Death by Water by Kerry Greenwood Page A

very hard life,’
    said Dot.
    ‘Then the object becomes desperately bored, driven to affairs, and may well provoke the obsessor to extreme action.’
    ‘Suicide?’ gasped Dot, crossing herself.
    ‘Or homicide. Or both. If Mrs West is playing with her husband’s affections, she may well get those pretty pink fingers burned. Just because he adores her doesn’t mean he isn’t the ruthless businessman he’s been all along.’
    ‘There’s a nasty story . . .’ Dot began.
    ‘Do tell,’ encouraged Phryne.
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    ‘Mr West found out that Mrs West was close to a young salesman in Mr West’s office, before they started all this travelling.’
    ‘And he ruined him?’ asked Phryne.
    ‘Yes. The company was told to look at him and they went through his accounts and found that they were wrong and a great deal of money had been paid into his bank account. He said he knew nothing about it, but he went to jail for six months anyway and when he came out he couldn’t get a job and the grog got him. Or so Thomas says.’
    ‘Nasty,’ said Phryne with a slight wince. ‘That doctor and Jack Mason had better look out.’
    ‘I suppose the doctor’s safe because he’s a crewman, and Mr Mason’s safe because he’s already in disgrace,’ commented Dot, picking up her embroidery again.
    ‘Nothing to stop Mr West hiring a couple of brawny stokers to beat the soul case out of him when we get to a port,’ said Phryne. This time Dot winced. ‘But he might even have tried that. Mason is a strong young man who probably studied boxing, and might never have made the connection between a sudden assault and Mrs West. Hmm. I shall see if I can find out.’
    ‘The crew don’t like the musicians,’ said Dot, threading a needle with dark brown thread.
    ‘So I am told.’ Phryne recounted her conversation with Johnson amongst the towels. ‘I need to talk to them, Dot dear, but they always seem to be on stage. Is there any time off for the whole gang of them?’
    ‘Sunday,’ said Dot. ‘On Sunday there are amateur singers in the Smoke Room and just a gentleman playing a piano in the Palm Court. They’ll all have Sunday off. Do you want to, I don’t know, meet them by chance, or do you want to do this openly?’
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    ‘By chance to begin with,’ said Phryne.
    ‘They have a room to themselves, for rehearsing,’ said Dot.
    ‘The crew say they all gather in there to drink and play cards.
    They think that’s not nice. But, of course, it’s the only time they all get off together and no one else likes them. That niece of Mr Cec’s, she might get you in.’
    ‘Lizbet Yates. Yes indeed. I shall angle for an invitation.
    Now, what else? La Paloma isn’t in favour with the female-fancying Mr Forrester because she is a bad mother. She had a child when she was very young, abandoned it with her mother in dire poverty in Naples, and went off to become a diva, leaving Grandma and Baby in straits. And let me tell you, Dot dear, Neapolitan dire poverty is pretty close to extinction.’
    ‘What an awful thing!’
    ‘There might have been reasons,’ said Phryne. ‘She might have hated the father and by extension hated the baby. She might have hated her mother, too. She might even have had reasons for such hatred. Life is perilous for a pretty, talented girl from a background like that. Mothers have sold their daughters for a small fee if the alternative is starvation.’
    ‘Even so,’ said Dot mulishly, biting off a thread with a snap of her white teeth. ‘It’s not right to leave the baby. Mothers shouldn’t do that.’
    Phryne shrugged. ‘I haven’t found out anything else,’ she said. ‘Nothing about the Cahills or the Singers. But Rose in the salon told me that Professor Applegate is a special person for the Maoris.’
    Dot nodded. ‘That’s what they say. A grandmother. A wise woman.’
    ‘She’s even got a tattoo on her forearm