‘Known Ms Everton long?’
‘Long enough. Come on. Latte, cappuccino, long black, short black, diamond-studded-mochaccino. You name it, this thing makes it.’
The kitchen was big on louvered windows and low on renovations, a mishmash of fifties cabinetry and seventies geometric wallpaper. It filled most of the rear annex with the exception of what he guessed was the bathroom on his left, where Mina Everton was divesting herself of her towel, unwinding it from her slender—
Crockery rattled as Forbes removed cups from an overhead cupboard. Despite his earlier comment, he had no trouble figuring out the machine, and it was obvious he knew his way around this room like a blind man on Braille.
Linc scoped out the kitchen. It would do him no good to dwell on Mina Everton and her middle-aged conquest. Ahead of him was the back door. A little way to his right, along what must be the original rear wall of the house, was another door. Time had yellowed the white paint and the stippled pane in the upper panel hadn’t been popular for more than half a century. Beyond it, all was dark. He recalled the disused grand entrance and the small lounge room he’d just passed through. Before she’d slammed the bathroom door, the Everton girl had walked through a bedroom; he’d seen the foot of a bed and rumpled sheets as she passed. Apart from the wide kitchen, her life seemed contained to the left wing of the villa.
‘Does she only use these few rooms?’ he asked.
‘Yep. Set this up as a flat when she quit study to look after her mum.’
Something about that internal door was odd. The light in the kitchen was poor, but still… He moved in for a closer look.
‘What was she studying?’ he asked.
‘Forensic accounting.’
Near the handle shallow wedge marks scored the layer of paint revealing the raw timber beneath.
‘What was the problem with her mum?’
‘That’s my business.’ Mina stood grim-faced in the shadowed doorway between the lounge and kitchen. A towel still covered her hair, but a long, tight-belted satin robe covered her from neck to ankle. Her attitude was familiar. It was the speed with which it had appeared that astonished him. Perhaps it compensated for her previous state of undress.
Forbes was still working the coffee machine. ‘I just wanted Linc to understand why you locked everything up when your mum died.’
Grief blurred her features. She bit her lower lip. Drawn to offer sympathy, Linc stepped forward, but she retreated into the shadow of the doorway, his compassion as unwelcome as his job title.
The coffee machine hammered to life.
Forbes spoke over the noise. ‘Linc reckons the robberies are a blind for a gang stealing antiques.’
She pulled the towel from her head and blotted at ropes of dark blonde hair. It was hard to tell from the way she stayed in the shadows, but he was sure that when she’d removed the towel she had winced.
‘What kind of antiques are you talking about?’ she asked.
‘Linc reckons he’s found a pattern.’ Forbes pressed a button and aromatic coffee cascaded into two serviceable white cups.
The wet strands of her hair turned the robe’s fabric translucent, revealing the outline of a lace bra and hinting at the gentle curve of her breasts. Was her skin as silky as it looked? He imagined slipping the robe from her shoulders—
What the hell was wrong with him? He was here to do a job, one that might save his career, and she was the girlfriend of the guy who’d tugged a lot of very powerful strings to get him here. He pulled his cop persona tight and held up the display folder in which he’d collated images of all the items of significant value stolen from Failie and surrounding suburbs. There weren’t many. Initially, he’d thought the thieves had just got lucky, but once he’d recognised it the pattern was too significant to ignore.
‘I need you to look at these photos, Ms Everton. Give me some idea of the value of each, and if any of them have come up for auction or been offered for sale.’
‘Wow. Is there a please in there anywhere?’
She waited. If she expected him to apologise or make a plea for assistance, she was out of luck. He’d used up all his humility points getting Forbes’ help to pursue this lead in the first place. And her attitude pissed him off.
‘I need names,’ he told her, ‘of anyone who may have shown an interest in acquiring them.’
Mina glared at him and made no move to take the folder.
