Autumn Maze Read Free Page B

into the still-warm day some dark clouds were boiling in from the south-east; a few fat drops of rain caught the sun as they fell, turning the air into a thin gold mesh. A van came down the street and turned into the morgue’s loading dock: another delivery, another death. Two women stood talking at the gate of a house on the opposite side of the road, but neither of them gave the van a glance.
    Malone said, “It’s none of my business, but have you and Romy had a row?”
    â€œNot exactly,” said Clements. “It was just—well, she told me this morning she’s ready for marriage.”
    â€œShe proposed to you? Amongst the stiffs?”
    â€œWell, no, not exactly. We weren’t in where they keep the bodies. We were in the murder room, but it was empty.”
    â€œWhat did you tell her?”
    â€œNothing so far. I was still digesting it when you walked in.”
    â€œThat’s why you looked like a stunned mullet. It’s about time you made up your mind, son. You’ve been going with her, what, two years now? You’re never going to get anyone as good as her.”
    â€œIt was just a bit sudden.”
    â€œSudden? Two bloody years, you’re up to your eyeballs in love with her and it’s sudden when she tells you she’d like to get married? How long are you going to wait? Till the two of you are laid out side by side on trolleys back in there?” He nodded over his shoulder.
    â€œYou’re starting to sound like a real bloody matchmaker.”
    â€œ Wait till I tell Lisa, then you’ll find out what a real bloody matchmaker is. Righto, where do we go from here? You dragged me away from a day with Tom, I hope you’ve got something organized?”
    â€œAll right, don’t get snarly just because I don’t wanna be hasty about getting married. You got your car? I caught a cab up here, a Wog who wanted to take me via Parramatta till I showed him my badge. Then he said the ride was on him.” He grinned; sometimes he relished his prejudices. “I think we should go down and have a look at the scene of the crime.”
    â€œWhich scene?”
    â€œThe one down at The Wharf. You’d rather go there than out to Canterbury, wouldn’t you?”
    â€œThe Wharf? You mean this bloke Sweden, the son, had an apartment there?”
    â€œNo, it’s his father’s and his stepmother’s. She’s one of the Bruna sisters.”
    â€œYou’re ahead of me.” Malone led the way towards the family car, the nine-year-old Holden Commodore. Lisa and the children were pressing him to buy a new one, but as usual when it came to spending money, especially large sums, he said he couldn’t find his cheque-book. “Who’re the Bruna sisters?”
    Clements was a grab-bag of trivial information. “Don’t you ever read Women’s Weekly ? The Bruna sisters are our equivalent of the Gabor sisters, Zsa Zsa, Eva and the other one—”
    â€œYou mean you don’t know the other one’s name? It’s Charlene.” Malone was heading the Commodore downtown.
    â€œThese three sisters came originally from Roumania, I think it was, when they were kids. They all married money. Several times, with each sister. They’re good-lookers, they’re rich and if any of them are there at the apartments, I don’t think they’ll give you and me the time of day.”
    â€œHow are you so well informed on them? Do you have a gig on the Women’s Weekly ?” Malone had his own gigs, informers, but none on a women’s magazine.
    â€œI started taking an interest in them when I found out who they were married to. There’s this one whose place we’re going to, she’s married to our Minister—he’s her second or third husband, I forget which. Then there’s one married to Cormac Casement—his money’s so old it’s mouldy. She’s his second wife and