by Rosie Vanyon
“Mind if I borrow this?” Cara said as casually as she could. “I’ll bring it back with the letter.”
“What are you planning? I’ve heard of doctor and patient. Is this queens and slaves?” There was no malice in her tone, just gentle teasing.
Cara tucked the tiara into her handbag, thinking that tonight was not the night to get her purse stolen. Potentially, it held Alessandra’s missing fortune. She may well be in possession of millions and millions of dollars in gems. And Levi had no claim on them, for they weren’t sold as part of Flinders’ Keep. But should she share her suspicions about the jewels with him?
No.
****
Three days later, Levi and Cara headed across the isthmus into Ocean Ridge again, this time, making a beeline for the police station. They had spent the last three days with Otto firming up the script so it sizzled, and both were buoyant and positive. The imminent return of Cara’s bike capped off the festive mood.
Brian greeted them at the front desk.
“Cara! Levi! Great to see you. You’ve come to collect the Duke, I’m guessing.”
Cara lifted the hand that held her black helmet with summer weight gloves tucked inside. “Looking forward to being back in the saddle. That is, if Valentino Rossi here didn’t cook the engine,” she laughed, elbowing Levi in the ribs.
“Ooof!” He rubbed the spot as though she had hurt him. “Didn’t see you complaining when I was saving your ass the other day, missy!”
“You didn’t save me. I saved myself. I’m the one who talked him into stopping—”
“Crashing,” Levi corrected.
“Stopping and surrendering.”
“Look, the truck crashed because I shot the tire out,” Brian said.
“Sounds like you were all heroes,” said Brian’s ex-wife Belle, who sashayed in the front door in a flurry of flamboyant fragrance and strawberry blonde ringlets highlighted in fire engine red.
“Belle!” Cara greeted her. “It’s fabulous to run into you again.”
“Likewise. I was planning to give you a call in the next day or two. We really should grab that coffee sometime soon.”
“Actually, I’d really love to, Belle. There was something I wanted to ask you about.”
“Listen, ladies, the techies are maybe an hour away from finishing with Cara’s Ducati, so why don’t you get reacquainted while I take Levi down the street to the garage? We can talk to Hank and the boys about getting a good deal on a new bumper for the Tacoma.”
“I’m due for a pedicure in about five minutes, but if you’d like to tag along, Cara, I’m sure they can fit you in. We can chat while we get gorgeous.”
“More gorgeous,” Levi corrected, dropping a kiss on top of Cara’s head.
Belle raised an eyebrow and Cara felt a blush heat her cheeks.
“Indeed,” agreed Brian, looking hard at Belle.
Some secret signals seemed to pass between the two of them before Brian let out a small sigh and Belle shrugged before taking Cara’s arm and leading her along the road to The Beauty Bureau.
****
The two young beauticians could almost have been twins with their matching ponytails, artful makeup, and immaculate uniforms. They were friendly, but soon realized their clients were content to talk to one another and dialed back the pleasantries and chatter.
Belle talked a little about her career issues and the strained relationship with Brian, but the conversation was somewhat awkward. After all, it was a small town with big ears.
Mostly, they caught up on what they knew had happened to their fellow high school students and teachers from gossip and Facebook and the newspapers. Melanie Burrows died from breast cancer, Sharon Lutz made it big in Silicon Valley, Mrs. Tekton scandalously ran off with a rodeo cowboy, and Peter O’Flahery was a father of twelve.
Belle chit-chatted about her immediate plans, but Cara stayed quiet on that topic. She hadn’t really thought much about the next chapter of her life and she didn’t think buying a spider plant really cut the conversational mustard.
“The boys have been begging for a puppy and I’m thinking Santa might come to the pet party,” said Belle. “So, I have to look into breeds. Plus, I’ve volunteered to coach their futsal team—quality time and all that. Next week I’m down in LA for a gem fair. I’m going to take the boys. They can see the planetarium and the natural history museum. And for my own treat, I’ll try and squeeze in a side trip to the Caravaggio exhibition.”
