by Grace York
"Well we are here," said Addison. "So you don't need to worry about that. Do you feel like going to bed?"
Layla nodded. "I doubt I'll sleep, but yes, I'd like to go to bed."
"I'll make up the room next to mine. You stay here with Olivia for a minute while I get it ready for you."
Addison pulled away from her cousin and went upstairs to make the bed. She hunted through her own cupboards and found a pair of pyjamas and some clothes. They weren't quite Layla's bright style, but they would do. Luckily she and Layla were roughly the same size, except for the height difference.
She put the pyjamas on the bed and the clothes on the dresser. Then she gathered a few toiletry items from her own bathroom and put them in Layla's. They could go shopping tomorrow for more supplies, but that would do to get Layla by for tonight.
Back downstairs Olivia was loading their mugs into the dishwasher. Addison took Layla up and got her settled in the room.
"Can I get you anything else? Would you like something to help you sleep?" Addison had a packet of over-the-counter sleeping pills she used on the nights when memories of her life with Rob kept her awake.
Layla considered it. "No, thank you," she finally said. "Those things make me too drowsy in the morning. I want to be alert when Detective Wilcox comes."
Addison nodded. She gave her cousin one last hug. "I'll be right next door if you need me."
"Thanks."
Back down in the kitchen Addison pulled her daughter in close.
"Wow," said Olivia. "What a welcome to the neighbourhood."
"Are you okay?"
"Yes. No. I don't know, Mum. That was rough. I can't believe someone I just met a few hours ago is dead now. And that beautiful gallery, all those paintings…"
"I know. I can't believe it either. Poor Jenna. I feel awful. We just spent the better part of the evening talking about her, and now she's…" Addison couldn't bring herself to say the word. "She didn't deserve that."
"I guess we should go to bed too," said Olivia.
"Yes. Tomorrow is going to be a tough day. Oh, we didn't get to have dinner. Do you want me to fix something?"
"No, that's okay. I'm not in the least bit hungry, Mum. I'm just going to go to bed."
"Fair enough." Addison hugged her daughter, holding the embrace longer than normal. "I'll be up shortly," she added when she finally let go.
Addison re-boiled the kettle and poured herself a second mug of tea. She knew she wouldn't get much sleep tonight, but she wouldn't take a sleeping tablet. She should stay alert in case Layla needed her. It was going to be a long night.
She pulled a notebook out of a kitchen drawer. Writing might help calm her nerves. She had written a lot before Rob was diagnosed, and a lot more after, but nothing since he died. It felt good to have the pen in her hand again.
She started by making a list of everything she could remember of the evening, from when they'd arrived at the gallery. She wrote notes about her conversation with Jenna, and the later conversations about Jenna with Layla and Hazel. She had no idea why, but it felt good to get that stuff out of her head.
Once that was done, Addison made a list of everything they would need to buy at the shops for Layla tomorrow. She wasn't really one for possessions herself, but still, she couldn't imagine being left with only your handbag and the clothes you were wearing. How awful.
Addison tried to remember all the paintings she'd seen that afternoon. Treasures she'd never see again. Layla could rebuild the gallery, of course. She could replace clothes and household items. But her artworks were all one-of-a-kind. Those were lost forever.
A sudden thought upset Addison's recollections. Was the art gallery insured? Surely it must be. Layla had always been a bit scatter-brained, but she wasn't stupid. She would have insured the building she put all of her savings into, wouldn't she?
7
Addison was the first one in the kitchen the next morning. She put the coffee machine on, and looked out the back window to see if she could see Jason anywhere.
She suddenly remembered what Layla had said last night about Jason and Jenna. She wondered if the poor boy knew what had happened. She went outside and looked around the whole house, but he wasn't there. Maybe he knew.
Layla was in the kitchen when Addison went back inside, and Olivia appeared as well. Olivia made coffee for all of them.
"How are you feeling this morning?" Addison asked her cousin.
