by Anni Taylor
Richard whistled between his teeth. “This thing scans your hand. Pretty high-level security for a pack of monks.”
“So what’s on the other side of that door?”
He shook his head. “I’d pay good money to know that. If I had any, that is.”
“We have to head back,” I said quietly, not sure if I was glad or not that a door had stopped us.
Reluctantly, Richard tore himself away. We climbed the ladder and returned the way we’d come.
“Wait,” I said. “Hear that?”
The sound of voices bounced through the passage.
Exhaling low, hard breaths, we rushed down the ladder in between the cloister and the hall.
“We’re on the wrong side of the hall,” I whispered.
“We’re going to get ourselves lost,” Richard hissed back. “Sorry. This is my stupid fault.”
We moved along the passageway in the oily dark.
The voices faded.
A sudden glow spilled through a peephole.
Richard pressed his face close. “It’s the scriptorium,” he said so softly I barely heard him. “Vito’s there.”
I took my turn to peer into the peephole. Brother Vito was seated on the ornate, high-backed chair behind the desk. Candlelight illuminated his face as he wrote with an old-fashioned quill. The scene looked otherworldly, like I were peering back to the medieval era.
A woman moved into view—nude—her soft flesh like that in a medieval painting, red hair half spilling from a bun. It took a moment for me to realise that the woman was Poppy.
Brother Vito looked up at her, startled. “What are you doing?”
“I can’t stand it anymore.” Poppy tried to step around his desk. “I need something to make me feel better. Don’t throw me out.”
Brother Vito stood. “Get dressed.”
Poppy whimpered. “But . . . you can recite philosophy to me while we do other things, and—”
“You need to remember that your place in the challenges is a privilege. Leave now, and I’ll forget this happened.” Brother Vito’s voice was authoritative, with no shades of uncertainty.
Richard, hearing my stifled gasp, bumped me out of the way, clapping a hand over my mouth. He took another quick glance through the peephole.
Grabbing my arm, he pulled me away and along the passageway.
I waited until we were safely out of earshot to speak. “We can’t tell anyone what we saw. For Poppy’s sake, and for ours.”
Richard’s voice turned ugly. “For Poppy’s sake? Surely you’re not so innocent you don’t know what she was trying to do? She was trying to gain an advantage. Sex for challenge points.”
“She said—”
“I know what she said. I could hear it plain enough. As if she’s going to tell Vito her real reason for trying to jump him naked. Poor guy. He looked mortified. Yeah, great counselling session that one was.”
“She’s probably just not herself. None of us are. And most of us would try to gain an advantage if we could. Look at what we just did.”
“Let’s just get back to the garden.” Richard marched down the passage. I hurried after him, not wanting to be left in here alone.
We found our way back to the alcove with the statue and slipped out into the hall. We returned to the garden the same way we’d come in—one by one.
Everyone seemed too caught up in their own thoughts to even notice either of us had been gone. I guessed it had just been minutes, but it’d seemed so much longer.
I felt empty.
None of us here were good. None of us deserved this chance at the money.
41. I, INSIDE THE WALLS
I FOLLOWED THEM ALONG THE HIDDEN walkways. They didn’t see me. I know how to hide. I won’t tell. I never tell anything I see.
I know you won’t tell either, Santiago.
42. GRAY
I COULDN’T SLEEP NOW.
I pictured the items on Detective Devoe’s desk. The rope and the tape and the knife. Devoe had told me that items at the site were being investigated for DNA and fingerprints. And blood.
I could lay bets on what was coming after that.
If the people who were trying to frame me had done their job properly, my DNA and my fingerprints would be found at the site. On things they shouldn’t be on if I’d never been there. Maybe a trace of Evie’s blood would be found on the knife.
My heart thudded. Had these people hurt Evie?
I had to believe she was alive for my own peace of mind, even if they did find her blood. You could get a smear of blood just by pricking a finger.
One thing was certain: there was a narrow window of time left, and that window was rapidly closing.
If I did the crazy thing and flew to Greece, I had the tiniest chance of finding Evie.
But if I did nothing, she might remain missing forever. And I’d be locked away for life in jail. Our girls would grow up not only without their mother but with the belief that I’d killed her.
My lungs compacted into tiny boxes until I could barely breathe.
I had to go.
I headed out to the stair landing. Willow and Lilly were already asleep, and so was Verity. Verity had moved from the sunroom to Lilly’s bedroom, putting the girls into the one bedroom. She’d found the sunroom too cold and leaky, which it was.
Stepping up to Verity’s door, I raised my fist to knock on it.
What was I going to say? Blurt out everything about the knife and the rope and the crazy story about Evie being seen flying to Greece?
Evie was her daughter. She deserved to know. She’d asked what the police had to tell me, and I’d told her that they’d found another couple of items but nothing significant. In truth, the items were significant enough to send me to jail.
But Verity was Verity. She’d think I was nuts, and she’d call the police.
I descended the stairs. And then began wearing a hole in the floor, walking from the kitchen to the living room and back again, trying to figure out who I could borrow money from. Almost no one I could think of would have a spare few thousand to lend me. Everyone was poor, like Evie and me.
