Authors: Vicki Tyley
“I have a small
confession to make.”
“Only a small
one?”
She held up a
thumb and forefinger, two centimeters of air between them. “I met with your
father earlier—”
“And you’re
still a virgin. I‘m impressed.”
She scowled at
him.
“Sorry,
uncalled for. So, what did dear old Dad have to say for himself?”
“He’s concerned
for my welfare—”
“Concerned for
someone other than himself? That’ll be the day.”
“If you would
just let me finish. He’s concerned because he’s beginning to think that my
suspicions about Sean’s and Tanya’s death might well be founded,” she said,
tweaking the facts.
Ash sat bolt
upright. “He does?”
She nodded. “He
wants me to leave Melbourne. He thinks the longer I stay, the more I’m at
risk.”
“Oh, now I get
it. The further away you are, the less likely you can meddle in his affairs.
He’s good at that.”
“Less than a
week ago, you were the one telling me to leave well enough alone and piss off
back home. What’s changed?”
He laughed.
“You have to ask?”
“Call me thick,
but yes.”
“Then you were
the grieving kid sister of my best mate, unable to accept her death as
suicide.”
“So you agree
with me, Tanya didn’t kill herself?”
“Now you’re
putting words in my mouth. Yes, the case warrants further investigation, but I
don’t think you should be involved. My father and I don’t agree on much, but on
that at least we do. We’ve both lost a sister. The last thing I want to do is
lose another.”
“But we’re not
brother and sister.”
He cocked his
head. “The closest thing to.”
“Well, dear
brother—”
“Big brother,”
he said, a hint of mischief returning to his eyes. “I’m a year older,
remember?”
“How could I
forget?” She stood. “Since we’re being open and frank with each other, there’s
something I want to show you.”
She collected
the anonymous letter from the dining table and returned to the couch. “Tell me
what you make of this.”
She scrutinized
his face as he read it, searching for any telltale twitches. He finished the
letter and turned it over to check the back.
“Reading
between the lines,” he said, “I would say whoever wrote this wants you gone.
How many of these have you received?”
“Just the one.”
He handed it
back to her. “Only one letter perhaps, but I get the distinct impression that’s
not all.”
“I don’t know
if they’re connected, but there’s the two deliveries of roses I told you about.
He gave a
solemn nod. “And.”
“And?”
“And what else?
I know there’s something else bothering you. Call it brotherly intuition.”
She folded the
letter in her fingers in half, and then in half again. “Where were you last
night?”
“Fen’s. Do you
have a problem with that?”
Jemma shook her
head. “Should I?”
“I don’t know,”
he said, a caustic edge to his voice, “you tell me.”
“Only if after
you left Fen and went home, you thought keeping me awake all night with prank
phone calls might be a fun thing to do.”
“What are you
on about?” He narrowed his eyes and jerked his head. “Whatever it is, it doesn’t
matter. If by home you mean that monument to success my father calls a house, I
haven’t stepped foot inside it since I found out about him and Sean. Like I
told you, I spent the night at Fen’s place. If you don’t believe me, ask her.”
Somehow, Jemma
knew that regardless of whether he had or hadn’t, Fen would say whatever Ash
wanted her to.
Jemma woke Sunday morning, far
from rested, but with her resolve to expose the truth behind Tanya and Sean’s
deaths still intact. She couldn’t bring back her sister, couldn’t undo any
wrongs – perceived or otherwise – but she could do that. Had to.
She rolled onto
her side and anchored her foot under the couch’s armrest, her fingers trawling
the floor for the scrunched ball of paper she had hurled at the wall the
previous evening. She almost wished she had forgotten to clear the post box,
had one night when she didn’t feel everyone was out to get her. But contrary to
the old saying, ignorance was not bliss.
The paper
missile retrieved, she propped herself on her elbow and uncrumpled it, pulling
it taut between her hands. Hanging from the gallows and drawn in black marker,
the one-armed stick figure’s message was clear. Below it were five dashes,
placeholders for five letters. Hangman.
The roses, the
anonymous I’m-writing-this-because-I-care letter, the phone calls in the middle
of the night, and now a child’s game. All seemingly innocuous, someone’s idea
of a joke no doubt, but she wasn’t laughing. Nor was she budging.
Except from
this couch
, she thought.
In the shower,
her hands busy shampooing her hair, her mind leapfrogged from one disconnected
thought to another, from Fen’s glee in the outing of Sean and Marcus’s affair
on the
Internet to her own safety.
She rinsed her
hair, her initial idea of checking into a hotel disappearing down the drain
with the soapy water. A hotel – 5-star or not – offered less security than
where she was. Anyone with any cunning could walk off the street and gain
access to the floors and rooms. Not to mention, her tormentor would take any
sign of weakness on her part as a win. She squeezed the conditioner bottle. It
spat at her. She squeezed harder.
Jemma pushed through the doors to
ShapeZone, a stress-busting workout top of her agenda. She shivered. The cool
Monday morning temperature had nothing on her personal trainer’s expression.
“You have a lot
of nerve,” Kerry said, rounding the counter.
“Excuse me?”
“You know
exactly what I’m talking about, Karen. Or should that be Jemma?”
“Oh.” She felt
the blood drain from her face.
Kerry gave an
indignant snort. “Oh is right.”
“I can
explain.”
“This’ll be
good.” The personal trainer crossed her arms.
“Not here.”
They were stood in the middle of the gym’s reception, the Barbie doll behind
the front desk their main audience.
