by Vicki Tyley
After washing her hands, Jacinta waited out by the café. When Narelle didn’t appear, she began to think that Narelle had either come out before her or had been sucked down the toilet. Following the low partition separating the café from the walkway, Jacinta checked out the people queuing to be served and the others seated at tables. Unable to see Narelle among the hospital visitors, medical staff and even the odd pyjama-clad patient, she turned back, her pace quickening when she saw Narelle looking lost outside the entrance to the toilets.
Jacinta joined the queue behind the espresso machine, watching as Narelle made her way through the maze of tables and chairs to a vacant table for two against the far wall. A few minutes later, she joined Narelle, balancing a cup of steaming herbal tea and a cellophane-wrapped muffin in one hand, with a long black and another muffin in the other.
“Phew,” she said, setting the hot drinks and muffins on the table. “I made it. I thought for sure one of those hunky young doctors was going to wear this lot.” She chuckled, but her attempt at levity failed to raise even a hint of a smile from Narelle.
Jacinta slid her knapsack from her shoulder, dumping it on the floor beside her chair, and sat down. “How’s Craig?” she asked, her voice as soft and unthreatening as she could make it.
Narelle looked up. A touch of colour had returned to her cheeks, but her brown eyes still lacked lustre. “Why are you hounding me, Jacinta? I don’t appreciate being followed day and night, and I especially resent you breaking into my house while I’m not there and going through my things.”
“What are you talking about? I admit I’ve left a few phone messages and knocked on your door, but I would never, ever break into your house, let alone rifle through your personal belongings. If you remember, I started a new job this week. And when I wasn’t working, I was with Brett. How could I have done what you’re accusing me of?”
Confusion flashed across Narelle’s face. “How did you know where to find me today if you weren’t following me, then?”
“Purely a calculated guess. Craig is in hospital, you’re his wife — who else but a wife would be expected to visit every day? If I’d been following you, I certainly wouldn’t have sat out in that damned heat for three hours, waiting for you to show up.” She paused, taking a breath. “I apologise if my methods seem a little underhand, but I couldn’t see any other way. Please just let me explain and then, if you still feel the same way, I promise I won’t try to contact you again.”
Narelle still looked unconvinced. “If it’s not you, who is it? It doesn’t make sense.”
Mid-shrug, Jacinta froze, her shoulders up around her ears. Did the police have Narelle under surveillance? Daniel had intimated that as much would happen if Craig Edmonds became a serious suspect in the Toolangi murders.
“What is it? What do you know that you’re not telling me?”
Jacinta shook her head, her shoulders dropping. “First, was anything taken?”
“Not that I know of. Why?”
“Any idea what they were looking for?”
“No.” Narelle’s jaw tightened. “Where is this going?”
“I just thought that if we knew what they were after, it might give us a clue to who’s following you and why,” Jacinta said, determined to keep her suspicions about it being the police to herself until she knew more.
Narelle stared into her untouched tea, her fingers absent-mindedly flicking the crimped edge of her muffin’s cellophane wrap. Seconds ticked by.
Jacinta resisted the urge to fill the silence, instead stuffing apple and raisin muffin into her mouth. She swallowed and took another bite, washing it down with coffee. When Narelle eventually spoke, it was just one word.
“Explain.”
Jacinta choked on a mouthful of muffin. “Pardon?”
“You wanted to explain, so explain.”
Her face deadpan and her eyes downcast, Narelle listened intently as Jacinta did her best to recount, without going into too much detail, how the long-lost stepbrother she had hoped she would never see again had suddenly reappeared in her life.
“I hadn’t even told Brett I had a stepbrother. So you can imagine running into him like that came as a hell of a shock. I didn’t set out to deceive you. I was going to tell you, but you had more than enough of your own to deal with without having my problems lumped on top. I told Daniel you were pregnant only because I was concerned for your welfare. I swear I haven’t discussed anything else you’ve told me with him.”
