by Imogene Nix
He stepped aside and indicated the old, heavy, wooden drawers against the wall. They carried a dark patina of well-waxed furnishings, while the scent of lemon filled the air and light glinted from the dull, metal handles.
“If you need anything else, you’ll find towels, blankets, and stuff in the bottom drawer.” He lugged one bag and then the other to the bed. “Get comfortable and then come out when you’re ready.”
He left the room, closing the door behind him. Jenny opened the first bag, her own, and started pulling out her clothes, shoving them into drawers and the cupboard.
Her thoughts crowded her, tumbling along in her mind, and she wanted...needed...to stay one step ahead of them, because if she didn’t, she knew from long experience that she’d feel the negative emotions that could unbalance her.
“Control. Stay in control, Jenny. That’ll get you through.” She whispered the words to her reflection in the mirror and returned to her task.
Once she had her backpack empty, she opened the door to the en-suite and placed her toiletries on the large, white, marble vanity unit and studied her reflection with a sigh. There really wasn’t much she could do with herself. For a moment she toyed with the idea of a shower, but she’d been in there a while and knew she should probably go out and be somewhat social. Not that she really wanted to.
Her gaze took in the black hair that stood up in clumps from running her fingers through it while unpacking. Her eye makeup left her looking like some kind of Goth raccoon, with smudged and smeared mascara.
“You can’t go out there looking like that.” The firmness in her voice belied the wobble of her chin as emotions welled.
Her gaze settled on the black, ruffled blouse and straight, black pants which she’d thought were at least well-fitting, only to realize that the pants puckered a little along the sides and the blouse revealed a little too much flesh for her size.
Her shoulders slumped. “That’s what you get for not looking in the mirror.”
The truth was, though, that all she could do was cope from day-to-day right now. If it took refusing to look too closely at her clothing choices, then so be it. The drawback was times like this.
Cara had been a perfect size eight with long, blonde hair and dark brown eyes. She’d been the one all the guys wanted to date and the girls wanted to be friends with. Not the dark- haired, plus-sized girl.
Jenny’s gaze fell to the white scars on her wrists. Marks she wished she could forget about, but they were there. Reminders of what she’d felt and how she’d abused her body in the past. Reminders of how far she had come.
No matter how much she tried to hide from the truth though, her weight was only one aspect of her depression and self-esteem issues.
Jenny pulled away from the mirror, knowing if she stayed, the morbid thoughts would catch up with her. It was a coping strategy she’d finally found. One that worked for her. It might not be technically accepted practice to ignore and hide from the truth, but it had proved successful every time she employed it. It had kept her alive when there was little to look forward to.
She hurried back to the bedroom and pushed her bag to the floor before she opened Cara’s.
Inside was a wild jumble of clothes. Whatever she’d thought could be achieved by unpacking it—and that path only led to more confusion—would wait. The pain cut deep...too deep right now. Tears burned behind her lids, and she quickly zipped the bag up.
Better to deal with this when she was more settled. Carefully, she lifted the bag and set it on the floor at the end of the bed. Later, she promised herself.
She smoothed down her clothes and finger-brushed her hair. Next Jenny tidied her makeup and inhaled deeply before heading for the door. The corridor was long and cool, and she walked in the direction of Steve’s voice. Thuds and taps, along with clunks and crunches filled the air, and she peeked around the corner wall into the kitchen. Lola sat perched on a stool and Steve peeled vegetables in the sink.
“So I’m thinking, tonight we grill some chicken breasts and veggies. Maybe even fruit salad for dessert. What do you say to that, Lola? Think our guest would find that acceptable?” Neither had seen her and she watched as Lola nodded, peeling a carrot. Every now and again it fell from her grip to the dark granite worktop with a thud. Jenny bit her lip, watching for a minute longer, then saw Steve pull away from the sink.
She moved around the corner. “Hi there.”
