by Vicki Tyley
“Change of scenery and all that?”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Something like that. How’s that aunt of yours? Still mad as ever…” His face fell. “I meant mad in a good way.”
She laughed, for a short moment her grief forgotten. “Yes, Gail is as loony as ever. Her madness helps keep me sane.”
Over dinner, they chatted about life in Melbourne versus life in Perth, with Jemma trying to convince Chris that Perth was no longer some desolate outpost.
Chris ordered a second bottle of wine. She was about to protest, but didn’t. As Tanya would have said, it wasn’t a school night; meaning she didn’t have to get up early in the morning. And, she thought, it’ll help me sleep.
“So what’s your boyfriend do?” He must have seen her blanch. “Sorry, too personal.”
“No, it’s not that. My boyfriend – or should I say, ex-boyfriend – is an electrician. He used to work for a small outfit in Perth…” She took a breath. “But as of a few weeks ago, he works for one of the big mining companies in the Pilbara. Something like seven weeks on and one week off. It’s a long, complicated story, but suffice to say, Ross and I’ve had a parting of the ways.”
He gave a knowing nod. “Thus the roses.”
Instead of confirming or denying it, she opened the dessert menu. Confessing to not knowing for sure who sent the flowers, would just fuel his conviction that she was too trusting for her own good. “Enough about my dismal love life, what about yours? Any significant other in your life?”
“Past tense. Meg and I split about twelve months ago, after seven years of not so wedded bliss.
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be. I’m surprised the marriage lasted as long as it did. You know the jealous, paranoid type: thinks a man incapable of keeping his…” He hesitated. “Anyway, Meg is now terrorizing some other poor bloke.”
“Any kids?”
A look of sadness passed over his face. “No,” he said, fiddling with the edge of the menu.
Before Jemma’s alcohol-loosened tongue could make an awkward situation worse, the waiter turned up to take their dessert orders.
“Nothing for me, thanks.” One more bite of anything and her jeans would pop. “But please don’t let that stop you,” she said as Chris went to close his menu. He opened it again.
Minutes later, the waiter reappeared carrying an enormous, puff pastry creation filled with caramelized pear and finished with toasted almond flakes. A meal in itself.
Nursing the last of her wine, she watched in amusement as Chris tucked into the dessert, his enjoyment with each mouthful evident.
“Sure you don’t want to try some? It’s good.”
She smiled and shook her head, the sudden movement leaving her decidedly woozy. Clutching the sides of her chair, she waited for the sensation to pass.
“Hey,” she said, “I didn’t know you were involved in the investigation into Sean’s death.” Or at least, that’s what she thought she said.
Chris stopped eating and frowned. “Are you okay?”
She started to nod, but stopped when the whole restaurant began to tilt.
CHAPTER 9
Wednesday morning, Jemma woke feeling less than human. Though she didn’t think she had drunk that much, her memory of the latter part of the previous evening was hazy, to say the least. Her eyes screwed up against the daylight streaming through the balcony doors, she pushed herself upright and massaged her cricked neck. She wasn’t even sure how she had made it back to the apartment.
An hour after dosing up on extra-strong, extra sweet coffee together with the couple of aspirin she had found in the bottom of her bag, she felt better. Not perfect, but near enough.
Showered and armed with another coffee, she ranged from room to room, opening and closing cupboards, drawers and doors. Returning her empty cup to the kitchen, she repeated the exercise, but this time she checked under, behind and above everything. Her search uncovered nothing of interest, a gathering of dust bunnies her most exciting discovery. Not that she knew what she had expected to find. Some revelation about her sister, perhaps? An insight into her death? The reason someone broke into the apartment? The rest of the typed message she had found under the washing machine? A clue of some sort? Anything had to be better than nothing.
Next, she unpacked and repacked the remaining moving boxes in the study, putting those containing Tanya’s clothes aside for the Salvation Army. Even if by some miracle they had fitted her, Jemma couldn’t have worn them. Too morbid.