“What does my welfare have to do with the police?”
Buying time, Jacinta nudged her coffee cup aside and leaned forward. “The less stress you have, the less stress your baby has to tolerate,” she said, her fingertips edging across the table. “I’m hoping that now the police are aware of your pregnancy, they won’t resort to using shock tactics like they did that time you collapsed at your place. You can’t escape what’s happened, but if there’s anything I can do to make it easier for you, I will.”
Tears welled in Narelle’s eyes. Fighting a losing battle, she jammed the heels of her palms into her eye sockets. After a few deep breaths, she sat upright, batting her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “God, I must look a fright,” she said, running a finger under each eye, smudging her mascara further. “Sorry. I’m not normally like this. Really.”
Jacinta retrieved the packet of tissues from her knapsack and passed them to Narelle. “Don’t apologise. You’re holding up better than I would be in your situation.”
“Yeah, right,” Narelle said, managing a weak smile.
Jacinta grinned. “Yeah!”
For a fleeting moment Narelle’s smile strengthened, her eyes brightening. Then her face dropped. “Oh God, if only I could wake up and find this has all been a bad dream.” Pausing, she stared off into the distance. “But it isn’t, is…” She didn’t finish, her chair toppling sideways as she jumped to her feet. “What the hell is she doing here?”
Jacinta swivelled her head in the direction of Narelle’s gaze. None of the faces of the people walking past the café looked familiar. “Who?”
“Grace Kevron, the bitch!”
Jacinta stood up, turned and stepped away from the table, hoping for a better vantage point. At one of the ATMs near the toilets, a tall woman with straight black hair slipped her wallet into her handbag and walked away. From the back, she could easily have been mistaken for Grace. “Are you sure?”
With a weary shake of her head, Narelle bent down to pick up her fallen chair, setting it upright again. “Next I’ll be hearing voices,” she muttered under her breath. Sitting back down at the table, she swigged her now cold herbal tea as if it were medicine, screwing up her nose in distaste as it went down.
She then opened her muffin, picking the raisins from it and placing them on her saucer but not actually eating anything. Sitting down opposite, Jacinta bided her time, folding the cellophane wrapping from her muffin into tight eighths before releasing it to spring open again.
The show over, the volume of conversation around them soon picked up. Cups clanked. Chair legs scraped against the floor. Although they were no longer the centre of attention, Jacinta would rather have left their audience behind altogether. She glanced at Narelle, but she seemed lost in her own little world, the dissection of her muffin her only concern.
Jacinta gathered up her knapsack, pushed in her chair and stepped over to the other side of the table. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
Blinking rapidly, Narelle looked up, her mouth forming silent words. She hesitated for a second before standing, but once on her feet, moved decisively toward the exit. However, her sudden burst of energy proved short-lived, lasting not much further than the hospital’s main doors.
By the time they reached the car park, Jacinta felt in need of a reviving cold shower. Narelle, too, looked ready to drop as she trudged the last few steps to Jacinta’s car.
Whether it was the more comfortable seating, the air-conditioning, the absence of eavesdroppers, or something else alt
ogether, Narelle started opening up within minutes of being in the car.
“Jacinta.” She paused. “I’m sorry. I should never have accused you of following me or breaking into my house. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course I should’ve realised Grace Kevron would be the only one warped enough to do that sort of thing.”
“Grace? You really think it could be her?” Daniel’s comments had led Jacinta to believe the police were the likely culprits. But then again, she had learned enough about Grace not to put anything past her.
“Who else could it be? She’s had it in for Craig and me right from the start. She’s crazy.”
“Crazy enough to be dangerous? You should be talking to the police about this. They can protect you.”
Narelle snorted.
“I’m serious. I think you should stay with me, at least until Craig comes home.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I refuse to let that woman drive me away from my own home. Don’t worry about me. I’ve organised for security cameras to be installed right around the house, so if she tries to break in again, she’ll be caught in the act,” Narelle said, the slight quaver in her voice undermining her brave words. “If all else fails, there’s Craig’s gun – if I can find it.”
