The Woman Who Didn't

by HC Michaels

  No. He still didn’t buy it. It was likely she’d tried to kill her mother—if what Skye said about her was true then who wouldn’t want to finish her off—but he doubted she’d tried to kill Theo or his brother. It just didn’t fit.

  Her problem was going to be convincing anybody to believe her.

  If she was arrested, which seemed a likely scenario, then he was glad not to be on the jury for her trial. She’d made it impossible for anyone to be able to tell if she was innocent.

  Carlos had his hands full with this one. Which reminded him, he really needed to send him that cheque for all the referrals he’d sent him this month. And perhaps a bonus for sending him Skye.

  Carlos sure knew how to inject some excitement into an old man’s life. Skye had given him so much to think about, he doubted he’d ever sleep again.

  Skye was stuck at the police station in another never-ending interview. The detective had brought her something to eat and left her alone with Carlos Tagliatori and his impressive hair for a few minutes.

  “I’m just popping out for a quick ciggie,” said Carlos, miming smoking with his fingers as if she didn’t know what he meant.

  “Aren’t you supposed to give me a pep talk or something?” she asked, pursing her lips. Lawyers didn’t leave their clients for a smoke on Law and Order.

  “You’re doing fine, Skye.” He reached over and patted her hand.

  “They’re going to arrest me, aren’t they?” she asked, pulling away.

  “I’ll get you bail. It’ll be okay.” He stood and went to the door.

  “So, they are going to arrest me?” Ice ran down her spine. This couldn’t be happening! What was the point of a lawyer if they couldn’t stop you from going to jail?

  “Most likely. Look, I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” He flashed her one of his thousand-dollar-an-hour smiles and left.

  She poked at the plastic-wrapped ham and cheese sandwich the detective had placed in front of her, with no intention of eating it. It was full of calories. It was probably full of salmonella, too. Revolting. She felt sorry for the pig that had given its life to make this pathetic lunch.

  She felt exactly like that pig right now. When the detective returned, she needed to prove to him she was innocent. She couldn’t go to jail! The thought of it sent chills through her body. The problem was the detective hadn’t believed a word she said ever since she told him about faking her cancer.

  What was so bad about that? Everyone was so bloody sensitive these days. People lied about medical conditions all the time. She’d love to have a dollar every time someone said they had the flu when really it was just a cold, or they had a migraine that was technically only a headache. Their reasons for stretching the truth were no different to her own. You didn’t get half as much attention for a cold, headache or an ovarian cyst compared to the flu, a migraine or cancer.

  Seriously, what was all the fuss about?

  The worst part about all of this was while the police were convinced she was responsible, the real killer was loose and their trail was getting cold. That bastard was getting away with it!

  Detective Hooke came back into the room and sat before her, turning on the recording device as he folded his large hands on the table.

  “Not hungry?” He pointed to her unopened sandwich.

  “Not that hungry.” He pulled a face.

  He smiled with just a hint of sarcasm. “Sorry it’s not the standard you’re used to.”

  She ignored his comment.

  “Are you ready to confess?” he asked.

  Carlos chose that moment to walk back in the room.

  “What the hell’s going on?” he asked, his face turning pink.

  “Relax. We haven’t started yet,” said the detective.

  Carlos turned to Skye for confirmation.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “He’s only interrogating me about my sandwich at this stage.”

  The detective sighed as Carlos took a seat next to her.

  “I told you not to say a word without me here,” Carlos hissed in her ear.

  “I didn’t say anything,” she hissed back.

  He shot her a stern look.

  “Are we ready?” asked the detective, pulling an evidence bag from his jacket pocket and placing it on the table.

  “Recognise this?” he asked.

  “My phone,” said Skye, reaching for it. She’d looked everywhere for that. Where on earth had he found it?

  The detective moved it out of her reach and Carlos glared at her.

  “My client has no way of telling if this is her phone,” he said. “That was not an admission.”

  “What’s my phone have to do with any of this?” she asked.

  “Skye,” warned Carlos.

  “We found it in your front garden,” said the detective. “It’s the same phone used to tell Sophie Manis her husband had been poisoned with thallium.”

  The door opened and two uniformed police officers appeared.

  “Skye Manis,” said the detective. “I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of your husband Theo Manis and the attempted murder of both George Manis and Clara Butterford. You’re not obliged to say or do anything unless you wish to do so, but whatever you say or do may be used in evidence. Do you understand?”

  Skye nodded, not hearing another word the detective said.

  All she heard was blood rushing to her brain, adrenaline coursing through her veins and the meagre contents of her stomach retching their way up her throat.

  “Carlos! Do something.” She fought against the police officers as they lifted her to her feet and clipped handcuffs to her wrists.

  “Relax,” said Carlos. “I’ll get you out of this.”

  “Why don’t you believe me?” she screeched at the detective. “You won’t listen to a word I say.”

  She thought she heard one of the officers stifle a laugh and she knew she’d been wrong to lie about her cancer.

  It was a lie that was about to send her to jail for a crime she didn’t do.