Kerry eyed her
up and down. “Give me one good reason why not. I have nothing to hide.”
“So everyone
knows about your hus—”
Kerry yanked
Jemma off her feet and held her fast, the strength in those lean arms
deceptive. “Don’t you dare,” she said through gritted teeth. “Don’t you bloody
dare.”
The personal
trainer’s grip slackened. Jemma wedged her forearm in the gap between them and
levered, the body-warmed scent of soap and deodorant fading with space. “We
should talk, but somewhere more private.”
Without another
word, Kerry turned her loose and stalked off in the direction of her office.
Jemma found her feet and followed.
Kerry juggled a
pair of chrome hand-weights as if they were nothing more than ping pong balls.
“Close the door.”
“I’m assuming
Ethan told you.”
“How I found
out isn’t important.”
“Karen Wheatley
is my mother’s maiden name…” Jemma said, racking her brain for a way out of her
predicament. Kerry pitched one of the hand-weights in her direction. Her
reflexes kicked in. She caught the metal projectile in both hands before it hit
her in the chest. “You have every right to be pissed off. I shouldn’t have
deceived you like that. I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m really sorry.”
“That’s all
very well, but I still don’t get it. What the hell you were trying to prove?”
“To be honest,
I’m not quite sure.” She held out the hand-weight to Kerry. “I guess I wanted
to find out for myself what Sean’s ex-wife was like without her having any
preconceived notions about me.”
The personal
trainer took Jemma’s offering and sat it on the desk along with its mate.
“Preconceived notions about you? That’s a laugh. I can just imagine what you’ve
heard about me.”
“I won’t lie
and tell you that it was all good.”
“Oh, so there
was some good?”
Jemma pressed
her lips together.
“No, I didn’t
think so. Okay, so why don’t you fill me on all the dreadful things I’ve
supposed to have done. Why not start with murder?”
“Pardon?”
“Don’t play
little Miss Innocence with me. Why else all the subterfuge? You think I’m
somehow involved in my cheating ex’s and his bit on the side’s deaths, don’t
you? Don’t deny it.”
“All right, I
admit it crossed my mind, but so did a hundred other farfetched ideas. I
haven’t been here. I only had hearsay to go on.” Jemma swallowed. “It would
have been remiss of me not to check you out.”
A full-throated
laugh erupted from Kerry. “At least you’re honest. More than I can say for the
dearly departed. Don’t look so horrified. I’m not going to pretend to feel
something I don’t. Not even for you. A psychologist friend of mine tells me
it’s not healthy to dwell on the past, and if I’m anything, I’m healthy.”
“Easy as that?
Like having your sins absolved by a priest, they cease to exist?”
Kerry laughed
again. “I guess. The past is the past: what’s done is done.”
“So where does
justice come into it? Or would you rather we just pat criminals on the back,
tell them to try to behave in future, and send them on their way?”
“I think we may
be talking at cross purposes. Dwelling on the past and being punished for past demeanors
are two different things.” One eyebrow arched. “Agreed?”
Jemma nodded.
“I’m no angel,”
Kerry continued, her eyes narrowing, “but if you think I’m capable of killing
one person, let alone two, you’re crazier than I thought. I’ll put my hands up
to doing my damnedest to make Sean and your sister's lives hell, but that does
not extend to murder. No matter what you may think.”
“For what it’s
worth, I believe you. One more thing,” Jemma said, her hand on the door handle,
“why did you persist in harassing Tanya after Sean died?”
Kerry scowled.
“Come off it. Even I’m not
that
heartless.”
Once outside the gym, Jemma paused
to gather her thoughts. Telling Kerry she believed her and actually believing
her weren’t the same. How far could she trust a woman who in her own words had
set out to make Sean’s and Tanya’s lives hell?
Sharp male
voices from across the street caught her attention. Though she couldn’t hear
what was being said, the body language of the two men was enough to tell her
that they weren’t exchanging pleasantries. The man with his back to her shook
his fist. The other, his face obscured below a peaked cap, swatted it.
A bus blocked
her view. By the time it had passed, the two men had parted. The man without
the cap was halfway across the street before she recognized him. Ash’s wide
mouth spread in a grin as her gaze met his. She frowned and looked away,
scanning the area for the other man. Blending in like a chameleon as he lounged
against the graffitied brick wall near the corner, she almost didn’t see him.
He moved off, his lumbering gait unmistakable.
“What’s going
on? What were you and Gerry Hobson arguing about? I didn’t realize you knew
each other.”
Ash shrugged.
“It’s sorted. Nothing you need to worry about. Enough of that. What are you up
to?”
“What does it
look like?” Two could play his game. “More to the point, what are you doing
here? Did you follow me?”
“Now why would
I do that?”
Her turn to
shrug.
“For your
information, I was checking out cars.” He pointed toward the car yard directly
opposite. “If I’m going to stay in Melbourne, I need a set of wheels. It was
just by chance I saw you.”
“And our
friendly security officer?”
“It’s a small
world.”
“Too small
sometimes. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go.” ShapeZone’s doorstep was not
the place to loiter, especially if Ash was going to continue to play games.
“At least let
me walk with you.”
“What about
those wheels?”
“Nothing over
there turns me on.”
Forty minutes
later, every topic bar what was actually pressing exhausted, they turned into
her street. She unzipped her gym bag, continuing to walk as she groped in it
for her keys. A pair of jean-clad legs protruded out into the footpath. She
sidestepped and glanced down at the man seated on the concrete, his back
against the building wall.
Her heart
jumped. “Ross!”