by Jan Graham
“Are you traveling to Australia for work or pleasure?”
“Neither, I’m moving home after living in England for the last few years.”
“Nice, so were you working or traveling?”
“I worked.” Please Lord send her away, I can’t cope with chitchat right now.
“What did you do?” Prayer ignored, obviously. Rhia tried to feign interest as Miss Perky-face continued her game of twenty questions.
“I was a social worker.”
“Oh, that would have been a tough job. No wonder you look so sad. Well hopefully once you get home you might get your happy back.”
I’d get my happy back quicker if you went away.
Rhia decided not to answer and merely stared blankly at the woman in response to her last comment. The strategy worked. Miss Perky-face moved on, finding another passenger to torture. The sound of silence was bliss.
Rhia had intentionally left out the fact she’d been a nun. Not because she wasn’t proud of the vocation, she simply didn’t want to say something that might prolong the conversation. And in actual fact, Rhia had been a social worker. During her early years as a novice, the church had allowed her to study social welfare at university. By the time she had taken her final vows, she was also a qualified social worker. She needed some kind of job in her new life, and she didn’t know how to do anything else.
She resumed her thinking position and contemplated work possibilities. Once she managed to find work, there would be other employment issues to face. She never needed to take care of financial matters before, and even though she knew she was more than capable of doing so, it was a daunting prospect. Dealing with work colleagues could also be challenging. For the past seventeen years she’d communicated with the world from behind a costume. She wore the habit of black armor, giving people an instant preconceived notion of who she was and how to behave toward her. Now she was naked before the world. And even she wasn’t sure who or what she was as an individual.
Once the plane ground to a halt, Rhia retrieved her carry-on luggage from the overhead compartment. She’d never been more appreciative of being home. She was scared, but grateful. Rhia looked at the small bag in her hand. At check-in, the airline worker had said it was fine to take it on board with her. Her bag wasn’t even big enough to be classed as luggage. It contained a few sets of clothes, a couple of books, and some photos. As she walked off the metal tube that had been her home for a day, despair overwhelmed her. She was a thirty-five year old woman and everything she owned could be packed into a carry-on. The word pathetic came to mind, but she quickly dismissed it.
She’d never believed in excess and the vows she’d taken hadn’t bothered her…until now. Still, knowing her life’s possessions fit into a tiny oblong case on wheels made her wonder if she’d taken the vow of poverty to the extreme.
Waiting to get through customs was tedious. Rhia was eager to see her sister Meg. The distance between them meant their relationship had been reduced to semi-regular phone calls and the occasional visit if time and money permitted. Unfortunately, time rarely permitted. Luckily the distance hadn’t affected their close relationship.
After clearing customs, Rhiannon walked to the ladies’ room. She needed to freshen up. The cool water she splashed on her face refreshed her, but only slightly. She brushed her long black hair, fastening it into a pony tail before looking at herself in the full length mirror. Rhia sighed. The outfit really was tragic, but the boots were nice.
At least I got something right, well sort of.
Rhia couldn’t see Meg or Barry anywhere, which was surprising because her brother-in-law was a giant. Standing well over six foot and built like a wall, he wasn’t a man that blended into a crowd. Apart from his size he wore a full body of tattoos, or at least Rhia assumed the tats were everywhere. They certainly covered the bits of his body that she’d seen. As she walked around the arrivals area, Rhia couldn’t believe how many people were bustling by her. Just as she decided they must have been delayed getting to the airport to pick her up, she heard someone calling out her name.
“We thought you must be suffering from jet lag when you didn’t answer us.” Meg hugged her, only relinquishing her hold when Barry pulled Rhia away and into his arms.
“Either that or you’d gone deaf on the flight over here.” Barry cuddled her so hard she thought she might pass out from lack of oxygen to her lungs. “It’s good to have you back home, little lady.”
“I’m sorry. I’m still not used to being called Rhia. I heard someone calling, but it didn’t register you were calling out to me. Sad, isn’t it?” Rhia tried to look happy, even laugh, instead she burst into tears.
