After the Ferry

by C. A. Larmer

  The man’s expression softened. “Long time ago. Back when we called her Millie. Sillie Millie. Seems so trivial now.” He sighed. “Met her while backpacking in Europe, same time Thomas did.”

  Thomas? He hadn’t heard the guy referred to that way in a while. “But Tommo got the girl, hey?”

  Angus’s face hardened. He didn’t answer.

  “What brings you round these parts?”

  “I heard the news, of course. It’s all over the internet. I thought… Well, I just wanted to offer him and the young lad some help, that’s all.”

  “And it wasn’t welcome.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Stormed out, didn’t he?”

  Angus nodded and slid his eyes away.

  “When did you last see Amy?” the detective asked, and his eyes slid back.

  “Ages ago.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “Um, five, six months ago, I suppose.”

  “With Tom?”

  “With Phillip actually. In Sydney.” And to the man’s raised eyebrows he quickly explained, “She was visiting her folks, wanted to catch up, reminisce about our days in Greece.”

  “With her son in tow?”

  He shrugged. “What else was she going to do with him?”

  “Leave him with his grandparents.”

  “Yes, well, she didn’t. She brought him along, we had a nice catch-up. It was as simple as that.”

  “And what did you talk about?”

  He shrugged. “The state of the country, the drought, her dreams of living in Sydney one day.”

  “She said that?”

  He looked like a rabbit caught in headlights suddenly. “She missed the place, that’s all. She used to work there once. I think she missed her folks, her career and wanted more for the kid, that’s all. Look, perhaps you should talk to her parents; they’d know more about all this. Can’t remember their names but they live in—”

  “We’ve spoken to Amy’s parents. They know nothing.”

  “Oh right,” he said, then glanced at his watch. “Look, I wish I could be more help, really I do, but it was just a friendly catch-up with an old amoureux, and I haven’t seen her since.” He looked at his watch more pointedly this time. “I honestly do need to get going. I’ve got a long drive ahead of me.”

  “Can I have your details, please?” Geoff asked, causing Angus to frown. “In case we have any more questions.”

  He slapped his jacket pocket then reached in and pulled out a thin leather wallet, selecting a glossy business card from inside and handing it over.

  Geoff read the words Tower Global Solutions and realised now where he’d seen him before. If it wasn’t the financial pages of the national paper it was probably in one of his wife’s trash mags. If he remembered correctly, the guy was one of the country’s most eligible bachelors. A George Clooney type.

  “My assistant’s name is Wanda,” Angus was saying. “She’ll set something up.”

  Like Geoff was discussing a business deal, not the disappearance of… What had he called her in French? An old lover?

  As though reading his mind, Angus quickly added, “Look, I’m really just an old friend trying to do my bit. I want to help find Amy. I’m as worried as the rest of you, but I’m not sure there’s much I can do, to be honest.”

  He buttoned up his jacket, then nodded his head at the card still in Geoff’s hands. “But, please, do call me if you hear anything.”

  Then he patted his jacket down and strode swiftly out of the bar.

  As he went, Geoff watched and wondered what that was all about. Word of Amy’s disappearance had only hit the news last night. Yet here he was, less than twenty-four hours later, pretending to care yet offering nothing of any substance.

  Angus Tower was a busy man, by all accounts. Ran some top-notch tech company. Yet had time to make the four-hour return drive to Shepperdin, and for what? To offer his help and then assure him he was no use anyway.

  Why was Angus Tower really here? What was that about? And why had Thomas looked like he wanted to knock his block off before he stormed out?

  There was history there, sure, but there was something else. Secrets. This “old friend” was clearly hiding something. The whole thing reeked of bullshit to Geoff, and no amount of expensive aftershave could hide that fact.

  SARISI

  Seagulls swooped low, like feathered signposts, but she didn’t need them to find her way to Nicholas. He was fishing in the same spot he’d been fishing every morning since she’d arrived on the island, down on the rocky outcrop beyond the castle.