Jacinta’s heart skipped a beat. “A gun?” According to Daniel, Craig Edmonds had never had any firearms registered under his name.
“Don’t panic, I would only use it to scare her off. It’s old. It used to belong to his father. I don’t even know if there are any bullets for it.”
Jacinta’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. Loaded or unloaded, old or new, guns were guns. But right then, her deep-seated aversion for anything capable of killing at the touch of a finger wasn’t her primary concern. One minute Narelle had been accusing her of betraying her, and the next she was confessing her husband owned a gun. Something didn’t add up.
Wanting to gauge Narelle’s reaction, Jacinta waited until they were stopped at a traffic light to pose her next question. “You do realise the two women found in the Toolangi State Forest were shot, don’t you?”
Narelle’s jaw dropped. “What are you saying?”
“I’m not saying anything, I’m just asking.”
“Well, if you’re implying Craig is somehow involved, you’re crazier than Grace Kevron,” retorted Narelle, her voice loud and indignant.
“Please, I didn’t mean to upset you,” said Jacinta, pulling into the Edmonds driveway.
Before she could turn off the ignition, Narelle had jumped from the car. “Thanks for the lift.” The car door slammed on her clipped words.
Watching Narelle as she bolted across the lawn toward the front door, Jacinta couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling Narelle was testing her allegiance. What was she supposed to do with the information about the gun? Go to the police and betray a confidence? Or pretend the conversation had never happened and do nothing? Did the gun even exist?
CHAPTER 35
Narelle Croswell leaned against the door and breathed out, her body sagging as she heard Jacinta’s car reverse down the driveway to the street and then accelerate away. The heavy stillness inside the house engulfed her, accentuating her own emptiness. She had never felt so alone.
Nor had she ever felt so exhausted. Every muscle in her body ached. Somehow, she mustered the strength to push herself away from the door and shuffle zombie-like to the bedroom. She flopped down on the unmade bed, kicked off her shoes and fell backwards, sighing as her head hit the soft pillow. She crossed her lower arms over her eyes, too tired to get up again to close the curtains.
Past the point of sleep, she lay there, her mind a jumble of erratic thoughts. Nothing was going according to plan, and feeling sorry for herself wasn’t working. She had to stay strong. She needed someone to blame.
Her breathing quickened as anger displaced self-pity. Anger at her family for abandoning her. Anger at Craig for not being there to protect her. Anger at Jacinta for being too nice. Anger at herself for believing in a real future. She knew it had all been too good to be true.
She rolled onto her side, tucking the pillow under her chin, and stared at the wall. Listening to the low hum of the air-conditioner, she concentrated on slowing her breathing, and counted back from one hundred.
…ninety-five…ninety-four…ninety-three…
She froze, her breath catching in her throat. Had she imagined it? Was someone in the house? Her ears straining to pick up every sound, she heard only the hammering of her own heart. Sliding from the bed, she crept toward the doorway into the hall, stopping just shy of the threshold.
Staying close to the wall, she edged forward, all her senses heightened. A faint grumbling sound from the direction of the kitchen sent her pulse skyrocketing. Paralysed by fear, she stood stock still, one hand touching the wall, the other suspended in mid-air.
Recognition finally kicked in. She sank to the floor, a half-laugh, half-scream erupting from her throat. If the fridge switching on was enough to freak her out, how would she react in the face of real danger? She had to take back control. The foetus growing inside her depended on it.
Forcing herself to take slow, controlled breaths helped. Her heartbeats steadied as the adrenaline dissipated. She felt stronger.
Getting up, she took two steps, stopped and then, before she could give it any more thought, marched straight down the hall. Trying to fool herself into believing she wasn’t in the least nervous, she kept her eyes forward, focusing on reaching the kitchen.
