by Vicki Tyley
“Daniel, would you quit talking in riddles and tell me what the hell is going on.”
Lowering his voice, he said, “Not that you have nosy neighbours, but perhaps we should continue this inside.”
If he was trying to pique her interest, he was succeeding. Hoping it wasn’t simply another ploy to get to Narelle through her, Jacinta gathered up her glass of beer and the empty cans. Daniel opened the French door, holding it for her, before following her through to the kitchen.
She dumped her load on the stainless steel draining board and turned to see him checking out the front of the fridge.
“When was this taken?” he asked, pointing with his glass at one of the photos Brett had taken the night of the dinner party.
“A few weeks ago. Does it matter?” she said, putting herself between him and the fridge. The photo he seemed most interested in featured Narelle and Craig, Shauna and Patrick, and herself, all crammed together at one end of the outside table, grinning tipsily at the photographer. She gestured in the direction of the living room. “After you.”
Daniel started to say something, but the sound of the front door opening interrupted him.
“Honey, I’m home!” Brett sang out, appearing a moment later with his gym bag slung over his shoulder, his hair damp. “Daniel, hi. Didn’t realise you were here.” He grinned and stuck his hand out. “How are you, mate?”
Jacinta might as well have been invisible for all the notice Brett took. Without even looking at her, he accepted the beer she handed him and ushered Daniel through to the living room. She took the unexpected opportunity to remove all the photos from the fridge, shoving them face down in the utensil drawer. Then she rejoined the men.
When she sat down on the sofa next to Brett, he placed his hand on her knee, acknowledging her presence but not missing a beat in his conversation with Daniel. She listened idly to their banter, her mind more caught up in what Daniel had been about to tell her before Brett arrived home.
The remains of the two women found in the Toolangi State Forest had been identified and neither was Kirsty Edmonds. All Jacinta knew, other than that, was that both victims had been shot and one of them used to work for the same stockbroking firm as Craig Edmonds. Was the second victim also linked to Craig in some way? What had Daniel been alluding to when he mentioned Narelle’s life could be at risk?
Daniel’s deep voice broke through her thoughts. She jumped, taking a second to realise Brett wasn’t beside her any longer and Daniel was looking at her.
“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head, “What did you say?” She wondered where Brett had got to and then heard the toilet flush.
Daniel laughed. “I gather the footy is not your thing. Shame, you don’t know what you’re missing.”
“I’ll live,” she retorted. “Now, what were you about to tell me earlier?”
“Maybe now isn’t the best time,” he said, glancing at the doorway and then at his watch.
Maybe not, but Jacinta wasn’t about to be thwarted. “Answer me one thing: is the second woman you identified in any way linked with Craig Edmonds?”
Daniel’s eyes widened. “What makes you ask?”
“Please, Daniel, just tell me. Is she?”
“Okay then, yes. However, it’s only a tenuous connection at this stage. She was the architect employed by the Edmonds when they put the extension on the back of the house.”
“This is before Kirsty disappeared?”
“Yes, she was reported missing about six months before Kirsty, but the work she did on the house was a year prior to that.”
Jacinta stared open-mouthed at Daniel, her brain manically trying to fit the pieces together.
“Now do you understand why I asked for your help?”
Feeling more flummoxed than ever, she started to shake her head, before halfway through changing it to a nod. “But what I don’t understand is why, if Craig Edmonds is securely tucked up in a psych ward, you have Narelle under surveillance.”
Daniel scratched the side of his face, his eyebrows lowering as he held her gaze. “We don’t. Where did you get that idea from?”
Before she could reply, Brett came back, his hands clamped around another three cans of Foster’s.
Daniel took it as his cue. “Thanks, but I’d better not, I’m driving,” he said, checking his watch again. “I also promised the boys I would take them to the park,” he added, getting to his feet. “Jacinta, think seriously about what I said and call me.”
CHAPTER 37
“I’ll tell you about it in the car.” Jacinta snatched her keys from the hook. “Hurry up!”