The word pathetic sprang back into her mind, and for a brief moment, she let it linger.
This might be harder than she initially expected it would be. Seeing Meg and being trapped in her and Barry’s embrace flooded her with love. She couldn’t help letting go of everything she’d been holding inside. Over the last few months, she’d pushed emotions aside, burying them as she dealt with the chauvinistic hierarchy that ultimately decided her fate. There had been no one to hug or offer comfort. She’d lived with icy stares and cold shoulders from the very people she’d classed as family, her sisters in the Lord. Rhia decided it wasn’t surprising that the first touch of human warmth had her crumbling into an emotional heap.
“Come on, lovely, let’s get your suitcase and get you home.” Barry broke the embrace and started moving toward the luggage collection area.
“I already have it.” Rhia sniffed back a tear and held up her carry-on bag.
“Good god, woman, Meg would use that for her makeup alone when we go away. Can you give her lessons in packing before you move into your own place?”
Rhia recognized the look on Barry’s face when he eyed the size of her suitcase. Mortified was the only way to describe it. Barry tried to hide the fact he was shocked with a joke, but Rhia knew he was upset for her.
“It’s okay, Barry, I took a vow of poverty remember? I don’t own a lot.”
“Sweetheart, I’m sorry, but that’s just wrong. Nobody’s life should fit into something that small.” Rhia watched as Barry’s eyes grew moist. “I’m only going to say this once, just so you know how I feel. Whatever you have in that little bag isn’t evidence of someone living a frugal life, its proof of institutional abuse and neglect of a woman who devoted her life to organized religion.”
“Barry.” Meg scowled at her husband, her tone a clear chastisement for what he’d said.
“I might not agree with your words, but I’m thankful that you’re concerned for me.”
“I’m not concerned, Rhia, I’m outraged. And you know what else, I’ve decided I missed out on absolutely nothing by being raised an atheist.” He picked up Rhia’s bag and gave it a little jerk, as if to weigh the contents. “Meg probably needs to take you shopping once you’ve recovered from the flight. There must be a lot of things you need to buy.”
Rhia looked at her bag once more. The thing looked even smaller with Barry holding it. Maybe she had taken the vow of poverty a little too seriously. After all, some of the other nuns she knew had lots of personal effects. Meg linked arms with her and started leading her out of the terminal, across the car park, to their car. Barry strode beside them, suitcase in hand.
“I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, Barry, but a vow of poverty means I don’t have any money. Shopping will have to wait until I get a job.”
“You don’t need to worry about money for the time being, Rhia, we can sort all that out over the next few weeks. And Barry and I have already decided we can buy whatever you need, and then you can pay us back when the money is sorted out.”
Rhia was overwhelmed by her sister’s generous offer.
“Thanks for the offer, Meg, but I still need to make finding work my top priority. The two of you shouldn’t go bankrupt because I chose to lead a life that left me penniless.” Rhia heard Barry chuckle as he strolled along. S
he glanced up to see him smiling like a Cheshire cat. “What?”
“There may have been something that Meg neglected to tell you, Rhia. You aren’t penniless, dear girl. Well, you are until Meg and I sign over your trust fund to you.”
Rhia’s feet suddenly stopped working, planting themselves firmly in place and halting her track across the car park.
“Trust fund…what trust fund?”
Chapter Three
Some days the paper work will drive you mad, Steve grumbled from behind his desk.
The words his friend Christian had spoken, when Steve accepted the promotion, rattled through his head. He was right. Paperwork was the one thing Steve hated about his new role of superintendent of the Local Area Command for his region. At the time, he had been up for the challenge. He needed to get away from the drug squad, after his role as detective for the previous ten years had worn thin. After playing a major role in the dismantling of the Hastings drug organization, he’d definitely had enough of life on the front line.
He was enjoying the change but hating the paperwork.
