Free Flying Too High by Kerry Greenwood Page A

German exhibition.’
    Amelia put into Phryne’s hand one of the most beautiful pieces of jewellery she had ever seen. It was a mermaid in enamel, seated on a baroque pearl. Her delicately modelled body was of ivory; her hair was malachite, and tiny emeralds sparkled as her eyes. Bronze threads shone in her seaweed-green hair.
    ‘Isn’t she pretty? Even Father appreciated her. Is there any money?’
    ‘Yes, here’s two thou in notes, that should be enough to spring Bill and pay the wages until the estate is settled. Hang on while I just have a bit of a look through these papers.’
    The document case contained several reports from the ‘Discretion Private Investigations Agency’ which listed Mrs McNaughton’s movements through a whole week. They concluded that there was nothing suspicious in her actions. Did Mr McNaughton know about Gerald? Phryne wondered. Amelia pinned the mermaid brooch to the bosom of her drab dress and contemplated herself artlessly in the mirror which covered one whole wall of the room. It was all lights and surfaces and Phryne felt it to be intensely uncomfortable. The agency reported that Paolo Raguzzi was known to be sleeping with two of his models, and included names and dates. As a strategy designed to detach Amelia, it had not been any more successful than it deserved. Phryne leafed through several bank statements and cheque books and a pile of share certificates. The deeds to the house were there, as was the will.
    She glanced through it. The bulk of the estate went to the wife, as long as she should not remarry. Ten thousand pounds was left to ‘my daughter, Amelia, as long as she shall not marry’. The old bastard, thought Phryne, trying to hang on to his control of his family even after he was dead.
    A firm of solicitors were the executors. The estate seemed to be worth about fifty thousand. This did not include the house which was freehold. Phryne reflected that Mrs McNaughton could live very comfortably on the interest.
    ‘Here’s the will, do you know what’s in it?’
    ‘Oh, yes. He’s left me some money provided I don’t marry. But he can’t stop me from having Granny’s money. It was left to me but he took it and invested it and wouldn’t give me an allowance. The papers should be there…yes.’ She plucked an old parchment and probate out of the pile. “To my grand-daughter Amelia the sum of five thousand pounds”. That will keep me for life. I don’t want any of my father’s money.’
    Fine words, thought Phryne. I wonder if Paolo thinks the same.
    ‘Did you tell Paolo about the will?’
    ‘Oh, yes,’ said Amelia indifferently. ‘He just said that he would expect such a thing from Father. Well, if that is all, Phryne, your taxi should be waiting, and I’ll put all this stuff back in the safe. I will see you tomorrow?’
    ‘Yes, I shall be there. Take heart, my dear. I shall get your brother out of prison.’
    ‘Thanks,’ murmured Amelia. Phryne took her leave and ordered the taxi to take her to Carlton.
    At the door of a rather dingy office building she asked her cab to wait and leapt up the stairs, taking the route indicated by the brass plate ‘Henderson, Jones, and Mayhew’. Luckily, the light was still on, although the secretary had gone home.
    ‘Hello, Jilly, old bean, are you home?’
    ‘Certainly, come through, Phryne. What brings you to this haunt of probate and miscellaneous offences?’
    Jillian Henderson was a short, stout woman of about forty, who had taken her father’s place in his firm. She was still a junior partner and prone to collect more than her share of divorces and family problems. None the less she had built up a flourishing little practice in crime and was always on the lookout for a murder, where she thought she would make her reputation.
    ‘Got a murder for you, Jilly, and you’ll have to apply for bail for him tomorrow morning, can you manage?’
    ‘Oh, Phryne, how super! A murder of my very own. What’s his