by M. D. Archer
“Um,” Sophie said, shooting embarrassed eyes from Cecilia to Sally.
“Hi,” Paige said.
Sally nodded in their general direction, seeming to recover quickly. “That’s not what you said earlier.”
“Huh?” Paige said.
“You’re helping Cecilia with her problem?”
“Who, us?” Sophie said. “Uh, yes.”
“But the contract mentions three books.”
“What?” Paige said.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Cecilia threw her hands up. “She always does this.” She marched off, waving for Paige and Sophie to follow her. Sally barely noticed their departure and Sophie got the impression many of her conversations ended this way.
Cecilia stopped abruptly at the edge of the living room, near the entrance to the kitchen. She waited until Sophie and Paige had gathered around her then rather indiscreetly pointed across the room. “Him, he’s the one I want you to look at.” Cecilia nodded to a tall man standing on the far side. He had a mop of reddish hair that didn’t look entirely natural. He was facing the person who was talking at him with excited gestures, but every couple of seconds his eyes shifted over to Cecilia.
“See? He’s watching us right now.”
“So that’s Peyton Brosnan,” Sophie surmised.
“His real name, apparently,” Cecilia said scornfully. “And he thinks he’s getting away with that hair.”
“He’s your rival?” Paige added.
Cecilia snorted. “He wishes.” She took an angry gulp of wine.
I’ll take that as a yes, Sophie thought.
The moment Cecilia turned away to deal with a request from one of her guests, Paige grabbed Sophie’s arm. “It’s a Locked Room Mystery,” she squealed.
“Huh?”
“A crime in a locked room. A locked room mystery.”
But Sophie was too busy staring at something across the room.
7
Cecilia walked over to the still-open front door—at the very least they needed to stop the mosquitos coming in—when she paused and frowned. She held her hand to her brow, as if this might help her see better, and peered into the night. “Hello? Who’s there?”
For a moment there was only silent stillness.
“Come out of there. I can see you.”
With a rustle and a shuffle, a shadowy shape emerged from the bushes at the front. Annie from Cecilia’s writing group stood in the pool of light in front of the door.
“Annie?” Cecilia said, surprised.
“Um, hi.”
“What on earth... what are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry, Cecilia, I... uh... I heard you talking about this party and I really wanted...”
Cecilia raised her hands. “When did you hear that?”
Annie just blinked at her.
Cecilia stared back. What on earth should she do now? Invite her inside? It seemed barbaric to leave her standing in the garden like a lost woodnymph.
“I suppose you’d better come in then.”
“Oh, lovely, thank you.” A smile lit up Annie’s face.
Cecilia frowned. This entirely unexpected merging of her professional and amateur writer personas was not welcome.
Not at all.
PAIGE LOOKED OVER TO where Sophie’s stricken gaze was fixed. “Oh,” she said, turning back to Sophie.
It was Roman. And Anya. They were here. Together. Holding glasses of wine, standing next to the buffet table, and looking in opposite directions.
“It’s not fair,” Sophie blurted.
“Huh?”
Sophie caught herself. “What are they even doing here?”
Suddenly Roman’s eyes were on hers. They widened with recognition. Anya turned too, as if aware of some disruption in the atmosphere. Then, perhaps not as indifferent to her husband’s presence as she appeared outwardly, lurched into action. She looped her hand through his elbow and started pulling him across the room towards Sophie.
“No. Why? Why?” Sophie whispered, watching as they got nearer, unable to make herself move.
“We know each other, don’t we?” Anya said with a fake smile, coming to a stop in front of Sophie and pulling Roman closer until he was wedged awkwardly against her.
Out of nowhere Wade appeared. “Hey, Soph, what’s going on?” He slid his hand around her waist and kissed her cheek then looked up at Roman and Anya.
Roman’s head jerked back. It was only a small movement, but Sophie saw it.
She wished she hadn’t.
Because while part of her relished the moment, revelling in the knowledge that seeing her with Wade made Roman feel the same as she did when she saw him with Anya, the rest of her ached. Because it wasn’t enough. What good was that when it didn’t change anything?
