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Her best friend had gathered all her best memories and put them on display so she could still enjoy them. Thinking nothing in particular she gazed around the room, eyes moving like butterflies alighting on one thing and then another. They returned several times to the right hand corner of the room and eventually settled on the blue suitcase. Her thoughts fluttered around it taking time to become cohesive.

 

She smiled remembering the last time she and Pat went 'opping,' just after Pat had come back from a few days in Tasmania. Pat wanted a new outfit.

 

'Nothing too fancy,' she said, 'just comfortable to wear and this season's for a change.'

 

We laughed because our idea of getting a new outfit was to rummage the clothes as they came into the op shop where we volunteered. To pass the time, as we unpacked, washed, ironed, mended, and decided on a price for each garment, we'd make up stories about the clothes, where they had come from, who had owned them, and why they ended up at the op-shop. We enjoyed the work and it filled empty days.

 

'Oh my,' said Pat, 'would you look at this.' She held up a beautiful multi-coloured knitted jacket. It was gorgeous. She quickly checked the manufacturer's label and pockets. It drew me forward as if it had reached out and attached a magnet. I dropped the old coat I held. It looked very familiar.

 

'It's a Jenny Keo,' she said excitedly. Pat was fashion conscious and knew about things like designer labels which had increased sales enormously and Marg Bird, who was in charge of the op-shop volunteers, was very happy. It meant she was sure to get on the church committee at next month's election.

 

Pat hands it to me. There's a faint trace of perfume - Paris - I hold it up to my nose and inhale deeply - tears threaten. Pat pats me on the arm awkwardly then dives back into the case and pulls out another item shaking it out and holding it at arm's length.

 

'MMMmmm, lovely,' she says. It's a pair of black jeans, narrow leg. The owner must have had long legs, I think, like my Wendy. I turn away as my tears spill and pick up the coat I had dropped. It was a nice old coat, well worn and had that favourite feel about it. Automatically I check the pockets. My hand comes away with several scrunched up Werthers Originals wrappers and several squashed jelly beans.

 

'Look,' I say, 'Grandad out with the grandkids on a visit to the zoo?' In the other pocket there are some tickets, folded neatly. Pat grabs them, 'Oh, you're good,' she says, 'they're from Werribee Zoo.' She peers at the writing.

 

'For goodness' sake Pat,' I say irritably, putting on my glasses, 'it's time you wore your glasses. Your eyes are going to get worse; it's a fact of life at our age.' Pat sniffs and hands me the tickets. The date says June 2002.

 

'I wonder why the pockets haven't been emptied.'

 

'He probably ran away with the Merry Widow down the road,' quips Pat. We both giggle and carry on. Another hour and it's time for a cuppa. It's Marg's turn to bring a nibble so it's her usual - stale scones and jam.

 

'So, what little things have you concluded today, ladies?' She's very condescending about our sleuthing skills, especially since Rosemary and Thyme has become her favourite TV show. Pat looks at me over the rim of her cup and does one of her slow drawn out winks. I swallow a giggle and get the hiccups. Pat innocently turns to Marg.

 

'Well, the coat was owned by an older man who is over six feet tall and likes toffees; Werthers Originals, in fact.' Marg sips her tea in a manner that suggests she's indulging a couple of dementia inmates. Pat gets a glint in her eye.

 

'We believe that he has something to do with the disappearance of several young children...' Marg raises a slight eyebrow, I'm still hiccupping and can't help Pat out of the hole she's digging herself in, '...and, as we have found importance evidence that supports our theory, we are going straight to the police when we finish our shift.' Pat turns to me in triumph and raises her eyebrows at me. I nod my head and manage to confirm 'yes that's right,' in between hiccups that are becoming more painful. Marg's eyebrows form a Neanderthal ridge and she looks down through her nostrils.

 

'Oh no,' she says, 'that won't do at all. Oh no, we can't have the police here going through everything. I forbid it!'

 

'You can't,' says Pat, 'you'll get sent to jail for obstruction of justice if you do.'

 

'Really,' snorts Marg.

 

Knowing that she has won the war Pat lets Marg have her little victory knowing that she will worry about the police coming for the rest of the day. We get back to it. My hiccups settle slightly.

 

The jeans have been hung up alongside the knitted jacket. Together, they look good and I'm sure I've seen them before. I look up in time to see Pat stagger a little, drop what she's holding and place a hand on her chest. I grab a chair and drag it over just in time as her knees give way. She looks as if she's about to faint, so I tell her to put her head between her knees. She collapses forward like a rag doll but just as I'm about to call out for help she grabs the front of my blouse and croaks; 'I'm ok.' I just had a bit of a fright, that's all.' It was plainly untrue and I open my mouth to call Marg. Pat covers it with a hand, her eyes are wide, almost starting out of her head. She shakes her head wildly so I sit back on my heels bewildered. Marg comes bustling in with an armful of bulging plastic bags.

