Bitter Nothings

by Vicki Tyley

  Another flash. She flung herself off the car, tasting concrete as her face hit the ground. The garage reverberated to the sound of gunfire.

  Dervla held her breath, waiting. Her whole body aquiver, she crawled toward the garage’s internal door to where her phone lay. Another shot rang out. She retrieved her phone, her hand shaking so much that it took her two attempts to dial 000.

  The shooting stopped. Inside her own boot, Sophie continued to kick and rant.

  Sirens sounded in the distance.

  EPILOGUE

  The late afternoon sun glinted on the waters of the Yarra below the bridge. A light breeze carried the scent of sunbaked earth and eucalypt. Dervla stood next to Emmet, one hand on the railing, the other touching her brother’s back. Gabe stepped forward and, placing a hand on Emmet’s shoulder, joined them.

  Stony-faced, Emmet leaned forward and emptied the hinged silver tin over the railing. Saying a silent prayer, Dervla watched as the last of their mother’s ashes disappeared into the river, carried away by the current. Emmet had held onto them, unable until now to let her go.

  “Bye, Mum,” he whispered. “Love you.”

  A lump rose in Dervla’s throat. She bit her lip. For a long while, no one moved.

  “C’mon,” she said quietly, “Alana is waiting for us.” As a family, they planned to visit their father’s, stepmother’s and siblings’ graves. The innocent victims of a woman scorned; a woman Dervla had once called a friend.

  She could still hear Sophie’s screams of rage. Dervla shuddered, reminding herself that Sophie couldn’t hurt her or anyone else again. Todd had assured her that, regardless of the outcome of the psychiatric evaluation, it would be a minimum of thirty years – if ever – before Sophie was a free woman again. The final chapter in John Bailey’s book. Dervla could only hope.

  Gabe sidled up to her as they walked back toward the car park. “Forgiven me yet?”

  “If you mean for interfering in my love life, I’m still thinking about it.”

  He frowned. “But all’s well that ends well, right?”

  Slipping her arm through his, she gave him a quick hug. “Of course, I forgive you. You’re my brother.” She nudged him. “You probably did me a favor. At least Harry now knows what protective brothers I have. Did I tell you he wants to move back to Melbourne?”

  “I wonder why,” Gabe said with a wink.

  Dervla couldn’t suppress her smile. “Yes, I wonder.”

  ***

  Thank you for reading Bitter Nothings. I love to hear from my readers: vickityley@gmail.com

  If you’d like to know when I have a new book out, sign up here: authoralarms.com/Vicki_Tyley

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Based in rural Victoria, Australia, Vicki Tyley writes fast-paced mystery and suspense novels in contemporary Australian settings.

  Born in New Zealand, she emigrated with her husband to Australia in 1982. Vicki has travelled extensively, spending a year touring the world before terrorism was an influencing factor. She has lived in the central business districts of large cities, suburbia, idyllic seaside locations, rural areas, bushland, and remote desert mining camps.

  In the lead up to her writing career, she worked in a multitude of different industries including banking, stockbroking, importing and wholesaling, human resources, mining, hospitality, civil engineering, and toys, in predominantly accounting, IT and management roles.

  All these life experiences are brought to bear in her writing.

  Want to say hello or ask a question, email Vicki at vickityley@gmail.com

  Website: www.vickityley.com

  OTHER BOOKS BY VICKI TYLEY

  THIN BLOOD

  Craig Edmonds, a successful stockbroker, reports the disappearance of his wife, Kirsty. What starts as a typical missing person’s case soon evolves into a full-blown homicide investigation when forensics uncover blood traces and dark-blonde hairs in the boot of the missing woman’s car. Added to this, is Craig’s adulterous affair with the victim’s younger sister, Narelle Croswell, compounded further by a recently acquired $1,000,000 insurance policy on his wife’s life. He is charged with murder but, with no body and only circumstantial evidence, he walks free when two trials resulting in hung juries fail to convict him.