"Still numb. Thanks for the clothes. I had to get out of mine. The only clothes I have left and they stink of smoke."
Addison had noticed her own clothes had had the tell-tale smell of being close to a fire. She'd thrown them in the wash basket last night. "I'll put a load of washing on after breakfast," she said. "Get them clean again."
Olivia had her head in the fridge. "What's for breakfast?" she asked, hunger obviously catching up with her. Addison was starving, too.
"Get the eggs and bacon out," she said. "I'll get started on it." Addison didn't ask Layla if she was hungry. It was one thing she remembered from the days after Rob had passed. People kept asking you if you wanted things, and all you wanted was for people to stop asking you if you wanted things. She'd put a plate of food in front of Layla – if she was hungry, she'd eat. If not, no problem.
Addison put a pot of water on the stove to poach the eggs then set about preparing the bacon. "You're in charge of toast," she said to Olivia.
When they'd finished cooking and the plates of food were in front of them, Olivia was the only one who ate with any kind of gusto. Addison picked at her plate, and Layla managed to nibble on a piece of bacon.
Addison didn't know what to do. She asked Layla about Jason. "Do you think we should call him?"
Layla shook her head. "The whole town will know by now," she said, putting the piece of bacon back on her plate. "He'll know."
"I guess that's why he's not here," Addison said. She was thankful, in a way. Dealing with a grieving boyfriend was more than she could handle right now. She was just holding it together herself, and she hadn't even been fond of Jenna. It was the shock of it all that she was struggling to come to terms with.
Addison pushed her plate to one side. She shouldn't be thinking about herself right now. She had to help Layla.
"I thought we might go over to Riverwood later and see if we can get you some stuff. Clothes, and personal items. Anything you need." Riverwood was the nearest large town, about half an hour's drive from Getaway Bay. There were more shops there than the little seaside town had to offer.
"Yes, okay. Maybe later," said Layla. "That detective said he'd come here today. I want to be here when he does. I need to find out what happened to Jenna."
"Of course."
Addison cleared away the plates while Olivia took Layla into the great room. The two of them were sitting together silently when Addison finished in the kitchen and joined them. Olivia gave her mother a look that said she'd rather be anywhere but here, and Addison smiled and nodded in the direction of the stairs. Olivia bolted.
Addison almost asked if she could get Layla anything, but caught herself. If Layla wanted anything she'd ask. Right now, she probably just wanted to be left alone. Addison returned to the kitchen for the notebook she'd started writing in last night, then came back and sat in the chair in the window opposite Layla.
Back in Sydney, in what now felt like a previous life, Addison had loved writing. She was a high school English teacher by day, but at night when the rest of the family were in front of their various screens, she used to lock herself away in the house's little study and write stories.
She'd always loved the mystery genre, and with a homicide detective for a husband, she soon found herself writing murder mysteries. She never published anything, never even sought publication, preferring to keep her stories to herself. She'd done her best to elicit information from Rob about his cases, but he rarely liked to talk about work. That was until his diagnosis and forced retirement.
In those
eight weeks between diagnosis and losing him, Addison spent hours listening to Rob talk about his work. It was like he'd needed to unload the burden of his job before he was able to let go. Addison was happy to listen. She wished he'd shared some of his stories long before, but she was at least happy to finally hear them when he felt ready to tell the tales.
A few times since his death, Addison had picked up her notebook and pen, but all she'd done was stare at the blank page. Last night was the first time she'd written anything more than a shopping list. She looked over the notes now while sitting quietly with Layla. It read like a witness statement.
There was a sharp knock at the door, which made them both jump. Addison turned to look out the window and saw Detective Wilcox and a female officer in uniform on the front verandah. Wilcox held up a hand in a wave, and Addison pushed herself out of her comfy chair to get the door.
"Good morning," he said, stepping inside as Addison opened the door wide. The officer followed him.
"Good morning, Detective." Addison closed the door behind them.
"This is Senior Constable Short," he said, introducing the other officer. He walked over to where Layla remained seated on the lounge. "Do you mind if I sit?"
