Pieces of a Lie

by Rowena Holloway

  Mina stood not far from the shadows, on a little hillock of broken curbing, her hands now shoved in the pockets of her simple summer dress as her gaze searched the departing crowd. Worry was all over her. When she saw him, a smile lifted her face. He’d never noticed before how like Alyssa she was. The same slender form and large eyes, but she didn’t have her mother’s colouring—nor her tranquillity. Best he gave her a heads-up about his deal with the new detective before Bob Baldwin let that little gem slip, like he had the impending refurbishment of the hall.

  Like any change in Failie, the renovation roused a great deal of sentiment, and before he’d reached the bottom step, a bunch of anxious citizens bailed him up, concerned the hundred-year-old building would be demolished in favour of steel and glass. During its life, the structure had been everything from a picture theatre to a second-hand furniture store, and the lofty windows and sandstone walls were still marked with the remnants of those former lives. He listened and smiled his reassurances, though the stifling press of hot bodies made him long for solitude and a brew. He could have taken the back exit and avoided the crush. But Forbes Monroe did not slink away.

  And it was essential he spoke to Mina before the grapevine got busy. Baldwin was already hovering too close to her for comfort, and if she found out from someone else, she’d refuse on principle.

  Eventually he reached her and enveloped her delicate frame in a bear hug. A couple of local women exchanged a knowing look. He broke contact. Gossip oiled the wheels of Failie, and what they didn’t know for sure, they made up. It made the place interesting. Sometimes too interesting.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d come,’ he said.

  ‘Why not?’

  She almost snapped the words at him. It couldn’t be easy for her, here among those who’d never given her a chance. Memory hung heavy in this town.

  He said, ‘I reckoned you’d be out wheeling and dealing and building your empire.’

  She didn’t laugh as he’d expected, just frowned and fiddled with something in her pocket.

  ‘Forbes, today I found a watch. It—’

  ‘You’ve got our vote, Forbsey.’ An earnest young man thrust out his hand.

  Forbes shook it, thanked him and smiled at the wife who held a bub that could only be a few weeks old. He drew the line at kissing babies. These days, things like that were misinterpreted, just like they misinterpreted his relationship with Mina. She was like a daughter to him and the idea they could be something more was, quite frankly, disgusting. Gwen knew the truth. Yet not even she, queen of ‘Gossip Central’—as he’d privately named her café—could quell the speculation. Nearby, Baldwin worked the crowd as if he were the one running for election. Gwen chatted up some feller whose thick forearms seemed covered in dark tattoos.

  He returned his attention to Mina. ‘I’m sorry, honey. What were you saying?’

  ‘What’s this Sydney guy like?’

  ‘Good Lord. Wait! What’s that sound?’ He placed a hand behind his ear, cocking his head. ‘Is that the—no it can’t be—is that the ice cracking?’

  ‘Shut up. Looking like Ben Elton doesn’t make you a comedian.’ Mina slapped his arm, a smile in her eyes if not on her lips. ‘Besides, you know me better than that. I heard a rumour about him.’

  ‘You mean that he got his own brother locked up?’

  ‘Yeah, but I got it from Gwen, so …’ she shrugged.

  ‘She’s close to the money this time, Mina Mouse.’

  She turned her head. ‘Please don’t call me that.’

  Forbes understood. Her father was almost more present in his absence than when he’d been a fixture in Failie.

  ‘Tell me what’s wrong. Is it your business?’

  ‘I haven’t opened, remember?’

  ‘Then what?’

  She shook her head then turned to watch Baldwin work the crowd. ‘I suppose he’s got your campaign already mapped out.’

  ‘Well, he’s mapped out his career. Which includes him riding my coattails.’

  ‘And you’re okay with that?’

  ‘The price I pay for a misspent youth.’

  It was an old joke, and once again he hoped she’d laugh, but her brow puckered and she looked away. She’d never taken to Baldwin, but when he’d sided with Ronny Clarke against her, ambivalence had turned to dislike.

  ‘Underneath all that pomposity,’ he said, ‘Baldwin’s a stand-up feller.’

  She stared off toward the post office at the edge of the crowd.

