Connor would disagree. To him, security meant much more than an alert about unscheduled visitors, but he cut into his honey-glazed roasted carrots and said, “Yes, Mr. Avery.”
“Yikes, so formal, mate. Mark is fine here. No need to stand on ceremony.”
I should’ve warned Connor. In Australia, it was downright rare to call someone by their title and surname unless you were a kid.
Etta popped some lamb into her mouth. “May I just say, Wendi, that I can tell where Izzy gets her cooking talent from. This is one of the finest meals I’ve had in my rather long lifetime.”
Mum blushed.
Dad grinned. “That’s one of the many reasons I’m so grateful she puts up with me. What about you, Etta? What do you do with yourself?”
I waited to hear whether she’d be any more forthcoming with my parents than she was with me.
“Oh, this and that,” she said. Her eyes landed on me. “Mostly I try to keep my young neighbor out of trouble.”
I choked on my roast potato. “Don’t believe a word she says! She’s the one who goes looking for trouble. The first thing she did when we arrived in Australia was buy a book on dangerous things. I bought a Subway cookie.”
There were a lot of smirks around the table, so I concentrated on eating for a bit.
Poor Lily didn’t look like she was eating at all. I hoped it was morning sickness nausea rather than paralyzing fear of the future.
“What do you both want to see while you’re in Australia?” Mum asked.
Etta rattled off a list of animals (dangerous ones), an incredibly nasty plant you could find in the Daintree Rainforest, and various historic locations where people had died in dramatic fashions.
Connor shrugged. “This trip is for Izzy, so I’m happy to go along with whatever she wants to do. On that note, is there somewhere we can hire a car around here?”
Dad brandished his fork in dismissal. “No need to blow big bucks hiring a car. We’ve got a perfectly serviceable Toyota wagon in the shed. Just need to move a couple of hay bales out of it first.”
“Oh,” Connor said. “Thank you.”
I hadn’t realized how worlds apart my new and old lives were until they collided. Connor wouldn’t blink at the few hundred bucks it would cost to hire a car—a black SUV, knowing him—and I couldn’t imagine him driving the hay-strewn, poop-colored wagon. It was testament to how much he was trying to please my parents that he’d consider it.
“Do you like animals, Connor?” Mum asked hopefully.
Herbert had returned for a second taste test of his pants. I held my breath.
“I have a dog,” he said.
Oh, yes. This could be a good topic!
“He adopted her last week,” I piped up. “He found her running scared on the side of the road, took her to the vet, and is now giving her a permanent home. Remind you of anyone, Mum?”
Mum smiled. “Really? That’s wonderful.” She looked at Connor eagerly. “Tell me about her.”
Uh-oh. Poor Connor was a lot better at asking the questions than answering them.
He finished his mouthful. “She’s brown and, er, medium-sized.” He trailed off, and Mum’s smile dimmed. That was not the answer of an animal lover. He dug deep and added, “Her name’s Petal.”
Well. That was an improvement over brown and medium-sized. I jumped in again, “She’s totally in love with Connor. Follows him everywhere and sits on his feet and gazes adoringly up at him. She likes to sing along to his music too.”
“What music?” Dad asked.
Connor answered in his trademark monosyllabic style. “Classical.”
And there went one more potential point of connection.
I made an effort to commandeer the conversation after that. To keep the focus off Connor who was worn out and in poor communicative form even by his standards. Lily kept pushing the food around her plate and talking very little. I was concerned by this subdued version of my best friend and vowed to do whatever I could to help. But with a full stomach, jet lag, and the comfort of home, inescapable yawns began to hinder my speech. So I said our good-nights and dragged Connor off to bed.
In my old bedroom.
Which had been converted into Mum’s sewing room. And was next door to where Herbert slept.
Connor balanced his suitcase on a haphazard tower of storage boxes and rescued his shirts and pants from the case’s wrinkle-inducing confines. He laid them on the flat surface of Mum’s sewing desk but didn’t bother to find room in the closet to hang them—an act which demonstrated how exhausted he really was.