  Ten years later, Jacinta Deller, a newspaper journalist is retrenched. Working on a freelance story about missing persons, she comes across the all but forgotten Edmonds case. When she discovers her boyfriend, Brett Rhodes, works with Narelle Croswell, who is not only the victim’s sister but is now married to the prime suspect, her sister’s husband, she thinks she has found the perfect angle for her article. Instead, her life is turned upside down, as befriending the woman, she becomes embroiled in a warped game of delusion and murder.

  PROLOGUE

  Craig Edmonds stared at hands sticky with darkening blood.

  His hands.

  He held them away from his body and looked down at his chest in horror. Large, dirty-red blotches marred the once pristine white shirt. Forgetting the blood on his hands, he tore at the buttons, ripping the shirt open.

  Breathing in short, sharp gasps, he frantically examined his torso, looking for the wound. No cuts. No injuries. No holes where there shouldn’t be any. His chest heaved in relief. He wasn’t dying, after all.

  But then, mid-sigh, it struck him: if it wasn’t his blood, whose was it? His head whipped around, his eyes scanning the room like radar on overdrive.

  Even in the half-light, he quickly saw all was not as it should be. The glass shade from one of the bedside lamps lay in shattered fragments on the floor. The curtain rail over the bedroom’s bay window hung at a precarious angle. Usually a black-and-white photo of a nude, tattooed woman hung above the bed; now the frame lay in pieces in the doorway.

  He focused on the queen-sized bed. His stomach clenched as he took in the twisted and disheveled bedclothes. Instinctively, he knew the dark patches on the sheets weren’t shadows that would disappear once the curtains were opened.

  He swallowed, the acrid morning-after taste of whisky harsh in his parched mouth.

  “Kirsty?” he croaked. Clearing his throat, he called again, hesitant but louder.

  In the crushing silence, time stood still.

  “Kirsty!” he screamed, as he dashed into the master bedroom’s compact, white-tiled en suite. He stumbled, clutching at the doorframe. He took in the bloodied handprints adorning the vanity unit and walls like some sort of macabre finger-painting. Fighting an intense wave of nausea, he looked down at the blood-smeared floor.

  Trying desperately to rein in his growing panic, he raced to the main bathroom. His wife wasn’t there either. Next room.

  Out of breath, heart hammering, he reached the internal door that led to the double garage and opened it. The external roller door was down and his red Alfa Romeo and Kirsty’s silver Lexus were parked next to each other.

  Gripping the door handle, he sagged against the door. He took a deep breath. Fought for control of his adrenaline-charged body. He lurched into the kitchen, heading for the sink.

  Hands shaking violently, he somehow managed to turn on the cold water tap. He watched, mesmerized, as the blood from his hands, diluted by water, swirled in a pink eddy in the bottom of the sink before disappearing down the plughole.

  Oblivious to the water dripping from his hands, he dropped onto the pine storage-box-cum-bench beneath the window at the end of the kitchen. Elbows on knees, he dropped his forehead into his hands. If only the infernal pounding would let up, he could think straight.

  His memory of the previous evening was patchy, to say the least. He had a vague recollection of arriving home stressed after a late-night meeting at the office and, bypassing the dried-out dinner Kirsty had kept warm for him, heading for the bottle of Chivas Regal. After that, it was anyone’s guess as to what had happened.

  A series of short clips flashed through his mind. In one, he saw himself shouting at Kirsty, her throwing up her hands and yelling
back. What had they been arguing about? In another, he was picking up his car keys, and…

  Damn it! Why can’t I remember? he thought, glancing towards the door leading into the garage. It was then he saw the set of four smudged, rust-brown streaks low on the doorframe. He closed his eyes, praying for the nightmare to end.

  Except he had a feeling the nightmare was only beginning…

  [SEE DETAILS FOR THIS BOOK IN THE KINDLE STORE]

  SLEIGHT MALICE

  SLEIGHT ~ use of dexterity or cunning, especially so as to deceive.

  MALICE ~ the intention or desire to do evil; ill will.