  It gave her some comfort to see him there, like a sentinel on guard below the tower, and she’d pulled on her sneakers, grabbed her jumper, then made her way out to join him. As she clambered down the rock face and skipped across the bloody pools where yet more fish were snagged, she felt lighter, stronger, less anxious than she had when she’d first arrived.

  He glanced up as she approached but didn’t quite smile. Just edged his lips northward and called out, “Hey!” before turning his attention back to his rod.

  Perhaps she’d misinterpreted last night, she thought, noticing the mood change. Or perhaps he wasn’t a morning person.

  “Any bites yet?” she asked, keeping her tone light.

  “Not yet. Playing hard to get today.”

  For a moment she wondered if he was talking about himself, but she brushed it aside and held a hand above her eyes as she peered out at the shockingly bright Aegean.

  She said, “I think I had the best sleep of my life last night. I was out for the count. Must be all the good food and fresh air.”

  He nodded without speaking.

  “So.” She tried again. “I was wondering…” He didn’t look around. “If you have any idea when Effie’s returning.”

  Her tone was casual but Nicholas could sense an undercurrent. Or maybe that was just him brooding over what Catalina had said last night. He was glad Millie got some sleep because he hadn’t slept a wink. Cat’s words kept circling through his brain until they were in knots and made even less sense than before.

  What did she mean about Millie being dangerous? And what was that comment about being too posh for Greek guys? That Greeks had to take it from her? What kind of creepy comment was that?

  He shook the words away and tried to lighten up.

  Cat was simply jealous. That’s all this was. A rejected lover lashing out.

  “I think she’s due back this evening,” he said of Effie, trying to shake off his moodiness. “She better be. I’m supposed to be having the night off. Why?”

  “Oh, just wondering that’s all.” Then, a little less casually, “If you happen to speak to her again, could you do me a big favour and tell her I’m staying for a bit?”

  “Sure.”

  He’d already heard that from Kostas last night and remembered how happy he’d been to hear it. Now he felt a small shiver of trepidation.

  Bloody Catalina, she was ruining everything.

  But Millie wasn’t finished. “Maybe let Effie know, if you don’t mind, that I’m not going anywhere. Not leaving the island until she gets back. Tell her I’m determined to see her.”

  Nicholas nodded again, too preoccupied with his own thoughts to hear the threat in Millie’s tone. If he had, he might have acted very differently after that. Instead, he watched her smile suddenly appear as a fish leapt from the water, then heard her laugh—oh God, the laugh!—as he grappled with his rod and tried desperately to reel the whopper in.

  Her laughter was intoxicating, exploding out of her like a wild animal, and before the fish was even in the bucket he had forgotten Catalina’s warning and was falling for her all over again.

  But this time he knew there was no going back.

  EVE

  The inner-city street was pumping with the midmorning coffee set, every café—and there were lots of them—packed with espresso-sipping sorts. Mostly hipsters by the look of it, Monty
thought as she stood on the sidewalk, watching the stunning blondes and bearded types who seemed to have nothing better to do than sit about looking beautiful. Others, including yummy mummies with tank-size strollers and middle-aged women impersonating Sporty Spice in their yoga pants and ponytails, walked hurriedly between vintage clothing stores and record shops, retro music pelting out from some of them.

  Five years ago Monty would have thought this location cool with its mixed bag of restaurants, clubs, shops and residences, mostly dusty terrace houses, flanked with metal bars. Now it made her feel old and cynical. She wondered how Thomas could stand living amongst the crime and drugs and booming bars. If she recalled correctly, he was from a small country town somewhere. Quite the opposite of all this.

  She glanced at the paper in her hand, at the words she’d scribbled down hastily—263A Dirring Street—then continued to walk.

  Number 263 was wedged between a tobacconist and a shoe shop boasting shiny Doc Martens, and she smiled at a past memory of buying the exact same pair in a shop in London. She had adored those shoes once, now they just looked stiff and uncomfortable. And if she was being honest, trekking the world in them had not made them any more relaxed. Bit like Amelia, she thought. Bit like herself.

