A Madness of Sunshine

by Singh, Nalini

  Josie stopped fussing with the table decoration and went around to the coffee machine. “Cappuccino, right?” She began to make one without waiting for an answer. “I’ve been digging through my memories since she went missing.” The high sound of steam, of milk being frothed. “But the thing is, even though I like to think of myself as her older sister, I’m not sure Miriama thinks of herself as my younger sister.”

  Taking a seat near the counter, Anahera shrugged off her anorak. “Why? Did she say something?”

  Josie didn’t reply until she’d finished making the cappuccino. Bringing it out with an ease that made it clear she’d done the same a thousand times, she placed the drink in front of Anahera, then took the seat across from her. “No, it’s ­just…” Her friend pushed both hands through the fine strands of her hair, the light brown intermingled with a glint or two of silver. “I feel like I’m gossiping about her behind her back.”

  “You can’t think like that.” Anahera got up to grab the chocolate shaker to dust the fine granules over the froth of her coffee, more to give Josie space than because she wanted it. “Not if what you know might be helpful in finding her.”

  Swallowing hard as Anahera retook her seat, Josie stared at the wood grain of the smoothly planed table. “I heard her on the phone a few times,” her best friend said at last. “She had that look on her ­face—­the same look you had on your face that weekend I came to stay with you up in Auckland. It was right after you’d met Edward, and you were glowing and giggly and happy.”

  Anahera could barely remember that version of herself. “That can’t be an unusual thing for a girl as beautiful as Miriama,” was all she said.

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Josie said. “­But—­and this is before ­Dominic—­Miri’s never really dated as much as you might assume. She has big dreams and she’s determined to make them happen. She did go out on the odd date, don’t get me wrong, but it was a year and a bit ago that she got that look on her face and I knew it was serious.”

  Anahera just nodded, the fingers of one hand around her coffee cup.

  “I sort of teased her about it,” Josie continued, tracing the wood grain with a fingertip. “Like I did you about Edward. Nothing pointed or mean. Just kind of saying how she was looking happy and when was I going to meet the lucky guy.”

  Leaning forward, Anahera took one of Josie’s hands in her own. “You’re ­ice-­cold,” she said with a frown, and began to rub Josie’s hand between her own to warm it up. “Do you want me to get your shawl?” She could see it draped over the chair behind the counter.

  But Josie shook her head. “The cold is from inside,” she whispered. “It’s from fear of what might’ve happened to Miri.”

  “Just tell me if you change your mind.” Anahera didn’t stop attempting to warm Josie up. “How did Miriama react to your teasing?”

  “­She—­” Josie paused, bit her lower lip. “Her reaction was ­odd… ­hurtful.” Hazel eyes held Anahera’s. “My response feels so immature now, but back then, I was badly wounded by what she did.”

  “Was she angry with you?”

  “No. She lied to me.” Josie’s voice shook. “Laughed and said that I was mistaken, that she’d been talking to a friend. I knew she hadn’t been, knew that tone in her voice was for a lover, not a friend.”

  “Did she ever admit the truth?”

  “About a month ­later—­she came up to me out of the blue and said she was sorry for having lied to me, but that she couldn’t talk about the person she was dating. She said he was inappropriate and that she wasn’t ready for anyone to know about the relationship.” Josie extended her other hand toward Anahera. “Since you’re doing such a good job.”

  Laughing at this small glimpse of the content, happy Josie she knew, Anahera switched her warming-­up attentions to her friend’s neglected hand. “When she said ‘inappropriate,’ did you have any idea what she meant?”

  A shake of the head. “I nudged her about it, asked if there was anything I could do, even cautioned her against getting involved with a man who might not be good for her, but she just hugged me and said she loved me for caring.”

  Josie sank her teeth into her lower lip. “Then she told me not to worry, that her guy wasn’t abusive or a drug dealer or anything bad like that, only someone it might take her aunt a little bit to warm up to, so she was going slow with it.”

  It wasn’t much to go on. Inappropriate could mean all kinds of ­things—­the lover could’ve been significantly older, for example. “Did you two ever talk about it again?”

