Bitter Nothings

by Vicki Tyley

  Dervla fumbled with the door handle, dropping her keys in her haste to get out. She scrambled between her feet for them, cursing her ineptitude. Once upright again, her focus went straight back to the couple warring on the footpath. Except they’d both disappeared.

  She heard a vehicle door slam. A white van took off from the curb and sped past her. She recognized the driver’s crew cut and breathed a sigh of relief. But what’d happened to Sophie?

  Dervla jumped out of her car, shielding her eyes against the sun as she scanned the area. In the same instant she spotted Sophie’s sporty red Volkswagen Eos parked across the street from Emmet’s place, her friend’s car pulled out and roared off in the opposite direction.

  Within seconds, Dervla had snatched her handbag from inside the car, found her mobile phone and called Sophie. It went straight to voicemail. She hung up without leaving a message and dropped the phone back in her bag.

  Pressing the lock button on her car remote, she waited for a gap in the traffic then darted across the street.

  A lemon-scented gum the height of the two-storey brick residence, its canopy overhanging the footpath, stood sentry at the entrance to number 16. She cut across under the tree, her feet kicking up leaves and flakes of bark. Any other day and she would’ve slowed for the fragrance alone.

  She took the concrete steps leading up to Emmet’s apartment two at a time and rapped on his door. From inside, she heard the faint strains of music and approaching footsteps. The door opened, her brother peering at her through slitted eyes.

  “God, Em, some clothes would be nice.”

  He looked down at his bare, almost hairless chest to his Australian-flag boxer shorts and shrugged. “What do you expect when you drag me out of bed? Come in if you’re coming in.” He threw the door open and padded off in the direction of his bedroom.

  Out of bed? Sophie had just left. Dervla only hoped it didn’t mean what she thought it meant. She stepped into the stark white entrance, shutting the door behind her.

  Her brother’s bedroom door closed, cutting off Keith Urban’s love laments mid lyric.

  While she waited for Emmet to reappear, she prowled the rented apartment. With the exception of the mushroom-pink plush carpet, the all-white theme carried right through, from the walls and ceilings to the kitchen bench and cupboards. Cheap oriental rice-paper light shades clashed with molded art deco ceilings. What had the landlord been thinking?

  An empty wine bottle sat next to the kitchen’s pedal bin. She checked for wine glasses. Two in the sink, one with lipstick. Her heart sank.

  “Want one?”

  She whirled around.

  “Juice. Do you want one?” Emmet, now in jeans and a blue Foster’s T-shirt, stood at the open refrigerator door, holding aloft a carton of orange juice.

  She shook her head.

  “Good.” He swigged straight from the carton. “More for me.”

  “I saw Sophie.”

  He took another swig and smacked his lips. “Good for you.”

  “Leaving here.”

  “So?”

  “So, why was she here?”

  Sighing, he set the juice carton on the bench. “After what happened with her ex, she didn’t want to be alone. I suggested she stay here. Simple.”

  “She could’ve stayed at my place.”

  “And if her jerk of an ex turned up again?” He puffed out his chest. Sophie’s hero.

  Dervla dragged her fingers down her face, sucking in a breath. If her brother believed he could protect Sophie – and himself – against her deranged ex-husband, he was deluding himself. On the contrary, the knife stunt had probably made it worse. “Madder than a cut tiger snake,” she said, voicing her thoughts aloud.

  “What?”

  “You know Martin is not a man to be messed with.”

  “What do you take me for? An idiot?”

  “It’s not that.” Turning her back on him, she filled the kettle from the tap. “If he thinks you’re sleeping with Sophie, God knows what he’s capable of.”

  “Well, I’m not.”

  She set the kettle to boil, glancing over her shoulder at him. Was that disappointment she’d heard?

  His gaze met hers, his pale eyes narrowed. “I slept on the couch, okay? Not that who I sleep with is any of your damned business.”

  “You’re right, it’s not. I just don’t want to see my brother getting hurt.”