Steve turned, and his small smile warmed her inside. It lit up his face, crinkling the corner of his eyes and his mouth, and hers dried up as a spark of interest suffused her. Control yourself, Jenny. This is Cara’s guy. You know...the girl you came to bury? She stopped still as her mind reminded her of the truth. Besides which, after the gorgeous Cara, she was a frumpy cow. The familiar weight of grief and self-doubt settled back on her shoulders.
Jenny moved hesitantly toward Lola. “You’re doing an excellent job there. Can I help?”
The child looked at her as if assessing her, and Jenny had the feeling she saw a lot more than she let on. That was usually the way with silent children. Jenny wondered what lay at the heart of it.
“I hope you like grilled chicken and veggies.”
Jenny looked up, nodding at Steve’s words. “That would be lovely. Can I help?” She moved forward and he shook his head.
“I thought we could eat in here tonight, and then Lola’s heading to bed. It’s been a long day for her. Then you and I can talk about things.”
Jenny knew he was right. They needed to talk. She needed to share the letter. And it would be good to have someone to talk to about Cara—someone who knew Cara as well as, or possibly more so, than she herself did.
“Sure, okay,” Jenny replied.
She sat down on a vacant stool and watched as Lola slipped off hers, grabbing some plates, knives, and forks. It was obvious she was quite at home here. She might not be Steve’s biological daughter, but there was a close bond between the two.
The sound of meat sizzling on a griddle filled the air, and she salivated at the delicious smells that emanated. Jenny waited as Steve moved around, clearly comfortable in the role of cook. She smiled. It had been a very long time since she’d been in a kitchen filled with such delicious smells.
Steve turned back and smiled. “If you would like a drink, Lola will show you where the glasses are. There’s some wine or soda water in the fridge. Cool water comes from the extra tap. Help yourself.”
“I’ll grab a soda water, thanks.” She rose and Lola indicated a high cupboard. She reached up, grabbed two wine glasses, and noted a small plastic cup on the benchtop. “Would you like a drink too, Steve?”
“Yeah, I’ll take a soda water too. Could you squeeze a little lime juice into it?”
“Sure.” Jenny quickly set about the task of adding some citrus juice to both. Lola grabbed a plastic cup and pointed to the juice, which Jenny poured, then settled back into her seat.
Steve carried the meat and vegetables over, settling in beside her as he placed the hot griddle on a heat stone on the breakfast bar. They helped themselves to the medley of vegetables and chicken, which was perfect and tender. Not for the first time, she felt just a hint of jealousy toward Cara.
Once again she’d got the perfect guy. Then she reminded herself that Cara didn’t get the perfect outcome though. After all, wasn’t that why she was here? Her stomach bottomed out at the thought.
Chapter 4
The dishwasher was loaded and humming away, and Steve had taken Lola down the hall to settle her into bed. Jenny made her way into the lounge, studying the photos on the walls. There was a large one of a wedding, and she was pretty sure the couple was his parents. The wedding gown was early eighties, the bride’s hair big curls, and the wedding party wore pastel suits edged with ruffles. There’d been nothing like these happy images on the walls growing up in her house.
She moved along the wall, seeing a photo of Steve, younger and dressed in his police uniform. It must have been whe
n he finished at the academy. She smiled, wondering if she’d ever looked that young herself. The next one was of him and another man. They were obviously good friends, judging by the way the man stood close by Steve as they both held up a tin of beer, dressed in casual clothes and sporting broad grins. Jenny wondered at the story behind the photo. Was it some kind of special event? A birthday or promotion? She moved on.
Jenny stopped at a photo of him and Cara, arms entwined and faces close together. If she’d needed any proof they had been an item, there it was. The next was of Cara, Steve, and Lola. They smiled out at her like some kind of happy family, and the feeling that she had somehow intruded on precious memories jerked her away from the image.
“That was taken the week before she left.” The sound of Steve’s voice surprised her, and she turned.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have...”
He shook his head. “No, it’s fine.”
