Oh Matilda: Who Bloody Killed Her? Chapter 23

And then there were five people left alive on the island: Mother, Maya, McCredden, De Kock and Bradley. Who’s next?

 

This is ‘summer reading’ like nothing you’ve read before: a diverse field of writers collaborating on a novel that will captivate you through summer.

Each author had just three days to write their chapter, with complete freedom over story and style; it’s fast, fun and very funny.

Start from the very beginning with Chapter 1 or go to ohmatilda.com.au

Today bestselling author Meg Keneally takes over the action with Chapter 24.

By Meg Keneally

McCredden was the only one who had bothered to look over the cliff. Kev lay on the rocks, his hips making an angle to his shoulders which should not have been possible. Trickles of blood inched towards the water as the scattered brown boobies began to return, landing around the body.

He had lain on his stomach to peer over the edge, in case Mother was still in a shovey mood.

But Mother had other concerns.

“You must rest now, my darling,” he had heard her cooing to Bradley. “We cannot have your genius stifled by this upset.”

McCredden waited for a full half-hour after they left to get up, in case Mother decided to return and avail herself of a two-for-one deal. What was Mother’s real name? Martha? Mary? He’d been told, but he’d always been hopeless at names unless they were attached to producers, directors or actors more famous than him.

He started to hear the music halfway down the hill. An instrumental version of an old show tune, ending in a flurry of strings and then starting again.

He had once known the lyrics. But they had long ago gone to the locked room in his mind, floating onto a pile of half-forgotten loves and unwritten letters and the location of his car keys.

De Kock must have been watching for him, and beetled up when McCredden reached the outskirts of the resort.

“My camera! It’s gone!” De Kock wailed.

Jesus wept, thought McCredden. “I’ll lend you my phone if you want to take bird photos,” he said. But shouldn’t you be focusing on other things? The killer is running out of victims, so our prospects of survival are not looking flash. And Engelbrecht’s yacht is just floating in the lagoon. We need to go. Now, while the weather holds. I don’t think we’ll survive another storm.”

De Kock nodded. “But not without my camera. It has more than bird photos on it. It has leverage. I will not be leaving without it, and I’m the only one with the yacht keys.”

Leverage was never to be sniffed at, particularly when it came with the keys to a yacht.

“We’d better find it then,” McCredden said. “We’ll do what I always do when I’ve forgotten the address of a party. We’ll follow the music.”

McCredden could remember when pools were either round or rectangular. When a pool like this one, with its curving sides and a small bridge over its narrowest point, would have been the height of sophistication.

Especially when a legendary actress was lounging beside the nearby jacuzzi in one of her artfully draped Camilla caftans.

She had run an extension cord from the palm-thatched pool bar, so she could plug in an 80s-style boom box. Depressing, McCredden thought, that the era of his prime was so long ago that they were now making retro homages.

The violins swelled on the song’s finale and went silent, before starting up again on the opening bars.

Maya didn’t seem to notice the music. She was too busy going through images on De Kock’s camera.

“Ah, De Kock,” she said, without looking up. “Those photos you took of dear Frank and Engelbrecht. Receiving, shall we say, a shipment. I wonder what you intend to do with them?”

“What? Nothing! Insurance, that’s all. Now give it back,” De Kock yelled.

“Of course, sweetheart,” said Maya. “Fetch.”

The camera splashed into the jacuzzi. De Kock plunged in after it.

“Oh, and fetch this too,” Maya said.

Maya extended a freshly waxed leg and kicked the boom box into the water.

The music stopped instantly, replaced with a bang as sparks jumped from the extension cord. In the jacuzzi De Kock spasmed violently. One of his arms, animated by electricity, hit the tiles so hard that McCredden heard a crack of bone. If it hurt, it wouldn’t have been for long. Within less than a minute, De Kock stopped jerking and lay still, face down in the water.

“Surprised he didn’t see that coming, a man of his talents,” Maya said.

McCredden gaped at the body, and felt a sudden flare of guilt at his next thought.

At least that bloody music has stopped.

He didn’t realise he had said it aloud until Maya chuckled.

“You don’t think I enjoyed hearing that? No, it’s a summoning. We’re approaching the grand finale, you see. So kind of you to participate.”

McCredden swallowed. He’d said it himself – the killer was running out of victims.

His best hope was to play for time. And with Maya, there was only one way to do that.

“I must say, you’ve been extraordinarily clever,” he said. “There is such artistry in all of this.”

“Thank you! Bradley wanted to make us all think we were shooting a drama, while he was secretly filming the off-screen drama. A little boring, no? I will not star in a reality TV show which rates behind I’m a Celebrity. The only thing worse would be appearing on I’m a Celebrity.”

Maya shuddered, and McCredden thought it best not to mention he was considering an offer.

“So you decided to …”

“Well, everyone loves a classy murder mystery. Now, speaking of classy murders …”

She began to undulate towards him, smiling, and he saw a flash of metal, mostly hidden in the folds of her kaftan.

“I’m – I’m honoured you find me finale-worthy,” he stammered, slowly backing away.

“Oh, I don’t. It was going to be Matilda. But then she overheard someone on the plane here talking about our little side business – we’re very well located, you know, for smuggling all kinds of things to the mainland – and she couldn’t keep her lush little mouth shut.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for the director?” he said.

“Bradley’s a hack,” said Maya. “Rose to fame on a bit of shock value. No, the cut we need is not the director’s.”

“A hack?” said a voice from the little bridge over the pool.

Bradley stood there, glaring at Maya.

Maya began to move towards him with her drawl of a walk.

“Oh, you know how we go on,” she said. “I didn’t mean a word. We just let off steam sometimes.”

Bradley reached into his pocket and pulled out a large key ring, several flash drives dangling from it.

“These contain some of the best scenes we’ve shot,” he said. “Including ones featuring you. No copies. There’s another storm coming. If I threw these into the ocean, we’d be lucky to find them washed up in Fiji.”

“But you’re not going to do that,” Maya said.

She had reached him now, put her hand out and laid it on his chest.

“You’re so tense. Let me give you a little shoulder massage.”

As Maya moved behind Bradley, McCredden saw the glint again.

“Bradley,” he called. “Watch out! She has a –”

The blade flashed up, Maya’s hand drawing it across Bradley’s throat in one practised, efficient motion.

As he fell, gurgling, onto the bridge, Maya bent down and picked up the flash drives.

“Do you know,” she said to McCredden, “I don’t think I will kill you.”

“Ah … thanks.”

“I won’t need to. Not when my old West Side Story understudy finds out what you’ve done to her boy.”

“But I didn’t –”

“She won’t believe you,” said Maya. “Ah, and it appears my summoning has worked!”

McCredden turned. Mother’s eyes were fixed on Maya as she approached. She had not seen Bradley yet, but it was a matter of seconds.

“Sweetheart!” Maya called. “I’m afraid I have some unfortunate news.”

The door in McCredden’s mind slammed open. The song lyrics flew out, together with Mother’s real name, scattering the date of his next prostate appointment and the phone number of his agent-before-last as they went.

Maria! I’ve just met a girl named Maria.

Our next and penultimate chapter is by Nikki Gemmell, published on February 20 – and on February 27 we’ll bring you the final thrilling instalment by Booker Prize winning author and living treasure Tom Keneally. To catch up on the story, start here with Chapter 1 or go to ohmatilda.com.au

Meg Keneally is the author of Fled and The Wreck, and co-author with her father, Tom Keneally, of The Monsarrat Series of historical mysteries. She is co-editor with Leah Kaminsky of Animals Make Us Human.