  One cold Melbourne winter’s night a suburban bungalow goes up in flames. Despite their best efforts, firefighters are unable to save the home. When a badly charred body is discovered in the remains, web designer Desley James is devastated. Her best friend, Laura Noble, had been the only one in the house that night – her partner, Ryan Moore, is away in Sydney on business. Then Desley learns the unidentified body is male. But it’s not Ryan. He and Laura have disappeared…

  Not realising until it’s almost too late what some people will do to cover their tracks, Desley teams up with private investigator Fergus Coleman to search for the missing couple.

  “In perfect Vicki Tyley fashion, ‘Sleight Malice’ entertains and stuns its readers.” – Lit Fest Magazine

  CHAPTER 1

  Rough hands grabbed her. Clamped across her waist, his powerful arm squeezed the breath from her lungs. He hauled her backwards, her thrashing arms and legs no more an inconvenience to him than if she had been a pinned fly.

  She coughed, her eyes watering as the hot, acrid air seared the inside of her throat. With both hands, she tried in desperation to prize the immovable weight from her stomach. “Let me go! Get…”

  Her chest convulsed against the heavy, grit-laden smoke. The man’s hold on her eased. She seized her chance and wrenched herself from his grip. She stumbled forward, shielding her face with her arms, but the fire’s intensity drove her back.

  Back into the arms of the firefighter.

  “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t go in there!” shouted the hulking black and yellow protective-clad figure. “You’ll get yourself killed.”

  Desley James scarcely heard him over the din of the fire trucks, pumps and roar of the blaze. Her only concern was for Laura. Where was she? Had she been at home? Had she escaped the inferno? What about Ryan?

  She opened her mouth to speak, inhaling a mouthful of burnt air instead. Spluttering, she bent her head forward and drew the thin cotton T-shirt she wore over her mouth and nose.

  “Have you got everyone out?”

  The firefighter leaned down, his ear almost touching her face. “Sorry, what was that?”

  She repeated her question, watching his face as her words, muffled by the fine weave of her makeshift filter, sunk in. He averted his gaze, but not before she had her answer.

  “Oh dear God, no. Please tell me it isn’t true. It’s not possible,” she added in a whisper only audible to herself.

  This time when he lifted her off her feet she didn’t resist; all the fight had left her. A female police officer joined them, draping a blanket around Desley’s shoulders as the firefighter set her down beside the open back door of a police car.

  She shivered, pulling the blanket in tighter as she sunk onto the backseat, the wool fibers bristly against her hot skin. The vehicle’s interior light cast a ghostly pall over the two faces staring down at her.

  [SEE DETAILS FOR THIS BOOK IN THE KINDLE STORE]

  BRITTLE SHADOWS

  When soon-to-be-wed Tanya Clark is confronted with her fiancé’s naked corpse hanging from a wardrobe rail in the upmarket Melbourne apartment they share, her life is torn apart. Two months later, distraught and unable to cope, she drowns her sorrows in a lethal cocktail of alcohol and prescription drugs.

  On the other side of Australia, a grieving Jemma Dalton struggles to come to terms with the suicide of her only sibling. Despite there being no evidence to the contrary, Jemma refuses to accept Tanya had intended to kill herself. Not her sister. Then the coroner’s report reveals that at the time of her death she had been six weeks pregnant. The will, too, raises more questions than it answers. How did a young woman on a personal assistant’s wage amass shares worth in excess of $1,000,000?

  In a desperate bid to uncover the truth, Jemma puts her own life at risk and starts to probe the shadows of her sister’s life. But shadows, like bones, grow brittle with age. The consequences can be deadly.

  PROLOGUE

  One foot inside the apartment, the smell hit her. Sour, like cat pee. Except they didn’t own a cat.

  “Sean?” she called, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat. “Sean, honey, are you home?” Louder this time.

  Not a sound. Only that putrid smell.

  She dumped her heavy satchel on the floor, kicked the door closed, and surveyed the room.

  The late afternoon sun streamed through the balcony-facing floor-to-ceiling windows. Long shadows from the life-sized, headless bronze nudes standing sentry sliced the living area. The Age newspaper lay open at the business section in the middle of the narrow glass-topped dining table, Sean’s mobile phone next to it. Apart from one of the eight chairs sitting askew from the table, she could have stepped into the pages of Home Beautiful.