I spied a set of elephant-shaped ceramic jars Verity had put out on a high bookcase shelf in the sunroom. She hadn’t finished shifting her things to the upstairs bedroom yet. Verity loved elephants—Evie had told me that. I could guess why. Because like elephants, Verity never forgot a single damned thing.
Wait, jars—didn’t Evie once say that her mother kept money that she earned for cash jobs in a jar? Verity did extra bookkeeping work on the side that she never declared in her tax. She called it her retirement fund.
Walking into the sunroom, I picked up each jar in turn and opened the lid. Only the largest of them had anything in it. Stuffed with old phone and electricity bills. For an accountant, that didn’t seem very efficient. I was about to put the jar back when I decided to fish the bills out instead. The bills were hiding wads of money underneath.
Swallowing hard, I pulled the money out of its tight hiding hole. Around five or six thousand.
If I took this, there was no going back.
This was stealing.
The doubts returned.
What if Constance’s private investigator was wrong? What if it hadn’t been Evie boarding a plane to Greece and she was lying dead in that forest, after all? Maybe this was what those people wanted—me running away and looking as guilty as sin.
I didn’t know anything about what was really going on here. Except, if I was locked up in a jail cell, I’d never get the chance to find out.
I dashed off a message on a piece of notepaper:
Verity,
I’m sorry. I can’t explain right now, but I’ll be back in a few days. Please look after Willow and Lilly. Tell them Daddy loves them.
Gray
Briefly heading back upstairs, I grabbed my passport and a few clothes and things, stopping only to look in the room where Willow and Lilly slept together. They were cuddled together like
koalas. I left the note on my bed.
I rolled the car down the driveway and down the road a short distance, hoping not to wake Verity. She slept pretty heavily. I worried that Verity wouldn’t wake up for Lilly during the night if Lilly had a night terror or came down without yet another bug. But Willow was right next to her. Willow would surely go and bang on Verity’s door until she woke.
MASSES OF PEOPLE milled through Sydney International Airport.
I kept a baseball cap on my head as I bought a ticket. I guessed I didn’t need to do that—it wasn’t as though the police were looking for me—but it felt better. I bought a seat on the flight that was going to get me to Europe the quickest. The flight chewed through an enormous chunk of Verity’s money. Almost two thousand dollars.
I had less than half an hour before the gate would close. I made my way to the departure lounge and joined the queue. My hand was slick with sweat on the handle of my suitcase, heat making my skull prickle. I was going to bring attention to myself if I couldn’t get control.
The line moved so slowly.
Shuffle and wait. Shuffle and wait.
I wanted to be in the plane and out of here. I looked behind, half expecting police to be rushing up to me. I had to stop that. Stay cool. I wasn’t under arrest—yet.
Hell. Hell, hell, hell, hell. Security coming my way.
A man and woman.
“Sir, can you come this way, please?” the woman said to me.
“Sure.” I forced a smile that was probably a big mistake. The smile was sure to look fake and nervous.
They took me aside and ran their handheld scanners over me.
“Can we check your baggage, sir?” asked the man.
“Yes. Go for it,” I replied quickly.
He rummaged through my things, stopping briefly to ask me if I had anything to declare.
“No. Is there a problem?”
“Just routine,” the woman told me. “A random check.”
I relaxed. It wasn’t me they were interested in but what I might be carrying with me. My fault for sweating wild panic back when I was standing on the line and making them suspicious.
Really smooth, Gray.
“Okay, you’re good to go,” said the man, giving me a wan smile.
It could have been worse. They could have taken me into a room and held me up with strip searches and questions. Even made me miss my flight. I’d heard of that happening.
I was the last one through the gate. Just minutes to spare now. Good. Because I wanted this plane in the air. Waiting was going to turn me into a sweat machine.
I found my seat and settled in.
The flight attendant gave the safety speech, and then the plane started down the runway.
I instructed myself to go to sleep if I could manage it. Because I wasn’t going to stop running once I got to my destination.
43. CONSTANCE
I OWED IT TO ROSEMARY TO find the people who’d murdered her so cruelly. I’d dragged her into this. And she’d paid the price, in the worst way possible.
But I wasn’t going to stay. The best way to find them was to find Kara.
I sensed that Rosemary would understand.
Rosemary’s phrase replayed in my mind: Exposing flaws means closing doors. Remembering that had kept me from blurting everything out at the police station. I didn’t know who I could and couldn’t trust. I had to play it safe, else risk having every door that was currently open to me locked tight.
I couldn’t become Rosemary, but I could use the things I’d learned from her in the brief time I’d known her. One of those things was only revealing the information that I absolutely had to. Leaving no stone unturned was another. And using a phone that couldn’t be traced to me was yet another thing Rosemary had taught me—she’d shown me how to buy a phone to use for private conversations with her the day before she died.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed in my hotel room, I browsed the news online. I needed a distraction to keep my mind from spinning. It was a habit of mine to read the news every day. I always read every story at my favoured sites, collecting all the stories, all the terrible and quirky and strange things. People at their worst, at the end of their rope, on the edge. The stories made me somehow feel better and made me feel that my own life wasn’t out of control.