  Clara didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. There was more than the usual number of strange faces popping in and out of her room. She was hungry, too, certain that normally on a Tuesday she ate something tastier than the bland nursing home food. She just couldn’t remember what it was.

  She did remember a policeman had visited her. A doctor, too. People were treating her so nicely, acting like she was very important. Nobody had treated her like that since her days on the stage.

  She asked the policeman if he was here to talk about the glue on her feet, but he hadn’t known what she was talking about. It was strange. She couldn’t think what else he could be there for.

  He said he had reason to believe she might’ve been poisoned. That made her laugh, but she wasn’t sure why. It just sounded funny. Nobody would try to poison her. Except maybe Skye and she hadn’t visited her for years.

  Her stomach groaned and she wondered again what food her stomach was missing. At least she had the feeling back in her hands and feet. That tingling was starting to get annoying.

  Brownies! That’s what it was. She licked her lips. That pretty lady with the blonde hair always brought her brownies on a Tuesday. The same lady who sometimes pretended she was Skye.

  Maybe she’d visit later today.

  She smoothed out a wrinkle in her nightdress, proud she’d managed to solve the mystery of the missing food herself. She wasn’t mad. Everyone else was.

  George knew that bitch had killed Theo. She’d been nothing but trouble since the first time he saw her. What was Theo thinking marrying a woman like her?

  Even Theo hadn’t trusted her. He’d had her investigated before he married her. Not that Skye knew that. Disappointingly, the investigation hadn’t turned up much. She seemed to be who she said she was—the daughter of a ballerina with a mysterious father who lived in France somewhere. Theo had checked if the letters Skye sent him each year were being delivered to his
house. They were, which meant one thing. That old French dude was one smart bastard. He knew crazy when he saw it and was keeping well away.

  Theo had made him swear never to tell Skye what he knew. He said he didn’t want to crush her hopes or something like that. She was better off thinking the letters weren’t reaching him.

  While the investigator had been at it, he’d looked into the death of Skye’s first husband. She’d mentioned once she thought he might have been having an affair with some chick in Adelaide. Theo had gone off on some loopy tangent saying maybe he’d faked his own death and was alive and well, screwing his way around the city of churches. As it turned out, he wasn’t. He was dead in his grave with a bunch of worms feasting on his charred remains.

  Now Theo was dead too, gone to join their parents in heaven.

  Their mum would’ve been waiting for him, a spanakopita in one hand and a tray of baklava in the other.

  “You too skinny,” she’d have yelled at him, while looking for a place to put down the food so she could free her hands to pinch his cheeks.

  “Leave him alone,” their father would’ve said, pulling him into an embrace and slapping him on the back.

  It made George sad to think of this reunion happening without him. It’d always been the four of them when he was growing up. Now he was the only one left alive.

  At least he’d been able to give Theo a proper burial. It was a great comfort to know he was at Fawkner with their parents. Skye hadn’t been to the grave. Nor had she gone to the funeral. She couldn’t even be bothered to pretend to care he was dead. What a bitch!

  How could Theo possibly be dead? It wasn’t meant to be like this. He didn’t know how to live without his twin.

  He hadn’t told anyone yet, but when he’d collapsed outside the hospital, he’d seen something. To be more precise, he’d seen Theo. They’d linked hands and walked together before George had felt himself being pulled away. It must’ve been what people called a near death experience. He’d seen something on TV about that once and thought it was a load of crap. Maybe he’d tell Sophie about it one day. Or maybe he’d keep this one to himself. It felt too private to share, even with his wife.

  He blinked back tears and took a swig of his can of Coke. He couldn’t stomach the thought of a beer at the moment. His stomach groaned at the idea of alcohol, leaving him drinking this lolly water crap. It was going to take him a while to get back to normal. Whatever normal was without Theo.

  The tears stung his eyes, determined to force their way out.

  “Oh, fuck it,” he mumbled, letting them roll down his cheeks as he gasped for air.

  He was pretty sure he knew how everything had gone down. Skye was sick of visiting her deranged mother so had been trying to kill her off with those fucking brownies he and Theo had eaten. Which as far as he was concerned made her as guilty of murdering Theo as if she’d stuck a knife directly into his heart. A jury probably wouldn’t see it that way, though. The bitch would probably get away with it and be given a couple of years for manslaughter. That wasn’t enough. She deserved to rot in jail for life. She’d taken his twin away from him.

  The scale of her evil was hard to comprehend. Not only had she murdered Theo, but she’d lied about her cancer. Who the hell lied about having cancer? She was like the scum that sat at the bottom of the ocean. Did scum even sit at the bottom of the ocean? Well, if it did then that was her. Actually, no. That was too nice. She was like the shit that got stuck to a dog’s arsehole. Yep, that was a better description, despite it being cruel to animals.

  He’d never hated anyone in his life, but he hated her. He despised her. The feeling was crawling on his skin and eating him from the inside. Or was that the poison she’d fed him? It was hard to tell the difference.

  Evil bitch. But he’d fixed her. That detective had loved it when he told him how Skye had insisted he and Theo eat some of her brownies. He’d gobbled up that story like it was one of those fucking brownies itself.