Sitting with her back against the wall, the carpet prickly against her bare legs, she thought about her next move. Which at that point was getting to her feet. Her phone rang, giving her the impetus to do something about it.
Her finger hovered over the answer button. Should she or shouldn’t she?
“Jem, it’s me…” The caller coughed. “Ross.” As if she wouldn’t recognize his voice, not to mention his caller ID.
“Hmmn,” she said, for want of something to say.
“I saw Gail yesterday.”
“I know. Thank you for the flowers, by the way.”
“Say what?”
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” She knew it had been too good to be true.
He cleared his throat. “Why didn’t you tell me about Tanya?”
“Because I didn’t want you staying with me out of some misguided loyalty.”
“But you shouldn’t have had to go through that alone.”
“No.”
“I’ve fucked up big time, haven’t I?”
Jemma bit down hard on her lip, tasting blood.
“I never meant to hurt you, Jem. Honest.”
“I know. When are you heading back up to the mines?”
“Monday. Hey, we’re still mates, right?”
“Yeah, mates.”
Hanging up, she tapped her phone against her palm. If Ross hadn’t sent the roses, who had? Perhaps Ethan, as a way of an apology for doubting her story. Or Marcus as a housewarming gift for his new tenant, short-term as it was. Both were possible, not that she was about to risk embarrassing herself by asking either man. The card had obviously been mislaid, and sooner or later, someone would say something. For now, it was the least of her worries.
No sooner had she set the phone down than it rang again. This time it wasn’t a number she recognized.
“Jemma, it’s Ethan Kelly. I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.” Polite and businesslike.
“Not at all,” she said, perching on the edge of the desk. “What can I do for you?” Two could play at the same game.
“Let me buy you a coffee, so I can at least apologize in person for yesterday.”
She started to thaw. “I suppose that could be arranged. When and where?”
“How does in about half an hour at the café we bumped into each other yesterday sound?”
Pulling a face, she looked down at her grubby T-shirt and denim shorts. “Sounds fine,” she said, already in the throes of wriggling out of her shorts. Top next.
Half-naked, she raced around the apartment like a Flash media clip on fast-forward. Bathroom: clean teeth, mouthwash, spray of Bvlgari perfume. Study: Levi jeans, wrap-front top, sandals. Kitchen: down a glass of water. Back to the bathroom: dusting of bronzing powder to make her look healthier than she felt, mascara and a touch of lipgloss for added color. Study again: earrings, a quick upside-down shake of her long hair. Thank God for the tousled look, she thought, as she came back up again, giving her appearance a quick once-over in the robe mirror.
She grabbed her bag from the living room floor, rummaging in it for her sunglasses as she headed for the door.
About to step into the lift, she remembered her mobile phone. She raised her wrist to check the time, only to realize she had forgotten her watch, too. Cursing, she bolted back to the apartment, hearing the lift doors close as she slid her key into the lock.
Two minutes later, she was back in the corridor, shifting her weight f
rom foot to foot as she waited for the lift to return.
The short ride down allowed her a couple of calming breaths and then she was off again, out the doors and up the street at a fast trot. She daren’t be late. As she had already discovered, Ethan wasn’t the sort of man to hang around without good reason. This time she wanted some answers.
Hot and out of breath, she entered the café, scanning the Lego-inspired tables for his dark head. She was about to check the staff alcove around the corner when she felt a touch on her shoulder.
“Looking for someone?” Ethan asked, flashing her a smile as she turned.
For some unaccountable reason, she blushed, her heart skipping a beat. Hoping he hadn’t noticed, she fumbled in her bag for her wallet. Another relationship of any kind was the furthest thing from her mind. “Have you ordered?”
“Let me get this. It’s the least I can do.”
“Large cappuccino, please,” she said to the round-faced girl waiting behind the counter.
“Make that two, Lesley. Cheers.”