  ‘Forbes? Have you heard anything about a lost dog?’

  ‘Is that what’s troubling you? A dog?’

  He knew it wasn’t. It hurt him a little that she felt she had to hide her feelings, but if she didn’t want to talk about it, he couldn’t force her. And this was hardly the place for a heart-to-heart.

  ‘You know I like animals better than most people.’ She looked at him with fondness. ‘It’s just that the dog turned up on my doorstep this evening and I didn’t have the heart to turn him away. Now he’s sitting near the post office over there, like he’s waiting for me.’

  ‘I suppose you fed it.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You haven’t named it?’ He could tell from the way she dropped her head that she had. ‘Well, just don’t let it sleep in your bed. You don’t know where it’s been.’

  ‘Maybe you should follow your own advice.’

  ‘Be nice. Valerie’s good to me.’

  He searched the post office steps and surroundings. A streetlight was out and the post office didn’t have any security lighting. He couldn’t see any dog. He did see Drummond striding their way, the crowd parting like the sea for Moses.

  ‘Mina, I need to tell you—’

  ‘Forbsey, buddy!’ Ronny Clarke slapped him so hard on the shoulder he nearly stumbled. ‘Great initiative bringing in that copper. Might just be enough to get my vote.’

  ‘Thanks, mate. The town seem to like him.’

  ‘Well, the women do, that was bloody obvious. Just what we need. New blood. If you ask me, local cops couldn’t find their arses with a mirror and a case of beer.’

  Mina stared at her feet, tight-lipped. Her feelings about the local police were pretty similar, so that meant she was upset with Ronny who must have been badgering her again about selling up. When would the man learn subtlety? No matter how attractive her land was to Ronny and his property development partners, Mina didn’t give up anything without a fight, even if leaving that house with its ghosts and difficult memories was the answer to all of her problems.

  ‘Our local boys are doing a fine job, Ronny. Just spread too thin. You elect me and I’ll make sure they get the resources they need.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Ronny laughed and sauntered off to join that little band of loyal followers clustered around the incumbent mayor. As a developer, he knew the value in keeping all the decision-makers onside.

  A gaggle of well-wishers headed his way and not far behind them was Drummond. Forbes turned to Mina to tell her what he’d proposed.

  ‘Look, you’re busy,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll talk to you later.’

  ‘Wait. I want to introduce—’

  But Mina had already pushed her way through the crowd. Gwen’s muscle-man turned to ogle her as she passed. When she disappeared into the shadows beside the post office, Forbes went back to glad-handing, half his mind on Mina and her troubles, the rest on priming the voting public.

  So far his gamble had paid off, but if Drummond didn’t perform—Forbes had been assured he would—this thing was going to blow up in his face.

  §

  Mina woke with a jolt. She jerked upright, the thin summer sheet clasped to her chin. Her scalp prickled. What had woken her? A dream? She’d been dreaming a lot lately, about the workshop and her mother, of the bellows fanning the fire, and the smell. Always the smell. It surrounded her now, but this was different. Cloying and astringent. It stung her nose.

  Sundays. It reminded her of Sundays
in the lounge room, sun streaming through the curtains, sliced teacake arranged on her mother’s favourite platter, her belly tight with the excitement of a story. One, two, three, here we go …

  No, she would not remember. She would not let herself get sucked down again.

  The odour lingered, almost as if someone had stood beside her bed. That couldn’t be. Spirit would have warned her. She reached out, seeking his warm fur, already used to the comfort of his steady heartbeat. She found only rumpled covers. Through the thud of her pulse, her ears strained for the clack of his nails on the kitchen lino, or the gentle slap of water as he drank. Then, from somewhere deep in the house, Spirit growled.

  Mina hunched into her cotton sheet. It was too easy to conjure her childhood monsters from the dark silhouettes in her unlit bedroom. Maybe he’d knocked over a perfume bottle in his eagerness to corner a field mouse or a lizard, except that she’d had no unwelcome creatures in her house since they’d knocked down the derelict villa next door. And the odour wasn’t her perfume.

  Spirit’s growls came from the direction of the kitchen. She unglued her tongue from the roof of her mouth and threw back the sheet. The night was almost too humid to breathe, but she shrugged on her dressing gown. It gave her confidence, a kind of armour. Too bad it was satin.

