relief and sank back into his chair.

"Which brings me to our next suspect, Mr. Fred Simmens-Cox-Stafford."

Fred had been whispering with his wife. Now he looked worried.

"There was quite a bit of evidence pointing towards you. You tried to get rid of a letter of blackmail, written by Miss Spencer and for a while, we actually believed you'd had an affair with the deceased. An act of jealousy perhaps? Or simply the fear of the damage a chatty lover could do to your marriage?"

Miss Fisher watched Iris Walker's eyes widened in shock and smiled.

"As it turned out, we were wrong. Miss Spencer had found out something else that you didn't want to share with your wife. But, luckily you were clever enough to do that by now and so I will not go too deep into the subject."

At this, Fred threw her a grateful smile.

"And while you had plenty of motive to get rid of Miss Spencer and possibly her sister and confidante, Inspector Robinson believes you too intelligent to not realise that we would look at your background as soon as something like this happens. And I am tempted to agree with him."

She smiled.

"It wasn't you either. Which throws the suspicion onto your wife."

The relieved smile on Laura's lips evaporated.

"Me?"

"You knew your husband was hiding something from you and you sensed it had something to do with Miss Spencer. I even believe you were convinced of the affair. So yes, you had a motive."

Miss Fisher took another turn on the Persian, feeling the prickling of many eyes glued to her every move. This form of conclusion in a case was quite exciting. If only it would finally click in her brain, before she ran out of suspects.

"But, Miss Spencer's body has been dragged down a very steep stairway out of Wombat Hall and then through the bushes before it disappeared. I cannot imagine that one rather petite woman would be able to do that by herself."

"So it wasn't me?" Laura breathed, drawing a few small giggles from people. Miss Fisher grinned and shook her head.

"I rather hope you would remember if it had been you," Sam threw in, grinning.

"Yes, so do I," Phryne said pointedly, snapping back into her detective mode. "But since we are focusing on you, Samuel, you were the next one on our list. Because someone burned this..." she paused to clear her throat, "...rather erotic letter that I am convinced was written by Miss Spencer. You did have an affair with her, didn't you?"

With some satisfaction Phryne noted Samuel Cox-Stafford's eyes darting sidewards.

"And she was also one of the reasons you came up here a week early. You spent your nights with her."

Now both Laura and Iris gaped openly at the young man, who blushed furiously.

"But I believe you were spending your days with someone else. She was also the reason, you scrambled to get rid of the evidence as fast as possible, when Miss Spencer died. Someone who you are actually in love with, aren't you, Sam?"

Miss Fisher looked at Christine, who stared at her in shock, then at Samuel.

"Perhaps it is the time to stop being a coward and tell her how you feel," Phryne smiled, watching the boy trying to retreat into the sofa cushions. "Because you really have nothing to lose at this stage. Oh, and by the way, I don't think you murdered Miss Spencer either. You didn't care enough about her to do so."

Phryne stopped, wondering if she dared to go on. This would be so much easier, if Jack was here. But expectant eyes still followed her as she turned on her heels, looking at her future Father-in-law.

"Which brings me to you, Mr. Robinson."

John's stared at her in astonishment.

"It couldn't have been me. I was with you, when Mrs. Barton died," he pointed out. Miss Fisher nodded.

"Very true. But while we are all so cosy here together, we might as well bring all the secrets out into the open, don't you agree? You knew Mrs. Barton, before you ever came to this family gathering. In fact you believed her to be your niece and agreed to meet her here at Wombat Hall the very morning she died. Hadn't you been with me that morning, I'm sure you would have ended up on that list of suspects."

Miss Fisher smiled sharkishly, noting a faint glitter in the former policeman's eyes. He was actually enjoying this.

"Go on," he prompted.

"But it turned out that Sophie couldn't have been the mother of Madelyn and Abigail Spencer. So we assumed for a while, that Mrs. Barton was lying to you when she wrote the letters. But she wasn't. She truly was the girl in the photograph. It was Sophie, who was lying."

John stared at her in equal amounts of confusion and intrigue.

"You see, I thought it was odd that a mother would only send a picture of her daughters, when she had in fact three children. Miss Spencer and Mrs. Barton have an older brother, James. But the reason for this is very simple. The person sending you those pictures didn't know James all that well. Because she only joined the Spencer family when the girls were born. As their nurse. Isn't that right, Miss Sophia Rucci?"

The old woman gulped, unmoving, while John's eyes followed Phryne's to the corner where his sister was sitting, for the first time seing her properly.

"Your elopement fell through, didn't it? You might still have travelled the world, I rather think you did, because my assistants," she shook the piece of paper Mr. Butler had brought her, "have found, that Sophia Rucci didn't exist in Australia until 1910, the year Sophie Robinson wrote her family that she had returned from Italy. You had simply changed your name and fabricated a happy story so your family wouldn't pity you."

