Squirrel & Swan Precious Things

by M. D. Archer

  “Well. I am well, Sophie. And prosperous,” he added, casting his eyes over to Paige. “I was awarded another grant this morning.”

  “Oh. Well done,” Sophie said, her voice high and tinny.

  Paige scowled.

  “But how are you girls? Setting up a new business can be difficult.” He fake-sympathised as he ambled over to Paige’s desk and started fiddling with the plant sitting on the corner. His fingers trailed along the length of the desk and stopped on the business cards, sitting there like virgins ready to be plucked. “A-ha. I must take one of these! In case I get into any trouble and need a...” Richard suppressed a snort of derision. “Detective.”

  “We are psychological investigators.” Paige glowered. “And can I help you with anything? We do have work to do. We have two cases.”

  “No, not really. I just came to tell you about the grant. Oh, and I submitted an abstract from the last set of data we analysed. It’s been selected for a special editorial issue.”

  “You submitted an abstract? The data we analysed?” Paige could hardly get the words out, her teeth were so tightly clenched together.

  Richard nodded, eyes gleaming.

  “But, it’s my data, my research!” Paige couldn’t help herself.

  Richard tsked. “You see, that’s the mistake you make. It was never your research, your data. You students, you get so attached, you think it’s all about you, but the work I conduct, it’s bigger than you. I choose the people I want to implement my ideas. Don’t make the mistake of thinking this research is yours.”

  Paige suppressed a gasp. His audacity was breath-taking. The worst thing was she thought he might actually believe it. He had forgotten, or re-written history, changed the narrative so this was the way he remembered things. He made it seem like her doctoral research was completed in large part due to him, but in reality he had provided sporadic, minimal support for a research programme that was created, designed and implemented by Paige. She had done everything.

  “How’s your wife, Richard?” Sophie asked into the tension-filled abyss. Something flitted across his face and Sophie thought, interesting. Had Richard’s flirtatious and philandering ways caught up to him?

  Richard waved his hand. “Oh, you know,” he said, returning his eyes to Paige.

  “I have to go,” Paige said, standing abruptly. She couldn’t stand this any longer and she suspected Richard was only warming up. If she stayed, she would do or say something irretrievably terrible. She grabbed her bag. “See you back here later Soph,” she said, stumbling and nearly falling as she ran down the stairs, her legs trembling with rage and frustration.

  “I really should get back to work,” Sophie said hopefully, waving at her computer. She understood why Paige had to leave, but now she was left alone with Richard, and it made her a little uneasy.

  “Sophie. The lovely Sophie. How are you?”

  “Um, fine, thanks.” Hadn’t they already covered this?

  “So.” He smiled. “Do you notice anything different?” He moved from side to side, showing off different angles of his body as if he was at a photo shoot. Sophie watched him, thinking how comical this would be if she didn’t have to brace herself for something unpleasant. She knew why he was preening, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of admitting she’d noticed.

  Finally, he stopped. “My hair?” he said sulkily as he reached up to tousle it. He had designer stubble and four-inch-long hair that flopped around his ears in a controlled way, suggesting the influence of mousse, but he’d been rocking this play-boy academic look—his description—for years. What he wanted Sophie to notice were the new blond highlights.

  “Oh, yes. It looks great,” she lied.

  It looked like a mid-life crisis.

  “Can I tell you a secret, Sophie?” Richard smiled as he edged one of his buttocks onto Sophie’s desk. Sophie wondered if they had any disinfectant in the office. “As you know,” Richard continued without waiting for a response, “Paige and I have worked together, very successfully, I might add, but she’s made it very clear to me she’s no longer interested in pursuing research opportunities.” Richard waved his hand as if her recent exit was evidence of this. “You, on the other hand, I suspect are still open to such opportunities?”

  Sophie gulped. Uh-oh.

  PAIGE LET HERSELF INTO the front door. “Mum?”

  “In the kitchen,” Mrs Garnet called back. “But I’m just heading out to do a shift at Twinkle, I don’t have long.”