  “I’m not thirteen anymore, Dervla. I don’t need looking after.”

  Her hands up in surrender, she backed off. “Okay, okay, say no more.” Now probably wasn’t a good time to ask how he was off for money either.

  Emmet busied himself spooning instant coffee into two mugs.

  “I’m worried about Alana,” Dervla said. “Are you doing anything this morning? We could check out some of her old haunts.” Not something she relished doing on her own.

  His eyebrows knitting together, he screwed the coffee jar lid back on. “Do you really think—”

  A knock sounded at the door. Wiping his hands on his jeans, he went to answer it.

  Dervla heard Gabe before she saw him, his voice reverberating through the apartment. “No worries. I’ll have that proposal to you before the end of the day. Thanks for the call.”

  Flipping his phone closed, he stepped into the kitchen, dressed in a grey Armani suit and polished black shoes. His work garb. His phone rang.

  She and Emmet exchanged glances over Gabe’s shoulder, waiting while he answered it, gave the caller instructions about some underwriting policy, then hung up.

  Emmet pushed past his brother. “Good to see you have your priorities sorted.”

  “Some of us have responsibilities. At least I still have a job.”

  “Screw you.”

  Fists clenched, Dervla covered her head with her arms. “Enough! Will you two just listen to yourselves?”

  No one spoke for a long moment.

  “Coffee, Gabe?” She grabbed another mug.

  “I’m not staying.”

  “The door’s that way,” Emmet said, with a sharp thrust of his thumb.

  “So it is.”

  Brother glared at brother.

  “You came here for a reason. What was it?” Her brothers weren’t in the habit of dropping in on one another. Not in recent times.

  “When was the last time you saw Dad?” Gabe asked.

  “I don’t know. Six…” Emmet shrugged. “Seven months ago, maybe. What’s it to you, anyway?”

  “Nothing to me. But then I’m not the police.”

  “Is that it? Are we finished?”

  A smirk tugged at the corner of Gabe’s mouth. “So, you weren’t the tall, ginger-haired man seen arguing with Dad in the print shop’s car park last Thursday? Six-thirtyish?”

  CHAPTER 9

  Dervla couldn’t speak, Gabe’s revelation a lead weight on her chest.

  Emmet flipped two fingers in the direction of the closing door. “Prick.”

  She found her voice. “Why? Because he caught you out?” Or because he’d cut and run, leaving her to contend with the fallout?

  Her brother ran a hand through his ginger hair and let out a loud sigh. “It was stupid, I know, but what else was I supposed to do? I had Gabe’s detective lackey breathing down my neck.”

  “You can’t seriously think that Gabe has any sway over Todd Gleeson. He’s a trained professional,” she said, more to convince herself. “I’m sure whatever Gabe told him, he didn’t just accept at face value. But blatantly lying to the police?” She shook her head. “God, Em, what were you thinking?”

  He shrugged, his bottom lip pushed out in a pout.

  “What were you and Dad arguing about?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It’s me you’re talking to, not Gabe. Not the police. Me.”

  Another sigh. “Money, if you must know.”

  “And?” she prompted.

  “And nothing. I asked our sperm donor for some cash to tide me over until
I get another job. You’d think it’d be the least he could do.”

  “Did he?”

  “Nope. Apparently, I’m big enough and ugly enough to stand on my own two feet.”

  “Why didn’t you ask me? How much do you need?”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s sorted.”

  “How?” As far as she knew, Emmet hadn’t worked since the travel agency he’d been with had slashed its staffing in half six weeks earlier.

  “Like I said, forget it.”

  Easier said than done, but she let it go. For now. “So why didn’t you just tell the police what you’ve told me?”

  “It’s bad enough that I couldn’t give them an alibi.”

  “An alibi?”

  He snorted. “That would be right. I’m expected to have an alibi for the time of the murders, but you don’t. Why is that?”

  “I’m sure it’s just routine,” she said, her mind suddenly in overdrive. Why would her brother even need an alibi? “They’ll get around to me soon enough.”

