by Sandy Vaile
He studied the photo in the silver frame on the kitchen window sill, even though he could describe it with his eyes closed. Olivia’s face was etched into his mind. He remembered when Gabe took the photo. Olivia wore a cheeky grin, because she’d stolen Luca’s cupcake and he was chasing her around the backyard. Her wide mouth had the most contagious, melodic laugh, her blue eyes sparkled at him, and her short, dark hair stuck out in a fun, elfish style. He grinned hugely. He couldn’t help himself. With one finger, he traced the blush of her lips—how yielding they’d been when kissed. He closed his eyes and imagined the feel of her silken cheek against his.
Linkin Park’s One Step Closer emitted from his mobile phone on the kitchen bench and he flipped it open. “Kate.”
“Hi, Luca. Hope it’s not too early to call you.”
“You’d think I’d get the hang of sleeping in after two weeks on holiday, but no such luck.”
“You could try actually not working.”
“Very funny. You sound like my family.”
“I’ve been in touch with the Rich Haven director this morning, and there has only been one reported theft. However, he did confirm there have been sixteen deaths in the past nine months, which is higher than usual.”
“Hmm.” Luca clamped the phone between his ear and shoulder, tipped milk down the sink, and washed his bowl.
“Eight of them had no living relatives.”
“Very interesting.” His gut constricted. It had been the same at Happy Vale Nursing Home. No relatives and no suspicious circumstances meant no autopsy, but he didn’t believe it meant no foul play.
“Any suspicions raised?” he asked.
“No. I also asked the director about Kevin’s and Melanie’s résumés, and he assured me he called their references. So I decided to call too—just for the hell of it—and the numbers are all disconnected.”
“Kate, that’s excellent work, but don’t forget about looking for pawn shops that are moving stolen goods, too.” Luca sighed; Moss would put a foot up his arse when he found out Kate was working on his obsession instead of their current case.
“I’m not, sir, just doing my job. Anyway, my theory is someone manned pre-paid phones especially to get Kevin and Melanie these jobs.”
“Did you find out anything about the type of jewelry stolen, or from whom?”
“No, sir. I’ll look into it tomorrow.”
“Okay, talk to you then.”
Luca tucked his mobile into his top pocket. There was some legwork to do tomorrow, to find out who the hell Melanie Lane and Kevin Barnes really were, but today was family time.
• • •
Mya walked her motorbike back on tiptoes until the rear tire bumped the curb and then kicked the stand down and turned off the ignition. She threaded her forearm through the face of the helmet and took it with her. Yesterday she went to four second-hand shops, and this was the fifth one she’d been to during her split-shift today. It was a long shot that her mum’s jewelry would be sold so close to home, but worth a try. She checked her watch. Half an hour before she had to be back at work.
Pete’s Pawn Shop was squeezed between a laundromat and a news agency on Blewitt Boulevard. A bell jingled above the door when she pushed it and a potbellied man with white hair looked up from a Post magazine. His gaze traveled from Mya’s head, lingered on her chest, moved down to her stained combat boots, and then brought his attention back to the magazine.
She wasn’t interested in the trash or treasure he was selling, only her mum’s jewelry, so she marched straight to the counter. Pete—she presumed—dragged his eyes from the page to her face with a sour look, like she’d interrupted the most riveting article he’d ever read. Yeah, right.
“I’m looking for a necklace and ring,” she told him.
“The jewelry’s over there.” He flicked a thumb over his left shoulder and raised the magazine in front of his face again.
“Look, Pete.” Mya tapped the cover and leaned forward. “I’m looking for very specific stuff. It would have been pawned in the last month.”
Pete slapped his magazine on the counter and folded his arms. On closer inspection, his eyes narrowed. “What’s it look like?”
“A silver chain with a little bottle pendant on it and a gold solitaire ring with a real diamond.”
Pete put both hands on the counter to lever his hefty frame off the stool and grunted his way over to the jewelry section. He scanned the glass cabinets and finally pulled a tangle of keys from his pocket to unlock one.