  “I accidentally walked in on another phone call a few months later. She was out back having a break, but I needed her to come in because a tourist bus had turned up early and I knew we were about to be slammed. I pushed open the back door and heard her say, ‘We are sinners.’ ”

  Josie’s face turned stark. “She hung up as soon as she saw me and we didn’t talk about it then, but at the end of the rush, she looked at me and said, ‘Will you still be my friend when you find out what I’ve done?’ ” Her fingers tightened on Anahera’s. “It was so sad, the way she said it. I told her nothing could break our friendship and then, because I thought she needed a laugh, I said the only caveat was if she attempted to seduce Tom. Then all bets were off.”

  “Unless Tom has had a personality transplant, I don’t think you ever have to worry about him straying.” Even Anahera, with her dim view of men, couldn’t fault Tom’s loyalty or love. He’d do anything for Josie, including hauling over supplies for her crazy friend who lived in a cabin on the edge of ­town—­he’d also checked Anahera’s plumbing while he was there.

  Tom Taufa was one of the good guys.

  “That’s why it was so funny, the idea of him being seduced.” Releasing Anahera’s hand, Josie resettled herself on the chair. “But Miri’s face went kind of still and odd, and she said, ‘You never have to worry about that, Josie,’ and then she left to deliver a coffee to Glenda at the tourist center, and we never talked about it again.”

  Anahera sat back in her seat. “A married man?”

  “That’s what I thought, too,” Josie said with a sigh. “I really didn’t want to believe ­it—­I take marriage vows dead seriously. But I love Miriama. I decided my job was to support her. And I wasn’t about to blame her when she wasn’t the one who was breaking vows.” Her voice was harder on the next words. “If I ever find the man who convinced her to break her faith, however, I’ll have a few things to say to him. She was tormented at committing a sin.”

  The small bell above the door tinkled.

  Anahera turned to see Dominic de Souza; she recognized him only because Matilda had shown her a photo of Miriama with “her doctor boyfriend.” There’d been so much pride in Matilda at that instant, her ­tear-­swollen eyes momentarily suffused with happiness.

  There was nothing of happiness in Dominic de Souza.

  Grief had ravaged his face, creating new grooves in his skin, and his hair was as wild as his eyes behind the clear lenses of his glasses, but he had on a fresh white shirt over a pair of black pants. “I’ve got patients to see,” he said without a greeting. “I’m the only doctor in town.”

  Pushing herself up by using the table as a brace, Josie walked over to take Dominic’s hands. “I’ll make you your usual,” she said softly. “If you need anything else, you just call from the clinic.”

  Anahera rose and began to put on her anorak while Josie went around to make the coffee. The doctor just stood there, his face more than a little vacant. Anahera didn’t know if he should be treating patients today, but maybe being in the surgery would wake him up. And, unfortunately, he was right: he was the only medical help around unless you were prepared to drive fifty minutes to an hour ­south—­and that was assuming clear roads with no slips from the storm.

  In a local emergency, Dominic de Souza was the only choice.

  “Are you sure you’ll be okay treating patients?” she asked, careful to keep her voi
ce nonjudgmental.

  Blinking, he turned to stare at her. Intelligence sparked in the pale bloodshot brown of his eyes, his shoulders squaring. “I’m a good doctor,” he bit out.

  Anahera couldn’t fault him for his edgy reaction to a complete stranger questioning his competence. She’d probably lose her shit, too, were their positions reversed. Looking back over her shoulder, she said, “Josie, I’ve put the money for my cappuccino on the table.” She left before her friend could tell her to take her money with ­her—­the way Josie looked after everyone, it was a wonder she was turning any kind of a profit.

  Having walked into town, Anahera began to head toward the police station.

  When a gleaming black sports car crawled up along the otherwise empty street littered with fallen leaves, dirty candy wrappers, and other ­storm-­borne debris, Anahera noticed it without paying it much mind. Not until it pulled to a stop a few meters ahead of her and the driver shut off the engine.

  The door opened seconds later, a familiar man getting out.

  34

  Daniel May came straight toward her. “I thought that was you, Ana.”

