The Green Mill Murder Read Online Free PDF Page A

parlour in her dressing gown, eating Hillier’s chocolates and discussing murder without turning a hair, Dot would have laughed and told the speaker to get off the grog. She shut the chocolate box firmly and accepted a glass of lemonade from Mr Butler, who was offering Miss Fisher one of his special cocktails in a sugar-frosted glass.
    Phryne took the drink and sipped with fitting concentration.
    ‘A work of art, Mr B, as usual,’ she commented. ‘Sure you won’t have one, Dot?’
    Dot shuddered. She was willing to accept a glass of sherry, a whisky toddy when she had a cold, and an occasional cooling shandy, but could not fathom her mistress’s interest in what Dot’s teetotal mother would call Strong Drink. Phryne sipped again. Kirsch, yes, and a dark fruity taste; what was it? She gave it up. Every craft has its mysteries.
    ‘Yes, stabbed in the heart with a sharp, thin blade. Very clever, Dot, because there was so little bleeding, and . . .’
    ‘Were there Italians there, Miss?’
    Phryne lost her train of thought. Something was nibbling at the edge of her mind and slid away again, like a flash of goldfish in a pond. ‘Damn, it’s gone. Something was different about him, Dot, and I can’t remember what it was. Italians? Why?’
    ‘They use thin knives, Miss. There’s one in this novel I’m reading. Stilettos, they’re called.’
    Dot displayed the cover of Murder in Milan.
    ‘You do have the most sanguinary tastes, Dot. No, no Italians. Signor Antonio is no more Italian than I am. Lost his accent directly he became upset. I suppose Charles might have done it, but I just can’t see that he has hidden depths. However, the band might have seen something.’
    ‘A jazz band, Miss?’
    ‘Yes, Tintagel Stone and the Jazz Makers, and let me say that Tintagel is the prettiest man I’ve seen in weeks. The band are good, too; well, they have to be, to play the Green Mill. And the dance marathon is finished, Dot. Poor things, the winning couple danced for nearly forty-eight hours to win their baby Austin car, bless them. Though they will need Miss Iris Jordan’s services if they are ever to walk again.’
    ‘Miss Jordan? She’s that physical culture lady,’ said Dot, putting her empty lemonade glass back on the tray. ‘You know, Miss, she has ads in the papers for massage and things. Mrs Freeman’s maid told me that they’ve done Mrs Freeman a lot of good. Sitz baths, you know. She isn’t well.’
    ‘She enjoys bad health, Dot. The woman hasn’t been well since 1915, and she’s as strong as a horse. Well, well, that’s a connection. Miss Jordan didn’t mention that she knew Charles.’
    ‘Perhaps she doesn’t, Miss, if she only sees his mother.’
    ‘Perhaps. Well, I’m going to have a bath and then I’m going to bed. Are you staying up, Dot?’
    ‘No, Miss, I was waiting for you. What was different about the dead man, Miss?’
    ‘If I could remember that,’ said Phryne, trailing her maid up the stairs, ‘I wouldn’t have this uncomfortable feeling that there was something terribly important that I have missed.’

CHAPTER THREE
     
HELEN: Candles gutter awfully quickly when they are burnt at both ends.
NICKY: Meaning that I look like a debauched wreck of my former self?
HELEN: Exactly.

    Noel Coward
The Vortex
    The dead man smiled and brought a hand from behind his back. He held a bunch of flowers, which he offered to Phryne. They were red roses, buds and full blooms, and the scent was stunning. She moved closer, then saw with disgust that in the centre of one was a snail, a black and shiny snail which moved as she watched, slithering into the heart of the rose. Phryne recoiled, and the dead man thrust the flowers at her face. She screamed and woke up.
    ‘Ooh, gosh, ghasdy! My subconscious has a really unpleasant imagination!’ She threw back the green sheets and leapt out of bed, dragging back the curtains so that the cool, pale light of early morning washed over her. ‘Thank goodness