Leaving the front door open for Brett, she raced for her car. He followed seconds later, his unbuttoned shirt flapping about his chest, the fly in his jeans gaping. Jacinta drove hard, taking corners at speed and throwing Brett around as he endeavoured to finish dressing.
“Christ, Jacinta! I want to get there in one piece.”
Mumbling an apology, she eased off the accelerator a fraction before the thought of Narelle, frightened and alone with a gun, changed her mind again.
The Nissan Pulsar screeched to a stop in front of the Edmonds house. Jacinta left the car idling as she scanned the driveway and the front of the large brick home. Both garage doors were closed and all the curtains were drawn. As far as she could see in the low light, that was the same situation at every house down the sleeping street. Not even the birds were awake.
If it hadn’t been for Narelle’s hysterical pre-dawn phone call, she and Brett would still have been tucked up in bed, too. A noise out by the swimming pool had convinced Narelle someone was out to get her, and no amount of reasoning was going to sway her otherwise.
Brett yawned, his hand catching only the end of it. Thinking there would be safety in numbers, she had roped a sleep-dazed Brett into coming with her. Now he sat in the passenger seat next to her, his seatbelt still buckled. She glanced at his shirt, stifling a small chuckle when she realised he had miscalculated by at least one buttonhole.
“What’s so funny?”
She pointed at his shirt, peering past him to the house while he unbuttoned and rebuttoned his shirt. Staying home alone in a place that size would be enough to test anyone’s nerves, thought Jacinta. Without any added stresses.
Jacinta unbuckled her seatbelt, turned off the ignition and, with the keys clasped in her hand, got out of the car. Brett followed suit, yawning as he waited for her on the footpath.
“Wakey, wakey.”
“Wait.” He grabbed her arm. “Do you really think this is a good idea? What if Narelle isn’t hearing things? Don’t you think it’s about time we involved the police?”
“No,” she said, shaking his hand off her arm, “I promised her I wouldn’t. You know how Narelle feels about the cops, and she already thinks I’ve betrayed her once. Stay here if you want, but I’m going in.”
Without giving herself time to change her mind, she strode toward the Edmonds’ front door, anxiety heightening all her senses. Brett caught up with her in the same instant she pressed the doorbell. The resulting strident, metallic peal shattered the dawn stillness, making them both jump.
She pressed her ear up against the door, stepping back when she heard footsteps approaching on the other side. A few seconds later, the door opened slightly, Narelle’s pasty face appearing in the gap. With a quick check of the area behind Jacinta and Brett, she ushered them inside and hastily relocked the door.
Barefoot and dressed only in pink love-heart boxers and a white singlet, Narelle seemed unable to stand still. Her dark-circled eyes darted from Jacinta to Brett and back again. Wringing, clenching and unclenching her hands, she headed down the hall toward the lighted kitchen and meals area, her agitation growing with every step.
Brett looked at Jacinta, his bemused expression mirroring the expression she was sure must be on her own face as he hurried after Narelle. Jacinta tried to stall him but her fingers clutched thin air. Then she almost collided with him when, roundin
g the end of the kitchen counter, he came to an abrupt halt. His eyes boggled, his look changing to one of complete incomprehension, as he stared at the revolver lying in the middle of the round glass table.
Seemingly oblivious to the consternation caused by the presence of the gun, Narelle circled the table, her hands constantly moving.
“Shit, Narelle! I didn’t think you were serious.” Brett glared at Jacinta as if to say: You knew about this and you didn’t think to tell me? She ignored him, adding, “I sincerely hope it’s not…”
Narelle froze, shushing her with a finger to her lip. “Did you hear that?” she whispered.
Jacinta heard nothing. Looking over her shoulder, she took a cautious step forward. Brett met her glance with a shrug, mouthing words she couldn’t decipher as he reached out to pull her back. Breaking free of his grasp, she padded across the room toward Narelle.
“There,” said Narelle, her voice a low hiss as she sidled to the end of the drape-drawn windows. “You must have heard that.”
Jacinta shook her head, but Narelle was too intent on peeking around the edge of the heavy drape to notice. Brett touched the back of her hand, leaning in close to whisper in her ear. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on, Jacinta, but this is way past a joke.”