“Here.” His chubby fingers fumbled a delicate item from the cabinet and dropped it into her open palm.
Her heart skipped a beat as a long silver chain spilled between her fingers, leaving a cool, heavy, silver vial behind. Trying not to look too excited, she twisted the tiny crystal ball on the lid. Click. Holding her breath, she turned it over. A breath of relief whooshed out. She tapped the vial on the side of her hand and a central cylinder slid out, dropping a sliver of paper into her palm. Using only the slightest pressure of one finger, she unrolled the paper to reveal a sepia photograph of her Grandma and Grandpa on their wedding day.
“Shit, didn’t know that was in there.” Pete edged closer, and Mya scrunched her nose at the odour of stale smoke.
“And the ring?”
Pete shrugged. “I’ve got lots of solitaire rings. Knock yourself out.” He waved a plump hand towards the next cabinet.
The glass looked like it had never been cleaned, but she peered inside at the rows of gold rings, skipping anything that wasn’t a solitaire. It only took a few minutes to locate Rosalie’s. It was the only one with a delicate web of gold cradling the stone.
“That one.” She pointed.
He shuffled over, flipped through his handful of keys again, and unlocked the cabinet.
“Thanks.” She loaded her gratitude with as much sarcasm as she could muster and turned the ring over to check for the engraving. “Ádh na nÉireannach,” she mumbled. Without another glance at Pete, she headed for the door.
“Hey, wait a minute.” A quick shuffle, accompanied by rhythmic grunts followed.
She turned to meet him head on, watching a bead of sweat roll down his temple.
“You have to pay for those.”
“Now that’s where you’re wrong, Pete.” She sidestepped to the counter, placed her helmet on it, and then tucked the jewelry into her pocket. “You see, these are already mine.”
Pete shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable, and she doubted it was just because his arse had a permanent imprint of the stool in it. A growl rumbled in the back of his throat as he sidled behind the counter and rested his belly on it.
“Look, missy, if you want the jewelry, you gotta pay for it. If you think it’s stolen, then you gotta go to the police.”
“I went to the police, but they’re too lazy to do the legwork. I, on the other hand, am highly motivated. Now, you’re gonna let me take the jewelry and tell me who sold it to you.”
“Ha! Like hell I am.” Pete’s arm appeared from behind the counter, a long iron bar grasped in his hand.
She jumped back instinctively, but he was bulky and slow. She slid one foot back and softened her knees while Pete came around the counter, slapping the iron bar on his open hand for effect. The only effect it had was to piss her off. Big men who thought they could bully women were not high on her sympathy list.
“Why don’t you tell me where you got this stuff from, and I won’t have to get blood on my T-shirt. It’s not due for a wash until tomorrow.” She tugged at the cuffs of her leather jacket, slid it off, and threw it on the nearest cupboard. It was her rule to never start a fight, but she had kind of thought it might go like this.
There was a film of sweat on Pete’s upper lip as he swung the bar like he was bowling over-arm. Mya sidestepped and it whistled past her shoulder and smashed a sideboard, sending splinters of china 360 degrees. A fragment lodged in the back of her hand and left a pinprick in her s
kin when she pulled it out. Pete sniggered. He lowered the bar, maybe expecting her to turn and run.
Sorry to disappoint.
She didn’t wait for him to put the bar in motion again, but leapt at him fist first. It connected with his left eye and he staggered backward.
“You bitch!” With his left hand covering the watering organ, he pointed the iron bar at her again. It was useless if not in motion.
“So, how about you ’fess up who sold the stuff, and I’ll get out of your shop before anything else gets broken.”
His neck turned red, sweat dripped from his face, and he looked like he might boil and blow his top any minute. With a hand still over one eye, he lunged and raised the bar at the same time. It sideswiped Mya’s elbow and hurt like hell. He kept it moving and it was all she could do to raise her arm and deflect the next blow. She yelped as pain sliced down her forearm and snatched the breath from her lungs.
Now wasn’t the time to act like a weakling, so she mentally repeated the mantra she saved for difficult times.
I am strong and in control of my destiny. I am strong and in control of my destiny.