“Caravaggio? The artist?” Painter!
Luckily, she didn’t have to explain her peculiar comment and speedy grin as their nails—violet for Belle and turquoise for Cara—were simultaneously decreed done.
It wasn’t until they had paid for their luxury shellac foot treatments and headed back toward the station that Cara broached the subject she had been edging toward. If she didn’t raise the topic in the next two minutes, she would have to resort to calling Belle especially, which seemed crazy.
“Um… Belle… You’ve heard the stories about my mother and her missing fortune?”
“The whole world has heard about that. We had money-hungry crazies hunting all over this town for months, years, after she d— Sorry.”
“That’s okay. Look, it’s come to light that we might actually be looking for a jewel. A fairly big one. A sapphire.”
“Okay…”
“Yes, well, I wanted to show you a jewel my sister had in her possession.” Cara didn’t mention that it had spent a good part of its life in a children’s toy box or that she had cleared off the coating of sand, talcum powder, and pencil shavings by running the tiara under the back kitchen tap.
Despite her efforts to remain unruffled, Cara could see Belle’s knuckles whitening.
Cara reached into her bag and produced the tiara.
Belle gasped.
Then laughed.
“Oh, you really had me going for a moment there. Did Brian put you up to this? What a joke. Bringing me a replica of Queen Elizabeth’s 1963 Sapphire Suite tiara, and not a very good replica at that. It’s all out of proportion. If this sapphire were real, you could buy a small country.” Belle’s laughter continued to trill, grating on Cara’s nerves more with every passing moment.
“What on earth was he thinking, sending you along here with paste and paint? He has such an odd sense of humor, doesn’t…hang on. You were serious?”
Cara nodded, her eyes downcast and her mouth tight and trembling.
“Oh, shit, Cara. Sorry. This is junk jewelery. What makes you think it’s a sapphire you’re looking for?”
Cara told Belle about the letter she had found and its mention of the Midnight Star.
“Yes, the Midnight Star’s a famous sapphire all right. Let me think. Middle Eastern sale, maybe fifteen or twenty years ago. Sold for $50 million or so, the rumor mill said. Be worth a bucketload more now. Sapphires aren’t really my thing. I much prefer diamonds—a girl’s best friend and all. There’s something bothering me about this story, but I can’t quite bring it to mind. It’s ringing bells all over the place, but I just can’t remember. When I get home, I’ll check up on the background of the Midnight Star and get back to you. I have your number back at the shop. Must put it in my phone before I lose it.”
“Perfect timing, ladies,” Brian interrupted, opening the front door of the police station and gesturing them inside to where Levi waited.
Cara stuffed the tiara into her handbag before Levi saw it. She’d be embarrassed if he knew she’d mistaken a child’s toy for her mother’s fortune.
Brian continued, “I hope you don’t mind, Cara, but I took the liberty of having the guys give your bike a thorough detail, so it’s as good as new. Well, almost.”
He picked up a brown clipboard from the counter and walked them through to the back parking lot where the Ducati gleamed deeply.
“The scratches are gone, the mirror and footpegs have been replaced. I’ve had to leave the damaged rear indicator in place as I couldn’t
source a new one in time. But it’s full of fuel and ready to go.”
“Oh, Brian! I can’t thank you enough. And I’m tempted to leave the dinged indicator there as a reminder of our adventure. A battle scar.”
“What’s happening with the thief?” Levi asked him.
“He’s cooling his heels until Judge Moriarty gets back from vacation tomorrow.” Brian turned back to Cara. “Here’s your keys. Just sign this form and it’s all yours.”
“You heading back to Flinders’ Keep?” Levi asked her.
“I will, just as soon as I check in with Mia.”
****
Mia took a long time to answer the door and, when she appeared, she was wearing a robe. Her hair was matted, her makeup was smeared, and she sported some kind of a rash down her face and neck. Cara’s first thought was that her sister was sick, but then Joe sidled into the doorframe beside Mia, and between his smirk and every-which-way hair, Cara realized she was interrupting a reconciliation.