He indicated a bottle of brown spirits. The scent in the air told her it was a well-known Australian rum. She thought for a minute about his offer, then nodded.
Jenny wasn’t much of a drinker, rarely indulging in such things, because the consequences could be disastrous if she dipped into a depressive mood. She knew her personal foibles well enough, but tonight, she needed a dash of courage.
Steve poured two healthy splashes of gold liquid into glasses and held one out for her. “Make yourself comfortable. I doubt this is going to be an easy conversation.”
“I think you’re right about that,” she said as she took the glass.
He trailed over to a seat, holding the bottle in one hand and his glass in the other.
Jenny took a sip of the liquid. It burned a path down her throat, and she coughed away the burn.
“Are you okay?”
For a moment she felt the warmth of concern envelop her. She smiled. “Yeah.”
He settled into the chair, his feet crossed, while the rum balanced on the arm of the seat, and looked pointedly in her direction. “The letter? You’ll tell me about it?”
Jenny nodded and reached into her pocket, drawing the crumpled paper out and unfolding it, smoothing it with shaking fingers. “I’d... If you don’t mind, I’ll read it out loud. There’s some...” She swallowed the last of her drink. “There’s some deeply personal stuff in it I don’t feel comfortable sharing.” She finished the words in a rush and hoped like hell he’d understand.
He nodded but thankfully remained silent.
She glanced down at the copy, noting the way her fingers shook. The paper rustled, and for a moment, her courage fled. It took every ounce of willpower for her to draw another breath, settle the nerves, then begin.
“Uh...so she starts out with:
Jenny, I don’t have a lot of time. By the time you get this, I will be gone. I need you to do a couple of things for me. Take my stuff to Steve Davies. You’ll find a link on the last email I sent. Take me back to him. Look after him and Lola, they need help. More than either of them understands right now.”
Jenny stopped, heaving a gulp of air and struggling with the tenuous threads of composure before she continued.
“If only you’d been here, but you weren’t, and I won’t get to share with you how fabulous my life is, or was. I don’t want to leave. Tell Steve and Lola I wish I was with them. Of course they need to go on, live their lives without me, but ask them to remember me. Full of life and fun, because that’s what I was, we both know that. Jenny, remember to always be true to yourself, no matter what that brings. Above all, make sure to talk to Steve. I know it’s all my fault, but you know me, I just can’t help myself. I craved the fun. I lived for the adventure.”
For a moment, Jenny swore to herself she could hear the trill of laughter, tinkling through the room, as if Cara were there. She gulped and looked down, knowing there was more...much more, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the words, so she finished reading the letter silently. By the time she reached the end of it, she was sobbing.
She covered her face with her hands and felt an arm enfold her in a hug. She drew strength from the touch. “She was my best friend. The only one there when...” She couldn’t tell him. If he knew just how broken she was, he wouldn’t want her near him or Lola right now. She needed something to hold onto, just for a moment, to help her through the pain that squeezed her heart. A brief flash of intuition flared. If she felt like this, what must Steve feel?
“It’s okay. God, I miss her too.” Steve’s voice was husky, and they held on tight. Jenny knew that in that instant, they drew support from each other.
“I brought her bag and things...like she asked me to.” Her throat caught on the words as she forced them out.
Scrubbing at her face didn’t stop the trails of tears from sliding down and soaking her skin. She drew in unsteady breaths and shoved up, out of the chair. Pacing the floor, she tried to clear the lump which had settled in her chest when Inspector Reid had told her Cara was dead.
“How did you... Where did the letter come from?” Steve asked.
She’d expected the question, so it was easy to answer. “The detective dealing with the case—Detective Inspector Reid—gave it to me. It’s only a copy. The original was kept as evidence. They found it in her bra. She’d written it and then hid it. She’d obviously had time... They hadn’t damaged her, I mean... Her body was unmarked except for the bullet wound, so they hadn’t done anything.” She stopped, swallowed the bile that rose in her throat, then gave herself a moment of composure, feeling him drag her into a hard embrace. “Initially they thought the letter might contain a clue to who her attacker was, but they quickly decided it didn’t.”