Through the wall, we could hear Herbert noisily sucking his pre-bed bottle.
“We’re supposed to sleep next door to a sheep?” Connor asked quietly.
“It’s a goat. And well, yes. But Herbie’s cool. He won’t tell on us if we make, um, noises in the middle of the night.”
That wasn’t necessarily true. Other goats and lambs we’d cared for would wake and call out at great volume if they heard anyone nearby.
“When you told me your mom collected strays, I thought you meant cats and dogs.”
“Well, sometimes it’s cats and dogs. Other times it’s naughty birds, unwanted farm animals, injured or orphaned wildlife, and the occasional human.”
Connor merely shook his head and folded me into his arms. We held each other for a minute, and I felt his tense muscles relax a fraction.
He let out a long, slow breath. “I really wanted your parents to be happy you’d found me… The way my family’s convinced you’re the best thing that’s happened to me in years.”
I hugged him tighter. “They will be. I mean, yes, that could’ve gone better, but you’re jet-lagged and adjusting to the chaos of my family—”
“Yes. I understand how you happened now.”
“Um.” I decided to leave that one alone. “The point is, I’m sure things will improve. Just you know, try letting your hair down a little.”
“I recall you sniggering when my mom suggested I do that a few days ago.”
Oops, not the most encouraging turn of phrase then.
“My parents will warm up to you. Just give them and yourself time, okay?”
He exhaled slowly. “I’ll try.”
I squeezed him again and felt his body respond. My thoughts rerouted to ripping off our travel-worn clothes and falling into my old double bed.
The pathetic thing was, it was larger than my mattress in Los Angeles.
Through the wall, Mum finished settling Herbert and shut him in for the night.
My fingers faltered at Connor’s belt buckle. “But um, in the interests of everyone getting along, maybe we shouldn’t risk rousing the goat.”
4
Early the next morning, I woke before Connor and slipped into the bathroom while it was free. With five of us in the house sharing a single bathroom, it wasn’t a chance to pass up.
I took my time rinsing away the travel aches and stiffness, then checked on Connor. He was still fast asleep. It was rare I got to see him that way—he seemed to need less of it than I did. I admired his handsome face, softened by slumber, and decided the sight was both absurdly out of place and positively wonderful in the context of my old bedroom. And he’d made all this happen. This joining of my worlds. I brushed my lips against his cheek and tiptoed out the room.
I found Mum in the kitchen with delicious smells emanating from the oven. You could often find her in the kitchen cooking up mouthwatering things.
“Smells amazing,” I said, hugging her in appreciation and also just because I could. I was going to do a lot of hugging this holiday.
Which begged the question of what Etta was going to do. I couldn’t see her being content with hugs. Which was one of several reasons why I hadn’t invited her.
Mum squeezed me back. “Breakfast is ready when you are.”
I noticed two used plates in the sink and looked for the beneficiaries but couldn’t see anyone except Herbert, Gertie, and Prince.
“Oh, she wanted an adventure so badly she was running around the garden in sandals searching for snakes, centipedes, redbacks, or scorpions, so I sent her off with your father.”
I almost dropped the plate I’d picked up. “She was acting irresponsibly and recklessly and you sent her off with Dad to look after her?”
Mum smiled. “She’s in her seventies, darling. I didn’t think she needed looking after per se. Besides, how much trouble can they get up to in a few short hours?”
I switched the kettle on. Mum was right. As Etta liked to point out, she’d survived nearly three-quarters of a century just fine, so who was I to tell her otherwise? In truth, since we’d met nine months ago, I’d been in more close scrapes than she had.
Something my parents remained largely unaware of.
I hoped to keep it that way.
The kettle clicked off, and I poured the boiling water into my favorite old mug—one Lily had bought for me, that said:
HOW DO I LIKE MY EGGS? IN A CAKE, DUH.