“Gidday,” Wade said to Roman, holding out his hand. “Detective, uh... sorry, can’t remember.”
It was only then that Sophie recalled that Wade and Roman had met before.
“Roman,” he said, taking his hand. “Wade, right? This is Anya,” he said tilting his head in her direction. Roman cleared his throat and nodded at Sophie. “Sophie.”
Sophie gave him a small smile and turned to Anya, just in time to see the look of malice Anya threw him. Was it because Roman hadn’t introduced Anya as his wife? Was it that he hadn’t branded her as his in front of this group?
And why hadn’t he?
“Hey, Roman, how’s it going,” Paige said easily. “I’m Paige,” she added to Anya.
“And I’m Tim,” Tim said, now standing next to Paige.
But Anya had turned to focus her gaze exclusively on Wade. She reached her hand toward him. Wade glanced down and took her proffered hand and was immediately pulled closer to her as she kissed him on one cheek, then another. Sophie tried not to grit her teeth, but Wade looked amused.
“Sorry,” Anya tittered. “European. I’ve been here for ten years but I still can’t shake some of my ways.”
“Oh, yeah?” Wade said conversationally, his arm now tight around Sophie’s waist, as if to make it clear where his loyalties were; as if he understood Anya was challenging Sophie in some way.
“Through and through,” Anya dropped her gaze coyly, “I sleep naked,” she added in a low, raspy voice.
“Well, duh,” Paige said rolling her eyes. “It’s like a million degrees at the moment. Plus, what’s that got to do with being from Europe?”
Anya lifted her chin and looked away.
Sophie was struck with the simultaneous desire to burst out laughing and to hug her best friend.
A LITTLE LATER, SOPHIE and Wade took their drinks and plates of food out to the back steps. It was lovely out there, the heat of the day finally put to rest, but everyone else was still inside, seeming reluctant to leave the relative novelty of actual air conditioning.
“This salad is good,” Sophie said, taking a bite of the middle eastern dish. Cecilia had put on a classic, if upmarket, kiwi barbeque, offering a variety of meats on the grill and several different salads.
“Not a fan of couscous,” Wade said. “The texture is weird. I’m a potato salad man, myself,” Wade said, grinning as he scooped up a big mouthful from his plate. “And I’ll never say no to one of these satay kebab things.”
“Mmm,” Sophie agreed, her mouth full of food.
Wade took a sip of beer. “So what’s up with that chick Anya? She’s pretty hard case, ay?”
“That’s one word for it.” Sophie looked off to one side, wondering what to say to explain.
“Is she jealous of you?” Wade said.
“Um...”
“You’re not being big-headed by admitting that. If something is true, it’s true, and I can tell by your reaction that I’m right.” Wade gave her an easy smile and Sophie felt guilty that she wasn’t telling him the whole story. But how could she say anything that remotely resembled how she felt without instantly ruining any chance this relationship had for success. Wade was a relaxed guy, but Sophie
couldn’t imagine that hearing about the inferno-like torch Sophie held for Roman was going to do anything but extinguish the possibility of their own flame.
Sophie was saved from answering the questions by Paige appearing at the back door. “Sophie,” she hissed, beckoning urgently.
“I think I’m needed,” Sophie said, giving Wade an apologetic smile. She put down her plate of food and her glass of wine. “Back in a sec.”
“No worries. I’m all good. I’ll call Mum, just to check in.”
“Aw,” Sophie said. “You’re sweet.”
“I’m not going to argue with that.” He grinned.
“What is it?” Sophie said once she’d reached Paige.
“Come here,” Paige whispered. “Look.”
Around the corner, huddled in the laundry, a separate room at the very back of the house, were Peyton and Sally. They were standing very close to each other and at first Sophie thought it might be a romantic rendezvous. But the urgency in Peyton’s voice and body language wasn’t ardent love, she realised. It was desperation.
“I need it, Sally. There’s nothing else to it. I know you have money set aside for emergencies and this is one of them. I need the advance you promised.”