‘Everything all right, then?’ Forbes handed her a cup of coffee and a look passed between them that suggested this was no casual question. Mina’s lips tightened and she looked at her bare feet. Forbes sighed then covered it with a smile when he noticed Linc observing them. ‘You took my advice about the stray, I see.’
Mina lifted her gaze and shook her head.
‘Where is it?’
‘He.’
‘You’ve named it?’
‘Spirit.’
‘Ah.’
Forbes turned away and raised his eyebrows. The girl saw, or knew him well enough to know that was how he’d react.
She said, ‘You didn’t believe any of it, did you?’
Forbes handed Linc the second cup, forcing him to tuck the folder beneath his arm.
‘Linc is new to antiques. I told him you’re the expert he needs to get to the bottom of it.’
She frowned. ‘This business is built on loyalty and discretion.’
‘Help him out, Mina. You might find you can help yourself.’
‘Oh yes. Because that worked out so well last time.’
Last time? Linc sipped the potent black coffee. Forbes had offered various concoctions but hadn’t asked what he preferred. Just as he hadn’t bothered to mention that this little get-together could somehow ‘help’ his girlfriend. And what was all that stuff about the dog?
Forbes said, ‘It wouldn’t hurt your business for you to be seen as an expert.’
‘Expert for the police? Oh sure. This town will flip that into “guilty” quicker than you can say “assisting with inquiries”. It’ll just prove what they’ve always known.’
Her sarcasm was thick enough to spread. There was an undercurrent between this pair that had nothing to do with Forbes Monroe throwing a bit of consulting work the way of his latest squeeze. He longed to hear exactly what it was everyone knew about her, but he couldn’t stare at his coffee all day. He needed to get on with the case. And he wanted to re-examine the door splinters before he left.
‘Come on, Mina.’ Forbes showed a playful smile. ‘You have to think of the future. Didn’t you once tell me looking back is for losers?’
She glanced at Linc. ‘My business isn’t even open yet. I barely have a client list. If I did, I wouldn’t let him loose on it, or anyone else’s.’
Forbes lost the smile. ‘You know how much trouble this gang is making, honey. Think about that poor bugger who was bludgeoned for his medals.’
She looked away, frowning. Whatever she muttered was lost against the deep doorframe.
‘Between your expertise and Linc’s, we might help others. Wrap it up nice and neat. And quick.’
‘Before the mayoral election, you mean.’
‘That too. I don’t know how long the Main Street Association will back me if I don’t get this sorted. You know how fickle these community groups are.’
She sighed and shook her head. It was an indulgent shake, the kind you give a kid when they’ve got you beat—or a lover you just can’t stay mad at.
‘I don’t deal in medals,’ she said.
‘That’s not what this is about,’ Linc told her.
‘Then what?’
‘I believe this gang is targeting specific antiques.’
‘That doesn’t even make sense. These break-ins are random.’
‘You two go into the lounge while Linc explains,’ Forbes said. ‘I’ll join you in a jiff.’
The girl lifted her chin and didn’t move. It was abundantly clear what she thought of being alone with him, even with her
protector in the next room. He didn’t kid himself it was his animal magnetism. He moved toward her. She lurched backwards, coffee cup and damp towel held to her chest like a shield.
It wasn’t just anger at his intrusion that bothered her. She was frightened. He thought of the overdue notices and that bank statement beneath the lamp base. Among the rampage of home invasions and petty thefts in and around Failie over the last six months, valuable antiques had been stolen. One random comment in a witness statement had put him onto it and once he followed that thread, the pattern had become obvious. Whoever was behind these robberies was well acquainted with antiques. There was no reason that person couldn’t be female.
He took another step forward. She moved back into the living room where the morning sun streamed through the curtains. A mass of reddish-purple mottled her temple. He placed his coffee cup on the nearby sideboard and instinctively reached out for a better look. She turned away, combing her hair with her fingers to cover the bruising. Linc stared at her narrow back.
‘Tell me what happened here,’ he said.
‘I don’t have to tell you anything.’