I was home. Surrounded by loved ones. A thrill of joy and contentment sank into my bones.
The only thing that might’ve added to my contentment was a good coffee machine, but my parents had never lashed out on one. At least in Australia it was easy enough to find a decent local takeout option.
It wasn’t long before Connor was upright and functional, and Lily had joined us too. Dad and Etta were still missing in action, so the four of us decided to go for a walk. We slipped over the back fence into our neighbor’s property. He was a dear old sheep farmer who was happy for us to wander around on his beautiful land (and occasionally dropped off an orphaned, sick, or abandoned lamb in need of care). If you hiked to the top of his tallest hill, you had three-hundred-and-sixty-degree views of the surrounding countryside.
Lily was glum again today but determined not to dampen the mood. She, Mum, and Connor had found some common ground to talk about.
Me.
“When Izzy was nine,” Mum was saying, “she decided to throw me a birthday tea party. Except instead of inviting people, she set up chairs for the animals.”
I groaned. “Do you have to tell this story?”
“It was a grand plan”—Mum gazed fondly at me—“but the execution didn’t work out so well.”
Lily snorted. “That’s an understatement if I ever heard one. The cat—not Prince, but Esmeralda—didn’t take kindly to the party hat Izzy had stuck on her head and knocked over the teapot attempting to get it off.”
Mum took up the story. “The tea spilled onto the rabbit who bolted off across the lawn, and while we were trying to find him—which took almost an hour, by the way—the dog ate all the butter, scones, jam, and cream.”
“Which gave that dog the worst gas I’ve ever smelled to this day,” Lily concluded. “That’s Izzy for you. Good intentions, disastrous results.”
Humph. It might be true, but it wasn’t my fault. The condition was hereditary—I got it from my father.
Connor smiled one of his rare, proper smiles. “So, not much has changed, then?”
I wasn’t overjoyed to be the topic of conversation, but I was at least pleased Connor seemed to be doing better today at connecting with the two women who’d shaped so much of who I was. Maybe they’d get along better than I’d dared to hope?
But my tentative hopes came to a grinding halt upon our arrival home.
“Where’s Herbert?” Mum asked when he didn’t run to greet us at the door.
Connor gestured at the other end of the house. “He wanted to go outside, so I let him out the front.” He sounded pleased with himself that he’d cared for the goat, even though the little rascal had chewed his pant leg and stopped us from getting intimate the night before.
Oh no.
“You let him out?” I hissed in horror.
Connor was puzzled by my tone. “Well, yes. I checked the yard was well fenced first.”
Mum had lifted an involuntary hand to her mouth, fully aware of the implications.
Connor looked from her to me. “Um.”
“Herbert’s allowed inside but not outside, at least without supervision,” I explained.
Actually, now that I explained it, I could see how Connor might’ve been confused by that.
“He’ll have eaten and trampled half the garden,” I clarified.
Mum dropped her hand and put on a brave smile. “I suppose most of it will grow back.”
There was no point putting it off. We crossed through the house as a group and stood in mute witness to the destruction.
It was worse than I thought.
Connor actually turned pale. The poor man was trying so hard to win over my parents and wound up destroying Mum’s pride and joy instead.
Good intentions, disastrous results.
Herbert bounded merrily up to him and head-butted him in the knee.
But Mum’s poor garden wasn’t the worst upheaval of the day. After Connor had offered multiple apologies and Mum had kindly ordered him not to worry about it, we retreated to our room for a morning nap.
We were woken by Connor’s phone ringing. No caller ID. Which meant it was either a telemarketer or the Taste Society.
Snuggled against Connor’s side, I was close enough to overhear the conversation.
“Please ID yourself,” the caller said.
“Agent 1493.” Despite having been asleep twenty seconds ago, Connor managed to sound competent and alert.
“Good. Our Australian investigator died of a heart attack yesterday.”
