All That Was Left Unsaid

by Jacquie Underdown

  The Stockman’s Daughter

  Wattle Valley Series

  Catch Me a Cowboy

  Meet Me in the Middle

  Brothers of the Vine Series

  Bittersweet

  The Sweetest Secret

  Sweet from the Vine

  Mercy Island Series

  Pieces of Me

  One Hot Christmas

  Only Ever You

  Fantasy/Paranormal/Magical-realism romance

  Spring Reign

  After Life

  Out of Time

  Transcendent Series

  The Paler Shade of Autumn

  Beautiful Illusion

  Beyond Coincidence

  Unstitched

  The Perfect Family

  Three everyday couples, from one ordinary family … and an astonishing murder plot.

  Outwardly, The Radcliffes are a typical suburban family. But anyone close enough to them will know that it’s all for show.

  Matt and Nikki’s life is perfect. They’re happily married, work great jobs, and are raising two loveable teenage sons.

  Anthony and Belinda have it all—the looks, the big house by the water, and a successful business.

  Vaughn and Paige couldn’t be more in love; they can’t wait to start a family of their own.

  But underneath, each couple is in crisis and there is one root cause. Out of options and their backs against the wall, they discover that murder isn’t a tool reserved only for criminals.

  The Perfect Family is available worldwide from Amazon stores.

  Download your copy here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07WSLV48M

  SAMPLE

  THE PERFECT FAMILY

  Prologue

  I usually hated death. But there was something different about this death. As I watched the lacquered timber coffin being lowered deep into the grave, instead of stifling sobs or my heart sitting like a lump of smouldering coal in my chest, I was comforted.

  That weight I had worn across my shoulders was gone and my muscles were left limber and buoyant. The blue sky suspended above this small assemblage of mourners was expansive, the sun warm. I ached to turn my face to the balmy glow and smile.

  Emerald leaves hanging from overarching tree branches waved and rustled in the breeze. A breeze that didn’t carry the scent of death, but life, new beginnings and moving forward with freedom.

  Sniffles and tears sounded beside me and snapped me from my contemplation. I had to remember where I was. A funeral. Funerals were sad. Death was bad.

  Murder was abhorrent.

  Maybe. I didn’t know for certain anymore. I saw murder differently now. Too many grey areas. Too many details and factors and consequences.

  I know you are wondering how I could possibly feel this way about something so despicable, but, please, give me a moment to explain.

  If a snarling wolf, fangs bared, backed a flock of bleating, stumbling sheep to the edge of a sheer cliff, and there was no one to usher the sheep back to safety because the wolf expertly concealed its maliciousness from others, then didn’t it make sense, if you had the opportunity, to eliminate the wolf and save the sheep?

  Or did you, day after day, allow the wolf to brutalise the sheep until, with a nudge of its snout, it tossed them, one by one, over the edge to plummet and splatter on the rocks hundreds of metres below?

  Survival of the fittest. The wolf was stronger, right? That’s what we’re conditioned to believe. But we can all agree that today’s survival of the fittest is distorted by laws and regulations and affords all the power to the wolf while the sheep are censored, shackled or sent to jail if they dare fight back.

  Well, I fought back. And I don’t feel guilty. The wolf had to die. I won’t apologise. I won’t because I had no other choice. None I could live with.

  I’m only sad that death didn’t come sooner because the damage caused wouldn’t have been so extensive. But that was my error of judgement, you see, because this wolf wore sheep’s clothing, and it took me too long to see what was lurking underneath.

  Chapter 1

  Nikki

  Nikki gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, and stared out the windscreen at the damp, winding road ahead. On one side were tall she-oaks, turpentine trees and a carpet of ferns, and on the other side was a sharp plunge hundreds of metres down the side of the Blackall Ranges to the valley below.

  Her breathing was short and shallow. A dull buzzing in her ears. Her heart thumped, each pound hard and insistent, convincing her she was about to die. But Nikki wasn’t about to die, merely driving to work.