This time when Pete circled the iron bar in her direction, she jumped back and clenched her abdominal muscles as it almost hooked the fabric of her T-shirt, but didn’t catch.
The momentum of the swing threw Pete off balance, so she made her move. She stepped back with one foot, and then brought it forward and high. The ball connected with Pete’s solar plexus, spittle sprayed from his mouth, and he slumped forward with a satisfying grunt. The bar clanged to the floor. It was a bad move to leave himself unprotected in a fight he started.
“Where did you get this stuff from?”
“Piss off,” Pete gasped.
She jabbed her fist into his right eye. A puff of dust came up from the rug as he dropped to his knees, both hands cupped over his face. She stepped back and relaxed.
“It’s a guy brings a lotta stuff in here,” he mumbled. “A regular.”
“No good without a name. I’m gonna trash your shop next.” She tipped the nearest tea cup onto the floor to back up the promise. He flinched as it shattered on the floor.
“If I tell you, I won’t get his business anymore. He brings me real quality stuff.”
His nose and eyes were leaking down his ruddy face and the stench of fearful sweat was strong. A guttural growl rumbled in Mya’s throat; it was time to take a few deep breaths. Even Pete didn’t deserve the full force of her anger unleashed on him.
With an edge to her voice, she spelled out his options. “If you don’t tell me his name, you won’t be doing any business anymore. You understand me?”
The man swallowed hard and rubbed his eyes tenderly. “Will you piss off if I give you a name?”
“Yep.”
“And never come back?” He was pushing his luck.
“Maybe. Unless the name you give me is no good.”
“It’s Willy Mason, and I don’t wanna see you near here again.”
Her mouth dropped open, wide enough to fit a whole coconut macaroon in. She hadn’t thought her sorry neighbour was smart enough to tie his own shoelaces, let alone flog expensive jewelry from a closed facility and on-sell it. She snatched her leather jacket and helmet from the counter and got the hell out of there, confident that Pete wouldn’t follow, because he couldn’t see shit.
Chapter 10
“Gabe?” Luca called as he opened the gate at the side of his brother’s house. He made his way past a tool shed and into the cool climate of a lush shade house along the length of the carport.
“Down here.” Gabriel Patterson’s voice came from behind the house.
Luca followed a path encroached by delicate baby tears, passed a trickling pond, pushed aside the perforated leaves of a monstera, and re-emerged into bright sunlight. On the other side of an expanse of mowed lawn, a dolomite trail curved like a grey snake beside the back fence, ending at a pallet of beige keystone blocks. From behind it protruded two dusty legs and a pair of work boots.
Gabe knelt in the dirt, hands down a shallow hole, mumbling curse words. Straight blond hair that was short at the back and long in the fringe hung over his eyes. His skin was darkly tanned from years working outdoors.
“You couldn’t make it straight?” Luca motioned to the serpentine base for the retaining wall he’d come to help build.
“The missus likes curves. Besides, I’ve got you to cut the blocks.” Gabe laughed and pushed loose soil into the hole before jumping lithely to his feet to hug Luca. He might be younger, but was several centimetres taller. “’Bout time you got here. I was worried I’d have to build this thing myself. Hey, I hired you a brick saw.” He pointed to a big yellow contraption on the footpath.
“I would’ve thought you’d get enough of working in other people’s gardens,” Luca gibed.
The family horticulturalist had his own landscaping business and was a genius at converting dead garden space.
“Let’s get this show on the road.” Luca grabbed a keystone block, knelt beside the dolomite base, and banged it into place with a rubber-headed mallet. He rested a spirit level on top and tapped one edge to adjust the block. “And where’s Quinton?”
“Big brother’s too important to build retaining walls, mate. He’s kicking some corporate arse in court today.” Gabe dropped the next block in place and let Luca bang it down.
“How are the wedding plans coming along?”
Gabe shook his head. “It’s all colour coordination and money, man. Bree gets stressed out, but I know how to relax her.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Luca jabbed an elbow in Gabe’s side, leaving a grey smudge on his T-shirt, but his brother raved on.
