Authors: Vicki Tyley
Jemma
hesitated, the thought that she had inadvertently strayed into an upmarket
gentlemen’s club flashing through her mind. The clatter of approaching heels on
the polished floor distracted her. She turned to see Fen sweep through the
doorway, her lipstick the same bright color as her fuchsia-pink halterneck
dress.
“Fen, darling,”
said the woman, greeting her with an air-kiss, “how lovely to see you again.”
“You, too,
Natalie. I see you’ve met Jemma.”
“Just in the
process. Pleased to meet you, Jemma,” their hostess said, extending a manicured
hand in her direction. “Natalie Goldring.”
Natalie’s hand
felt limp, the fingers tensing when Fen announced Jemma was Tanya’s sister.
Gushed condolences quickly followed.
Five minutes
later Jemma found herself seated with Fen at a mosaic-topped table in the shade
of a huge leafy pergola, menu in hand. A faint citronella scent laced the warm
air. More tropical rainforest than beer garden, the terracotta-paved outdoor
enclosure was clearly more popular than the inside lounge, with all but one of
the tables she could see taken. The centerpiece, a two-meter high water feature
of what appeared to be stainless steel pipe offcuts piled atop black granite,
acted as both sculpture and humidifier.
A shaven-headed
waiter at the next table acknowledged Fen with a wink and continued to clear
plates. “Hi Fen,” said another waiter waltzing past.
“I take it you
and Tanya were regulars here,” Jemma said.
Fen nodded. “It
was one of your sister’s favorite haunts. Her little piece of calm, as she used
to say.” She shrugged. “You wanted insight…”
“And I do, so
thank you,” Jemma said. “Did Tanya come here often with Sean?” Concealed from
the street and the outside world, Eighteen’s garden made the perfect lovers’
retreat. Especially if the main light source at night came from the tall
metal-latticed lanterns dotted in amongst the lush greenery.
“Never, as far
as I know. I don’t think he even knew this place existed.”
“Another man
then?”
“You’re not
going to let it go, are you?”
“Do you think I
should?”
Fen’s fuchsia
lips pursed.
“Do you?” Jemma
prompted.
“Yes, but if
you’re anything like your sister, I know you won’t.”
Jemma leaned in,
lowering her voice. “If you know something, some reason why I shouldn’t pursue
it, tell me now. Please, Fen.”
“I honestly
don’t know anything. I wish I did.” Fen tucked a strand of dark hair behind her
ear. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you tackle this mission or
investigation – or whatever you want to call it – of yours on your own.”
“You’re
offering to help?”
“Against my
better judgment,” Fen said, tipping back in her seat.
The
shaven-headed waiter who had given Fen the eye earlier arrived at the table
armed with two champagne flutes, a silver ice bucket and a gold-foiled bottle
of wine. Jemma frowned as he proceeded to pop the cork and pour two glasses. He
immersed the bottle neck-deep in the ice bucket and walked away. All without
exchanging a word.
“Deutz, Tanya’s
favorite tipple.” Fen raised her glass.
Jemma’s mind
spun. Toasting her dead sister’s memory with bubbly didn’t feel right. She took
a tentative sip, the yeasty bubbles teasing the tip of her tongue, before realizing
she had it all wrong. It wasn’t Tanya’s death they were celebrating, it was her
life. Fen met her gaze, her almond eyes etched with sadness. Neither spoke.
Fen broke the
silence, her voice higher pitched than normal. “We should order,” she said,
before burying her face in the menu.
Biting down
hard on her lip, Jemma did the same. Meaningless characters swam before her
eyes. Why was it that whenever she finally thought she was past the worst of
her grief, something would happen to send her hurtling back to square one? Would
it ever get easier? She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, opening them
again when she sensed someone standing at the table.
She ended up
ordering the same as Fen: spicy vegetarian samosas with raita and salad greens.
Not that she had the appetite for it.
Drinking more
than they talked, they finished the bottle of bubbly before lunch arrived.