 

'What's going on here? Is everything alright?'

 

'Pat's feeling a bit faint. She'll be right in a bit.' Pat nods and squeaks, 'a bit of indigestion. I reckon it's the scones,' Marg sniffs; turns on her heel and walks off without another word.

 

'You're obviously feeling better,'

 

Pat nods. There are blots of red in her cheeks now. She grabs my arm and says earnestly, 'you know how you thought there was always something strange about Wendy going off like that without a word to anyone?' I nod wondering what's got into her.

 

'Promise you won't faint or scream or do anything stupid?'

 

'Pat, what is wrong with you? Wendy...its cruel...you know how I feel-'

 

'Promise me!' she digs her nails into my arm and draws blood so I promise, worried that she's losing it again. She gets up from the chair and retrieves something from the floor.

 

'What is it?'

 

She thrusts a boot in front of my face. I scream. I can't help it. Pat glares at me, 'you promised!'

 

Marg bustles in, 'what is wrong with you two today?'

 

'A rat just ran across my foot.' she says.

 

'A rat! Impossible!'

 

'Yes it was!' Pat raises her voice and even I wince. 'You have to do something about it!'

 

'Now, now,' Marg back tracks, 'I'll ring Jack and ask him to set some traps.' She disappears like the back end of a bus.

 

'You've got to keep quiet!' Pat hisses the minute she's out of sight.

 

'It's Wendy's,' I hiss back, 'I know it is. How did it get here?'

 

Pat paces up and down chewing on a fingernail. She turns to me, 'there's something else. You better sit down.' She puts her hand inside a plastic bag and uses it to pick up another object. It's the other boot, the heel is hanging and there is a stain. I look at Pat horrified.

 

'It looks suspicious doesn't it?'

 

She returns to the case and pulls out something else. I recognise Wendy's favourite hat instantly. It was the first thing she'd bought when she finished university and wore it winter and summer. Tears cascade down my cheeks and there's a pain in my chest. Pat, with both hands in plastic bags, kneels on the floor and checks the rest of the contents in the case - sexy lingerie, several bikinis, shorts, t-shirts and a cocktail dress. It looked like a holiday case and most of it was new. At the bottom of the case was a pair of red stilettos that matched the dress. Pat sits backs on her thighs.

 

'Weren't they going to go to Queensland for a few days?'

 

She's as intimately acquainted with my family as I am. I have already made the leap but wait for her to get there. Her hair rearranges itself as she turns to look at me. I notice it because I have always wanted to have long silky hair like hers.

 

'You don't think-'

 

'NO!'

 

I can't go there - not yet. My hanky is soaked so Pat gets up and hands me some tissues. She crams Wendy's things back into the case, zips the lid shut and pushes it up against the wall behind the mound of bags we still have to sort. I feel disturbed by her insensitivity with Wendy's things. Tension clouds the air. It seems as if we're moving through a glutinous fog that controls our limbs instead of our minds. I keep seeing images of Wendy in everything.

 

After lunch we discover the old black coat was missing, Marg is at it again. We decide to move the blue case so, as soon as Marg goes to the toilet, Pat grabs my keys, the case and races out the front door of the shop, and around the back to where I park my car. She's back, out of breath, just as the toilet flushes. Marg doesn't notice the sweat on Pat's brow as she passes by.

 

'That was close,' I say. Pat nods eyes bright with excitement. We get through the rest of the day. Just as we're leaving Marg blocks our way.

 

'What have you done with that knitted jacket that was hanging up at morning tea?'

 

'It's in with the mending,' I reply.

 

'Oh, alright then,' says Marg.

 

At home I put on the kettle and find some aspirin to take for my headache which is starting to pound. Pat picks up the phone.

 

'Can we have a cuppa first...?' She nods. My stomach is churning and I feel nauseous.

 

'I don't think I can do this Pat.'

 

'You've got to.'

 

I shake my head and find myself sobbing. 'The last time I saw that outfit was when she and John called in on their way to lunch the day before she disappeared.'

 

'Where'd you get that?' The deep voice cuts through my grief. We both look up. He is suave, professional and dressed for success in Armani and looking at the suitcase occupying the centre of the dining room. The sunny day has turned dark and it feels like a storm is about to break. My bright optimistic kitchen has fled and left in its wake a vacuum that says things will never be quite that bright and breezy ever again. He enters the room and repeats his question.

 

'Oh it came in today...I'm going on holiday...need a new case,' Pat babbles. His eyes narrow and he moves forward with menace. I am finding it hard to breathe.

 

'Really,' he comments silkily, 'you know that's not true.'

 

He towers over her forcing her to shrink away from him. She cowers but I see her hide a smile which catches my attention.