  “If you say so.”

  Biting her tongue, she replaced the coffee mug she’d got out for Gabe and reboiled the kettle. When her brother was in one of his moods, talking was pointless.

  “I’m going for a shower,” Emmet said, walking off.

  Dervla took it as her cue and let herself out. He knew where to find her.

  Outside the temperature was climbing, the still air doing little to reduce either the heat or the street noise. A taste of the summer to come. She headed for home.

  Her mobile phone rang as she pulled into her driveway. She put the car in park and checked the caller ID. Sophie. “Is everything okay?’

  “And hello to you, too.”

  “Sorry, you weren’t answering your phone.”

  “That’s because this dimwit forgot to recharge her phone last night,” Sophie said. “More importantly, hon, are you okay?”

  “I could say as well as can be expected, but that—”

  “Would be lying. Hey, what do you say to some company?”

  Dervla sucked in a deep breath.

  “Too late,” Sophie said.

  A car door slammed close by. Dervla glanced in her side mirror to see Sophie, the jeans she’d been wearing when she’d left Emmet’s swapped for a bright mango-orange ruffled skirt, sashaying down the driveway.

  By the time Sophie drew level with the car, Dervla was lifting her suitcase from the boot.

  “Back from South Australia already?” The corner of Sophie’s mouth lifted.

  “Something came up.”

  “Oh?”

  “Not here.” Dervla slammed the boot. Not that she could see any reporters lurking within eavesdropping distance. But she wasn’t taking any chances.

  With Sophie trailing close behind, she humped her suitcase inside.

  The answering machine’s green light was flashing. Her pulse quickened. She pressed the playback button. Nothing from her father. Just three messages from reporters wanting a comment. So much for having a silent number.

  After detouring via the bedroom to dump her suitcase, Dervla found Sophie seated at the red gum pedestal table tucked in the corner by the kitchen, The Age newspaper spread out in front of her.

  Dervla flopped into the chair opposite. “I’ve given up reading the paper. What they don’t know, they just make up. After all, why let the truth get in the way of a good story?”

  “Nothing new here from the looks of it,” Sophie said, her eyes scanning the newsprint. “Just more of the same.” She thumbed over a page and glanced up. “You said something came up. Has there been a development? Have you heard from your father again?”

  “Yes….” Dervla kneaded her temples, her elbows propped on the table. “…and no.”

  Sophie hunched forward, her face expectant.

  “No, I haven’t heard from Dad again, but I found out that his text originated from central Melbourne, not South Australia.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Exactly, but Todd said he would get the South Australian police to check around Mt Remarkable accommodation, anyway.”

  “Todd?”

  “Detective Senior Sergeant Gleeson.”

  “On first-name terms, already?” Sophie chuckled. “I’m impressed.”

  Dervla opened her mouth and paused. Explanations would only invite more questions. “Did Emmet say anything to you about the argument he had with Dad last Thursday?”

  Lips pursed, Sophie shook her head. “What makes you think he’d confide in me?”

  Perhaps because you spent the night with him. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  Sophie’s eyes widened, then creased in laughter. “What? Me and your little brother?”

  The doorbell rang.

  “Hold that thought,” Dervla said, getting up from the table to answer the door.

  On the doorstep stood her half-sister, her white skin paler than normal, if that were possible. Her overgrown fringe did little to conceal the dark hollows under her eyes. Jeans two sizes too big hung from her hips. “I saw the news and um… y’know, I…”

  “Am I glad to see you.” Dervla longed to hug her but hung back, fearful of doing more harm than good. She looked so fragile – both physically and emotionally. “Come in.”

  Alana gnawed at her bottom lip, hesitating.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing. It’s just…” Alana shook her head. “Nothing.”

  Dervla hooked her by the elbow and steered her inside. “Well, whatever it is, it’s better discussed in the cool.”