“I can go,” offered Cara, shifting from foot to foot.
“No, come in,” Mia and Joe chorused.
“Really, I can come back later.”
“We could do with a break…er cuppa,” said Joe.
“Is that a hickey?” Cara practically shrieked as she followed Mia into the kitchen.
Mia’s hand flew to the offending bruise on her neck. “Shut up, big sister,” she muttered through clenched teeth.
“I don’t believe it. My pure and prudent sister has a hickey.”
“I said, shut up.” But Mia’s tone was giddy and girlish and her smile could have lit up the whole town.
The three of them sat around the table on the veranda while Cara returned the tiara and told Mia and Joe the whole story. She felt like an idiot, but came totally clean, including telling them that Levi needed money to help a desperately sick young relative. She left out the bit about Levi’s motorcycle crash and how he blamed himself, figuring that wasn’t her story to tell.
“Oh, the poor thing,” Mia sympathized. “Surely there’s a way to fundraise money for treatment rather than relying on a rather improbable sapphire?”
“He said they’d tried fundraising, but without much success.”
“Mum always said the key to raising money was to spin a good story,” Mia reflected. “That’s how she wangled funding for many of her expeditions.”
“You’re right, she did. It’s when people get caught up in the adventurous quest that they part with their money,” Cara said, doing a decent impression of her Mom’s voice.
“Dad was always the better storyteller, though,” Mia added, and Cara nodded, her mind going immediately to the story she had told Freya.
“I told Freya Dad’s story about the axe,” Cara said.
Mia laughed. “You mean the ‘ack,’ don’t you?”
“Yes.” Cara smiled, pleased that Mia recalled the old joke. “Just one ack to sharpen.”
Suddenly, the impact of Mia’s recollections brought Cara’s train of thought to an abrupt halt.
“Dad…? How do you…? You were too young to remember him. Surely?”
“I don’t remember much. We were little when he disappeared. But there are a few things like his bedtime stories and the smell of his aftershave. I can picture the shark’s tooth he wore around his neck.”
“I’d forgotten that,” said Cara. “He used to claim he plucked it right out of the shark’s mouth when it tried to eat him. I don’t know how much truth was in that story. He had some quirks. He loved wearing a soul patch way before it was fashionable, he played the mandolin, and he did magic tricks. I vaguely remember something with an egg and a feather.”
“I don’t remember that, but I know he only ever used to eat half a biscuit.”
“Yes, he’d say he was saving the other half for Mom. And he hated almonds, but loved Vegemite.”
“And apples gave him the hiccups.”
They smiled fondly at each other, sharing the scant threads of a happy time in childhood.
“How did that song go?” Cara wondered aloud.
“The one he used to sing at bath time?”
“And dinner time, and in the car.”
“Not sure. Da da da da, la la?” Mia sang.
“Yeah… Da da da da morning…something, something your eyes. Da da da and lovely…”
“Something about sinking? Something shy?”
They paused, stumped.
“Yeah… We should think about something else. It’ll come back,” said Cara.
“I’ll probably dream it tonight.”
They both sank quietly into their own thoughts.
“I wonder why he went away.” Mia spoke aloud the question they were each no doubt both asking themselves.
“I don’t know,” Cara replied. “Mom didn’t talk about him. The one time I mustered the courage to ask, she said some bad men had taken him away and that he would have come back if he could. I guess that was her way of saying he got himself killed.”
A tiny flicker of hope sparked deep in Cara’s chest. What if Alessandra hadn’t meant he had died? Maybe he was simply a prisoner somewhere and couldn’t return to his beloved family. Maybe he had not abandoned them after all. Maybe…
Cara squashed the thought with brutal deliberation.
Looking at Mia all aglow and relaxed made her think that now would be a good time to broach the volatile topic of the film, and introduce the notion of Alessandra’s lover.