“I never promised you an advance, Peyton, that’s just not true.”
“Not an advance then. A short-term loan. It’s only for a week. Just a week to get them off my back and then I’ll repay you in full.”
“I don’t like this, Peyton.”
“And you think I do? Listen, I’m good for it, I promise. One week.”
“Why a week? Where will you get the money to pay me back?”
“Don’t worry about that. Just transfer the money. Tomorrow, if possible.”
Sally sighed and pressed her lips together. “Okay. But I’m going to expect my standard rate of interest.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. What, I’m supposed to put myself at risk and bail you out and get nothing for it?”
“Ugh!” Peyton said. “Fine.”
The two suddenly broke apart and started moving back to the party. Paige and Sophie flattened themselves against the wall until they’d gone.
“Well, well,” Paige said. “Peyton has financial issues that are going to be solved in a week.”
“Like when his royalties come in, maybe?”
“Is that how it works? Would he get paid a few weeks after release?”
“I’m not sure. We can find out.”
“So not only is Peyton a writer who hasn’t had the same commercial success as Cecilia, it sounds as if he has some major debts. There’s a motive for stealing Cecilia’s manuscript, for sure.”
BY TEN O’CLOCK SOPHIE was ready to go home, but they had more work to do.
She waved at Paige, currently taking another run at the table of nibbles, and motioned for her to come over. When Paige reached Sophie, she pointed across the room. “Look.” Martin and Gillian were standing next to each other near the front window. “We can talk to them together.”
“Good. Peyton’s gone, by the way. He left without saying goodbye to anyone. We’ll have to schedule a time to interview him properly, find out what his financial situation is and whether he could have gotten himself a key.”
As they walked over to the pair, Sophie glanced back to check on Wade and saw he was in deep conversation with Tim. Their body language was easy, relaxed. They were getting on with each other. Another point for Wade.
“Gillian?” Paige said.
“Yes?” Both she and Martin turned.
“I’m, uh, Paige, and this is Sophie.”
“Hello. Are you writers? Or friends of Cecilia?”
“We’re her office neighbours,” Paige said quickly.
Martin knew the true nature of their relationship, but Paige had suggested it might be useful if Gillian was kept in the dark for a while. If she learned they were investigating the manuscript theft, she might clam up.
“How long have you lived next door?” Paige asked.
“Nearly five years now?” Gillian said, turning to smile at Martin.
As Martin murmured his agreement and commenced some story about when Gillian moved in, Sophie let her attention drift back across to the room to where Roman and Anya stood near the door. They were next to someone from Cecilia’s publishing house, who’d turned out to be Anya’s sister and the only reason they were at this party. Anya and her sister were deep in conversation, their heads huddled close and virtually excluding Roman. Sophie watched as Roman shook his head and stepped away. She continued to watch as his eyes searched the room. When they found Sophie’s, they softened. Without meaning to, she broke away from Paige and started towards him. He did the same and a moment later they were only a couple of feet apart.
“I didn’t tell that reporter it was SOS Agency,” Roman said with an apologetic smile. “I have no idea where he got that name. And I didn’t refer to you as male investigators. I specifically said both of your names. I even... I even spelled yours out for him.” He lifted his shoulders. “I honestly don’t know how he messed it up, but I’ve already called him and given him a piece of my mind, told him he shouldn’t expect any exclusives from me in the future.”
“Thanks,” Sophie said. “Paige is wild about it.”
He smiled. “I can imagine. But you’re not?”
“No, I mean, yes, I’m pretty mad. It’s not fair, you know. It could have been a break for us, for our agency.”
“Are you working on anything now? Maybe your break is just around the corner.”
“That’s why we’re here.” Sophie nodded in Cecilia’s direction.
“Cecilia’s your client?”
“I probably shouldn’t go into the details.”
“Let me know if you need any help from me. I owe you one.” His eyes searched hers as he ran his hand through his hair. “And I’m, ah, sorry to bump into you here, like this. I know we’re supposed to...” He looked back to where Anya was standing. “I’d better go.” His voice was resigned. “But it was nice to see you one more time, Sophie Swanephol.”
