Bitter Nothings (8 page)

“Back from South Australia already?” The corner of Sophie’s mouth lifted.

“Something came up.”

“Oh?”

“Not here.” Dervla slammed the boot. Not that she could see any reporters lurking within eavesdropping distance. But she wasn’t taking any chances.

With Sophie trailing close behind, she humped her suitcase inside.

The answering machine’s green light was flashing. Her pulse quickened. She pressed the playback button. Nothing from her father. Just three messages from reporters wanting a comment. So much for having a silent number.

After detouring via the bedroom to dump her suitcase, Dervla found Sophie seated at the red gum pedestal table tucked in the corner by the kitchen,
The Age
newspaper spread out in front of her.

Dervla flopped into the chair opposite. “I’ve given up reading the paper. What they don’t know, they just make up. After all, why let the truth get in the way of a good story?”

“Nothing new here from the looks of it,” Sophie said, her eyes scanning the newsprint. “Just more of the same.” She thumbed over a page and glanced up. “You said something came up. Has there been a development? Have you heard from your father again?”

“Yes….” Dervla kneaded her temples, her elbows propped on the table. “…and no.”

Sophie hunched forward, her face expectant.

“No, I haven’t heard from Dad again, but I found out that his text originated from central Melbourne, not South Australia.”

“Whoa.”

“Exactly, but Todd said he would get the South Australian police to check around Mt Remarkable accommodation, anyway.”

“Todd?”

“Detective Senior Sergeant Gleeson.”

“On first-name terms, already?” Sophie chuckled. “I’m impressed.”

Dervla opened her mouth and paused. Explanations would only invite more questions. “Did Emmet say anything to you about the argument he had with Dad last Thursday?”

Lips pursed, Sophie shook her head. “What makes you think he’d confide in me?”

Perhaps because you spent the night with him.
“I don’t know. You tell me.”

Sophie’s eyes widened, then creased in laughter. “What? Me and your little brother?”

The doorbell rang.

“Hold that thought,” Dervla said, getting up from the table to answer the door.

On the doorstep stood her half-sister, her white skin paler than normal, if that were possible. Her overgrown fringe did little to conceal the dark hollows under her eyes. Jeans two sizes too big hung from her hips. “I saw the news and um… y’know, I…”

“Am I glad to see you.” Dervla longed to hug her but hung back, fearful of doing more harm than good. She looked so fragile – both physically and emotionally. “Come in.”

Alana gnawed at her bottom lip, hesitating.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. It’s just…” Alana shook her head. “Nothing.”

Dervla hooked her by the elbow and steered her inside. “Well, whatever it is, it’s better discussed in the cool.”

Although by the way Alana had her bony arms wrapped around herself, she wasn’t feeling the heat. She said nothing and hugged herself tighter.

“I really am glad to see you, Alana.” Especially since the last time they’d met, her half-sister had told her in no uncertain terms to butt out of her life. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Something akin to fear flashed in Alana’s eyes. She shrank back.

“No, no,” Dervla said, remembering the reaction to an earlier suggestion that Alana might need help. “It’s nothing like that, I promise. Sophie’s a good friend. You’ll like her.”

Though Alana still didn’t look entirely convinced, she trailed Dervla down the hall. Progress.

When they reached the doorway to the living area, Sophie looked up, flashing a smile at Dervla’s visitor. “Hi, I’m Sophie,” she said, making room at the small, round table for one more.

Alana, however, was less than forthcoming.

“And this is my sister, Alana,” Dervla said, jumping in. “Have a seat. What can I get you? Juice, water, tea, coffee?”

“Nothing.” Alana stared at her feet, clicking her fingernails. “Thanks.”

“We were worried about you. Where have you been?”

More clicking. “Y’know, here and there.”

“Your housemates didn’t know where you were?”

“So? Like you tell me where you go.”

Dervla scanned her half-sister’s face, looking for the pinprick pupils or the other telltale signs.

“I’m clean, okay? Why won’t any fucker believe me?”

Without thinking, Dervla tipped her head to the side.

“What?” Alana threw her hands up. “Oh, fuck you, too.”

Seconds later the front door slammed, the sound reverberating through the house.