  Yep, he was going to make sure Skye stayed behind bars until she was old and grey. He owed it to Theo to make sure of that.

  Sophie decided she was the only person in the world capable of thinking clearly, yet nothing made sense even to her.

  Skye had poisoned the brownies. That much was clear. It couldn’t have been anyone else.

  But she remembered George laughing when he’d rolled home drunk that fateful night, saying he and Theo had eaten the precious brownies Skye had baked for her mother. She’d apparently banned them from eating them and he was laughing like a naughty schoolboy.

  So, it must’ve been her mother she’d been trying to kill. Not Theo or George. Surely the police could figure that out, yet they’d charged her with Theo’s murder and the attempted murder of George and Clara.

  She was certain Skye was guilty of only one of those crimes.

  She was also guilty of being a bitch. George was right about that. Anyone twisted enough to lie about having cancer deserved everything they got. She hadn’t even turned up to the funeral. Theo was her husband! Who didn’t go to their husband’s funeral?

  She’d had to organise the whole thing under George’s instructions. He was far too sick to do it himself. At least Skye had the decency to pay for it, she supposed. Not that George was grateful for that. He said it was Theo’s money anyway, so it didn’t count.

  Poor George hadn’t taken any of this well. She’d never seen him cry before this. Not even when his parents died. She would have to keep a close eye on him to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. It was going to take him a long time to learn there was a place in this world for him without his twin. He was still her husband and a father to Lukas and Beth. They needed him.

  Skye’s absence at the funeral demonstrated exactly how much she’d needed Theo. What a low act.

  That was why Sophie decided to keep her questions to herself.

  She’d overheard George giving a statement to the police from his hospital bed saying Skye had offered him and Theo the brownies. He said she put them on the counter and told them to help themselves.

  Sophie wasn’t sure if it was the quantity of alcohol he’d drunk that night that’d clouded his memory or if he was just running with a version of events that suited him. A better, albeit fictitious, version of events.

  If she corrected him then some of the charges against Skye might be dropped or downgraded to manslaughter. Then what? Amber might lose her inheritance to Skye. She couldn’t stand by and watch that happen. Amber deserved that money more than Skye did. She might even give some to Rin. She could sure use some extra cash with her houseful of children.

  Besides, George might get in trouble for lying and he was already going through enough stress. The poor man had almost died.

  If Skye was such a fan of bending the truth for her own gain, then let it bend in the other direction for a change.

  Whatever that evil woman had been up to, she’d nearly killed George, leaving Lukas and Beth without a father. And she’d killed Theo—the first man Sophie had ever loved.

  As for poor Clara ... imagine your own daughter trying to bump you off. They all knew for certain Skye had at the very least done that.

  The part that made her really sick was she’d done all of this while lying to the world about having cancer.

  A shudder ran through Sophie’s body as she thought of her own mother succumbing to bowel cancer a few years ago. What gave Skye the right to lie about something like that? Nothing did. Cancer wasn’t something to mess with. What she’d done had insulted every true cancer sufferer whether they’d beaten the disease or not. It was unforgivable.

  Let her rot in jail.

  Jacques Moubray sat at his late wife’s writing bureau and opened the folder his son had left with him.

  He’d asked Claude if he could search the internet for any information about his long lost, great-niece who lived in Australia. Thankfully Claude hadn’t asked too many questions. Antoinette would come back to haunt him if he told his s
ons they had a sister. She’d never been pleased with that idea, very clearly demonstrated by the way she threw him out when he’d received Skye’s first letter.

  He’d had to beg and plead until she let him back in their house. Then he’d had to stoop to grovelling before she let him back in their bed. Claude had been conceived that night, so the grovelling was worthwhile at least.

  He hadn’t known what to do with Skye’s letter. Antoinette had decided for him and burnt it before he had a chance to respond. He had to wait an entire year before she wrote again. She sounded like such a sweet little girl talking about fairies and cats. She even drew him some pictures. He didn’t know what he could say to her in return if he had the chance to write back. She wouldn’t be interested in hearing about his sons or his farm. She certainly wouldn’t be interested in hearing about his wife.

  From the way she wrote, it sounded like she believed he still lived a glamorous life working in the ballet. It would be cruel to tell her the truth. Nobody wanted an old, fat French farmer for a father.

  He missed his life in the ballet, but Antoinette had been very clear with him. It was the ballet or her. She’d also been very clear that she came with the farm she’d inherited from her parents. She couldn’t bear to live anywhere else.

  How different his life would’ve been if he’d chosen another cafe to buy his breakfast on that cold winter morning in Paris. He’d fallen in love with Antoinette the moment his eyes fell upon her soft curves. She was so different to the slender ballerinas he’d been wasting his time on before. There was something so real about her, with her hips and breasts and rounded thighs.

  People thought he was crazy. They said she was plain and frumpy. Someone even called her plump. He didn’t care if their eyes were blind to her beauty. They didn’t need to see it. He saw it enough for everyone.

  His beautiful Antoinette. He missed her with an ache deep in his bones.

  He could barely remember Skye’s mother. There’d been a lot of women in those days and he certainly enjoyed them, but he hadn’t loved any of them, Clara included.