Fen’s eyes were glazed, her cheeks flushed, but at least her voice had lost its
stiffness. And though Jemma wasn’t about to trust her legs, she had a tighter rein
on her emotions. She hoped.
Fen cocked a
finger at the empty bottle, one eyebrow arched. Jemma shook her head. Any more
to drink and she might let those reins go. She had the rest of the day to get
through first.
“Are you and
the electrician guy – what’s his name – still together?” Fen asked. “I don’t
recall seeing him at the funeral?”
“No, Ross and I
had a parting of the ways. Nothing ugly – we’re still mates. I just think we
outgrew each other, wanted different things from life.”
“Does Ash know
you’re single again?”
“I haven’t told
him, if that’s what you mean.”
“Well, don’t.
He’ll think all his Christmases have come at once. You’ll never get rid of
him.” Fen swiveled in her seat, her empty glass held aloft. “Where are they
when you need them?”
“But it’s not that
sort of relationship.”
“No, but if he
thinks you’re available, that might well change. Unless of course, you want to
encourage him.”
Jemma shook her
head. “Don’t get me wrong, I like him a lot, but not in that way. He’s not
really my type.”
“Oh my God,”
Fen said, no longer fixated with attracting the attention of a waiter, “talk
about déjà vu, that’s how Tanya felt about him. Poor Ash, he can’t win. So what
is your
type
then?”
“Good question.
I only wish I had an answer. Maybe type is the wrong word. How do you explain
the attraction to one man over another? Instinctual?”
“Yes well, it
has to be something as abstract as that. Look at your sister. What in God’s
name drew her to Sean? Or rather, what kept her there?”
Jemma let the
question slide. No one could explain the inexplicable bond between her vibrant
sister and the narcissistic womanizer she had planned to marry. “How about you?
Any significant other in your life?”
“Not at the
moment. I’m still waiting for Mr Right to make an appearance.” She made a show
of scanning her surrounds. “You haven’t happened to see him by any chance?”
“What about
Ash?” Jemma asked, only half tongue in cheek.
Fen studied
Jemma’s face, the corner of her mouth lifting in a slow grin. “Good looking?
Sense of humor? Caring? Rich daddy?” She flapped her hand. “Nah. Even if I
thought he was the one, he’s not interested in me. I’m not
his
type. I
know, hard to believe.” Chortling, she raised her empty glass. “Here’s to
singledom.”
The aromatic
samosas when they arrived were served on white, rectangular platters, a bowl of
raita at one end, crisp rocket and other leaves Jemma didn’t recognize stacked
at the other. She hadn’t realized until then how hungry she was.
“Can I get you
ladies something to drink?” asked the waiter, lifting the empty bottle from the
melting ice.
Fen looked at
Jemma.
She held up her
hand. “Not for me, thanks. I have to go out later.”
“Ooh… with a
man? You’ll have to tell me more.” Fen turned to the waiter, glancing across
the table at Jemma for confirmation. “Make it just one glass of bubbly and a
couple of bottles of Perrier, please Hans,” she said, her fingertips brushing
his forearm.
“Who don’t you
know?”
Fen gave her a
lopsided grin. “I don’t know who your date is with tonight. You’re blushing.”
Jemma flushed
on cue, the heat rising up her neck and into her face. Wine invariably did that
to her, though its effect on the petite Fen was more dramatic. Half a bottle of
sparkling wine had transformed the reticent, straight-faced woman of the day
before into a wisecracking chatterbox. Not that that was a bad thing.
Fen laughed,
drawing glances from a nearby table. “And here I thought you had sworn off men.
Silly me.”
“It’s not a
date. Far from it. You’ve probably met him or at least heard Tanya mention him.
Chris Sykes?”
Fen frowned.
“Detective
Sergeant Christopher Sykes?”
“Nope. More
information, please. Oh, hang on, it’s coming back to me. Wasn’t he one of the
cops investigating Sean’s death?”