  She couldn’t deal with another day at work. Not the fluorescent lighting. Not her small cubicle and lone computer. Not the aroma of cheap coffee that tainted the stale air blasting from the air conditioner.

  Of late, her nervous system had been rioting. The slightest incident, even something as petty as a tax interview with a client, would dump adrenalin into her bloodstream and make her hands shake. Attempting to hide her nerves as her fingers tapped on her keyboard with the client barely a metre across the desk only made matters worse.

  No, she couldn’t do that today. She couldn’t be there.

  Nikki pressed her foot flat to the accelerator and yanked the steering wheel hard to the right. The car thrust forward, tyres skidding against the soggy bitumen, crossed the road and thundered through a wall of ground trees before colliding into the thick trunk of a pine.

  The car crunched and buckled—a cacophony of steel, glass and wood. She slammed forward, breastplate whacking against her seatbelt, and face-butted the exploding airbag before being flung back hard in her seat.

  All went silent bar the tink, tink as crumpled metal adjusted under the residual heat from the engine. The heavy scent of petrol curled through the car’s cab.

  Nikki’s breaths came harder. Ears rang with an eerie high-pitched squeal. Warm fluid trailed from her nose. She wiped at it with her arm, leaving a bloody swatch along the sleeve of her white blouse. Her nose throbbed and chest ached, yet, beneath that, relief ballooned.

  With trembling hands, she unbuckled her seatbelt. She groaned, pain igniting in her lungs as she stretched for her handbag that had fallen from the passenger seat onto the floor. She rummaged for her phone; finally found it.

  The rumble of a car. Pops and crackles of sticks and rocks as it pulled onto the side of the road and stopped. A man raced out. Nikki let her phone fall onto her lap, and she rested back against her seat. A long sigh rushed from between her lips.

  The man was jittery but spoke calmly. His features were blurred. Each word he said sounded far away, gluey. He checked her over. Asked questions. She couldn’t determine if she answered them well.

  Within minutes, an ambulance, a police car and a tow truck arrived. More questions. More checks. And then she was assisted onto a gurney and wheeled into the back of an ambulance. She closed her eyes and sank into her relief as she was driven away.

  At the hospital, Nikki waited in a curtained room in the Emergency Department. A doctor would be by soon to assess her injuries. Her husband, Matt, had been phoned.

  By the time Matt arrived, she had already been treated. He stood beside her bed, his big comforting energy taking up all of the remaining room. Her injuries were twofold—a broken nose and a bruised breastplate—but nothing she needed to be admitted for. So, at twenty-two minutes past twelve, Nikki was allowed to go home.

  Matt held her with a strong arm around her back and assisted her inside their Flaxton home. A functional house set on a peaceful plot of land situated beside a tropical rainforest reserve. The three-bedroom, double-storey house had enough space for their family of four.

  Sweet, sweet home. This consoling feeling of coming home was everything. All else, all other aspects of life, were moments to be endured until she could come back here again and be herself. This place was her refuge.

  She looked at her husband’s face and her shoulders relaxed. He was another refuge. Tall, reassuring, unfalteri
ng. He wore his work uniform—a high-vis shirt tucked into navy-blue pants. Pens and a small notepad filled his breast pocket. He smelled subtly of hot steel and fuel.

  Their relationship was no longer normal. Somewhere along the line, it had morphed from an equal partnership into one of dependence. Not dependency in a financial or even an emotional sense, but more that Nikki depended on Matt for her sanity. She depended on him to function from day to day and discreetly disguised her crumbling autonomy behind his strength.

  His blue eyes blazed with concern. “How are you feeling?”

  “Not great.” The hospital had given her an anaesthetic spray in her nostrils, so they could assess and clean her nose painlessly, but it was wearing off, replaced by a dull throb.

  Her gaze fluttered away from him. Sitting in the back of her throat was a confession. She ached to tell him the truth that she had purposefully driven her car into a tree, all because this anxiety that sat millimetres under her skin and raced through her blood, made working impossible.