Once there, she pulled the blinds. Crouching down in front of the dishwasher, she removed its plastic kickboard. Then, lying on her back on the hard, tiled floor, she reached into the dark cavity. With her shoulder wedged against the square edge of the dishwasher, she strained to feel for the box. Nothing. She grunted in frustration and tried again, almost dislocating her shoulder in the process. Her fingertips grazed tin. Satisfied it was still there, she withdrew her arm.
In the garage she found a pair of long-handled barbecue tongs. Coming back through the door, she glanced across the kitchen bench to the meals area, deciding as an added precaution to draw all the curtains.
Returning in the semi-darkness to the kitchen, she resumed her position on the floor and, using the tongs, reached under the dishwasher to the back corner.
After a couple of attempts, she succeeded in hooking the end of the box and dragging it out onto the tiles. Wiping sweat and grit from her eyes, she sat up, resting her back against the pot drawers. She stretched her legs straight out in front of her and laid the tarnished metal box on her lap. Brushing the dust from its top, she unsnapped the two clasps and raised the lid.
Taking a deep breath, she peeled back the black oilskin to reveal the .38 Special revolver nestled inside. For a few moments, she just stared at it. Then, struggling to control the tremor in her hand, she touched the gun, her fingertips tracing the cold steel barrel and cylinder down to the diamond-hatched grips. She lifted it out, its weight heavy in her hands.
She had fought all her life for what she had wanted, and she wasn’t about to give up.
CHAPTER 36
“Daniel!” Jacinta’s glass thudded against the wooden chair arm, slopping ice-cold lager over her hand. “What are you doing here?” she demanded as, leaning forward, she deposited the glass on the outdoor table and flicked her fingers.
“Nice to see you, too.” He flashed her a disarming smile and, without waiting for an invitation, settled down in one of the chairs on the other side of the table. “Any more where they came from?” he asked, nodding at the two empty cans on the table.
Jacinta frowned. “You could at least have rung the doorbell.”
“I did. And I knocked.”
At least Daniel’s request for a beer meant he wasn’t on duty. “Be back in a minute,” she said, rousing herself from her chair to go inside to raid Brett’s supplies yet again.
She returned, plonking a Foster’s Lager and an empty glass on the table in front of Daniel. Beads of condensat
ion ran down the beer can, puddling at the base.
“Thanks,” he said, pulling the tab and releasing a hiss of carbonation. “I didn’t take you for a beer drinker.”
“It’s too hot for wine. Anyway, to what do I owe this honour?”
“I was passing.” He finished pouring his drink and then raised his glass. “Cheers!”
“No ulterior motive?”
Daniel put his beer down and he drew his chair in closer, the shadow from the market umbrella darkening his features. “Jacinta,” he said, his demeanour and tone suddenly more serious, “I need your help.”
“With babysitting, you mean?” she asked, knowing full well that wasn’t the purpose of his visit.
He blinked and shook his head. “No, but,” he said, stumbling over his words, “if you’re offering…” Clearing his throat, he clasped his hands together on the table in front of him and started again. “The remains of the second body found in the Toolangi State Forest have been identified.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “And it’s not Kirsty Edmonds.”
Jacinta sat upright. “Has Narelle been told yet?”
“No, and this is where – unofficially, of course – you come in. I think she probably knows a lot more than she’s telling us, but is too scared of someone or something to say anything.” He opened his hands, revealing his palms. “If she thought you were taking her into your confidences and passing on information from the police, she might then trust you enough to do the same.”
Jacinta tensed. “You don’t seriously expect me to be your mole?”
“That’s not the word I would’ve used,” Daniel said, arching one eyebrow.
“What, then? Spy?”
“I know you think of Narelle Croswell as your friend, but how well do you really know her?”
“Better than I know you, obviously.”
“What if she’s withholding information that could help put a killer behind bars? Information that could put her own life at risk? Wouldn’t you want to help then?”