  She crossed the carpet toward the short hall that led to the bedrooms and stuck her head into the apartment’s galley-style kitchen. Tomatoes, red onions and a cling-wrapped tray of meat – the makings of what looked to be one of her fiancé’s specialties, Spanish steak – sat on the stainless steel drainer next to the sink. Further down the bench, she spotted a bottle of red wine together with two wine glasses, one of which was already poured. She sniffed the air and moved on.

  Usually wide open, the door to the guest bedroom was half-closed. Hoping Sean hadn’t offered a bed to one of his boozy mates, she hesitated for a moment and then gave the door a sharp shove.

  The door swung in, releasing a rush of sour air. Pinching her nostrils together, she leaned into the room, ready to beat a hasty retreat if anyone was in there. Her gaze went first to the queen-sized bed. Although the quilt looked rumpled, the bed itself didn’t appear to have been slept in.

  Breathing out through her mouth, she glanced across the bedroom to where sunlight, filtered through the window’s upward angled Venetians, striped the ceiling.

  She took another step into the room and turned around. The leather strap of her handbag slid from her shoulder. She didn’t try to stop it, couldn’t stop it. Unable to move, all she could do was gape at the open wardrobe, her eyes bulging almost as much as the vacant ones staring back at her.

  A silent scream blocked her throat. She couldn’t breathe in; she couldn’t breathe out. Her lungs wanted to burst. The purple, bloated face of the naked man hanging from the wardrobe’s steel rail on a belt, his swollen tongue protruding from his mouth, was almost unrecognizable. Almost.

  She stumbled backwards, snaring her handbag as she landed in a heap next to the bed. She scrambled in the bottom of her bag, her mobile phone eluding her like wet soap in the bathtub. When she did manage to get hold of it, she struggled to still her shaking hands. Her fingers felt fat and clumsy, the buttons on her phone tinier than she remembered.

  “Emergency. What service do you require? Police, Fire, Ambulance?”

  She opened her mouth to answer, but a magazine page stuck to her leg now had her attention instead. She peeled it off, dangling the magazine at arm’s length as if it were a dirty sock. She had never seen anything quite like it. Naked flesh. Entwined bodies. Explicit sex scenes.

  If she had thought things couldn’t get any worse, she had thought wrong. She shook her head, unable to come to terms with what she was seeing. Her fiancé, her lover, her partner was dead; dead and surrounded with hard-core homosexual pornography.

  [SEE DETAILS FOR THIS BOOK IN THE KINDLE STORE]

  FATAL LIAISON<
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  “It’s easy, enjoyable, captivating reading, and I am eagerly awaiting the release of her fifth...” -Book Boogie

  “...easy, fluid readability factor. I didn’t want to put the book down, and it was immensely enjoyable.” -MotherLode blog

  The lives of two strangers, Greg Jenkins and Megan Brighton, become inextricably entangled when they each sign up for a dinner dating agency. Greg’s reason for joining has nothing to do with looking for love. His recently divorced sister Sam has disappeared and Greg is convinced that Dinner for Twelve, or at least one of its clients, may be responsible. Neither is Megan looking for love. Although single, she only joined at her best friend Brenda De Luca’s insistence. When a client of the dating agency is murdered, suspicion falls on several of the members. Then Megan’s friend Brenda disappears without trace, and Megan and Greg join forces. Will they find Sam and Brenda, or are they about to step into the same inescapable snare?

  CHAPTER 1

  As he listened to the second phone call from his mother, Greg Jenkins noted the increased tremor in her voice.

  “Samantha still hasn’t arrived. And she’s still not answering her phone. I’m so worried. Should I call the hospitals? What—”

  “Whoa. Slow down, Mum. Don’t stress out. Remember what the doctor said. Don’t worry about Sam. We all know how bad she is with time. She’d be late for her own funeral.” Greg laughed, hoping to ease his mother’s tension.