“Auntie May is driving me crazy worrying about the seating arrangement. She doesn’t want to be near Uncle Ralph, because he’s ‘loud and obnoxious’ when he drinks.” Gabe used his fingers to quote her. “And she can’t sit next to the in-laws because she ‘just wouldn’t feel right.’ There’s a lot to be said for eloping.”
“You wouldn’t dare. Mum would never forgive you and Quinton’s already planning the buck’s night, you know.”
“Should I be worried?” Gabe rested a dusty hand on his hip.
“Hell, yes, but I’ll make sure he doesn’t shave anything or leave you in another state.”
“Hey, how’s the holiday going?”
Luca made a small clicking sound in the roof of his mouth.
“You haven’t.” Gabe glared at him.
Luca shrugged and banged another block down. “I got a lead on the nursing home case, so I’ve been doing a bit of work here and there.”
“That’s not the idea of a holiday. Besides, I thought that case was dead in the water. In fact, I remember you being pissed when the inspector told you to drop it.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve mostly got Kate doing the legwork, so he can’t complain.”
He ignored Gabe’s deep sigh, threw a pair of earmuffs at him, and put another pair over his own ears. With goggles and leather gloves in place, he turned on the brick saw. Gabe twisted the tap and water trickled over the diamond blade as it spun. In a smooth motion, Luca fed a thick block into the saw at an angle and pulled it back out. The angled cut would start the curve of the retaining wall.
As the brick saw slowed, Gabe placed a dusty hand on Luca’s forearm. “You’re not going against the grain again, are you?”
Luca shrugged the hand off.
“Luca, I’m only asking because I care.”
“I know. Look, I let Moss know what I’m doing. I’m just following a lead, nothing risky. Okay?”
Gabe nodded, his lips twisted into an unconvincing grimace.
Luca knelt to place the cut block and changed the subject. “I’ve got a good-looking neighbour that Quinton’s interested in.”
“Quinton’s interested in anything with tits,” Gabe mumbled. He took a swig from a water bottle and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, leaving a ceme
nt-coloured streak. “Maybe you should chase her? Not far to go when you want some.” He sniggered.
“Too close for comfort.” Luca adjusted the level of the block.
“Yeah, and you’re not the one-night-stand type, are you? Maybe Bree can set you up with one of her girlfriends.”
“I don’t think I’ll be that lucky twice.”
Gabe put his tools down. With a hand on Luca’s shoulder, he looked him in the eye. “You deserve to find love again, but it won’t happen if you don’t put yourself out there.” Quietly he added, “It doesn’t mean you love Olivia less.”
“I took her for granted.” Something strangled the breath in Luca’s throat as he admitted it aloud. Sure, he’d punished himself for years about not doing enough for his wife, but this was the first time he’d verbalised it.
“Enough self-loathing already!”
That wasn’t the response Luca expected. Pity maybe, sympathy definitely, but not a rebuke. He stayed on his knees and stared at the ground. After a minute Gabe offered a hand to pull him to his feet.
“Let’s have a beer before we start the second row,” his brother suggested gently.
Chapter 11
The night air was hot and humid as Mya walked home from the Croydon Hotel and, according to the Bureau of Meteorology, there was no rain in sight. Her legs ached after a particularly busy shift. The usual Tuesday crowd had been boosted by a darts tournament.
It was midnight, but a full moon lit the bike track. All she wanted was to ditch her work clothes and jump in the shower. The stench of deep fryers had a way of getting in so deep that it took a double shampoo to get it out of her hair.
She counted each boot clomp to keep her mind from the shadows. She liked it better when she was kept busy because it didn’t give her time to stew over the letter or think about what had happened at Pete’s Pawn Shop earlier today. She had considered, for a millisecond, telling the cops. Not much point now, because they’d only ask a lot of questions about how she got the stuff back.
Then there was the problem of Willy Mason being the one to sell her mum’s ring and necklace. If she hadn’t already had a run-in with his daughter, Paula, she might bang on their front door and have it out right now. No, better to mull this one over and come up with a proper plan.