  “Daniel.” Anahera stopped, her hands in the pockets of the anorak. “How much is that car worth?” She recognized the ­make—­Edward had owned a sedan because he was far too sensible to drive around London in a car worth the same as a house, but he’d always lusted after fast cars that were all about speed and elegance.

  Before everything had gone wrong and they’d broken so deep the fracture could never be patched, Anahera used to tell him he should buy one on his fortieth birthday and to hell with anyone who thought he was hav­ing a midlife crisis. Instead, he’d gone out and gotten himself a mistress.

  “It’s a Lamborghini, isn’t it? Did you get it the same time you grew a pony­­tail?”

  A bright white smile from the man who’d once been a boy on whom she’d had a crush. She’d been thirteen at the time, Daniel fifteen.

  “Nice to know you aren’t going to give me the cold shoulder.” His sunglasses hid eyes she remembered as being unusually dark, but his tone was open ­enough—­and cuttingly bitter. “I’m getting sick of it from everyone else.”

  Anahera shrugged. “I guess people figure friends aren’t supposed to poach from friends.”

  Expression cooling, Daniel slid his own hands into the pockets of his dark gray suit pants. His shirt was a vivid aqua, his watch a Patek Philippe Anahera vaguely recognized from a catalog the highly respected watch company had sent to Edward.

  The watch was probably worth more than the Lamborghini.

  It wasn’t a surprise that Daniel enjoyed fine watches. But it was something to note.

  “It takes two to tango,” he said in response to her sally. “And Nikau wasn’t exactly interested in dancing with his wife. He was too puffed up with his own importance, always away at a conference or in ‘office hours’ with ­nineteen-­year-­olds who thought he was a god. Not my fault if she decided to seek greener pastures.”

  “That’s why I’m talking to you.” Anahera wondered if Daniel still drew. He’d once given her a pen drawing of a kea, showing the ­rabble-­rousing native parrot in the midst of one of its favorite activities: destroying the rubber seal around a car’s window.

  She could see no signs of that whimsical boy in this sharply dressed man.

  “Like you said,” she added, “the entire mess involved three people, not just you.” She didn’t think Nikau had cheated on his wife as Daniel was implying; Nikau had always been obsessed with Keira, far too obsessed to play outside the marriage bed.

  But, unlike Nikau, she wasn’t about to turn Daniel into a ­black-­hearted villain who’d lured Keira away. Whatever strange emptiness she had inside her, Keira was no one’s puppet. “Not that you’re exactly an innocent party, Dan. You made the decision to be with Keira while she was still married to another man.” Separated wasn’t the same as divorced. “You had to know what was coming.”

  “Trust you to cut right to the heart of it.” Daniel’s wry smile struck her with a bolt of memory, a reminder of his charm when they’d been teenagers.

  Anahera had not only been hopelessly gawky back then, she’d dressed in hand-­me-­downs and cheap fabrics that her mother made into shorts and dresses. She could never hope to compete with the glossy ­private-­school girls Daniel had favored. But the rich, pretty, popular boy had still spoken to her and they’d still played together on the beach.

  Once, he’d even paid for her movie ticket so she could see the superhero movie everyone was talking about. He’d also come into the cabin and eaten jam sandwiches together with her for lunch, never once commenting on the poverty in which Anahera and her mother existed.

  Daniel might be arrogant, but he’d never been an ass to Anahera personally.

  “I was sorry to hear about your husband.” It seemed a sincere statement. “You were never meant for a town this small, Ana. I was glad for you when you got out.”

  That was the Daniel who’d challenged her to barefoot races on the beach and who’d bought her a movie ticket. But there had always been another Daniel that she’d sensed even as a girl, well before he’d manipulated his way into the scholarship meant for Nikau: that ruthless Daniel who would do anything to get what he wanted.

  “What’re you doing in town?” She couldn’t respond to the condolence today, not without betraying the icy, hard anger that lived in her.

  “Just want to grab a coffee from Josie.” He slid off his sunglasses to reveal eyes as dark as she ­remembered—­like chips of black granite. “I’m driving to ­Greymouth—­have a meeting with a developer.”