Narelle waved her hand in their direction, motioning them to the window. Crowded together and with every nerve on end, they strained to see through the thin slice of half-light to the shadowy courtyard. At that moment, a bird farting would have been enough to send them all into a screaming heap.
Brett was the first to peel away. “If there was anyone lurking out there before, I’m betting they’re long gone by now.” He sighed, his hands going to his hips. “For Chrissakes, would someone tell me what the hell this is all about?”
Still gripping the edge of the curtain, Narelle responded with nothing more than a cursory glance in his direction before returning to watching out the window. With an exasperated shrug, he looked to Jacinta.
She pulled him aside, whispering, “I only know part of it and it’s complicated. But I think it should come from Narelle. Just give her a minute or two.”
Pointing at the table, he made no attempt to keep his voice down. “And the gun? I suppose you didn’t know a thing about that either.”
Before Jacinta could answer, Narelle snatched up the revolver from the table. “The gun is nobody’s business but mine,” she said, her forceful tone shocking Jacinta. Narelle clamped the gun to her chest, her narrowed eyes challenging them.
“For Chrissakes, woman, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Brett said, edging forward with his arm outstretched, “or one of us.”
Narelle cackled. “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s not even loaded. See,” she said, waving it above her head, her finger tightening on the trigger.
Jacinta dived for the floor as the blast of the gunshot, amplified by the confines of the house, reverberated above her. Instinctively, her arms came up to shield her head, mashing her face against the hard, tiled floor.
The ensuing silence hung like an icy vapour in the air. Gasping for breath, she turned her head to the side. Brett’s unblinking eyes stared back at her, fear written all over his face. Twisting around a bit further, she caught sight of the gun abandoned in the middle of the floor, its muzzle pointing under the table.
Breathing slightly easier, she raised her head and peered around. Narelle sat in a clumsy heap on the floor near the wall, her face wet with tears, gaping at the gun.
Crawling commando-style across the floor, Jacinta closed the gap between herself and the stricken woman. Her hand closed over the gun’s grip, the sensation so foreign she immediately wanted to throw it as far away as possible. Instead, she slid it gingerly behind her and out of Narelle’s reach.
“Oh dear God, what have I done?” Narelle gave a loud hiccup and dissolved into tears.
Jacinta pushed herself up, scooting the remaining distance on her backside. Narelle’s sobs turned to howls as Jacinta wrapped her arms around her distraught friend’s shoulders. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Brett retrieving the gun and offered a silent prayer of thanks.
Leaving her ministering to Narelle, he disappeared, returning a few minutes later minus the gun. She had no idea what he had done with it, but right at that moment she didn’t care. Out of sight, out of mind.
Lethargic and subdued, Narelle allowed Jacinta to help her to her feet but kept her eyes averted, picking at invisible bits of lint on her singlet. Jacinta’s suggestion that she get some sleep met with a vehement shake of the head.
“I don’t want to sleep,” she said, the deep hollows under her eyes telling a different story.
“When was the last time you slept?”
Narelle shook her head again as she detoured past Jacinta, then Brett, on her way to the kitchen. “I’m fine.”
Casting a disapproving glance at Brett as he threw his hands up in the air, Jacinta followed Narelle. “If you’re worried about being on your own, don’t be. Brett and I aren’t going anywhere.”
With a sense of déjà vu, she watched as Narelle busied herself filling the kettle, opening cupboards and drawers, setting out cups and other tea- and coffee-making accoutrements.
“Narelle, you know ignoring it won’t solve anything. We have to talk about it. You can’t keep going on like this.” Jacinta leaned across the counter. “For your baby’s sake, if not your own.”
Narelle flinched, Jacinta’s words hitting home. “I’m that tired, I don’t know which way is up,” she said, contradicting her previous statement, “but I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I’m afraid something terrible is going to happen.”
“That’s completely understandable. No one could be expected to cope alone with what you’ve been through, but that’s all the more reason you should talk to someone. It doesn’t have to be us, but you do need help.”
