by Sandy Vaile
The girl’s eyes expanded. She struggled, no doubt remembering the beating Mya gave Paula in the park. Blondie’s eyes filled with tears and she whimpered.
Mya let go of her wrist and took a step back. “Are you okay?”
“Leave me alone!” Blondie glanced over her shoulder.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” Mya took another step back.
“I don’t need your help. What the hell do you care anyway?” Bangles jangled on the girl’s forearm as she shifted from foot to foot, looking for an escape.
“I’m sure I’m the last person you want help from, but in my experience when a woman has a mark like that on her face, it’s from a bloke.”
Blondie frowned, stilled. She glanced over her shoulder again and then pushed past and ran along the bike track. Same old, same old—what people needed and wanted weren’t always the same.
Mya half expected to see a bloke in pursuit on Railway Terrace, but the street was empty. The only sounds were crickets clicking like the party favours at her fourth birthday party, and the hiss of a sprinkler. There were lights on in most of the houses, but not Luca’s.
The paper around her dinner was now slick. That was the last time she got sucked in by junk mail specials. Car headlights bounced on the road and she hurried to the footpath, watching it slow. She didn’t have a clue what kind of car Rhonda drove, or what the nutter was planning, but a drive-by shooting might be in the newspaper tomorrow.
She opened her now-functioning gate and turned to face the car, tensed to throw herself on the ground behind the fence. The car crawled to a halt and the driver’s window rolled down.
She held her breath. Step back. Step back.
“Hi, Mya.”
Luca’s smiling face came into view and she swallowed her panic down like a mouthful of Brussels sprouts. A flutter started in her stomach and gave her heart palpitations as it caught in her chest. Blondie’s problems could wait.
“Hi, Luca.”
“What you up to?” He hung a long arm out the window and drummed his fingers on the side of the door.
Yep, still nosy. Sexy, but too inquisitive for his own good. “I’m about to eat some grease for dinner.”
She shrugged the parcel forward to show him the semi-translucent paper. He had better not take it as an invitation. He’d seen the inside of her house for the first and last time.
“Anything sounds good to me. I’m starving. How are you feeling after last night?”
She narrowed her eyes when his gaze travelled briefly down the length of her body. Was he sniffing around for more of what he had this morning?
“Head still hurts,” she said bluntly.
“Maybe you should see a doctor.”
Yeah, or he could give her a sponge bath again. Whoa, that was a stupid idea out of fantasy land. The last thing she wanted was him in her house again. One-night stands, that was all she needed. Luca was going to be disappointed if he had something more in mind.
“I’ll be right,” she told him. “Was there something you wanted?”
“Oh yeah, I’m glad I caught you. Willy Mason was released from hospital this afternoon, so I wanted to tell you to watch your back.” His head disappeared into the car and she heard a ripping sound. A few seconds later he leaned out the window, arm extended. “Here’s my mobile number, just in case.”
A gentle breeze caught his soapy scent and wafted it across Mya’s face. An unwelcome vision of tangled limbs and his big bed surfaced.
“I’ll be fine.”
“I’d really feel better if you’d take it. I’m not expecting you to call or anything, but if you get into a sticky situation you can. If you need anything.”
She hesitated, returning Luca’s cool stare. Finally she stepped back through the gate and took the slip of paper. “See ya ’round.”
“Um, Mya …”
“Yes?” she snapped. Hell, she’d lost her lemonade and now her dinner was lukewarm. What now?
“Never mind. I’ll see you later.”
Mya pursed her lips and glared at the faded taillights as his car coasted home.
Chapter 17
It was just before nine a.m., so the Triumph was the only vehicle in the Rich Haven visitors’ car park. Mya’s hair was damp with sweat when she pulled her motorbike helmet off and placed it on the ground. The air was already oppressive, but the weatherman had predicted rain by the weekend. She tilted her face to the cloudless sky and doubted it.
She took the slate steps two at a time and tried the front door. Still locked, so she pressed a code onto the keypad and waited to hear the doors click unlocked. Hansi, a stiff-backed Sri Lankan security guard, shuffled across the reception foyer and, after recognition lit his eyes, lifted a cluster of keys dog-clipped to the belt loop on his pants.
“Good morning, Miss Jensen. You’re early today.”
“Hi, Hansi. Yeah, I just wanted to see Mum before work.”
He raised his left arm to check the time on a silver dive-watch. “It’s nearly nine anyway, so I’ll leave the door open. Don’t forget to sign in, please.”
Mya signed the visitor’s book on the reception desk and headed down the left hallway to door number thirty-two. She let herself in. Her mum was still asleep, and Mya let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. The letters from Rhonda, or whoever this nut was, had spooked her, but she felt better seeing her mum safe.