  Monty glanced at the paper in her hand again. Number 263A. That didn’t make sense. She stared at the door to 263. Was the A missing? Did she have the wrong address? Stepping back, she peered up at the shuttered veranda, the freshly painted veneer, then she looked around and towards a narrow laneway on the other side of the shoe shop. She waited for a cyclist to pass and then made her way down.

  There was just one shop wedged in here, a tiny jewellers with its door closed, and she noticed the back of some restaurant, Italian by the look of the debris overflowing from various garbage bins—pizza boxes, pasta packets, the smell of stale garlic.

  There was a deeper stench though, and she realised it was urine, so she breathed through her mouth as she hurried along to a faded red door with the numbers 263A scratched into it.

  Monty wasn’t sure what to expect when Thomas swung the front door open, but he was older than she’d imagined, certainly hadn’t aged as well as Angus, despite being thinner with all his thick, red locks. There was something about him that looked tired, and she quickly ran a hand through her own hair in case he was thinking the same.

  “Monty Brennan!” He was smiling broadly. “Come here, girl.”

  As he pulled her into a hug, she exhaled and hugged him back. When she called him an hour earlier, she had prepared herself for the cold shoulder, even some animosity, but he seemed delighted to hear from her and insisted she come straight over, which she did lest she lose her nerve.

  “Wow, look at you in your fancy suit, hey!” he said, pushing her back to look her over.

  She laughed. “Hi, Thomas, how are you?”

  “Ah, just call me Tommo. I’m great, yeah, never better. So tell me what’s going on.”

  “Can we talk?”

  “Well, I assume you’re not here for my killer coffee.”

  He still had her hand and was pulling her through the doorway and up a steep set of stairs to the first-floor landing. There he led her into a dark living space, flicking on a lamp to reveal sparse furnishings and smudged walls in dire need of a paint. A radio was blaring from a distant room, a shock-jock by the sound of it, and she smelled a mixture of tobacco, tomato sauce and mould. He clearly hadn’t done as well from his business studies as his best mate, but he seemed happy enough as he led her to a sofa and then stepped towards a doorway that opened into the kitchen.

  “Get you a beer?”

  She laughed. “It’s not even noon!”

  “So? We used to put ’em away earlier than that on Santorini remember?”

  “See any Greeks around here?”

  He laughed like he’d never heard anything funnier, then clapped his hands together and said, “Killer coffee it is.”

  As he vanished around the corner, Monty stood back up and strolled the room, looking about. He had a few photos on display, most of the countryside—cow paddocks, an old timber house, and a bright red tractor with a man standing in front of it who looked a little like Thomas. She vaguely recalled another brother and wondered if he still lived out there somewhere and why Tommo hadn’t returned to join him. There was a bookshelf too, mostly jammed with CDs, but she did spot a few self-help books, including that ridiculous Prophecy nonsense that Amelia had liked, as well as a handful of what you could only call airport reads by Wilbur Smith, James Patterson, Candace Fox.

  “You like a good thriller?” she called out, and he reappeared at the doorway, a beer in one hand, a mug in the other.

  “Who doesn’t?”

  Me, she thought but let it drop as she took the mug from him. They had always been chalk and cheese, she and Thomas. It seemed silly now, how they had turned to each other soon after they all met. Like they had no other choice but to get together once Angus had chosen Millie.

  Why didn’t we just stay friends? Monty wondered, swishing her lips one side. What was the point of all that?

  “So.” He was sitting on the sofa now and patting the cushion beside him. “Come, tell me why I’m everybody’s favourite person all of a sudden. I don’t hear from anyone for over a decade, and suddenly you’re all breaking down my door. What’s going on?”

  Was there a slight edge to his voice? Was he feeling offended?

  “I’m sorry we all lost touch,” she began, rushing to sit down. “I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me, to be honest.”