“What are you saying?” retorted Narelle, her face hardening. “You think I’m imagining things?”
“No, of course not. I don’t think anything of the kind.” Jacinta paused, suppressing a sigh as she wondered how far from the truth she actually was. “Look, let Brett finish that for you,” she added, nodding at the cups on the counter, “and come and sit down.”
Relief washed over Brett’s face. “Yes, yes,” he flapped his hands, shooing them away. “Go and sit down and I’ll bring it to you.” Clearly, the opportunity to do something, even if it was only making hot drinks, was better than doing nothing.
In Jacinta’s mind, sitting around a table would be too confrontational and formal, more like a business meeting. So, taking the lead and hoping Narelle would follow, she headed for the large, sunken living room with its comfortable armchairs and couches.
All the blinds were down. Her pulse quickened as she stepped down onto the wooden floor, her hand groping the wall for a light switch. In the gloom, the silhouettes of the furniture looked anything but inviting. Imagining what could be lurking in the dark corners, she told herself not to be so stupid, wondering if Narelle’s paranoia was rubbing off on her.
Narelle hung back, not saying anything. When Jacinta turned to make sure she was still there, she saw Narelle had her knuckles jammed in her mouth. Coming up behind her, with a round tray of steaming cups balanced precariously on one hand at shoulder-height, was Brett.
“Okay, ladies,” he announced, his smile as forced as his cheery tone, “where would you like it?”
Having visions of spilt drinks and broken cups, Jacinta went to rescue the tray from the theatrical waiter and in the process, almost did what she was trying to avoid. She recovered without mishap.
“Honey…” She never called him that. “I’ll look after this if you open the blinds.
Her little endearment earned her a small smile. “No problemo,” he said, skipping down the two steps into the darkened room and walking across to the wall of Roman blinds on the far side. He seemed much happier having something practical to occupy him. Emotional wome
n always left him floundering.
Using both hands, Jacinta carefully carried the tray of hot drinks over to the long, narrow coffee table, and set it down. Behind her, she saw Narelle edging her way around the room, keeping her back to the wall and her gaze transfixed on the unveiling windows. Brett had one blind up and was pulling up the next.
Early morning light spilled into the room, banishing any shadowy fears. Outside, the rising sun’s rays bathed everything in a crisp light, the polished aluminium table glinting next to the swimming pool. Except for a barely perceptible ripple across the swimming pool’s surface, nothing moved in the tranquil landscape.
Instead of joining Jacinta on the couch, Narelle opted for one of the large leather armchairs, almost disappearing as she curled up in it, her feet tucked under her. She accepted the proffered cup of the sweetly scented tea, cradling it close to her mouth as she took small, rapid sips, her eyes focused inward.
Jacinta stirred Brett’s milky coffee while he finished securing the last blind. The familiar, rich aroma of strong black coffee, as she collected the remaining cup from the tray, brought a touch of the normal back to the situation.
For a while, all three sat cocooned in an awkward silence, sipping their drinks. As Jacinta’s gaze swept the room, it suddenly occurred to her they were sitting in the extension designed by the architect whose remains had been discovered in the Toolangi State Forest. She shivered, the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention.
“My whole house would fit in here,” she said, keeping her tone light and casual. “It’s a fabulous room. Was it part of the original house?”
Narelle rested her cup on the arm of the chair. “No, it’s an extension,” she said, seizing the chance to talk about something she obviously thought was mundane and everyday. “This was Kirsty’s favourite room.” She paused. “Mine, too.”
Jacinta gazed up at the high cathedral ceiling. “Who was the architect, do you know?” she asked, feeling out how well Narelle knew her, if at all.
“I don’t recall her name – I only met her on a couple of occasions – but Craig will know.” Narelle laughed. “Craig will definitely remember.” She clicked her fingers. “Chandra. She was an absolute stunning-looking Anglo-Indian woman, with huge brown eyes and the most gorgeous long, dark, glossy hair.” She looked at Jacinta. “I can ask Craig if you like, but she might not still be in business. A lot can happen in,” her eyes rolled up, mentally calculating the years, “eleven or twelve years.”
