Pieces of a Lie

by Rowena Holloway

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 Fractured Press Pty Ltd and Rowena Holloway

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the publisher.

  This edition uses Australian spellings as defined by the Macquarie Dictionary (2014)

  Cover design by Kit Foster Design http://www.kitfosterdesign.com

  Print ISBN: 978-0-9941688-0-1

  E-Book ISBN: 978-0-9941688-1-8

  For Harry,

  for supporting, trusting and loving me,

  even when it was tough.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Author's Note

  All That's Left Unsaid

  Ashes to Ashes

  Chapter 1

  ‘CAN’T YOU READ? Sign says private.’

  The man’s face flushed as he spoke, as though his arteries were so blocked the effort of speaking was too much. She’d seen the faded sign tacked to the door and ignored it. Just like she tried to ignore the whippet-thin teen sitting at the table, inching his wet tongue along pale, flaking lips. Sunlight through the blinds left shadowed bars across his face. Mina hugged the cardboard box she carried closer to her body and wished she’d worn her usual business shirt and trousers, not a thin summer dress that showed more skin than it covered.

  ‘I want to buy these.’ She rattled her box at the man whose silvered head nearly brushed the sloping ceiling. ‘You don’t even have to smile.’

  ‘I ain’t open for business, so clear off.’ He shoved his arms up into his pits and glared.

  ‘Go on, Kegs. Might make some cash for a change.’

  ‘Shut it, Dunny, before I do it for yous.’

  The kid lost his stupid grin and dropped his gaze to the jumbled assortment of brass and silver objects on the table. Tossed among the dull gleam was an old fob watch.

  One, two, three, here we go. It’s time—

  She gasped at the sharp slap of memory and plucked up the watch. Some of the silvering had worn away. As her fingers curled around its edges, the brass felt warm and more familiar than it should.

  ‘That ain’t yours.’ Thick fingers grabbed her wrist. ‘Give it here. The watch ain’t for sale.’

  Mina twisted her arm free. ‘I just wanted a look.’

  The kid’s gaze ran over her, his tongue busy as if he could taste her. In other circumstances she would have told him to take a picture, but this creep would probably take it as an invitation. The big one—Kegs—made another snatch at the watch, but she held it fast and moved out of reach. In a room this small, a man his size wouldn’t get from behind the table without some effort, and his sidekick was too busy trying to peer through her dress to act.

  She ran her fingers over the ridges on the watch cover, every bump as cold and smooth as she remembered, then she tilted the watch toward the window. The patterning came to life: a running dog, the bower of stars, the curving river at his feet. It couldn’t be. Not here. Not now. She thumbed the clasp and the cover sprang open. The inscription was there. Just one word. Forever.

  The floor seemed to slide from under her. She groped for a chair, clutching the watch, focusing on its solid feel, the reality of it, as her head filled with white noise.

  ‘Does the picture mean something?’ she’d asked her dad.

  ‘The stream represents life,’ he said. ‘And the dog represents protection. My dad told me a story to go with it. It’s the one I’ve told you, about the boy and his superhero dog.’

  She’d wanted him to tell her again, but he wouldn’t.

  ‘We have guests, and lots to do.’ He’d held out his hand for the watch and laughed when she’d tried to keep it. ‘It’ll be yours one day, Mina Mouse. Until then, it stays with me.’

  And yet, here it was. In the back room of a country junk store, tossed aside like it meant nothing.

  ‘Hey!’

  A sweaty red face thrust close to hers. Stale odours of hair oil and unwashed skin wafted from his body. She was seated at the table. The chair hard beneath her buttocks. The lizard-tongued creep had hold of her hand, stroking it like she was his pet. She pulled herself free. In her other hand she still clasped the watch, slippery with perspiration.

  ‘You think I got nothing better to do,’ Kegs said, ‘than stand here while you run your fingers over things that ain’t yours?’

  To think her heart had once trilled with excitement at the Sunday tea laid out, her mother smiling, the unbearable anticipation as they waited for him to spin a tale of bunyips or wombats or little girls who could slay dragons.

  One, two, three, here we go, it’s about time for the Everton show.

  It was a show all right. Only her mother had clung to the fairytale, determinedly blind to the truth.

  ‘Sometimes I think I love you and your mother too much,’ he’d said that day.

  ‘How can you love someone too much?’ she asked. ‘How do you know if you do?’

  ‘When you’ll do anything for them. Even when it’s wrong.’

  How prophetic that last statement had been. She didn’t believe he’d done any of it out of love for her or her mother.

  Kegs shoved his calloused palm at her. ‘Hand it over, cupcake.’

  Cupcake? That was a new one. She’d been called a few choice names before—buying up other people’s keepsakes and selling them to the highest bidder wasn’t always popular—but never cupcake.

  ‘Leave off, Kegs. Can’t you see she’s sick?’ The kid flicked his tongue. ‘You’re sick, hey, babe? You need to lie down.’