  “Why not?” His eyes were steady and she wondered if he was joking.

  She glanced at her lap, swept some invisible dust away. “I don’t know. Just, you know, the way things ended up.”

  When she glanced back up, Tom looked genuinely confused.

  “How did things end up? What are you talking about?” Then the penny must have dropped because his face creased into a smile again. “You mean you and me?”

  “Well, you know, we did break up…”

  “Jesus, Monty, we were barely together! I haven’t been crying myself to sleep over it if that’s what you think.”

  He was almost sniggering, and she could feel her cheeks burning. “No! Of course not.” She grappled for her coffee again. Subject change, she thought. Now! “Anyway, it’s good to see you. What have you been up to?”

  “Bit of this, bit of that.”

  She nodded, trying not to glance around, not to focus on the general shabbiness of the place. “How’s all the family? You were from somewhere out west was it?”

  “Shepperdin, just a few hours away.” He glanced at the picture on the tabletop. “Dad died a few years back.”

  “Sorry.”

  “What for? He was a prick. Left the property to my brother, wrote me out of the whole lot. Two hundred acres of dairy farm, all gifted to Harry.”

  “Oh.” No wonder he hadn’t returned. No wonder Angus said he was floundering.

  “It seems I was never to be forgiven for getting above my station.” He noticed her looking puzzled now and explained, “Dad hated my business degree. Expected me to be a good little boy and stay on the land like Harry.” Then he offered her a cheerless smile. “Harry got his reward, and so did I.”

  “Oh, Tom, I’m so sorry.”

  “Nah, don’t be. Harry did the right thing, offered me a bit of land but I couldn’t go back. Besides, his wife’s a total ball-buster. Couldn’t stand the thought of living so close.” He scratched at his chin stubble, seemed lost in a bubble for a moment before glancing back at her. “But I don’t think you’ve come all this way to hear my sob story.”

  He smiled. He sat back. He waited.

  Offering her own apologetic smile, Monty said, “No, you’re right. I’m here about Amelia.”

  “Amelia?”

  “Millie.”

  “Right, Millie. Yeah, she dropped in last week. She was looking good. Said you two were still close. Work together,
am I right? On some chick mag? The big one? Eve is it?” She nodded. “Wow, that’s quite a bond.”

  “She’s my bestie. Has been since school, remember?”

  His lips dipped downwards, and he looked like he was about to object to that but thought better of it and shrugged. “So, what about Millie?”

  “She’s gone missing.” Truth was probably the best option, she decided; they’d beaten about the bush long enough.

  “Missing?” He sat forward.

  “Yes. She hasn’t been seen since last Friday.”

  He sat back and rubbed his chin again. “Wow, she’s vanished again, hey?” Then he smiled. “You check for Greek blokes?”

  When Monty didn’t smile along, he said, “I’m sure she’ll turn up again; she’s the boomerang kid that one.”

  “I’m sure she will too, but I’d rather not wait a year this time. I know she came to see you the day before she vanished.”

  “And you think I had something to do with it?”

  His tone definitely had an edge now, and she held a hand up.

  “God no! I’m not saying that at all. I-I’m just wondering if she told you anything, gave you any indication where she might be heading, that’s all.”

  “Nope. But then she wouldn’t, would she? I mean if she didn’t tell you—her bestie—why would she tell me?”

  He took a good, long gulp of his beer and then leaned back as though that was the end of it. He wasn’t going to make it easy, she realised.

  Taking another deep breath, Monty tried again. “Do you mind telling me what you two talked about? When she came to visit? Maybe it’ll shed some light on where she went.”

  He looked at her surprised, the beer at his lips again, and she held one palm out.

  “Look, I know I’m being nosy, but something’s obviously happened. She wouldn’t just take off.”

  “She did once.”

  Monty let that one go to the keeper. “I saw Angus last night.”

  He seemed surprised to hear that but said nothing.

  “He told Amelia about how he and I had, well, you know…?” Again she didn’t have the courage to articulate it.