  “Don’t you have a helicopter for that?”

  “Why have a gorgeous fucking machine like the Lambo if I never drive it?” His smile didn’t reach those opaque eyes. “Has there been any other news on the missing girl?”

  Anahera shook her head. “Do you know her well?”

  It was Daniel’s turn to shrug. “Like I know most people in this town.”

  Considering the watch on his wrist, Anahera decided to chance another comment. “I only really knew her when she was small.”

  “She sold me Girl Guide cookies once,” Daniel said suddenly. “Came to our door dressed in that uniform they wear. I guess she must’ve been about seven or eight. I was nineteen and home for the holidays.”

  He slid his sunglasses back on. “I bought a whole bunch of cookies off her, and she smiled this great big smile at me, and I thought: The world’s going to crush you.” No smile now, just ruthless cold. “That’s what it does to fragile, beautiful things.”

  He moved past her the next second.

  Anahera watched after him until he disappeared into the warmth of Josie’s café; that had been a distinctly odd story to share, but it could be just Daniel playing games. He’d had a way of doing that even as a boy, of manipulating people for his own ­enjoyment—­or sometimes for no reason at all.

  Anahera had always thought he hadn’t tried it on her as a child because she was so far beneath him in terms of power and wealth or even family. She could never do anything to hurt or to help him. So he’d put down the knife, stopped the power plays.

  Looked like that no longer applied.

  35

  Will hadn’t been sure Anahera would turn up this morning, so when she pushed open the door to the station, he turned from the filing cabinet with a quiet inhale. He was struck once again by how contained she was; he wondered if anyone, even Josie, truly knew her. Maybe Nikau had an ­idea—­the two seemed close, but if they’d ever had a romantic relationship they’d left it behind long ago.

  The entire time that Will had known Nikau, the other man had been obsessed with his ex-­wife: Keira seemed to be the only woman Nik ­noticed—­and had noticed for years. Though Will couldn’t forget that night in the bar and the way Nikau had talked about Miriama.

  Will had to be careful not to let his friendship with Nikau cloud his judgment. Because Nik fit all the pa
rameters of someone Miriama would’ve trusted even if she’d run into him in an isolated ­spot—­he was a local who knew her aunt and was considered a good man, a man who’d step in and help if you needed it.

  Will had once spotted Nikau slipping a twenty into the hand of an elderly woman who’d been struggling after the death of her husband.

  Nikau also spent considerable time hiking the various trails around Golden Cove, both for work and for pleasure, so Miriama wouldn’t have found it unusual to see him along her route. She’d probably run into him multiple times over the two years since he’d moved back to the Cove.

  All of that was why Will had quietly checked the search map to make sure Nikau alone had never searched a particular area.

  His relief at seeing multiple initials on all squares bearing Nik’s own initials had been an easing of muscles he hadn’t realized were knotted. The map didn’t totally clear Nik, however. If he’d hurt Miriama, the ocean would’ve been the natural dumping ground for a man who knew this landscape so intimately.

  “Done your rounds?” Anahera asked, her wavy hair down around a face that gave nothing away and that had the hard edge of knocks taken and survived.

  “Yes, no major damage.” He’d started on the cusp of dawn, been out for four hours. “I had to return Julia Lee’s ­dog—­Cupcake the bulldog took shelter in Christine Tierney’s house, after apparently managing to dig his way out from under Julia’s fence and becoming caught in the storm. And I righted a trampoline over at Tania Meikle’s, but that was the extent of the excitement.”

  No smile on Anahera’s face. Her expression was difficult to read, but he could guess that she remained conflicted about working with Will behind her friends’ backs.

  “So,” she said, “we’re ready to go?”

  “You sure you want to be seen getting into my vehicle?”

  “Twenty seconds before I walked in here, I ran into Evelyn, made sure to mention that I needed to get some supplies from Christchurch and was catching a lift with you because my car was playing up.” She shoved her hands into the pockets of her anorak. “That’s one thing I don’t miss about living in a small ­town—­having everyone’s nose in my business.”