The station housed a contingent of officers. He had ten uniformed police, five detectives, three radio operations staff, and two forensic specialists under his command. He also supervised civilian staff. A parole officer, two administration employees and a receptionist swelled his local law enforcement team to just over twenty. The station had fifteen lockups that were used as an interim holding facility until those under arrest were either bailed or transferred to the city. The station dealt with all crime in the area. Unlike head office, there were no specialized teams. Everyone multitasked by investigating whatever needed attention at the time.
Steve liked the slower pace. The level of crime was nothing like he’d experienced in the city. Most of his workforce lived locally, and even though the station was open twenty-four hours a day, Steve usually worked a civilized nine to five roster, with weekends off, unless there was an emergency.
He was known to occasionally work odd hours, making sure he rotated around the shifts assigned to those under his command. Working from one a.m. to around ten the next day wasn’t unusual. Especially, if he had a pile of paperwork to see to, like he did today. Besides, it kept the station on its toes if teams didn’t know when the chief would just pop in.
Today was one of those early morning drop-ins. Steve had been to Miss M’s for an enjoyable session of bondage and discipline with the lovely Katie, a sweet little blonde submissive Steve sometimes played with for an hour or two. She lived on his travel route back home, so he generally found himself making an appointment for the last booking of her shift and driving her home afterward. Mercedes Harris-Shore, the owner of the club, had a strict rule regarding girls not seeing customers outside of working hours. However, given Steve was a friend to both her and her brothers, she allowed him to play the gentleman Dom with Katie and escort her home. Mercedes had discovered that Katie lived in an area not well serviced by public transport after midnight, so she tried to adjust her shifts accordingly. Some nights however, Katie needed to stay until early morning. If Steve was around, at least Mercedes knew the young worker got home safely. Mercedes protected her girls like a lioness protects their cubs, especially her submissive girls. She claimed it was all part of being a good Mistress. Steve knew it was more about being a good boss, and they were rare…particularly in the sex industry.
Steve had arrived at the station at approximately two a.m. It was now close to nine o’clock, and he was getting ready to go home. The morning brief had just concluded, and the station was buzzing with changeover of shifts. Once the day staff was happily entrenched in their work, and he’d spoken to Detective Carlie James about the report in front of him, Steve would return home. He hoped to sleep soundly, knowing all the paperwork was up to date.
“You wanted to see me?” Carlie James stood in the doorway. She might only be petite in stature, but Steve knew she could handle herself better than a lot of men on the force. As a martial arts devotee, Carlie had achieved a high ranking within its practice. She’d divorced not long ago, and now raised a ten-year-old daughter on her own.
“I have the report from Cal Webster in relation to the fire.” The information the report contained was interesting, to say the least. “It appears our three bodies were attempting to cook up some meth. Small scale, but still, it’s concerning.”
“I hate to say it, but maybe I shouldn’t be lead on this. Drugs are not my strong point.”
“Time to learn…and in case you haven’t heard, drugs are my strong point, but I wish they weren’t. So let me give you a crash course in the basics now, and if you need any more info, I’m here. I’ll be your personal advisor on the case.
“Most meth is made in clandestine labs, large-scale establishments. Over the last few years there has been an increase in this state in what some refer to as box or boot labs, small scale set-ups. I assume from Cal’s report that’s what we’re dealing with. The larger labs are linked to major crime organizations, outlaw bikers, etcetera. With smaller labs, it could be anyone.”
Steve looked at Carlie. She was nodding, scribbling notes, and appeared to be keeping up.
“The drugs are made by converting pseudoephedrine to methamphetamine. There are three methods to do it, different chemical components used in each method. The most volatile method and the one used by amateurs is the Nazi method.” Steve handed Carlie three fairly large reports, which he noticed she looked at in wide-eyed confusion. “They’re commissioned reports into the manufacturing, distribution, and sale of meth in our state. You’ll find the breakdown of what chemicals are used in the blue one, I think.”
“What will knowing the chemicals do for me? Aren’t they in Cal’s report?”