  Mrs Garnet “worked” at a recycled clothes store in Remuera. The clothes were about as used as those on the rack in Glassons, and at least twice as expensive. The shop was an indulgent hobby of some socialite and it was relatively successful because it meant wealthy clothes horses could donate items and feel philanthropic; and slightly less wealthy women could go Op Shopping without having to touch clothes of anything less than designer vintage.

  “I need to ask you something. Important.”

  Mrs Garnet put down her coffee cup as Paige entered the room. “Oh, darling, you know you can’t wear black near your face.” She picked at Paige’s cardigan. “It makes you look unwell. And your hair... what happened to the GHDs I bought you for Christmas last year?” She tsked.

  “I use them, just not every day. It takes ages to straighten my hair. I inherited this frizzy mess off you remember, not Dad. Frizzy hair was the only thing I got from you.”

  This was not true, at all, but mentioning her father like this was always an effective dig.

  Alice took a breath and regarded her daughter. “You weren’t the peas in a pod you think you are, you know,” she said.

  Paige felt anger, frustration and grief, all boil to the surface in a sudden flare of emotion. “Why did you—” She stopped, inhaled deeply through her nose, and out again.

  Alice frowned. “Why what?”

  It was stupid of Paige to bring this up, given the reason she was here.

  “Paige?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What did you want to talk to me about?” Alice said, her voice taking on an edge. “Trouble in paradise?”

  Paige eyed her mother. She suspected her mother had worked out what this unexpected visit was for, and was enjoying watching Paige squirm.

  “Did you hear Thomas found out what his end-of-year bonus will be?” Alice tutted. “Very impressive.”

  She was making this difficult on purpose. She had to be. After a brief internal struggle—Mum’s smugness versus letting Sophie down—Paige sighed. It had to be done. Anything to make a success of this business. Anything to make Richard eat his words.

  “I need to borrow some money.”

  8

  Sophie drummed her fingers on the wheel as she waited for a break in traffic. Paige hummed along tunelessly to some crap on the radio.

  The bitter aftertaste of Richard’s job offer still lingered in Sophie’s mouth. She might be the behavioural expert but Richard had read her like a book. A postdoc position was there for her to take, and she was giving it serious consideration. She could admit to herself that part of the appeal of Richard’s offer was that in a research environment, no matter how odious her employer, she at least knew what to expect, and how to do the job. With this investigations agency, she didn’t know what to do, nor whether she was capable of doing it. The uncertainty was a deeply unpleasant feeling.

  Sophie glanced over at Paige, who was gazing happily out the window. Sophie felt so guilty for even thinking about the offer, like such a traitor, that she was having trouble concentrating. It would be such a betrayal, but things were different for Paige. She had resources. She had Tim to lean on, and her mum, if it came down to it. Sophie had to look after herself.

  “Hey, what was Dominic’s surname again? We should show his Facebook feed to the Dixons,” Paige said.

  “Jeylic.”

  Dominic was a bit of an angry douche but Sophie’s instincts and training were telling her he was not responsible for Polly’s d
isappearance. Could she trust her gut, though? Her research had involved parsing behaviour down to units that could be measured and this was not the same as analysing real people behaving and reacting in a real environment.

  But even though Sophie might not be sure about Dominic, Paige was convinced he was a way to get hired, so here they were, on their way to the Dixons, making a painfully slow journey down Symonds Street to Parnell.

  “OH, HELLO THERE,” CAROLYN Dixon said, opening her door half an hour later. “I’m sorry, I do remember you, I just can’t remember your names.”

  “Dr Garnet.” Paige held out her hand. “And Dr Swanephol.” As she nodded her head at Sophie, she used her handshake with Carolyn to shift the balance of weight between them. Carolyn had to move backward into the house and Paige then stepped forward to make up the distance so she was also inside. “We have information about Polly.”

  “If now is a good time?” Sophie added, glancing at her friend.

  “You do?” The hope filling Carolyn’s eyes was heart-breaking. “Come in, please.” She stepped to the side. “You can go straight through to the living room,” she said to Sophie, who was leading the way. When Sophie entered the room she saw they were not the only ones here.

  “Oh,” Sophie said.

