Murder with the Lot by Sue Williams

screen flickered Jerry Springer.
    â€˜Nooo,’ Taylah’s voice was low and breathy. ‘I don’t believe it.’ Some moist clicking while she worked her Spearmint Extra.
    â€˜Taylah?’ I said.
    She held up a hand. The phone system shrieked as a call came in. ‘Hold a tick, Moisy.’ Taylah pressed a button. ‘Hello, Garden of the Gods Extended Care, can you hold a moment?’
    She looked at me. ‘Can you believe it, Cass? Everyone’s going. Almost everyone. To Muddy Soak. To the inaugural Muddy Soak Christmas Fringe Festival.’
    Muddy Soak is a swish type of place despite the name, casually bestowed by an explorer, who may not have fully grasped the marketing potential to be squeezed from a town’s name. It used to have an Aboriginal name but no one remembers it.
    Two hours south, it’s a place unfairly endowed with the world’s largest mallee stump and permanent above-ground water. The water, Brad tells me, is visited by an unusual number of rare migratory birds. Birds that are followed by people keen on watching them and keen on comfort food when they’ve finished watching for the day. Exactly the type of person we could do with attracting to Rusty Bore. And now they have a bloody Christmas fringe festival as well.
    â€˜Terrific,’ I said. ‘What’s a Christmas fringe festival?’ A CWA event, a charming share-fest of home-crafted fringes?
    â€˜Plays,’ she said. ‘Installations, street theatre, performance art. All that. You want Moisy to get you tickets? You should go. You being such an old acting buff and everything.’
    â€˜I watch the midday movie, Taylah. I wouldn’t call myself an acting buff.’ Although…Muddy Soak. Maybe it was worth a thought. I might run into that nice fella from the blindfold speed dating. Although, really, I had Buckley’s of finding him since I didn’t know his name or even what he looked like.
    â€˜You could like take Mr Jefferson,’ said Taylah. ‘He’d love it. It’s being hosted by that drama group, you know the one. The one where the fella handcuffed himself to the rail. You know. That grain train smash. Fella in the fabulous dress, um, Pearson. No.’
    â€˜I’m just after a paperclip, Taylah.’
    â€˜Not Pearson. Phillips. No, that’s not it either.’ She ferreted around her desk, then held out a handful of paperclips. ‘Pittering. That’s it. Someone Pittering.’
    Paperclips in a frozen hand, I stood, gaping. ‘Oh?’
    But the phone was going off. Taylah waved me away.
    I headed back to Ernie’s room. He was staring at the movie, briefcase open in his lap.
    â€˜Got her unlocked, no thanks to you,’ he held up a piece of wire. ‘Pulled it out the back of the TV. Lot of irrelevant wires in there. Now shut up and shoosh.’
    The TV was still working and Ernie didn’t appear to be electrocuted, although after the last time I wasn’t sure I’d be able to tell. He held onto the case and said he wouldn’t let me take it until the movie finished. I fidgeted and worried about Pittering and his son, grain trains, men in dresses and their connection, if any, to Mona’s death.
    Ernie tsked. ‘Will you flamin’ well concentrate.’
    It’s times like these I realise I’m too good to Ernie. But he looked out for me when I was young. Looked after me and Helen after Mum died. He helped me set up the shop as well. Even made sure Piero stuck by me through my pregnancy with Dean. There were a lot of extraneous women interested in Piero, not to mention his fertility. I huffed a bit to myself and tried my best to sit still.
    As the credits rolled, Ernie finally relented. ‘Here you go.’ He smirked as he handed it over. I grabbed it and looked inside. Nothing. What? It couldn’t be empty; I scrabbled through the pockets. Nothing.
    â€˜I think you’d better tell me