  But Matt didn’t believe in mental afflictions. As an engineer, he was logical, binary. That’s what she loved about him—she knew where she stood. Order. Structure. Black and white. But now, she needed a little shadow in his outlook, enough to ask for help. After fifteen years of marriage, though, she didn’t expect to find it; he would hunt for a definitive solution and apply it.

  “Come sit on the couch. I’ll grab some pillows off our bed. Do you want a cup of coffee?”

  She nodded and followed him into the living room. “You’re not going to get in trouble for leaving work?”

  He smiled. “I’m pretty sure my wife having a car accident is an adequate excuse to have the day off.”

  Nikki managed a smile back. When he left the room, she eased onto the couch and held her hands up in front of her. They weren’t shaking anymore.

  The full force of what she had done solidified in her mind. She had, with these hands, pulled the steering wheel until her car careered off the road into a tree, so she didn’t have to go to work.

  Maybe she should have called her boss and pretended she was sick. But that phone call seemed more difficult than everything else she had endured today and much too temporary.

  She lifted a hand to her head, squeezed her eyes closed. What a broken piece of equipment this brain was.

  Matt’s footsteps clunked down the stairs. He appeared with two bed pillows and placed them on the end of the couch. “Here you go. Make yourself as comfortable as you can. Do you need help resting back?”

  “I should be okay.”

  “I’ll go make that coffee.”

  He started to leave, but she called to him. “Um, I…” Today wasn’t an accident. Today wasn’t an accident. Today wasn’t an accident. The words clanged around in her head, but she couldn’t draw them out into shapes and sounds.

  She didn’t want to be that person who did silly things like this. Not for Matt. Not for her two sons. “I’m sorry about all this fuss today. I feel like such an idiot.”

  He shook his head, forehead creasing. “You don’t have any reason to feel like that. It’s fine. You’re okay. We’ve got insurance for the car. No harm done. I’m just glad you didn’t head down the side of the range.”

  Nikki shuddered at the thought. “Me too.”

  “It must have given you one hell of a fright.”

  A sharp nod. “It did.” Tears pricked the back of her eyes, heat flushed her cheeks. What kind of mother would do this? What if she had lost control and spun out down the range, leaving Matt and her sons alone? Was work really so bad?

  “It’s okay,” Matt said as he took a seat beside her again. He rested his hand on her lower back and rubbed gently in large circles. “It’s over now. You’re safe.”

  “I know.”

  Outwardly, she was a little worse for wear but otherwise okay. It was inside her head that she worried about.

  When Matt left the room for the kitchen, she slipped her shoes off and slowly leaned back, resting her head against the pillows.

  She had to see the silver lining here—the whole purpose of today—for the next two weeks, thanks to a doctor’s certificate, she didn’t have to face work. For the next two weeks, she could let this broken brain recuperate.

  By the time Matt came back with her coffee, she had convinced herself it was better he didn’t know the real reason behind her accident.

  Chapter 2

  Belinda

  Belinda shoved her shoulder against the door leading from her dark garage into the main house. She juggled a tray of leftover lasagne in one hand and her handbag in the other.

  Her muscles ached under the weight of her day. Yet another phone call from a debt collector about yet more money she owed. She flexed her fingers around the plate and swallowed hard.

  “Anthony?” she called.

  “In the kitchen.” His deep voice was medicinal. In those three small words, she heard all she needed—they were in this together, and she didn’t have to shoulder their financial woes on her own. In her next breath, reality sank back in. Her stomach lurched. They may be in this together, but she sure as hell felt responsible for getting them into this mess.

  “So, I got a call from the taxation office…” She rounded the corner to the kitchen and stopped mid-stride when the first person who came into sight was the back of her mother-in-law, Claire. Her questioning gaze sought Anthony’s.

  He smiled a big welcome-home smile. “Hey, gorgeous.”