Layla shrugged, and he took the chair by the window Addison had just vacated. Senior Constable Short, who was actually quite tall, remained standing. Her blond hair was neatly tied in a bun, and everything about her was orderly and efficient.
"Can I get you anything to drink?" Addison asked. She had no idea how to host two officers of the law.
"No, we're fine, thank you," said Wilcox. He turned back to Layla, while Addison stood awkwardly next to Senior Constable Short. "Ms Dallimore, I'm sorry to have to tell you that we've confirmed the body found inside the art gallery was indeed your sister, Jenna Dallimore."
Layla stared at him blankly. She'd cried so much over the last twelve hours. Addison had heard her sobbing for most of the night; she must have no tears left. Addison felt her own eyes well up. This was all too much.
"Layla," the detective continued softly. "I'm going to need to ask you a few questions. Will it be okay to do that now? Get them out of the way?"
Layla nodded.
"Okay, good." He glanced at Short, who dutifully took out a small notebook and pen. "First, can you talk me through your day yesterday?"
"I spent most of the day at the nursing home with Dad," said Layla.
"Getaway Care? The local home?"
"Yes. Dad's been there for a couple of years. He's not well. It's close to the end. That's why Jenna was staying with me." Layla looked up at Addison. "Oh, no. How am I going to tell Dad about Jenna?"
"We'll do it together," Addison reassured her.
Layla nodded.
"What time did you go to the nursing home?" Detective Wilcox asked.
"I left the gallery around ten yesterday morning. I called in at Hazel's to get a coffee on my way. I used to get Dad one too, but he can't drink it now. He's stopped eating as well." Layla tugged on the sleeve of the cardigan Addison had left out for her last night. It was a warm day again, but Addison understood Layla's need for the cardigan. She wanted to feel enveloped.
"I parked in the town centre, got my coffee from Hazel, and walked the two blocks to the nursing home," Layla continued. "I came out at lunch time, got a sandwich from Hazel, and ate it in the town square. Then I went back and sat with Dad for another couple of hours. I read to him. He seems to like it."
"What did you read?" Wilcox asked.
Layla smiled. "We're working our way through the Harry Potter books. We're up to The Order of the Phoenix. Sometimes I wonder if he's listening, but then he'll laugh at just the right place in the story. He's still fighting."
Wilcox waited a moment before prodding Layla to continue. "Did you go straight back to the gallery from the nursing home?"
"Yes. I worried that Jenna had been there all day by herself. I got home at four, and she'd already opened a bottle of wine. She said she'd been on the phone all day with her work back in Sydney. She asked me how much longer Dad was going to hold on for. I got really angry with her." Layla started to cry then, but Addison wasn't sure if she even noticed.
"What do you mean by angry?" asked Wilcox.
"Well, upset more than angry, I guess. She's so cold about Dad. It's like she doesn't care. Didn't care. Oh well, I guess it doesn't matter anymore, does it?"
Wilcox didn't answer. "So you got home around four and were upset with your sister. Did you argue?"
"No, not really. There was no point arguing with Jenna. She never changed her mind about anything. Never gave in. It was pointless. I asked her again why she even bothered to come here if she wasn't going to visit Dad. She kept telling me she was there to support me, but she caused more trouble than it was worth. Oh, listen to me. I shouldn't be saying these nasty things about my sister. I just can't believe she's dead."
Layla reached for a tissue and blew her nose. She looked for a pocket in the cardigan, but there wasn't one, so she scrunched the tissue up in her hand.
"Can we continue this later?" Addison asked. "This is a very hard time—"
Addison was interrupted by a couple of loud beeps. Wilcox and Short both checked their mobile phones, then exchanged glances.
"I'm afraid we're going to have to keep going, Mrs Lake. We've just received confirmation from the pathologist conducting the autopsy. There's proof Jenna Dallimore was murdered."