There was a desk in the corner, so she dragged its chair closer to the bed and sat. It was calming to watch her mum sleep. She looked like a regular forty-nine-year-old lying in bed, hair the colour of Werther’s caramels tangled around her face. With her fingertips, Mya gently stroked it back onto the pillow. Her mum’s lips were full and pink, but the dark circles under her eyes made her look tired all the time. Not tired from lack of sleep—more world-weary. The blankets moved up and down slightly with the rhythm of her breathing. She looked peaceful.
Someone had delivered her breakfast on a tray but must have decided not to wake her, so it was untouched. The wall clock ticked away half an hour and then it was time to kiss Rosalie’s forehead and go to work.
• • •
Luca nodded to a middle-aged woman being towed along the bike track by a white and tan Jack Russell.
He had seen Mya leave early this morning on her motorbike, and wanted to know where she had gone. It had been too early for a shift at the Croydon Hotel, but he’d still walked to the pub to check that she wasn’t there, although it made him feel a little creepy to admit.
He couldn’t marry the way he felt around her with his suspicions. Every time he looked out his house windows or stepped into the front yard, he hoped to catch a glimpse of her. It was ridiculous to be acting like a horny teenager, but he hadn’t felt this attracted to a woman in a very long time. He wanted to unravel the mystery that was Mya Jensen.
He ignored the bitter taste in his mouth that warned he was better off not knowing.
Mr. Reiner was pruning his immaculate front garden next to Luca’s house. They both waved. Friendly neighbours, except for the Masons. Once inside, Luca turned the kettle on and waited for his laptop to boot up. According to the thermometer on the kitchen window, the outside temperature was already thirty-five degrees Celsius. He made a mental note to turn the garden drippers on later.
With his mobile phone plugged into the laptop, he hit enter and waited for the photos to import. There were a few mail items in his inbox, but one in particular caught his attention. He had pulled a favour from a buddy in the Fraud Squad to fast track a copy of Mya’s financial records. “Call me,” it said.
“Hi, Nielsen, it’s Patterson. What’ve you got for me?”
“Hang on, let me open the file. Yes, Mya Jensen. Can’t say I found anything that stood out, other than the fact the report was sparse. Doesn’t have a credit card, no repayments, bank balance is $2,163.54.”
Not what Luca would expect from someone on the take, or someone keeping her mother in Rich Haven, where t
he fees must be astronomical. Certainly higher than a single girl working at a pub should be able to afford.
“No repayments?”
“Nope. Owns a property at twenty-one Railway Terrace outright and a vehicle.”
Considering she wasn’t yet thirty years old, that was a stretch when added with the Rich Haven fees.
“Any indication of how she came to pay off these assets?” he asked Nielsen.
“Let me see. It looks like there was a huge injection of cash in 2001. The money came from a trust account in the name of Jean Roach.”
Luca flicked through his notebook to find the page of information about Mya. Her mother received a traumatic brain injury in 1999. “Why would money in Jean’s name be transferred to Mya? Especially in a lump sum.”
“Let me see what it says here. Oh, it seems Mya Jensen was granted guardianship of a Rosalie Jensen. Hmm, there must’ve been a name change somewhere along the line.”
“Yeah, I know about that.”
Neil grunted his assent. “Most of the money went straight out to Rich Haven Aged Care facility.”
Luca was amazed that a teenager from an underprivileged home could make such smart financial decisions. Instead of blowing the dough, or buying herself a flash house in a nice suburb, Mya had made sure her mother was taken care of first.
“You still there?” Nielsen asked.
“Yeah, sorry. You said most of the money went to Rich Haven. What about the remainder?”
“Looks like she paid for the property at Railway Terrace outright and then nearly $20,000 went to a private account, which might indicate a vehicle.”
“One more thing, Nielsen. What’s her current status?”
“Looks like she has a steady but modest income. Half of her wages are direct debited by Rich Haven each month.”
So, Mya still took care of her mother first.
“You’ve been a big help. Thanks for pulling the file.”
“No worries. You can take me for a beer one Friday.”
“Sure thing.”
The enigma of Mya was slowly unravelling, although every step seemed to raise more questions. Right now he needed to focus on his investigation, but that didn’t put Mya out of his mind. It only made him more determined to figure out how she fit into this whole mess.
Luca clicked the camera icon on his laptop and opened the photo of the mail on Kevin Barnes’s kitchen bench. It was a bit dark, because the phone flash didn’t quite reach the distance, but with the zoom he could make out some of the details.
There was a vehicle registration renewal, but he couldn’t see the name or registration number, some junk mail, and an electricity bill in the name of Kevin Walker. So, Kevin was paying the bills. It must be his house.
There was no mail with Melanie Lane’s name on it, and he wasn’t authorised to put a tail on her yet—so he’d have to dig around some more. It meant more time sitting in his car until he figured out if she had her own place.
His mobile sang on the table beside him.
“Feel like visiting Pete’s Pawn Shop?”
These were Kate’s first words, no hello.
“Should I?”
“Pete himself called me this morning and said a woman was in his store two days ago looking for the necklace in the fax I sent.”
“A woman. What’s Pete’s address?”