  She checked her en suite first—didn’t want any surprises when she turned her back—but she didn’t dare turn on the light. Lights signal where you are, Forbes had told her.

  There were no human-shaped outlines to set her pulse racing, so she tiptoed through her bedroom and into her sitting room. A bright moon burst through the open curtains. Though she knew this house and its quirks as well as her own face, the heft of a torch would have been a comfort.

  The dog growled again. Louder this time, or perhaps just closer. Then came tapping and scratching, like he was pawing to get outside. She almost laughed with relief. He was probably worrying at that broken lino near the back door.

  ‘Come on, boy.’ She entered the kitchen, tapping her thigh. ‘That’s enough damage for one day.’

  But the dog wasn’t near the back door. Hackles raised, he stood near the entrance to her mother’s part of the house. She hadn’t been in there since—

  Her ears filled with the gruff chatter of the paramedics, the clack of the wheels, she saw again the covered shape of her mother—

  ‘Stop it! Focus.’

  The dog turned his face to her, shoulders hunched, his ears twisting like a radar dish in search of a signal. The moonlight made his pale eyes luminous. Against his black lips his teeth looked white and very sharp. She took a tentative step backward.

  Spirit resumed his vigil at the door.

  Behind that locked door were the remnants of her mother’s life: her clothes, perfumes, medications, her shattered dreams. Perhaps Spirit sensed her presence. Not a ghost or anything otherworldly—she didn’t believe in that crap. Not really. But perhaps her mother’s personality, strong right up until the end, permeated the walls and furnishings.

  Mina touched Spirit’s shoulder, oddly comforted by his thick pewter fur and the rumble of his growl.

  ‘It’s nothing.’ If it was nothing, why was she whispering? ‘Look, it’s all locked up tight.’

  She grasped the brass knob and twisted. With a gentle clack, the latch gave way. She let go with a gasp. The door swung inwards on silent hinges.

  Spirit bared his teeth again, eyes fixed on the darkness beyond. His growl rolled along the gloomy hallway. Crouched low, he eased in, his tread deadened by the carpet. Mina bunched her dressing gown over her fluttering stomach and tiptoed in his wake, every muscle tensed. Sweat pricked her armpits.

  Light flashed across the far wall. She froze. Spirit growled and hunched lower.

  It was just a car headlight. It had to be, though a thick Lilly Pilly hedge shielded her home from prying neighbours and all the windows were hung with heavy curtains.

  The beam shifted. Spirit took off, barking like a maniac. A crash—a shriek—the light jerked about, disappearing and reappearing in haphazard arcs.

  Mina hurried to the doorway of the airless lounge room and flicked on the light switch. Spirit had someone pinned to the sheet-draped couch, and the space reverberated with grunts and snarls. The intruder had his forearms up, shielding his head, a flashlight still clasped in one fist.

  ‘Get out of my house!’

  At the sound of her voice, Spirit hesitated. The intruder shoved the dog away and landed a kick to his ribs. Mina yelled. Spirit whimpered and flopped to the floor, breathing heavily. The black-clad figure raced toward her. A balaclava hid his features, but his eerie, swamp-water eyes almost glowed.

  She readied herself. When he got close enough, she thrust out her arm. The heel of her hand missed his nose, caught his cheek. His head snapped left. It didn’t stop him. He reached out, gripped her forearm with one hand and with the other covered her mouth and nose with the cloying vinyl of his glove.

  Chapter 3

  LINC DRUMMOND CHECKED his watch. Zero seven thirty. The woman probably wasn’t awake yet, but Forbes had insisted they visit early. He lifted the pitted brass knocker on the villa’s front door.

  ‘Not that one, mate. Over here.’

  Forbes Monroe pointed to a narrow pair of French doors at the end of the veranda, then pressed the bell on the weathered architrave. Linc stepped down onto the gravel driveway that ran alongside the house and petered out near a stone building that must have seen out a century. Nestled against the warm stone was a small oasis awash with summer colour and far less formal than the clipped hedge and the plantation of well-tended roses in the front yard.