Miss Rucci stared at her hands.

"I'm sorry, John," she said after a long moment of speechless silence.

"Dear God, Sophie."

In a room full of people, a teary-eyed John Robinson threw himself in front of the woman and embraced her tightly. Miss Rucci allowed herself to hug him back only after a moment of hesitance.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, "I was ashamed of myself."

"You silly girl," John stammered, wiping a white lock from his sister's face. "I've been waiting all those years for you to reappear and you are just around the corner."

Sophia Rucci cupped her brother's face, looking at him.

"You've grown old," she said with a faint grin.

"And you are as charming as ever," he quipped, "but I hate to say it, so have you."

After the group had watched the siblings celebrate their reunion for a heart warming minute, Mr. Crossley found the courage to ask, what was on everybody's mind.

"So, who was it, Miss Fisher?"

Phryne looked up from watching her future-father-in-law kneeling on the floor with a fuzzy feeling in her stomach, to the harsh reality of her case. She still had no idea.

"You pointed out everybody that didn't kill Miss Spencer now," Charles Crossley reminded her. "So, who did it?"

Miss Fisher stayed silent, looking into the round. Something tried to knock at the door of her mind, a thought that wanted to be let in urgently.

"You don't know, do you?" Sam called in, laughing. "So nobody killed Miss Spencer?"

The thought entered, stood in the room and spoke loud and clear.

"How could I have been so utterly stupid?" Miss Fisher exclaimed, turning and running through the door before the rest of the group had even noticed her change of mood.

"Excuse me, Sophie" John pressed out, scrambling to his feet and chasing after her.

X

"I don't think they will need quite this much for a cup of tea," Jack laughed, while Jane tried to juggle an armful of aromatic mint leaves.

"We can dry it and take some back to Melbourne," his daughter explained. "Dot's pregnancy is bound to last a few months."

"I believe that is usually how it works."

Jack watched the sun fall through the treetops, drawing small flecks of light onto the ground. A bird was singing somewhere into the silence of nothing but old trees whispering. It was beautiful and peaceful, a sharp contrast to the prenuptial hectic in Wombat Hall.

"Are you looking forward to the wedding," Jane asked.

"No. Yes. I'm looking forward to being married to Phryne. The wedding itself is probably going to cause a great deal of stress, trying to make everybody happy. My first one was like that. All pretend smiles and sitting still and listening to boring speeches."

He noticed too late that it was probably inappropriate to share details on your first wedding with the daughter of your second wife. His worry seemed to be confirmed when Jane stayed quiet for a long moment, while they walked along the creek.

"I can't imagine boring speeches from your family," the girl finally grinned, a branch cracking under her feet.

"True," Jack grinned back. "My family tends to prefer annoyance to boredom."

"It's strange. Suddenly having so much family," Jane pointed out. "But I don't mind it. I have aunts now all of a sudden and a cousin and a grumps."

Jack laughed.

"Does he know you have decided to call him that?"

"Yes."

"If he hasn't strangled you after that, he must be really fond of you," Jack smiled, daring to put an arm around his daughter, while he fought back the guilt about leaving Phryne alone with her circle of suspects. Surely, Miss Fisher could handle it. He just couldn't bring himself to abort this little trip to hurry back to the Hall and be an Inspector, if he could also be a father. He listened to Jane telling him a story about her actual mother, while they got back onto the path, getting near Uncle Walter's hunting lodge. Suddenly Jack stopped. Something had caught his eye. It was more the idea of something really.

"Jane, stay here please," he urged, going serious. "I need to have a look."

The girl nodded. She had learned one thing a long time ago: when Miss Fisher or the Inspector asked you to do something in this tone of voice, you did it without arguing. Hiding behind a tree, she watched the Inspector draw closer to the lodge.

Jack Robinson felt his heart pound in his ears. Maybe he was imagining things. But there had been some movement behind the windows and since his Uncle was down in Daylesford speaking with the Vicar, that could really only mean that someone had broken in. And he had suddenly a pretty clear idea of who that someone might be. He snuck closer to a window, protecting his eyes from the bright sunlight to spy into the darkness. The clicking of a safety being taken off, made him freeze.

"You figured it out," a deep voice said behind him. Jack slowly turned. "Took you long enough, Inspector," Joseph Barton boomed, his gun casually aimed at the Inspector's chest. Jack swallowed hard.

"It was quite clever of you," he admitted, "giving yourself a watertight alibi this way. And you both did everything you could to drag my family into it. Oh, and the cigarette case was very smart."

Joseph Barton grinned.

"A double twist you might say," he smiled. "Who would ever believe, I would frame myself for a murder?"