Sophie blinked and gave her head a sharp shake. “That went well.”

“You don’t understand. She thinks I don’t care.”

CHAPTER 10

Dervla stared at the blank computer screen. She had no idea what she was supposed to be doing, let alone what day it was. Alana’s last disappearing act hadn’t helped matters, but at least her half-sister wasn’t wanted for murder. Unlike her father.

Her mobile phone rang. She watched it vibrate on the desk for a moment, then pressed the hands-free button. “Gabe.”

“Thought you ought to know,” her brother said, not wasting any time on pleasantries, “the autopsy findings confirmed cause of death for all three as ‘gunshot wound to the head.’” He coughed. “But it showed up something else, too.”

Dervla held her breath.

“Did you know Lucinda was pregnant?”

“Pregnant? Are you sure?”

“If the pathologist is to be believed, yes. He estimates ten weeks.”

Her head spun, the news still sinking in. A little brother or sister for Kayla and Oliver. Another life cut short. Another victim. And just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse.

“Are you still there, Dervla?”

“Sorry. Yes. What did you say?”

“I said the bodies have been released to Lucinda’s parents. The funeral will most likely be in the next couple of days. Can you let Emmet know?”

Although Gabe couldn’t see it, she nodded.

As soon as she hung up from her older brother, she phoned the other, leaving messages on both his mobile and landline when he didn’t answer.

For the next hour, she paced the house, roaming from room to room, straightening paintings on the wall, picking imaginary lint from the curtains. She had to keep moving. That or curl up in a fetal position and pretend the world didn’t exist.

When her phone finally rang, she leapt at it.

Private number.

Her tone all business, she answered it. “Dervla Johns.”

“Dervla, it’s Todd Gleeson.”

“Oh.”

He laughed. “That wasn’t quite the reaction I was expecting.”

“Sorry…” She swallowed. “Start again. Hello, detective. Is that better?”

“Much.” That laugh again, the rich sound stirring something deep inside her.

“Good.”

Silence. Then the sound of someone tapping a keyboard.

“You rang me to…?” she prompted.

“So I did,” he said, his voice distant, as though his mind was elsewhere. More tapping.

As she was about to hang up, he spoke. “Apologies for that. Now where were we?”

“I don’t know,” she said, unable to suppress her irritation. Was he deliberately trying to wind her up? Maybe it was just her. She closed her eyes and sighed. “You rang me, remember?”

“Yes, indeed. Right, the South Australia Police have checked around the holiday accommodation places in and around Melrose and Mt Remarkable and have come up with nothing to suggest your father is, or was ever, there. Which brings me to my second piece of news. Your father’s mobile phone has been found.”

“Just the phone? Where?”

“He wasn’t with it, if that’s what you mean. A kid found it in a Frankston park rubbish bin. His mother handed it into the local police.”

Frankston
. The other sighting. Why there? Was he staying there or had he just been passing through?

Todd’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Dervla?”

“Hmmn.”

“I expect you to keep your end of the bargain.”

“Yes, sir!” She regretted it the instant the words were out of her mouth.

“You might not take murder seriously, but I do.” That steely edge was back.

Ouch. Not that she didn’t deserve it. “I do take it seriously. Very. Especially when it involves my family. It’s just that sometimes…” She paused. “Sometimes I say things I don’t mean.”

“Lie you mean?”

“God, no. I didn’t say that. There’s a long way between a facetious remark and lying.” Was she the only one who became flippant in stressful situations?

Todd huffed. “What—”

Brrring
! Saved by the doorbell.

“Sorry. Have to go. Someone’s at the front door.” She hung up before he could reply.

Drawing a deep breath, she took a moment to compose herself and opened the door.

“Sophie.”

“The one and only.” Sophie, her long auburn hair twisted in a sleek knot above the collar of her cropped suit jacket, peered at her from above rimless sunglasses. “God, hon, you look dreadful. Has something else happened?”

“Thanks. That makes me feel so much better…” Her voice trailed off. An enormous bouquet of red and white flowers on legs was headed her way. Her jaw tensed. She’d recognize that swagger anywhere.

Sophie turned to see what she was looking at. “Someone loves you.”