  ‘Come on, sleepy head.’ Forbes pounded on the door. ‘Open up.’

  This Everton woman was probably a spinster in a wide hat and gardening gloves, though that didn’t seem the type to interest the man yelling through the keyhole. Linc had only been in town a day and already he knew of Forbes’ womanising reputation. The guy was down-to-earth and friendly, with a quirky face that seemed permanently ready to break into a smile and an easy-going charm that some women would find irresistible. As far as Linc was concerned, the jury was out. The guy was just too damn helpful.

  ‘Maybe we should come back later,’ he said.

  Forbes frowned and worry deepened the lines in his forehead, but when he caught Linc’s eye, he grinned.

  ‘It’s only fair I interrupt her beauty sleep,’ he said. ‘She kept me up until the crack of dawn.’

  So that’s how it was. The image of the gardening spinster morphed into a Botoxed, scotch-drinking blonde, far too close to his stepmother for comfort.

  There came the scrape of metal as a deadbolt was pulled back, then the click of a turned key. The door opened a crack.

  ‘You’re seven hours too late, Forbes.’

  ‘Please, honey. Can we talk? I promise to listen this time.’

  ‘I’d prefer time to finish my shower.’

  The door swung wide. Linc’s thoughts burgeoned with steam room fantasies as he gazed at the girl wrapped in a bath sheet, tucking another about her head. Mina Everton was a long way from needing Botox and even further away from the gardening spinster he had imagined. No wonder Forbes had the energy and style of someone twenty years younger.

  The girl appraised him with amber-flecked green eyes. One glance from those amazing eyes and something thrummed in his chest, a minor vibration that affected his ability to think.

  ‘Better close your mouth,’ she said with the hint of a smile, ‘unless you plan on catching flies.’

  Linc grinned. ‘Only criminals.’

  She lost the smile and turned her gaze to the man at his side.

  Forbes cleared his throat. ‘Mina, this is Detective Linc Drummond.’

  He completed his introductions looking about as comfortable as a man on a toddler’s tricycle. Perhaps he was having second thoughts about letting the newbie within touching distance of the girlfriend.

  ‘With any luck,’ Forbes said
, ‘he’s going to shut down this gang terrorising our seaside paradise.’

  She shot Linc a glance then turned a stony face to Forbes. ‘You know how I feel about cops.’

  ‘Don’t you think we should come inside, honey?’ Forbes said. ‘I know it’s the height of summer and that’s a relatively large towel, but still.’

  ‘Oh!’

  She ramped up Linc’s fantasy by crossing her arms over herself like Botticelli’s Venus before retreating inside. He followed and tripped over the threshold. Forbes didn’t bother to hide his amusement.

  God, what was he thinking? He hadn’t come here to ogle the talent, and he couldn’t afford to put Forbes Monroe offside. The guy had practically championed his transfer from Sydney. Without Forbes he’d be languishing on desk duties, at the very least, reduced to running errands for his sniggering colleagues. And it didn’t take a genius to figure out what had been waiting for Forbes Monroe seven hours earlier.

  The Everton girl moved stiffly towards her bathroom and slammed the door.

  ‘Friendly type,’ Linc murmured.

  ‘She’s just embarrassed you caught her in a towel.’

  Forbes announced it like he was giving some kind of insider tip as he sauntered across the living room. Embarrassed she might be, but as distracted as he’d been by her attire—or lack of it—Linc hadn’t missed her reaction to the news he was after criminals.

  The living room was one of laidback comfort, the kind of place a man could kick off his shoes and put up his feet. It was cool too. Failie wasn’t as humid as Sydney, but the day was heading for a stinker and his lightweight Armani was already uncomfortable. Near the window, an occasional table held some mail and a lampshade of stained-glass dragonflies that filtered the bright morning light and cast purple-tinted prisms across an overstuffed armchair. A quick sift through the half-dozen envelopes revealed an array of overdue notices. Pinned beneath the lampshade was a bank statement. The closing balance was several thousand in the red.

  ‘Come on through.’ Forbes was suddenly at his side, steering him toward the kitchen. ‘We can talk while I try to figure out this fancy-arsed coffee machine.’