Jack's brows flickered. "True. Even though I don't think you killed your wife. You were in Sydney after all."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Jane sneaking closer, a look of terror on her face. He knew that expression from Phryne. She was plotting something and Jack's heart sped up at the thought that she might do something silly and throw herself onto an armed man three times her size.

"You do know," he said casually, returning his attention to the man in front of him, "that shooting a police officer will get you hanged faster than you can say 'murder'."

"That is where you are wrong, Inspector," Joseph Barton said nonchalantly. "You see, I have no intention of shooting you. Even though I will, if you give me a reason, just so we are clear. But if you behave, I will just make sure that you are unable to talk before I am lying in the sun somewhere on the other side of the world."

"So you are just going to lock me up?" Jack asked, a little louder than was strictly necessary for a conversation. "You do know that I am to marry Phryne tomorrow?"

He dared to glance behind the man's shoulder, reading Jane's face.

"I'm sorry to say, but I really don't care about sentimentalities like that."

Jack breathed a sigh of relief, when his daughter retreated.

"That is a shame," he said. "I was actually looking forward to my wedding."

He was, he realised. Even if it was to be dry cake and boring speeches again, which with Miss Fisher around was unlikely. He wished right now, he could sit beside her, hold her hand under the tablecloth and listen to Uncle Walter making hunting puns. It was a much more pleasant prospect than staring down the barrel of a killer's gun. He forced himself to breath slowly. He would be alright, Jane would go and fetch Phryne and her gun and they would get him out of here, hopefully before Barton and his accomplice lost their cool and did something silly.

A branch cracked somewhere under a pair of teenager's feet. Bartons head flew around and with terror Jack stared at the exposed back of his retreating foster-daughter. A perfect target for a crazy gunman with little to loose. He sensed the start of the movement more than he saw it. But this, he swore himself this very moment, would not happen. With pure desperation flooding every single vein, Jack Robinson threw himself at Barton, before he had time to aim the barrel at another target.

X

Miss Fisher reached the edge of the forest by the time John Robinson caught up to her. His lungs were stinging and he was quite sure that his doctor would have had something to say about this sort of exercise, but something about her told him that the situation was dire and no time to be lost.

"Miss Fisher," he panted, bending over. "Where are you heading?"

Phryne didn't slow down.

"This lodge, where is it?" she called out. John managed to set his legs back in motion. He really was too old for this.

"Down that path," he gasped, "I'll be right behind you."

She sped up and he had to push himself to the limit to keep pace with her. John didn't have enough air in his lungs to talk but even if he had, he hadn't dared ask the question that was written all over his mind. Whether she feared that Jack and Jane were in danger. But then again, why else would she race through the forest like a marathon-runner? A small figure appeared between the bushes, chasing towards them. His heart did a relieved lurch when he spotted who it was, instantly skipping into terror when he saw her expression. She came to a screeching halt in front of her mother, who had stopped to catch her in her arms.

"Jane, where is Jack?"

"The killer's got him, he's got a gun," the girl wailed.

"Where?"

"At some cottage, down there!"

Phryne was running already again, while John was still taking this in. The pain however was gone, the fear for his son making his limbs feel numb, as they flew over the forest ground. He sensed Jane running beside him, while they slowly caught up to her mother. John pushed himself harder. He didn't want to think what would happen if he was too late.

X

The weapon had dropped to the floor unnoticed somewhere in the struggle between the two men. In a complete lack of cliche, it decided not to go off, but instead lay glittering in the moss, while the men above it fought for dominance in the wild entanglement of arms and occasionally legs. Jack had pure adrenaline on his side and was more used to restraining suspects, but then Barton was taller and stronger than him, and slowly the Inspector felt his muscles weaken. He thought of the wedding he would miss if he lost this fight, making a last desperate attempt to overwhelm the killer, when he literally felt his throat tighten. Somewhere in his fuzzy brain, Jack realised that Barton had grabbed his tie, obviously having resolved to strangle rather than shoot him. His fingers let go of the man's arms, desperately grabbing the suffocating piece of clothing, but with a grimace that looked almost like an insane grin, Barton tightened his grip. Jack was running short of breath, as he struggled to stay conscious. He could not die today! Not the day before he was to marry Phryne. He managed to kick the man against the shin, but to no avail. Gasping for air, he dug his nails into the man's wrists, before his head went light, the trees started to turn around him and then the world went black.

X

Phryne had always known that they lived dangerously. Death was on the cards in every single one of their cases. But she hadn't expected it. Not today of all days.

Of course, she had nightmares sometimes, when she would wake and snuggle against Jack's chest, listen to his calming heart beat reassuring her that he was alive.

In her dreams she always screamed, when it happened. In reality she didn't. In fact, when the lodge came into view and Jack's body was lying on the ground with the killer still bent over him, she couldn't have screamed if she'd wanted to. She was sure, her heart stopped. The world stopped. Time. Stopped.