Steve grunted. She felt his nod and pushed out of his arms.
“I could...I could use another drink,” she said.
He moved away, reached for his own glass, and gulped the rest of the amber liquid down.
Then he poured them both another generous amount. “You better sit down.”
Jenny nodded and followed his instructions. Once cushioned on the chair, she sucked in a deep breath. “I need to tell you how this happened. You need to decide if you want me to hang around and help solve this problem.”
He gazed deeply into her eyes, as if examining whatever thought processes she had. “I don’t think...”
“Steve, something in her background caused this to happen. I need to find out, and so do you. Inspector Reid indicated he thought it was no more than bad timing. But Cara was always careful. I explained that to him. She wouldn’t stay in a dive, but that’s where they found her. Why? Why was she there? Who was she meeting? Because it wasn’t me. I didn’t even know she was heading to Melbourne. None of this makes sense.”
He handed her the glass and she drank deeply, the fire a little more muted than last time. He sloshed some more in her glass, and she glanced at him with question. But she was sure that tonight she’d need every bit of oblivion this drink could give her.
“Jenny, if this was more than a case of wrong place, wrong time, or wrong person—” She opened her mouth, but he raised a hand, cutting off her words.
“If there is more to this and she was targeted for some specific reason—and I honestly don’t know if that’s the case—then this is not something you want to be involved in. Hell, I’m not sure I should even be involved.” He shook his head. “An investigation like this takes knowing people and a clear mind. Something I don’t have at the moment.” He sighed heavily. “I can ask questions, and like you, I need to know the truth, but Lola needs to be protected.”
She slumped back in the chair, her mind whirling madly as she scrubbed her hand across her face. She came here simply to deliver Cara to her lover, but the more he questioned the circumstances, the more she felt driven to find out exactly what caused Cara’s death.
“Tell me how you met her,” Jenny said.
He jerked, her request obviously a surprise. “Why?”
Jenny’s stomach turned cartwheels, and for a moment, the cloying
thickness of grief and depression swirled. Not tonight, she promised herself, and closed her eyes, fighting off the sensation as best she could. She needed to know more.
“I met Cara the day she found Lola. Lola was a street kid, or so we originally thought. She’d been rummaging about in the trashcans and Cara couldn’t leave her. She was so tiny. Not emaciated, but clearly hadn’t eaten for days. Her hair was matted, and she had these big, scared eyes. I’ll never forget that look. It felt so damned wrong that a kid would be so terrified. That was about five months ago.”
Jenny opened her eyes, surprised they’d been together that long. Five long months and Cara hadn’t said anything? That hurt more than anything else he’d said, because it indicated that Cara hadn’t felt the level of affection toward her that she felt.
Steve sat across from Jenny, his legs splayed after the highly emotional conversation, and dragged his free hand through his hair. The glass dangled from one hand between his legs, and he gazed into the amber liquid.
Then he straightened, swished the drink, and lifted the glass, swallowing what was left, and sighed. “Cara called the police. My partner and I responded to the call. No one could work out who Lola was, and Child Services couldn’t get out to see her for several days. They left her with Cara, and by then Lola had...well, not exactly bonded, but at least become comfortable with Cara. When they made contact with the government psychologist, it was recommended that Lola shouldn’t be moved again. Not with her particular needs. It wasn’t a perfect fit, but it worked.” He looked up and he knew she saw the shadows in his eyes—hell, he’d seen them in the mirror himself. “The instant I met Cara and Lola, I thought they belonged together.” Cara had left a hole in their lives no one could fill.
It was clear in her expression that Jenny felt the pull of Steve’s grief. Her eyes held a sadness in the shadows that clouded her vision. Inexplicably, her understanding stung.