If he kept barking orders at her he wouldn’t get anywhere, but his temporary loss of professionalism was embarrassing and anger was a good cover. It helped him ignore the desire to wrap his arms around her, though it didn’t do much to stop him wanting to shake the truth out of her. This girl was getting to him in ways he’d never faced before.
Mina Everton was a shoo-in for suspect, and he was acting like a rookie with a hard-on.
Chapter 4
MINA WISHED THEY’D GET on with it or get out. Her ribs ached. Her head throbbed. She’d spent most of the night too scared to close her eyes. She longed to crawl back into bed and cuddle up to Spirit’s comforting presence, but the dog had gone to lick his wounds behind the old workshop. If she was to get everything set up before Gibson’s arrival at work, she had to leave in fifteen minutes.
‘I have to get dressed.’ Mina turned to Forbes. ‘And you have a meeting.’
‘Ms Everton.’ Drummond looked at her without expression, his notebook ready. ‘Please explain the broken lock on the kitchen door, and the bruises on your face.’
Forbes spluttered his cappuccino. Mina bit the inside of her cheek to quell the rush of anger at how he’d reacted to last night’s phone call. At least he had the grace to look shamefaced.
‘Were there really people in your house?’ Forbes asked.
‘So, you believe me now you haven’t got Valerie Smith cooing in your ear?’
Her bitterness was ripe, and she saw Drummond speculating. Well, he’d hear the gossip soon enough. She toyed with telling him how it really was, that she’d turned to Forbes, afraid, needing a friend, only to realise he doubted her truthfulness as much as the rest of Failie. Maybe then Drummond would look at her the way he had when she opened her door, like she was just a girl, not an Everton to be despised or mistrusted. Just his appreciative gaze had her imagining things that stirred a longing she didn’t realise she had.
‘I need a statement,’ Drummond said. ‘And we need to get forensics here ASAP.’
Every word he uttered was said with the cold formality that marked him as the one thing she most detested—a career cop. His concern was for his job. She was an idiot to think he would offer sympathy or see her as anything other than a woman tainted by her father’s deeds.
‘Your bedside manner could use some work, Drummond.’ She moved toward her bedroom. ‘And no, that isn’t an invitation.’
A slam of her bedroom door would have made her message loud and clear, but Forbes blocked her way and inspected the bruise on her temple.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t come over last night.’ Forbes kissed her bruise and pulled her close. ‘I should have come right away.’
She tried to resist. He’d let her down, but given the past, she should have expected that, and he was here now, ready to help, even if he had brought that cop with him without a heads-up.
‘Why didn’t you believe me?’
‘How can I make it up to you?’
She flicked Drummond a look. His steady gaze took in everything. A smattering of freckles on his cheeks hinted at the boy he’d been, and thick waves threatened to break free from his neatly combed hair. She longed to run her fingers through it and mess it up, just to see what he’d do. He can’t have always been so buttoned up. Maybe the well-cut suit and the expensive haircut were a sign he was nervous, out of his depth in this new job that was well below his reported abilities. If they’d met anywhere else but Failie, he might have taken the time to get to know her before he judged her.
To Forbes, she whispered, ‘Make it up to me by getting him out of here.’
‘Not this time. This is one time you could use a policeman.’
She pulled away. He knew how she felt about cops. And he knew why. Yet here he was ignoring all that just so that he could—what? Bond with the bloke who was going to help him win the election?
‘I won’t have strangers crawling through my house,’ she said. ‘Not even for you.’
Forbes flushed. ‘I’ve warned you about those flimsy locks. Pack up an overnight bag. You’re not staying here.’
He normally handled her resistance with a joke and a catalogue of the benefits she’d reap. If he’d done that now she might have given in, might even have agreed to these blunt demands if it wasn’t for Drummond watching them with an eagle eye.
She lifted her chin. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
Even as she said it memories of the previous night leapt forth: the suffocating glove, the solidity of the architrave when he smacked her head against it, the way Spirit, though limping, had bailed up the creep so that she’d nearly unmasked him.