This time, she trod extra carefully. Her sensitivity and Mia’s loved-up state must have helped. While still prickly and skeptical, Mia didn’t fly off the handle and at least listened. She was shocked and curious about the lover.
At that moment, Joe excused himself to refresh their drinks. Mia waited until he was out of earshot before she spoke.
“I hoped he had missed us and decided to come back,” Mia said, gesturing at Joe. “Turns out that rogue of a daughter of mine invited all and sundry—no offense—to her party. I think she was hoping Joe and I would patch things up and get back together.”
“And did her plan work?”
Mia blushed becomingly. “We haven’t actually talked about it, but…”
“Trust me,” said Cara. “Sometimes, talking about stuff is overrated.”
In that moment, she wished she could send her father a birthday invitation, any kind of invitation, and have him waltz back into their lives and make everything okay. But he was dead and so was Alessandra. The fortune was missing. Levi needed money for Bronte’s operation, and the only way to get it seemed to be to get the film done and cash in at the box office.
Well, if that was the only thing she could control, the only solution she could come up with, then that’s what she would focus on. She said her goodbyes to Mia and Joe and rode toward Flinders’ Keep with a new determination and sense of purpose.
Chapter Sixteen
The water was running in the bathroom when she returned to the trailer. She pictured the tiny, enclosed space, imagined his naked body under the surprisingly strong water jets, considered leaving him alone to his ablutions.
“Nah,” she scoffed, toeing off her boots and peeling off her clothes.
Her hand hesitated over the door handle.
What if he wasn’t alone in there? What if she wasn’t welcome? What if he wasn’t in the mood to entertain her and her naughty intentions?
Well then, she thought, she’d just have to get creative and change his mind.
As it happened, he was visibly in the mood for some mischievous entertainment, at least partially anyway. Cara made short work of making him extra hard and extra keen.
One look at her naked body sliding into the minute bathroom brought him even further to attention.
“Thinking about me?” she purred, sliding past the streaming shower curtain and into the stall, pretending to steady herself by bracing her hands against him when all she wanted was to feel his wet skin under her palms.
“As a matter of fact.” He gestu
red toward his rising manhood. “You and your hot, sexy little body have been front and center in my thoughts.”
“Do tell,” she breathed, running her hands over his dripping chest and torso in the wake of the gushing stream from the showerhead.
“I was imagining that you were here, naked, touching me.” He sucked in a sharp breath as her hand darted between his legs and gave his balls a quick, provocative squeeze. “But this…” He groaned, kissing her hard. “Is so much better than my imagination.”
She was turned on beyond reason, her nipples were spiky little points of lust, her clit was a throbbing “explode” button. So, when his hands eased from the flare of her waist down the curve of her ass, she wriggled away, wanting to draw out the sweet agony.
She kissed his chest, wet, open-mouthed, moving steadily downward, making her intentions abundantly clear.
When she dropped to her knees and ran her tongue leisurely up and down his thighs, he hissed his pleasure and his need, and his cock bobbed and bucked, leaving no doubt what he wanted.
She didn’t make him wait. Eager for the taste of him, hungry for the feel of his ramrod hardness filling her, she drew him deeply inside her mouth and sucked, hard. His whole body juddered and she sensed him reach out and steady himself against the wall as though his balance was shot and he needed the support.
She took him deeply again and his left hand found its way to the back of her head, gently pressing her skull, silently imploring her to give him more. She didn’t need to be asked twice. She sucked on his manhood, sliding her tongue over the engorged tip, then tilting her head back to allow him further access.
His fingers were entwined in her hair, almost imperceptibly marking out a push-pull rhythm that she delightedly fixed on and followed. He guided her head forward and plunged deeply into her, then gently eased partway out so that her lips cradled his thick penis as he readied for another thrust.
His noises were like those of an animal, hungry and primitive and demanding, even while his trembling touch stayed light. She admired his restrained, but couldn’t help but wonder what it would take to make him lose his cool.