  He was in his mid-thirties, not particularly tall but with a solid build that made him more of a presence. Olive skin, brown button eyes and brown hair, the overall impression he gave was of reassuring, relaxed competence.

  “Hello,” he said, just as Sophie said, “Uh,” and stepped forward awkwardly.

  “Roman. Detective Roman Leconte.” He extended his hand as he moved toward Sophie. She took another step, feeling like a new-born deer trying out its legs, and shook his hand. His grip was strong and his hands were warm. The corner of his eyes crinkled as he smiled his slightly crooked smile—the right side of his mouth drew up first with the left lagging behind, never to quite catch-up.

  Sophie found she couldn’t say anything at all.

  “She’s Sophie,” Paige said entering the room. “I’m Paige. Who are you?”

  “Detective Roman Leconte,” Roman repeated. “But we’ve actually met,” he said to Paige with a surprised frown. Sophie picked up on the very slightest trace of an accent. Something European. French maybe?

  “Have you made your introductions?” Carolyn entered the room. “Detective, these two are from an investigative agency.” She looked from Paige to Sophie. “They have news about Polly.”

  Paige sighed. Dammit. Now they had to share their lead with the police. “I thought the police weren’t interested in Polly’s disappearance,” Paige said to Carolyn, her slightly accusatory tone audible. Luckily Carolyn was too distracted to notice.

  “They aren’t. Roman is, well, he’s a good friend of my younger brother. He’s here as a favour.” She looked to Roman who nodded. “He’s going to look into it. He trusts my instincts and will try to get her officially listed as missing.” Carolyn shook her head in disbelief. “Can you believe it? My daughter is missing. She’s wilful, stubborn, independent, but I never thought... I know people think she’s just off somewhere being rebellious, but I don’t think she would... put me through this. She would understand how cruel it was.” Her face crumpled. “I think something is wrong.”

  Sophie placed a comforting arm around Carolyn’s shuddering shoulders and led her further into the living room to take a seat on the couch. On the coffee table sat a box of tissues. Sophie had seen another in the hallway and a third box in the kitchen.

  “Paige, can you bring us a glass of water please?” Sophie called.

  “Sure,” Paige said but didn’t move. Instead she stared at Roman. “We’ve met?”

  “Yes,” Roman answered as he moved into the kitchen to get the glass of water Paige was clearly not going to follow through on.

  “Here you go.” He placed the glass on a coaster on the coffee table in front of Carolyn, pausing to make eye contact with Sophie. Heat rose in Sophie’s cheeks. She looked down, noticed his hands. Tanned, square, strong looking, and no wedding ring on his finger but a mark where it would go. Recently divorced? Sophie watched him return to where Paige was leaning on the kitchen bench.

  “Roman Leconte?” Paige repeated, her head tilted to one side.

  “You won’t remember, you were,” Roman swallowed, “too upset.”

  “Dad,” Paige whispered. “You knew Dad?”

  Roman nodded. “I know it was a while ago, but I’m sorry. He was a good man. He was a good lawyer, doing good things.” He nodded, genuine emotion in his eyes.

  Paige blinked. She was dangerously close to tears. How could the mere mention of her father still make her cry?

  Sophie patted Carolyn’s back, keeping one eye and one ear on Roman and Paige’s conversation.

  “I volunteered for the search and rescue effort,” Roman continued. “It was such a shame.” He shook his head.

  Paige looked down so she missed the look that flickered across Roman’s face, but Sophie caught it. What it meant Sophie couldn’t quite tell, but it was definitely something.

  Carolyn cleared her throat. “I’m sorry about that. I am okay. Sometimes it just hits home that she’s missing and could be...” She shook her head, trying to shake off unpleasant thoughts. “Where are my manners,” Carolyn said, standing abruptly as she sniffed back the last of her tears. “Can I offer you a beverage? I’ll make coffee,” she added, without waiting for replies. She busied herself in the kitchen as Paige joined Sophie on the couch and Roman took a seat opposite them.

  “An investigations agency?” he said, his eyebrows lifting with the question. His eyes moved from Sophie, to Paige, and back to Sophie again. Sophie felt another blush creeping across her face. She touched her hand to her cheek. What was wrong with her?