‘You’re so bloody stubborn. What about that garden? An army could hide in those bushes, and that hedge out front blocks the view of the house from the street.’
She gripped her elbows against the sudden tremors that coursed through her body. ‘That was the point.’
‘You’re not spending another minute in this house. Pack a bag!’
‘Sorry. I won’t.’
‘Mina, it’s time to grow up. Accept Ronny Clarke’s offer on this place and get on with your life. In the meantime, you’re staying with me.’
‘This is my home.’
‘I admire your resolve,’ Drummond said, ‘but pig-headedness never saved anyone.’
Pig-headed! She felt naked. Exposed. Held up for inspection and found wanting. They were both treating her like a child, like she wasn’t capable of defending herself, or making a rational decision. Yet Forbes was the one stomping about the room, flying into a rage at the smallest resistance. And Drummond was no better. Patronizing. Arrogant. As untrustworthy as every other cop. You couldn’t trust cops. They would have all been better off if her mother had remembered that.
‘I don’t need to go anywhere.’
She squared her shoulders. Pain jagged through her torso and she suppressed another shudder at the memory of last night.
‘You are not staying here alone,’ Forbes said.
‘I’m not alone. I’ve got Spirit.’
‘Who the hell is Spirit?’
‘The frigging dog!’
She’d been through all that with him on the phone last night, but he’d been too distracted by Valerie bloody Smith to listen. She tightened the belt on her robe.
‘Make sure to close the door on your way out.’
§
Linc watched the dressing gown swirl around her slender ankles as she flounced to her bedroom door. Flounced? That was a word he hadn’t used in a while. It always made him think of his sister, when she was fourteen and angry at the world. Mina Everton had a decade on that, but her temper was just the same.
Forbes looked at his watch and muttered an oath. ‘I really have to push off. Look after my girl, all right?’
Phone jammed to his ear, issuing orders to someone called Baldwin, Forbes gave a final glance at
Mina’s closed bedroom door, raised worried eyebrows and left. For someone concerned about his girlfriend’s safety, he sure beat a hasty exit. The guy must be a real charmer, keeping Mina on the hook while he dangled the competition in her face. She’d gone all caustic when she mentioned the mistress, but the girl didn’t really seem to mind, unless Forbes had soothed her with whispered excuses and love sonnets while he smooched all over her bruises.
Whatever was between them, it wasn’t enough to keep Forbes from his meeting, or worry that he was leaving his girl in the hands of a virtual stranger. One she clearly loathed.
Linc scanned the living room. There were just enough soft furnishings to make it comfortable and her personality was stamped on every item. Yet there were no family photographs, not even of her precious Forbes. Something had happened here—the locks, the bruising—and she was an antique dealer. An antique dealer with considerable debts. It didn’t take a genius to connect the dots. Even if those dots were so far apart the picture was too abstract to mean anything. He headed for the stack of envelopes on the lamp table and noted down the details of her bank statement.
Beyond her bedroom door came the drone of a hairdryer.
He moved into the kitchen. Apart from the brushed stainless coffee machine with its variety of choices, the kitchen boasted a small scrubbed table topped by a glass bowl filled with a variety of fresh fruit. Lined up on the mantel above the boarded-up fireplace was a collection of colourful vintage toffee tins and a series of pale blue containers labelled ‘sugar’, ‘flour’, ‘tea’. Forbes had left the open milk carton on the counter next to the unsealed tin of coffee beans. The guy had hinted this was Mina Everton’s family home, but he certainly acted like it was his. According to the gossips at the community meeting, Forbes Monroe was rolling in money, but if her bills and the state of the kitchen were any indication, he didn’t spend much on his girlfriend.
Linc shoved the milk in the fridge then jammed the lid on the coffee tin and placed it in its allocated space on the mantel. Speculating wasn’t going to get him back to his job in Sydney.
Pieces of a Lie Page 3