 

'Where-did-you-get-it?' The voice is directed at me, sibilant, each word coldly annunciated. I nod my head and finally find my voice.

 

'Pat's right. It came into the op shop today.'

 

He walks over and opens the case. It's empty. Next to me Pat gasps. I'm still coming to terms with the fact that John is in my kitchen. Wendy's nice, well-mannered, perfect-husband has become someone unrecognisable. I don't notice the rubber gloves in his hands until he turns back to me because things are coming in and out of focus and I am feeling faint. He comes over and bends over me solicitously.

 

'Are you alright? You look a little pale.' The tone is cruel. I feel myself slipping from the stool and don't feel my head as it's slammed against the bench.

 

I look around my room. My heart leaps in my chest as my eyes catch the colour sweeping into the room.

 

'She recognises you,' says the nurse, 'every time you visit her monitor spikes.'

 

'We're good friends,' Pat replies and settles into the easy chair beside the bed and waits until the nurse finishes brushing my hair. Her easy manner follows the nurse out the door.

 

'It's official,' she announces, 'he's been found guilty of manslaughter, about time too.' She gets up and pulls the blue case forward. My heart pounds the table of my ribs fruitlessly. I want to kill her. I know she enjoys these visits, unravelling the threads as if I haven't already worked it out for myself. I can't believe I was such a dupe.

 

'You were always so trusting,' she says reading my mind, 'that's why it had to be you. I needed a way out.'

 

The tea lady arrives, 'hi Pat, would you like a cuppa?' It's such a shame isn't it? It would give anyone a stroke to find out your daughter's been murdered by her husband and not run off with someone as he made out she did.' Pat smiles sympathetically.

 

'It's just as well you are such good friends. It must be a comfort to have you as her power-of-attorney. It's something we should all think about isn't it? I should get one too. If anything happened to my Jim...'

 

'NO, NO!' I'm screaming at deaf ears, 'that's not true. She's forged my signature.' Pat plays out the scene holding the straw to my mouth as I swallow tepid tea. The faƃĀ§ade collapses as the tea lady moves on.

 

'People are so gullible,' she says. 'Do you know he thought I would be satisfied with ten thousand; cheapskate! He was so mad when he found out that you had already put me in charge of your affairs. It won't be long before he finds out that Wendy made me a secondary beneficiary after you, and as you aren't going to be around much longer and I am your sole beneficiary, I'll get everything.'

 

She notices my eyes bulging and the gurgling sound I make as I try to scream my rage and laughs at my index finger clawing at the sheet. She knows how futile my actions are. The door opens and the room becomes crowded with blue uniforms.

 

'Mrs Copperfield?'

 

Pat turns her head. I notice alarm quickly masked by a smile. 'Yes?'

 

'Mrs Patricia Copperfield?'

 

'Yes. Can I help you officer?'

 

'We would like you to come to the station and help us with our enquiries.'

 

It's evening when Linda, the tea lady, returns, pulls up a chair and takes my hand. She looks at me and asks if I'm okay, then blushes.

 

'Sorry,' she says, 'dumb question.' If I could, I'd smile and pat her hand.

 

'You did the right thing in coming to us when you first suspected money was being stolen from your account. We've learned that Pat is really Marian Adams and Patricia Copperfield is just one of the names she uses. She has done this type of fraud before so she's been a person of interest for a while. It appears that she told your son-in-law that Wendy was having an affair and showed him photos. Why he believed her we don't know yet.' She took a deep breath and continued. I didn't want to hear what was coming but I couldn't tell her to be quiet.

 

'He and Wendy had a big fight after he confronted her with the photos. She denied it outright and slapped him. There was some pushing and shoving and she fell and hit her head. He panicked and called Pat when he realised she was dead. They took her to Tasmania and dumped her in a remote bay. Pat has been blackmailing him ever since. Officers are on the way to Tasmania now but we don't expect to recover her body as it's been almost a year. I'm so sorry.'

I accept her sympathy and concern. She stays a little longer before leaving. At the door she pauses, 'I guess I won't see you again...' tears fall and she suddenly rushes to my bedside and gives me an awkward hug, 'I am so sorry.' She leaves without a backward glance.

 

My room seems so much smaller with the ten or so people gathered by my bed. The doctor has his fingers on my wrist and the two nurses that have been caring for me are here. Marg stands at the back of the room with Chris and Dot from the op-shop next to my next door neighbour Liz. Wendy has just arrived. The priest waits patiently. I close my eyes and relax and take a deep breath, I'm almost ready to leave. I look for my husband, Arnie, who smiles and offers me his arm. I laugh; it reminds me of the first time we met. Wendy waits by the door.

 

'Time to go, mum,' she says and smiles. The three of us leave arm in arm.

 

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