  Lie down? Here? As if!

  Kegs blocked her path to the door, his huge fists balled. He looked like he’d happily throw her out, but the other one …

  Perspiration peppered her brow and dampened the back of her dress. Her pulse thudded. Why hadn’t she told Forbes where she was headed? He’d nagged her oft
en enough. She’d left her phone in her car and her keys were in her handbag, which was—where?

  She spotted it on the floor beside the kid, resting neatly on its base, whereas her cardboard box had strewn its treasures across the scuffed floorboards. Kegs wasn’t that much bigger than that slimy developer who was always at her to sell her house, and she’d faced him down more than once, enough to know creeps like these grew fat on fear.

  ‘I’ll give you fifty bucks for those.’ She pointed at the scattered tea caddy spoons she’d unearthed from a pile of discoloured trinkets in a cabinet out front. They were worth one-hundred-a-piece to a collector, but to her they promised entry into a new life.

  ‘Pick ’em up and I’ll think about it.’

  As soon as Kegs shifted, she shot from the chair and gathered up the spoons. She still gripped the watch. It had almost become part of her.

  ‘Fifty bucks,’ she said.

  ‘Cash only, then piss off.’

  ‘Aren’t you even going to haggle? Must be hard doing business in a remote place like this.’

  ‘What’s it to you?’

  She should have kept her surprise to herself. Guys like this always haggled. For most of them it was the only thrill they got, the reason they were in business.

  ‘I want the watch too.’

  ‘You deaf or something?’

  ‘Look. It’s rubbish.’ She held the watch up to the light but stayed out of reach. ‘Not worth a cent to a collector.’

  ‘What’s it to you, then?’

  She shrugged. ‘Feeling sentimental. My dad had one like it.’

  ‘Go on, Kegs.’ The kid winked at her as if they were co-conspirators, but his gaze dropped to her bare legs and once more his tongue got busy.

  ‘Piss off.’ Kegs grabbed her wrist, pried the watch from her fingers and tossed it on the table. It landed with a thunk. At some point they’d covered their horde with a limp tea towel. She pretended not to notice.

  ‘Give me my bag.’ She held out her hand.

  ‘Give it to her, Dunny.’

  The kid picked it up by the straps and dangled it just out of reach. It took everything she had not to grab it and run. She didn’t need the watch to remind her of her father’s lies—that legacy was there every time she walked down her street—but she did need those spoons.

  From her purse she pulled out all the notes she had left and tossed them at Kegs. He caught some and began counting, sorting them into their five and ten dollar denominations. Dunny scrounged on the floor for the rest.

  She risked a look at the table. From beneath the tea towel poked a striped ribbon, the kind usually attached to a medal. There was something familiar about it, something that made her skin crawl. She couldn’t think why. She didn’t know anything about medals.

  ‘Ain’t enough,’ Kegs snapped.

  ‘Of course it is.’

  She’d had a busy day, but she could cover fifty in cash. Her credit card was maxed out. Besides, there was no way she’d hand over her card to these two. The less they knew about her the better.

  She squared her shoulders. ‘Take it or leave it.’

  ‘I’ll take it, you leave it.’

  Kegs pocketed her cash then seized the spoons.

  ‘Hey, I paid for those.’

  ‘You didn’t see no money change hands, did you, Dunny?’

  ‘Nah, mate. And I reckon she owes us something for our trouble.’

  Dunny moved forward, grinning. His wet lips shone in the sunlight. As hard as she could, Mina shoved Kegs backward. He staggered against his bag-of-bones friend and they fell against the back door swearing.

  Mina snatched up the watch and ran.

  Chapter 2

  SLAB CARLSON LOOKED OVER the man sweating in the doorway of his city office. The junk store fence was usually happy to stay in his two-car town surrounded by his grubby treasures, so his panicked visit signalled trouble. The stiff smile on his stubble-free face and the whiff of Brut when he usually smelled of dust and stale clothing suggested big trouble.

  Slab beckoned him inside. ‘Shut the door. Take a load off, mate.’

  Kegs’ shoulders dropped about two inches as he stepped into the airconditioned office and ambled across the thick carpet. He stopped once to hitch up his jeans. With his tall frame and broad shoulders he could have been a pro footballer or a wrestler, but from the look of him, he’d chosen a Jason recliner and an endless flow of beer. He dumped his bulk into a low-slung chair and squinted against the glare of the dying sun.

  ‘I reckon I overreacted, Mr Carlson. Knew that as soon as I put down the phone. This girl don’t know nothing. She was just playing me.’

  ‘Tell me about this watch that’s got you so freaked.’

  ‘Nothing to tell, really. It’s an old fob watch. One you wear on a chain and stick in your waistcoat. No call for them now unless it’s by a maker like Longines and is eighteen carats or solid silver. Get some nice silver ones through sometimes, but not for ages.’