  Although by the way Alana had her bony arms wrapped around herself, she wasn’t feeling the heat. She said nothing and hugged herself tighter.

  “I really am glad to see you, Alana.” Especially since the last time they’d met, her half-sister had told her in no uncertain terms to butt out of her life. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  Something akin to fear flashed in Alana’s eyes. She shrank back.

  “No, no,” Dervla said, remembering the reaction to an earlier suggestion that Alana might need help. “It’s nothing like that, I promise. Sophie’s a good friend. You’ll like her.”

  Though Alana still didn’t look entirely convinced, she trailed Dervla down the hall. Progress.

  When they reached the doorway to the living area, Sophie looked up, flashing a smile at Dervla’s visitor. “Hi, I’m Sophie,” she said, making room at the small, round table for one more.

  Alana, however, was less than forthcoming.

  “And this is my sister, Alana,” Dervla said, jumping in. “Have a seat. What can I get you? Juice, water, tea, coffee?”

  “Nothing.” Alana stared at her feet, clicking her fingernails. “Thanks.”

  “We were worried about you. Where have you been?”

  More clicking. “Y’know, here and there.”

  “Your housemates didn’t know where you were?”

  “So? Like you tell me where you go.”

  Dervla scanned her half-sister’s face, looking for the pinprick pupils or the other telltale signs.

  “I’m clean, okay? Why won’t any fucker believe me?”

  Without thinking, Dervla tipped her head to the side.

  “What?” Alana threw her hands up. “Oh, fuck you, too.”

  Seconds later the front door slammed, the sound reverberating through the house.

  Sophie blinked and gave her head a sharp shake. “That went well.”

  “You don’t understand. She thinks I don’t care.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Dervla stared at the blank computer screen. She had no idea what she was supposed to be doing, let alone what day it was. Alana’s last disappearing act hadn’t helped matters, but at least her half-sister wasn’t wanted for murder. Unlike her father.

  Her mobile phone rang. She watched it vibrate on the desk for a moment, then pressed the hands-free button. “Gabe.”

  “Thought you ought to know,” her brother said, not wasting any time o
n pleasantries, “the autopsy findings confirmed cause of death for all three as ‘gunshot wound to the head.’” He coughed. “But it showed up something else, too.”

  Dervla held her breath.

  “Did you know Lucinda was pregnant?”

  “Pregnant? Are you sure?”

  “If the pathologist is to be believed, yes. He estimates ten weeks.”

  Her head spun, the news still sinking in. A little brother or sister for Kayla and Oliver. Another life cut short. Another victim. And just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse.

  “Are you still there, Dervla?”

  “Sorry. Yes. What did you say?”

  “I said the bodies have been released to Lucinda’s parents. The funeral will most likely be in the next couple of days. Can you let Emmet know?”

  Although Gabe couldn’t see it, she nodded.

  As soon as she hung up from her older brother, she phoned the other, leaving messages on both his mobile and landline when he didn’t answer.

  For the next hour, she paced the house, roaming from room to room, straightening paintings on the wall, picking imaginary lint from the curtains. She had to keep moving. That or curl up in a fetal position and pretend the world didn’t exist.

  When her phone finally rang, she leapt at it.

  Private number.

  Her tone all business, she answered it. “Dervla Johns.”

  “Dervla, it’s Todd Gleeson.”

  “Oh.”

  He laughed. “That wasn’t quite the reaction I was expecting.”

  “Sorry…” She swallowed. “Start again. Hello, detective. Is that better?”

  “Much.” That laugh again, the rich sound stirring something deep inside her.

  “Good.”

  Silence. Then the sound of someone tapping a keyboard.

  “You rang me to…?” she prompted.

  “So I did,” he said, his voice distant, as though his mind was elsewhere. More tapping.

  As she was about to hang up, he spoke. “Apologies for that. Now where were we?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, unable to suppress her irritation. Was he deliberately trying to wind her up? Maybe it was just her. She closed her eyes and sighed. “You rang me, remember?”