The Castlemaine Murders by Kerry Greenwood Read Free Book Online Page B

getting interesting results from photographing disputed manuscripts through different filters. I’ll ask him to call and bring his plate camera. Now, what more have we to see?’
    The autopsy now required that the body be turned over and every inch scrutinised before any cutting was done. Phryne was uncharacteristically wishing that she belonged to the class who could be sent to make tea. Dr Treasure might have been reading her mind.
    ‘Phryne, could you do me a service? Would you go into the house and ask my wife to tell Mrs Bernstein to make tea for us? Coffee for Professor Ayers and for Jane . . . what can I offer, my dear and most promising colleague?’
    ‘Ginger ale, Miss Phryne, if you please,’ said Jane decisively.
    Phryne went.
    The house was a haven, comfortably if shabbily furnished with things which someone’s relatives hadn’t had room for but couldn’t bear to throw away. Nothing matched but nothing jarred. The parlour contained, reading right to left, a woman playing the piano, a small girl dancing uncertainly, a baby making a spirited attempt to gum a biscuit and a large dog of the labrador persuasion. He was sitting under the highchair, salivating quietly, in the sure and certain knowledge that fairly soon, infant grasp and concentration being what they were, the biscuit would be his. All looked up at Phryne’s entrance.
    ‘No, no, please don’t stop,’ she said quickly. ‘You make a charming picture.’
    ‘You’re Miss Fisher, aren’t you? So nice to meet you again,’ said Mrs Treasure. She was a plump, dark-haired woman in a stylish crepe dress. She had the air of effortless serenity usually only possessed by small dark people wearing saffron robes. ‘Do meet my family,’ she said, beginning to play her simple tune again. ‘I am Anne Treasure, the dancer is my daughter Phoebe and the baby is my son Charles. And the dog is called Huggy Bear. As you might have gathered, I did not name him. Can I help you with anything or are you seeking refuge from the laboratory?’
    ‘They want tea, coffee for Professor Ayers and ginger ale for my daughter Jane, and I wanted to get out of there,’ confessed Phryne.
    ‘Well, if you can take over the piano,’ said Mrs Treasure, ‘I shall give the order. And I think a nice gin and tonic is indicated for us. If it wasn’t for the sustaining power of gin, I would never have survived child rearing. As long as you keep playing, Phoebe will keep dancing,’ she added as Phryne slipped into the seat beside her.
    It might have been a threat or it might have been a promise, but Phryne picked out the notes for the tune, which she recognised after a while as Ravel’s Bolero , and Phoebe kept dancing. The baby duly dropped his biscuit on Huggy Bear, who gave an adroit twist and ‘clop’ of jaws. The biscuit never hit the floor. Charles missed it. Or perhaps he was taking exception to Phryne’s uncertain touch on the keyboard. Just when he was reddening with intent to roar, Mrs Treasure came back.
    ‘Mrs Bernstein will bring the tray,’ she said. ‘I will mix us a drink, so essential on such a warm day. I’m not going to ask about Mark’s work—I never do. You may stop playing now, Miss Fisher, thank you. Phoebe, go with Miss Fraser, now, it’s time for your nap.’
    A large competent woman in a navy wrapper had appeared at the door. She bore the struggling baby off in mid roar. Phoebe followed, still dancing. Huggy Bear fell in behind. There might, he felt, be more biscuits.
    ‘I like your house,’ said Phryne, sipping. The crowded bookshelves held no skulls and there were no anatomical diagrams on the walls, which was an improvement on Dr Treasure’s ideas of domestic design.
    Mrs Treasure laughed pleasantly. She had a rich, cultured voice.
    ‘My dear, the furniture is all castoffs. No point in having good furniture if you have children. One would be forever telling them not to bounce on the couch. Too fatiguing for me and too irritating for them.