Sophie nodded and tried to swallow away the ache in her throat.
8
Leo scratched Emmitt’s head distractedly as he sipped his morning coffee.
Emmitt, now purring, moved from the chair beside Leo to Leo’s lap, intending to settle into a more comfortable position—ideally one that encouraged more head scratching.
“What do you think?” Leo said to Emmitt. “Is it too soon to call her again?”
Emmitt purred.
He’d seen Jane just last night—they’d driven to Pt Chevalier beach and spent a tranquil hour sitting by the water. She was still sleeping a lot and getting tired easily, so they’d kept it short and it wasn’t enough. Leo wanted more. But would she get sick of him pestering her? Did she even like spending time with him? Leo thought she did, but he wasn’t exactly known for being completely clued-up in this department. And what of her memory problems. And those dreams involving... blood. Leo didn’t know whether he should be worried or whether that was totally normal for someone who’d clearly been in a recent accident. Should he be accompanying her to her next doctor’s appointment? But she hadn’t asked him to, and it did seem rather personal. Leo shook his head and took another sip of coffee. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to suddenly be stripped of all the information that made you sure of who you were.
“And I’m the only person she knows,” he said out loud. “She’s probably lonely, right?”
Emmitt meowed and started grooming himself.
Leo drained the last of his coffee, moved a disgruntled Emmitt from his lap to the chair and stood up. “Sorry, dude. I’ve gotta see about a girl.”
ALICE GARNET HELD UP her phone to show Tim and Paige. She pursed her lips. “What does an eggplant emoji mean?”
Tim went completely still. Paige, right next to him, cast wide eyes in his direction. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her: her mother was
on a dating app and fielding eggplant emojis. But lucky for her—and for Tim—Alice didn’t wait for an explanation.
“If he isn’t going to send me a proper message then he’s out!” She laughed gaily and swiped her finger across the phone.
“Mum, I asked you to please not do this in front of me, but it’s almost as if you wait until I’m around to log on.”
“Oh, relax, Paige, it’s just a bit of fun. What do you think, Tim?”
Tim shook his head, almost imperceptibly, and pressed his lips together. Paige looked from her mother to Tim. Why was she asking Tim for his opinion? There seemed to be some sort of new alliance between the two. Tim had never had a problem with her mother, they’d always gotten on fine, but recently they seemed to be chummier than normal.
“We’re just here to help you with those boxes and then we’re going,” Paige said.
“Right, yes. They’re in the spare room. Can you bring them down and put them in the hallway? Red Cross is coming to pick them up later this afternoon.” Alice went back to her phone. “Oh, that’s quite amusing,” she said, raising her hand to her cheek and sounding pleased. “Oh, my,” she added, a pink bloom flushing across her cheeks.
“Come on,” Paige said, grabbing Tim’s hand and yanking him upstairs. “Before this gets any worse.”
SOPHIE WANDERED OUT of her bedroom, the initial rumblings of hunger from twenty minutes ago now turning into rather insistent demands.
“Hi Myra,” she said to her very shy, very quiet flatmate sitting in the corner of the living room. After being startled by the unexpected presence of Myra on a number of occasions, Sophie had taken to checking the corners of rooms she entered, just in case she was lurking. It wasn’t that Myra was creepy, it was just that she preferred to observe rather than actively participate in human interaction. Especially when Victoria was around.
“Hey,” Myra replied quietly. She looked at Sophie’s summer dress then glanced down at the maxi dress she was wearing, as if checking she’d gotten it right. If the aim was to match Sophie, then she had. But this was nothing new. Soon after Myra had moved into the flat a couple of years ago, Sophie had noticed Myra’s clothes becoming rather similar to her own. Even the almost pathologically self-involved Victoria had observed this, and while she would never admit it, her rather barbed comments on the matter suggested to Sophie that she was angry that she herself hadn’t been chosen as Myra’s style icon.