  “Here. Our card.” Paige handed it to Roman.

  “You knew Paige’s dad?” Sophie said as Roman studied the card.

  “Yes, we worked together on several cases. As I said to Paige, he was a good man. There are some sharks out there, people who’ve lost themselves to the pursuit of money, but Terry wasn’t one of them.” Roman nodded.

  Carolyn came back with a tray laden with cups, a jug of hot water, milk, sugar, and a plunger of coffee as well as a selection of tea packets. Setting the tray down gracefully, she glided into the seat next to Roman and leaned forward to take another tissue from the rapidly emptying dispenser. Folding and unfolding the tissue in her hands she looked from Paige to Sophie. “You said you had news?”

  Roman glanced at Carolyn, thin, tired and anxious, and leaned forward to take over host duties. He set out a cup for each of them and depressed the plunger.

  “We think we might have something of interest to you,” Sophie said before Paige could say something to rattle this already fragile woman.

  Roman, with a nod from Carolyn, poured a coffee for her. Both Sophie and Paige waved it away, so he poured himself a black coffee, forgoing milk and sugar. Sophie selected a peppermint teabag and put it in her cup. Roman filled it with hot water, giving her a small smile as his eyes briefly locked on hers. Sophie focused on bringing the cup to her mouth without spilling it.

  Paige leaned forward toward Carolyn. “Did you know about Dominic? Polly’s boyfriend?”

  Carolyn nodded, then seemed to reconsider her answer. “Well, sort of. We’ve never met him, but I’ve heard Polly talk about him.”

  “And what Jay? Do you know a Jay?” Paige added.

  Sophie finally tore her eyes away from Roman’s hands, wondering how long his wedding ring had been missing from that finger. It didn’t look like it had been very long. There wouldn’t be a red indent if he had been divorced for years. Or maybe even months?

  “No. That name’s not familiar,” Carolyn said. “But Dominic? Yes. Is he involved?”

  “We don’t know, we just know Talia, Polly’s best friend,” Paige explained, “mentioned him.” Paige glanced at Sophie. Should they tell them about the Fa
cebook posts?

  “He wasn’t her boyfriend, properly, I don’t think, and I don’t think they are still seeing each other. The relationships they have nowadays.” Carolyn shook her head. “What did Talia say about him?”

  They told Carolyn and Roman about Dominic’s posts in the days before her disappearance, Talia’s distrust of him, and his intense personality. Roman wrote it all down.

  “Thank you,” he said after they had given him all their clues.

  Sophie felt hope disappearing like a sinking ship.

  “Well this is at least something,” Carolyn said. “Is there anything else you need from me, Roman?”

  “If you could take me through the events of the night you think she left, or uh, disappeared, as well as the next day?”

  “Absolutely.” Mrs Dixon sipped her coffee. “Polly came home from university at around six and went straight to her room. Tyrone got home around half past seven. We had dinner together at eight. Polly seemed distracted, argumentative,” Carolyn said, looking off into the distance. “But it wasn’t unusual. Polly is, well, she’s headstrong and opinionated,” Carolyn said with a faint smile. “After dinner Polly went out, but again, that’s normal, and—”

  “Sorry to interrupt, but where did she go? After dinner?”

  “Oh, uh, I don’t know. I can’t remember if she said something specific. We generally trust her. She’s a sensible girl who usually responds to texts or calls us back to let us know where she is.” Carolyn put her cup down and clasped her hands. “Anyway.” She shook her head to pull herself together. “Tyrone and I watched The Good Wife. Or, I should say, I watched it. Tyrone sat next to me and worked, as he usually does. Just checking emails and taking a few calls. We had a cup of tea, and then,” Carolyn blinked, “I was very tired so I went straight to bed.”

  “What time?” Sophie asked, picking up on Carolyn’s uncertainty.

  “To be honest,” Carolyn offered a sheepish smile, “I’m not completely sure. I’d had a couple of wines with dinner, and then a sleepy-time tea. Together, they kind of knocked me out.”