“They are, but to track down the culprits, well…the one who isn’t dead, you need to know the homegrown name of the chemicals. Most of the ingredients are restricted in the amount an individual can purchase, but there are exceptions for purchasing larger quantities of some reagents and precursors used.”
“I was never any good any at science. Maybe you should reconsider your choice.” Carlie looked decidedly overwhelmed, something Steve chose to ignore. He had every confidence in the detective sitting before him.
“You’ll be fine. As a last word of advice, ask for every shred of written evidence you can obtain, take no one’s word for the truth, and if anything worries you, come and see me.”
“What kind of written evidence? Give me an example.”
“Okay, you go and see the local pharmacist, who says…no, I haven’t had an increase in the sale of cold and flu medication recently. Ask for copies of his purchases and sales to ensure they correlate.”
“I meant a real example. What’s cold and flu got to do with it?”
“Pseudoephedrine is the main component in cold and flu tablets. That’s what you need to make meth.” Steve nearly laughed when Carlie slapped herself lightly on the forehead and uttered a silent der.
“Lastly, I’ve requested a combined meeting of some of the people you’ll need to work with. Just so we can have a round table about what we all know. You and I will be meeting with Cal Webster, whom you know. Director of our local hospital, Dr. Daniel Shore. I’m hoping he can shed some light on increase in usage within the area via hospital admissions, etcetera. Superintendent of the drug squad, Trevor Duncan, in case this isn’t an isolated set up. Superintendent of the major crime squad, Christian Shore. He’ll keep an eye on proceedings in relation to the three deaths and possible terror links in case we’re wrong on the meth angle. Three days’ time for the meeting. I’ll email the time and location.” Steve stood up and made his way to the door of his office. Carlie gathered her items together into her arms and paused just as she was leaving.
“Why me, boss?”
For the first time during the briefing Steve thought she appeared unsure and maybe a little scared. “You’re more than capable of taking this on, and it will assist you in future dealings with our organ
ization.” She stared at him with a puzzled expression. “You’re a twenty-seven year-old detective with ambition, the only reason you transferred here was because you’re taking care of your mother while she’s ill. I know everything about you, Detective. As soon as your mother no longer needs you, you’ll transfer back to the city because you want to play with the big kids. This will give you the experience to do that.”
Steve opened the door and was surprised when Carlie paused in the doorway, the look on her face could only be described as devilish.
“You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you? You don’t know everything about me. You just think you do.”
“What don’t I know about you, Detective?” Steve forced back a smile.
“Well, I bet you don’t know what kind of underwear I’m wearing today.” She didn’t even blush as she spoke. She could be a cheeky brat sometimes.
“I bet I know the sexual harassment policy of this organization back to front. What about you, Detective?” Oh yeah, that made her scurry away in a flash.
Time to head home.
As Steve turned onto his street, he noticed the delivery truck parked out the front of Angel’s rental property. He’d nearly forgotten he was getting a new neighbor. It didn’t look like she was in any hurry to move in, considering it had been nearly two weeks since Angel had said the place was rented. He parked his Harley out the front of his house just as the truck drove away. Barry stood in the middle of the rental’s front yard, gazing at the ground.
“Hey, what’s a suspicious looking bloke like you doing in my end of town?” Steve called out as he walked across the road to say hello.
“Savoring the peace and quiet,” Barry replied glumly.
“Life’s a bit hectic at the moment, I take it?” Steve observed Barry more closely. The man had worry lines across his face, creasing his brow, and he didn’t appear like his jovial self.
“What do you think?” Barry answered sarcastically. “I’m currently living in a house with six females. I’m surrounded by so much estrogen, I swear I’m about to grow breasts and get my period. And my brilliant wife and her sister told me they found some nice furniture for the house that was a real good price. What they failed to tell me was it was cheap because it’s all kit furniture. The only thing I don’t have to put together is the mattress and sofa. Everything else has been delivered in flat packs. So instead of having a house full of furniture I’ve got a house full of bloody boxes.”