Thankfully, the café wasn’t as busy as the previous day and they scored a table out in the open. Ethan played the gentleman and waited until Jemma was seated before taking the chair opposite. When his left hand came up to stop his tie flopping forward, she noted the absence of a ring. Not that it meant anything.
Ethan opened his mouth to speak at the same instant as she did. They both stopped, waiting for the other to continue. Neither spoke. And then they repeated the farce, bursting into laughter at the end of it, breaking whatever ice was left.
“Let’s start again, shall we?”
“From where?”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “From wherever you like.” He extended a hand across the table. “Ethan Kelly’s the name.”
She laughed. “Pleased to meet you, Mr Kelly. Mine’s Jemma Dalton.” His hand felt cool and dry against her hot skin.
For the next few minutes they did nothing more than drink their cappuccinos and indulge in small talk.
“Sorry about yesterday, by the way,” Ethan said, pushing his cup to one side. “Family crisis.”
She waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t. “Everything okay now?”
He rocked his hand. “Time will tell. Any more unwelcome visitors?” he asked, making it sound as if she were contending with nothing more threatening than a couple of pesky mice.
“No, thank God. Which reminds me,” she said, using the opening, “did you get a chance to look into those missing security transactions like you said you would?”
“I did.” He ran a finger under his nose. “It seems as if the fault may lie with the software. I checked the logs for the last couple of months myself, and it appears it might be an ongoing, if intermittent problem. I have spoken to the security company and they have assured me they will investigate. So thank you for bringing that to our attention.”
“It’s what I do for a living.” Not for one second did she believe it was a software glitch. “Tell me, how well do you know Gerry?”
“Gerry Hobson? The security guard?”
She nodded, making a mental note of the surname.
“He’s been doing the job for as long as I’ve been around. He’s not a friend or anything, but we chat from time to time. Why?” His eyes narrowed, realization setting in. “Come off it. You don’t seriously think he could have altered the log files? Even if he knew how, he’s not stupid enough to risk his livelihood.” He shook his head. “Not good ole Gerry.”
Changing her mind about asking if ‘good ole Gerry’ had access to the master key, she switched tack. “How about access to the apartment after Tanya’s death then? Do you know if anyone else besides the packers was given a key?”
“I would have to check our records, but unless you or your lawyer authorized it, I doubt it very much. Where are you heading with this?”
The words clutching and straws sprang to mind. She sighed. “I wish I knew.”
He motioned at her empty cup. “Can I get you another?”
“No thanks. I’m all coffeed out.” She leaned forward, her forearms resting along the table edge. “Ethan, you never said if you and Tanya knew each other or not.”
He didn’t flinch. “Only in passing. In fact, I’ve seen more of you in the last couple of days than I saw of her in the whole time she was living in the apartment complex.”
“Was she ever with anyone when you saw her?”
He frowned. “Not,” he said, drawing out the word, “that I recall. I really didn’t take much notice.”
Jemma was tempted to check under the table to make sure he actually was a man. Tanya used to attract attention wherever she went, especially of the male variety. A thought struck her and she almost laughed out loud. Not married, successful, good-looking, immaculately groomed and attired – Ethan was probably gay. All the best ones were.
CHAPTER 10
Jemma tapped her watch, signaling she had to go. Ethan acknowledged her with a nod and kept talking, the person on the other end of the phone evidently too important to put on hold.
Head down, she left the café and retraced her steps back toward the apartment. Besides Gerry’s last name, what had she discovered? Either the security company’s software had a bug in it or someone made a habit of editing the audit log. She knew which one she had her money on, despite Ethan’s assurances.
“Jemma!”
She turned, hunting for the source. Marcus and a tall woman she didn’t recognize were crossing the street in her direction. Jemma waved and moved to the outside edge of the footpath to wait.