  Slab drummed his fingers on his smoked glass desk as the bloke tried another smile.

  ‘Okay, well, this one is common.’ Kegs rubbed his nose and sniffed. ‘Brass. No mark. Nice detail on the cover but that’s it. Dunny got it in a load of other stuff, including those medals that are all over the bloody news.’ He leaned forward, and his gut nearly obscured his thighs. ‘We gotta do something about these bloody amateurs. Cops and news are all over it. Makes my job bloody difficult.’

  Slab wasn’t about to discuss business details with this boozer. ‘What made you think she knew about us?’

  ‘She said she did. Well, I thought she did. Dunny told me—’

  ‘Who’s Dunny?’

  ‘One of my lads. Harmless. Not too smart but knows the rules.’

  Kegs fell silent. Slab lifted his chin in a signal to keep talking.

  ‘Dunny reckons she was only making conversation,’ Kegs said, ‘like saying how hard it was to stay in business in a remote place like ours.’

  ‘So why’d you ring me?’

  ‘At the time it bothered me, what with the way she stared at me and her being so interested in that particular watch. It was like she knew something. I wondered if me not haggling had tipped her off, but I reckon now Dunny’s right.’

  Slab rocked in his ergonomic chair. This bloke could talk you to death before he got to the point. ‘What’s haggling got to do with it?’

  ‘Haggling’s what we do, mate. See, she’d found some Georgian spoons I’d forgotten I had. Polished up the maker’s marks. So she knew what she was looking for. Even buried them with some other odds and sods not worth a cracker. She offered me fifty bucks for them. I fixed her up though.’ Kegs laughed.

  Slab leaned back in his chair and waited. Compared with his usual business concerns, this bullshit was a bit of light relief. Kegs had panicked. He wasn’t the sharpest tool. Not the dullest either. Smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Usually. Okay, so the bloke had freaked out. He was steady and quick enough to realise he couldn’t outwit his boss, which meant he’d never try to rip him off. At least, if he did, he’d never get away with it.

  On the end of his steady glare, Kegs squirmed. They all did eventually, but it took this one a while. That told him a lot. He reached for his humidor and selected a cigar. A Cohiba. Special order.

  ‘What about those medals?’ he asked. ‘Did she recognise them?’

  ‘Nah, don’t reckon. She only had eyes for that watch.’

  ‘You think this chick is a dealer?’

  ‘Yeah, pretty sure. High-end stuff but affordable. Don’t reckon she’s got the cash to buy the bigger stuff. Maybe that’s why she stole the watch.’

  ‘She local?’

  ‘Out-of-towners don’t usually stray that far off the freeway. If they do it’s ’cos they’re lost and they drive straight through. Someone comes into my place, they’re looking for something specific.’

  ‘Describe her.’

  ‘Blonde. Mid-twenties, I’d say. Lots o
f curly hair. Short but well put together if you like them skinny. Lives in Failie. Name of Mina Everton.’

  ‘Everton?’ It had been a while since he’d heard that name. ‘You know that for sure?’

  ‘For definite. She went a bit funny after she opened the watch cover, so Dunny helped her to a seat. Got a look at her license. He’s good at that kind of stuff, Dunny is.’

  ‘But neither of you noticed she’d nicked the watch until she’d gone?’

  ‘Yeah, well, she’s light-fingered, isn’t she? Don’t worry about the watch. Told her Dunny’s what they call a runner, goes to car boot sales, garage sales and other dealers. Dunny took the hint. Not that she was listening. Just kept staring at the watch like it was one of them crystal balls.’

  Slab guillotined the end of his Cohiba and flicked his lighter. Once the cigar end glowed, he leaned back in his chair and filled his mouth with the delicious smoke. So, this Everton chick happens to suss Kegs’ place just when that council wanker upped the ante. The arrival of a big Sydney detective didn’t worry him. There was no way he’d tie the robberies to his gang and definitely no chance he’d figure out what was really going on. But this girl—an Everton, at that—he’d have to do something about her.

  ‘Right, Kegs. Listen up and listen good.’ Slab leaned on his desk and jabbed his cigar at the clueless bastard in front of him. ‘You’re about to start earning your keep.’

  §

  Forbes Monroe stood at the top of the community hall steps at the foreshore end of Main Street and loosened his tie. After the stuffiness of the packed meeting, the sea breeze was just what he needed. The briny scent always conjured images of summer and nubile women.

  Muted streetlights competed with the harsh glare of the fluorescent strip beneath the awning to cast dual shadows upon the steps, one dark and solid, the other a ghostly twin. The crowd milled below. From the snatches of conversation, they were speculating about the new policeman. A shout hello. A woman with fiery hair glowing in the streetlights waved like a drowning woman. Gwen. She was never one to let a crowd get in the way of a good hello, and nor would she miss an opportunity to draw attention to herself. The person giving her a restrained wave in return was Mina.