  “Hi.” She looked at the back of Claire’s head of shoulder-length blonde hair. “Um, hi, Claire, I wasn’t expecting you.”

  Claire turned in the chair and smiled when their eyes met. She was a tall woman—height that all three of her sons inherited. Her shoulders were broad, accentuated by the square-cut shirts and dresses she wore. On her lips, in contrast to her pale skin, was bright red lipstick.

  “Lovely to see you, Belinda. Oh, and what do you have there?”

  Belinda lowered the plate so Claire could see. “Lasagne. Made from all organic ingredients. Leftovers from the shop.” Belinda had owned an organic store for the past seven years. Handy when the last thing she felt like doing was cooking and the last thing she could afford was food.

  “I remember the pressure to get dinner on the table,” Claire said. “I worked full-time while raising the three boys. I always felt like I was sprinting, especially when I got home from work.”

  Belinda’s neck tightened and her teeth clamped hard together when children were mentioned. She would give anything to hear small, scampering feet in this house. But in eight years, she and Anthony hadn’t managed to conceive.

  “Here, let me help with that,” Anthony said, taking her handbag and the plate. “You staying for dinner, Mum?”

  Claire set her darkest brown eyes on Belinda’s.

  “Stay,” Belinda said. Having a conversation about anything other than her finances for a couple of hours would be a pleasant change.

  “I’d love to.”

  Belinda reheated the lasagne and put together a simple salad—very simple as they didn’t have a lot in the fridge. They sat together around the dining table that was long enough for twelve guests, their voices echoing off the high ceiling.

  Never was it more apparent that they had overstretched themselves with this house. Their waterfront dream home, meticulously planned, built by a renowned builder and decorated from scratch. Everything brand new. Adjacent the Maroochy River. Five bedrooms, a designer pool, a home office and Italian decorative tiles.

  How were they to know that the income from Anthony’s once-booming heavy-fabrication shop would shrink by forty per cent? How were they to know that the house they paid over one million dollars to build would halve in value in a matter of eighteen short months? How were they to know that customers would tighten their purse strings and do away with such indulgences as organic products?

  She should have listened to her sister-in-law, Nikki. She had said the first thing her clients did wh
en they started making cash was to get into debt: buy a car, go on an overseas holiday, or in Belinda and Anthony’s case, build their dream home at the top of the housing market right before a crash. Now they couldn’t even sell this place.

  “So, did you hear about the car accident?” Claire asked.

  Belinda and Anthony looked wide-eyed as they shook their heads.

  “Who?” Anthony asked.

  “Nikki.”

  Belinda gasped. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine.” Claire gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “A broken nose and some bruising, but she’ll live.”

  Anthony frowned. “I thought Matt would have phoned to tell me.”

  Claire speared a cherry tomato with her fork. “They were busy with calls to their insurance company, and they were at the hospital most of the day.”

  “He managed to call you,” Anthony pointed out.

  Claire shrugged. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. They needed my help. That’s probably the only reason they called me. After today, I’d much rather I didn’t know.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I’ve been cleaning all day to give Nikki a hand. She can’t do it in her state. Her house was…” She shook her head. “She could use the help of a house cleaner. They’re so busy and all.”

  Belinda may not be great with finances, but she was house proud. She knew too well the state of Nikki and Matt’s home. How could intelligent, organised people be so hopeless at housework? They’ve only got the two teenage boys. Surely it can’t be that hard.

  “Each to their own,” Anthony said. “I’m just glad to hear Nikki wasn’t seriously hurt.”

  “Me too,” said Claire. “Although, I am worried about her.”

  Belinda’s head cocked and her brow arched. “How so?”

  “I’m not sure exactly. Maybe I’m… I don’t know…” Claire lowered her eyes to the food on her plate.

  “What, Mum?” Anthony asked.

  “My friend from my art class—Julie—she’s the mother of the man who was first to the scene. He was driving over the hill behind her when she skidded off the road. He said there was no reasonable cause for her to have had the accident. He said it was like she almost did it on purpose.”