Marcus greeted her with a warm smile, before turning to the willowy blonde on his arm. “Danielle, I would like you to meet Tanya’s sister, Jemma. She’s staying on in the apartment for a while.” He then introduced Danielle as his wife.
Ignoring Jemma’s proffered hand, the feline-featured Mrs Bartlett turned to her husband. “We’re already late.”
“And whose fault is that?”
His wife’s expression hardened, her nostrils flaring. Jemma almost expected her to stomp her feet, but then that wouldn’t have been becoming of a woman of her standing. Not in public, anyway. It was hard to guess her age, but Danielle had to be ten or more years younger than her husband, her long neck and erect carriage hinting at a past life as a catwalk model.
“We’re on our way to lunch,” Marcus said. “Why don’t you join us?”
Danielle’s grip on his arm tightened, the look she gave Jemma enough to short out a motherboard.
“Thanks, but I have other plans. Another time, perhaps.”
“Sure. I’ll give you a call later,” he said as his wife dragged him away.
Jemma released her breath, feeling the tension go with it. She had lied; she didn’t have plans. However, she would rather poke pins in her eyes than have lunch in some upmarket restaurant with a woman like Danielle Bartlett.
She made it back to the building entrance without further incident. Digging in her bag for her keys, she thought she heard someone call her name. She paused, her hand still deep in her bag, and peered over her shoulder. No one on the footpath appeared to be paying her any attention. With a shrug, she went back to looking for the keys, a long cool drink and putting up her feet uppermost in her mind.
“Excuse me,” said a male voice from behind her.
She started. “Sorry,” Jemma said, stepping sideways out of the way.
“Are you Jemma, Tanya’s sister?”
Her head jerked up at the mention of her sister. “Yesss…” she said, taking in the man’s surfie-blond locks and muscly arms. “Who’s asking?”
His wide mouth stretched in a smile. “Ash Bartlett,” he said, grabbing her hand in both of his. “Great to finally meet you.”
Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
The man’s blond eyebrows drew together. “Bartlett as in Marcus Bartlett’s son.”
“Of course.” Why hadn’t she seen it sooner? With those clear blue eyes, he couldn’t b
e anyone else’s son. Before she knew it, she was inviting him up to the apartment to talk.
Riding the lift up, Chris’s warning about being wary of strangers rang in her ears. But the people he defined as strangers weren’t strangers; only friends and acquaintances of her sister she had yet to get to know. They were also her only real link to Tanya’s Melbourne life.
Once inside the apartment, she kicked off her sandals. “Can I get you something? Cold drink? Coffee?”
“Sounds good.” His gaze strayed to the vase of roses on the dining table and then back to her. “Just whatever you’re having.”
In the throes of telling him to make himself at home, she remembered her makeshift bed. She rushed over to the couch and bundled up the pillow and rumpled sheets. “Back in a jiffy.”
She dumped the bedding in the study and headed for the kitchen. Ash stood at the balcony doors looking out. Jemma loaded two tall glasses with ice cubes and mineral water and went to join him.
“Cheers,” he said, unhooking his hands from his cargo pants’ pockets to take the proffered glass. “Good spot you’ve got here.”
“You mean your father has here.”
He frowned. “Sorry?”
“Didn’t you know, Marcus or at least his company owns this apartment? Tanya was renting it from him. He’s kindly letting me stay on until I get everything sorted.”
“No, I didn’t know.” He shrugged. “But I don’t know why it should surprise me. Anyhow enough of that.” He smiled, dropping into one of the leather armchairs. “It’s you I’m here to see. I’ve heard so much about you, but I must say you don’t look anything like I imagined.”
“What,” she said, plonking herself down on the couch, “you expected me to have two heads and be breathing fire?”
He chuckled. “At least. No, what I should’ve said is that you don’t look like your sister. Except for the eyes, of course. No mistaking those.”
“You knew Tanya quite well then, did you, Ash?” She had never heard Tanya mention him, nor had he attended the funeral.