8
"Murdered?" A chill ran down Addison's back. Her eyes shot to Layla, who looked stunned. "What do you mean Jenna was murdered?" Addison continued. "It was a fire. Surely she died in the fire?"
Wilcox shook his head. "All I can tell you is that Jenna was killed before the fire began." He turned back to Layla. "What did you mean by saying Jenna caused more trouble than she was worth?"
"I'm sorry, Detective," said Layla. "Can I have a moment?"
"Of course," he replied, but didn't move from the lounge chair.
Addison took Layla by the arm and pulled her into the kitchen. She closed the door behind them then took Layla into her arms.
"I don't understand," Layla said between tears. "How could she have been murdered? We left her there alone, drinking her wine. Next thing the place is on fire. What the heck happened, Addison?"
"I don't know. But I promise you, we're going to find out. Right now, though, I think we need to go back in there and answer the detective's questions."
Layla took a step back. "He thinks I'm a suspect," she said, realising what Addison had known as soon as Wilcox had mentioned murder. You can't be married to a homicide cop for twenty years and not know that family are always first on the list of suspects.
"It's just routine, sweetheart. He has to ask these questions. The sooner we answer them and get him out of here, the sooner he can go off and find the real killer."
Layla took a deep breath before nodding and opening the door to re-enter the great room. Wilcox and Short stopped the quiet discussion they'd been having and watched her walk back to the couch.
"I'm sorry," Layla said, taking a seat. Addison sat next to her this time. "This is all such a terrible shock. But I understand you have to ask your questions. Where were we up to?"
"I asked what you meant when you said Jenna caused more trouble than she was worth."
"Oh, right." Layla explained the feud between Jenna and Edward Mathieson to Wilcox and Short exactly as she had told it to Addison and Olivia last night. "It was just Jenna playing her silly games to amuse herself," Layla said when she'd finished. "I can't see that anyone would want to kill her for it."
"No, but we need to examine all possibilities," said Wilcox. "Okay, so let's get back to your movements yesterday. After you got home from the nursing home, then what did you do?"
"I didn't want to stay in with Jenna, so I called Addison. I knew they'd been working on the beach house all day, so I suggested we go to the pub for dinner. They came and got me at the gallery. That was the last time I
saw the place. The last time I saw Jenna alive."
Wilcox turned to Addison. "What time did you get to the gallery?"
"About half past five, I think. Layla called at around five. Olivia and I had showers, and then drove over. It was no later than five-thirty when we got there. Perhaps even a touch earlier."
"Right. And how long were you there?"
"About fifteen or twenty minutes, I think. Layla showed Olivia around the gallery, as she'd never been there before. I went upstairs and talked to Jenna."
"And how did Jenna seem to you?" asked Wilcox.
"Like her usual self," Addison replied. "She spoke about her father, and how she was here to support Layla. Then Layla and Olivia came upstairs. Olivia spoke to Jenna briefly, and asked her if she wanted to join us at the pub for dinner."
"Jenna declined?"
"Yes. She said there was nothing she liked on the menu. Then we left."
"All three of you left together?"
"Yes. Oh, when we got to the car Layla had forgotten her purse. So we waited while she ran back in to get it."
Wilcox and Short exchanged glances again. Constable Short turned the page in her notebook and continued scribbling.
"How long was she gone at that time?" asked Wilcox.
"When she ran back into the house? Oh, I don't know, two or three minutes? She had to unlock the gallery and go through up to the flat."
Wilcox turned to Layla, who nodded. "Yes. I couldn't find it at first. And Jenna was no help. I finally found it hanging on the back of the door."
"When you left the gallery, was the door locked?"
"Yes, of course. Jenna was upstairs. I locked the outside gallery door, so no-one could get in. But the door between the gallery and upstairs was not locked. I never locked that one."
"Then the three of you drove to the pub," said Wilcox, "and that's where you were when you heard about the fire."
"That's right," said Addison.
"So Layla, as far as we know you were the last person to see your sister alive. And you were alone with her at the time. For two or three minutes."