Jemma nodded
and picked up her knife and fork. She was ready to eat, even if Fen wasn’t.
“That was fast
work.”
“Sorry?”
“I didn’t realize
you had already talked to the police about your suspicions.” Fen picked up a
samosa in her fingers and dipped it in the raita.
“I haven’t, not
really. Chris and his partner turned up the first night I was here. Then, of
course, I dragged him out of bed in the wee small hours when that guy broke
into the apartment. I—”
“Whoa. Go back.
What’s this about a break-in?”
Jemma recounted
the ordeal of waking to someone entering the apartment, her subsequent SOS call
to Chris, through to being sprung trying to prove she hadn’t imagined the
shadowy intruder.
“Man, you have
been having fun,” Fen said, her half-eaten samosa still clutched in her
fingers. “No wonder you’re on first name terms with this DS Sykes. So what
happens now? Are you going to make an official report?”
“Sorry, did I
forget to mention that I know Chris from when he dated Tanya?”
Fen tilted her
head.
“Before Tanya
moved to Melbourne,” Jemma continued, “when they were still teenagers.”
“She kept quiet
about that.”
“How many
people have you told about your first love?”
A slow smile
spread across Fen’s face, her eyes filming. “Lyall Henderson. That was his
name. Not what you would call a conversationalist, but hey, who cared, he had
lips to die for.”
“Aren’t they
all like that at that age?” Jemma asked, remembering the one-tracked,
testosterone-fuelled fumblings of her first boyfriend.
“What, six?”
Fen laughed and slapped the table. “Right on. Ahhh, why do they have to grow
up?”
“They have a
name for that.”
Fen snorted.
“Correction: why do any of us have to grow up?” She stuffed the second half of
her samosa into her mouth and reached for another. “Life was so much simpler
back then, don’t you think?”
“Undoubtedly.”
Although the death of first her father and then her mother had made Jemma’s
childhood anything but simple, she had no wish to burst Fen’s bubble.
“After our
conversation yesterday, I did some thinking,” Fen said, her tone sobering.
“Actually, that’s an understatement, that’s all I’ve been doing. Tanya kept on
about Sean’s death not being what it appeared, but I just assumed grief was
clouding her judgment. Not that I blamed her. Hell, what woman wouldn’t find it
hard to accept her lover led a double-life?”
“She never suspected
anything?”
“You know what
they say: the wife is always the last to know.”
“So, you’re
saying getting off on gay porn while strangling himself was something he did a
lot?”
“God knows, but
it wouldn’t surprise me. That man was all about self-gratification.”
Jemma couldn’t
argue with that. “Okay, let’s say for argument’s sake, that it wasn’t suicide
and it wasn’t an accident, what possible reason would anyone have to want him
dead? And who?”
“Who knows what
shady deals he was into. Maybe he trod on someone’s toes once too often.”
“You mean as in
organized crime?”
Fen stared at
her for a moment. “No, the Melbourne underworld bosses aren’t into subtle. They
would’ve just blown his head off and left his body as an example to other
wannabes.”
“Nice.
Something more personal, then? Revenge perhaps.” The note fragments she had
found under the washing machine flashed through her mind. “Or blackmail.”
“If you’re
going to go down that road, you better put Sean’s ex at the top of the list.”
Fen clapped her hands to her cheeks. “God, what am I saying? We can speculate
all we like, but it won’t prove a thing. And Kerry Mullins, she’s scary, man. I
wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of her, that’s for sure.”
“How scary?
Enough to think her capable of murder.”
Fen’s voice
took on a hard edge. “Everyone’s capable of murder, Jemma. Everyone.”
Jemma started at Chris’s voice.
“Sorry, what did you say?”
“You’re quiet,” he said. “Is everything okay?”
She looked out the RAV4’s window. They were driving across a busy,
multi-laned bridge, yet she had no recollection of how they had got there. “I
was just thinking about something Fen said.”