I still had a news page open from Sydney. Back in Australia, I’d been anxiously checking Sydney news every day for stories about young girls who’d been found dumped and dead somewhere. There had been a girl, around Kara’s age, but she hadn’t been Kara. She’d been a pretty, dark-haired aspiring model. Dead and dumped. Like trash.
Today, the news was filled with murders. So many murders.
I felt ill suddenly. Leaving the tablet on my hotel bed, I grabbed a glass of juice. Like a drill sergeant or a priest hearing confession, I made myself pay the price for my obsession with the daily news—dropping to the floor and commencing ten push-ups. James had told me many times to quit reading the news so much. But I couldn’t quit. I was addicted.
Inside my handbag, my phone jingled. I wasn’t used to the new ringtone yet. No one had this number, not even the police. Except for Gray.
Fetching it out, I answered breathily. “Hello?”
“Constance. It’s me, Gray.”
“What’s happening?”
“Just a sec. I can barely hear you. I need to go where it’s less noisy.”
The push-ups had made my heart squeeze, I’d gone at them so hard and fast. I held the phone to my ear and waited for Gray.
This was the first time he’d called me so far. Before, it’d been me calling and desperately wanting clues from him. Now, he obviously needed something from me. Perversely, a brief flicker of satisfaction passed through me. I wasn’t the needy one now. Gray was knocking on my door.
A news story on my tablet caught my eye. Suspect flees after knife and rope found at crime scene.
Anger rattled inside me. Yet another person murdered, and the murderer trying to get away scot free. I clicked on the story. A strangled gasp rose and died in my throat.
A picture of Gray Harlow accompanied the text.
Police are seeking information about a person of interest in relation to a crime scene that has been established at an unidentified bushland setting in Sydney’s western suburbs. The burned-out car of missing Sydney mother Evie Harlow was found days ago, with Mrs Harlow’s handbag, phone and shoes found buried a short distance away.
Police also discovered a knife, tape and rope buried at the scene. These items have been positively identified as belonging to Evie’s husband, Gray Harlow.
According to a close family friend, Marla Atkinson, Evie had recently left her husband due to problems in their relationship. Evie arranged for her two young daughters, aged two and four, to remain in safety with Marla. Mr Harlow allegedly took the girls by force the following day.
Presently, the girls are in the care of their grandmother.
Police are seeking urgent assistance in locating Mr Harlow.
If you have information, police are advising that you contact them.
Gray hadn’t made any mention to me of a knife and a rope being found at the scene. And the news report said they were his.
My stomach tightened, and the dread feeling returned. Had I made an enormous mistake in trusting and confiding in Gray? If Gray had fled his home, where was he?
Wild thoughts rushed in unchecked.
What had he done?
Evie wasn’t supposed to be dead. She was supposed to be a world away, in Greece, and very much alive.
But what if Rosemary was wrong? Perhaps she’d downloaded a photo of Evie that could look like any of a thousand young women. Evie was pretty in a way that a lot of young women were pretty—her hair and eyes and skin all of a perfect, fresh colour and smoothness but with no outstanding features. I’d have trouble picking her out in a crowd. As for the bracelet, for all I knew, lots of girls had them.
Rosemary’s words about Gray fe
d back into my mind: Let’s hope Gray didn’t have something to do with his wife’s disappearance. It’s terrible how many times the culprit turns out to be the husband. Too many times.
I’d just assumed that the people Evie had gotten involved with were trying to cover their tracks when they’d dumped and burned her car. But I didn’t know the first thing about Gray. He might be a bad person, too. I couldn’t expose myself to something like that. I’d be better to cut off all contact.
“Whew!” Gray’s voice came back on the line. “That’s better. Huge crowd back there. Constance, we have to meet up.”
His words shocked me, sending a wave of electricity across my bare arms. “Meet up? How is that possible?”
“I’m in London.”
“London? You’re here . . . ?” My voice trailed away.
He spoke fast, his voice filled with tension. “Yeah. Crazy, right? I just flew in. I’m calling from an airport phone.”
“What are you doing here?”
“What do you mean? I’m here looking for Evie.”
“Look, Gray, it might be better if we each tackle this on our own. You should go ahead and see what you can find out.”
“I thought you’d be on your way to Greece.” Disappointment and confusion edged his words.
“I was. But the police asked me to stay on here. And I feel like if I leave now, I’m going to be under suspicion, and then I’ll be watched. And I don’t want that. Better for you to head off to Greece.”
“Okay. But then you’re going to have to tell me what you know. I’m here because of you and what you told me.”
Guilt burrowed through me. It was true that I’d called him and told him in no uncertain terms that his wife was in Greece. It made no sense at all that if he’d killed his wife, he’d come here in search of her.
Unless he was insane.
Yes, he could be insane. That might be the reason why his wife ran away from him. And he might have found Evie and killed her, and he’d been pretending all this time. And now he was coming after me.
I needed time to think, but anxiety was making my brain shut down.