Connor eased into a sitting position. “A heart attack? Was it someone tampering with their heart medication, cocaine, amphetamines, or something more unusual?”
I shuffled up with him so I could continue eavesdropping.
“None of those,” his handler replied. “It was a natural heart attack. High cholesterol, clogged arteries, that sort of thing.”
“Well, that’s… original in our line of work.”
“Indeed. But not newsworthy enough for me to call you on your holiday just to tell you about it. We need you to investigate something for us.”
Connor’s tone turned cool. “You’re kidding.”
“Afraid not. He was the sole investigator we had positioned on the whole continent because pretty much no one of import lives down there. The caseload barely warrants a full-time position. But eight hours ago an antidote courier from Kullaroy, Queensland, didn’t show up at her rendezvous, and we need to know why.”
“I assume you’ve tried asking the courier?”
“Yep. No answer from her, and the scientist at the lab told us she left on time, but records indicate she never got on the plane. Look, I know it’s not ideal, but the whole job might only take a few hours, and we’ll pay your expenses while you’re investigating.”
Connor exhaled. “You’ll also extend my holiday leave for every day this cuts into it.”
To my surprise, the handler didn’t argue—much—and then went ahead and ended the conversation by saying, “Thank you.”
Connor placed his phone back on the stack of ’90s sewing magazines he was using as a bedside table. “How much of that did you hear?”
“Plenty.” I folded my arms across my chest.
Connor tensed. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t—”
“How come you get a handler who says please and thank you and can be negotiated with?”
A relieved breath escaped, and he sank into the pillow he’d been leaning against. But he was silent for a few seconds before answering. “Seniority in the company.”
“Really?” My voice went up an octave. They assigned the jerks to the newbies?
Connor’s lips twitched, and I realized he was toying with me. But then his face fell serious again. “You could stay with your family while I’m stuck investigating—”
“No.”
Chances were the job would be easy and over soon, but I’d never f
orgive myself if it turned out to be dangerous and I sent Connor off alone. Without his resources or weapons. Without his security team. Without his usual home turf advantage. Not that I was all that good without my trusty Taser and pepper spray—both of which were illegal for civilians in Australia—but still.
Connor had made plenty of enemies in his years foiling the plans of criminals or ensuring those criminals faced justice afterward. Powerful enemies. So it had occurred to me—in my not-so-naive-anymore mind—that a vacation far from his usual protections would be a good opportunity to seek revenge.
Maybe I was being paranoid, but I wasn’t letting him travel two thousand miles away without backup. Besides, he was an intrinsic part of my holiday plans.
“No,” I said again. “We work as a team. That was the deal.”
Connor was watching my face carefully. “So you’re not mad? You’ve waited so long to see your family.”
I bit my lip. He was right. The last thing I wanted was to hare off interstate less than a day after arriving. But… I poked him in the ribs. “Yeah well, I waited a long time for you too.”
He caught my hand in his. Probably to protect his ribs. “How about we all go? I could spring for tickets and rooms in a nice hotel for everyone, and we can socialize with your family in between the case obligations.”
I beamed and kissed him. “That sounds great. If they’ll agree to come.”
Before we could break the news to Mum and Lily, two leather-clad figures tore up the driveway on motorbikes. They removed their helmets to reveal Etta and Dad, windswept and flushed.
Uh-oh.
“What have you been up to?” I demanded as they came inside.
Dad ran his fingers through his hair and grinned. “We borrowed a couple of bikes from Barry and went for a hoon along Gorge Road. Then we snuck into SA Water for a spot of blackberry picking, and—”
“All right. I get the picture.” I didn’t want to hear any more. Gorge Road, with its sheer sides, steep corners, and low visibility, was an incredibly dangerous road for “hooning” on. And that SA Water land was off limits to the public as evidenced by the large NO TRESPASSING signs on every entrance.
The Killer of Oz Page 3