Her arms folded, face set, Dervla steeled herself for battle.

The flowers came to a standstill. Roses. Dozens of them. Her heart lurched as she caught a whiff of their intoxicating fragrance. She blew out a breath.

Nathan’s head popped out from behind the oversized floral arrangement, his hair tousled as if he’d only just got out of bed. He beamed at her. “A welcoming committee. And I thought you didn’t care.”

“I don’t,” she said.

Not that her ex heard her. He was too busy eyeing up Sophie.

“Careful. You might trip over it.”

“What?”

“Your tongue.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Nathan asked, not taking his gaze off Sophie.

“No.”

He plucked a red rose from the bouquet and presented it to Sophie with a flourish. “Nathan Ward at your service.”

And like some tittering, lovelorn teenager Sophie took it, holding it under her nose as she batted those impossibly long eyelashes at him.

It was all Dervla could do to stop herself from gagging. “You haven’t changed at all.” With one last scowl at Nathan, she hustled Sophie inside.

“Babe, wait!”

Too little, too late. She slammed the door on him and his damned flowers. Way too late.

“I can see why you kept him to yourself,” Sophie said, twirling the rose.

Somehow Dervla resisted the urge to rip it from her friend’s fingers. “Don’t waste your time. He’s not worth it.”

Sophie followed Dervla through into the living room, kicking off her stiletto-heeled pumps in the doorway. “Oh, that’s better. Now, about that hunky man—”

“I mean it, Sophie. Stay as far away from him as you can.”

“Do I hear sour grapes?”

Dervla sighed, her eyes closing in a slow blink. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Anyway, I thought you were off men.”

The corner of Sophie’s mouth lifted in a lopsided grin. “Did I say that? Off
some
men.”

“And it’s the some men I’m most worried about,” Dervla said, referring to Sophie’s ex-husband.

“What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him. Besides, he doesn’t own me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not the one who needs convincing. Remind me again why you had to get away.”

Sophie’s hand went to her throat. “He didn’t mean to hurt me.”

“God, Sophie, when are you going to stop making excuses for him? When you’re dead?”

CHAPTER 11

Dervla rifled through the contents of her wardrobe, staying busy the only way she knew to keep her grief at bay. What did you wear to the funeral of your half-siblings and their mother? Black seemed too oppressive to farewell such innocent young souls, but then any other color felt disrespectful. In the end, she settled on plain black trousers and a black-with-pink-pinstripe jacket, hanging the garments together at one end ready for the next day.

Before she could decide on the appropriate shoes, the doorbell rang. “What now?” she muttered, as she tossed aside a pair of platform shoes.

“I want to speak to my wife,” Martin Lombardi said, the instant she opened the door.

“Ex-wife you mean. She’s not here.”

“Soph!” He made to push past Dervla. “Get out of my way.”

“No,” she said, with more bravado than she felt. “No, I won’t. And I don’t care what you believe, Martin. Sophie isn’t here. If you don’t leave right now, I’m calling the police.”

His eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring. “What is it with you and her?” His lip curled, seconds ticking. “Oh, I get it. It just wasn’t enough for you to wreck my marriage – you had to fuck my wife, too. Fucking lesbos. You’re all the same.”

Lost for words – any words – she slammed the door in his face. She fumbled with the deadlock, her hands shaking.

“Hear this, bitch,” he shouted. “She loves me, not you.”

Dervla waited for the heavy footsteps to recede before releasing her breath. What Sophie had ever seen in that man in the first place was beyond her. As she reached for the phone to warn Sophie that her ex was on the rampage, the doorbell rang again.

Her heart hammering, she stared at the door, then back at the phone. “I’ve called the police,” she yelled.

“Dervla? What’s happened?” asked a muffled male voice. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, thank God.” Never had she been so glad to hear her ex-fiancé’s honeyed tones. She opened the door. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Who?” Frown lines marred his normally smooth forehead.

She shook her head. “It’s not important.”

“No? Then why the panic, babe?”

“I think you’ll find it’s called grief. My emotions are all over the place at the moment.” She forced a smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll survive.”

His frown deepened. “I have no doubt you will. But right now, you don’t look so good.”