“It’s on Blewitt Boulevard, 147 to be exact. I’m heading over there now,” Kate said.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t go in without me.”
“Will do.”
He rushed to change into his police uniform, strapped the utility belt and holster on, and shoved the muzzle of his standard-issue .40 Smith & Wesson compact pistol into its slot.
• • •
Luca angled his car into the parking space beside Kate’s police Commodore and they met on the footpath in front of Pete’s Pawn Shop.
“Let’s do this,” he said.
“What did you get up to last night?” Kate chewed her bottom lip.
“Later.”
A bell jingled above the door as they pushed their way through and an overweight man looked up from the newspaper he was reading. He had two black eyes. He scanned their uniforms and ran a hand over what little fly-away white hair remained.
Luca scrutinised the disarray of the shop interior. The right side had antiques: dusty, glass-fronted cabinets full of silver spoons and mismatched crockery, paisley-covered chairs with threadbare arms, gilt-framed oil paintings, and a copper diving helmet. The left side had modern junk: boxes of CDs, a rainbow of vases and beer steins, box-style computer monitors, and bookshelves spewing paperbacks.
Kate marched straight up to the counter. “Good morning. I’m Constable Derman—we spoke on the phone earlier—and this is Detective Patterson.”
Pete extended a flabby arm and shook her hand while his eyes travelled up and down her body. It made Luca want to position himself between the two.
Kate smiled. “I’d like to ask you a few questions about the jewelry you recognized.” She placed the original fax on the counter, facing Pete. “You said you had this necklace. Would you mind showing it to us?”
“I wouldn’t mind a bit, luv, but I ain’t got it no more.”
“Why?” Her voice went up an octave.
“The girl who was looking for it on Tuesday took it.”
Luca stepped up to the counter and Pete tilted back on his stool, crossing his arms in front of him.
“She bought it?”
“Nah, the bitch stole it. And a ring.”
“What did she look like?” Luca rested his hands on the counter as Kate wandered around the shop.
“Average height, good looking, brown hair, tight jeans, leather jacket, and she was carrying a motorbike helmet.”
“What colour was the helmet?”
Pete tilted his head to drain a can of lemonade into his mouth, and then scrunched and tossed it under the desk. “Red.”
Luca pictured Mya in her leather jacket and red helmet and his stomach knotted. “Did you see what bike she was riding?”
“Big red and black thing. Maybe a Triumph.” Pete looked pleased with himself.
Luca clenched his teeth. He didn’t like the way this was panning out at all. This case (or cases, he wasn’t sure yet) was turning into quite the conundrum.
He fixed Pete with a steady glare. “And what exactly did she do when she came into the shop?”
“She was acting real friendly and leaning over the counter and stuff, so we got chatting and that’s when she hit me.”
Luca looked up from the file. Mya was being overly friendly to Pete? There was something wrong with that picture and not just because it stirred a fire in his belly. He hadn’t seen Mya be friendly to anyone. Pete started flicking through the newspaper again and Luca slammed his hand onto it.
“We haven’t finished yet. What happened to your eyes?”
“That bitch did this.” Pete got to his feet and moved away from Luca’s scrutiny.
“Let me get this straight,” Luca said. “A girl came into your shop on Tuesday, beat you up, and took that necklace.”
“And a ring,” Pete mumbled. “She must have been an ex-cop or a black belt or something, because I didn’t get a punch in.”
Luca chewed on his bottom lip to suppress a smile. He’d seen Mya in action and knew how lethal she could be. It didn’t surprise him at all that Pete had two black eyes.
“Do you want to press charges?”
“Nope.” Pete smirked.
Luca figured as much.
Kate wandered over to the locked cabinets. “How did she get the necklace out of here?”
Pete dropped his gaze to the floor and shrugged. “She asked to see it, so I unlocked the cabinet.”
“Did she tell you why she wanted to see it?”
He straightened. “Not until after she had it. Said it was stolen, but the police were too lazy to do anything about it.” He glared at Kate.
&
nbsp; Luca stepped around the counter and stood uncomfortably close to Pete, getting a whiff of sweat-soaked fabric. He straightened his spine so all six feet three of him was towering over the other man. “Where’d you get the jewelry?”
Pete swallowed and swiped at the sheen of sweat on his forehead. “If I’d known this shit was gonna get me in so much trouble, I wouldn’t’ve taken it.” His back was against the wall now, literally.
“Tell me who sold it to you, or Constable Derman here is going to slap a set of police-issue bangles on you and take you down to the station for a chat.”
“Okay, you don’t have to get heavy. I’m just tryin’ to make a livin’ here.”
“Perhaps you should be more careful about who you buy jewelry from then,” Luca said.
“It was Willy Mason sold it to me. He brings me stuff all the time. I’ve never had any trouble before—”
Luca put his hands up and stopped Pete’s blather short. “Did you tell the woman who gave you those black eyes that?”
“Of course I did. She was hittin’ me.” Pete sagged onto the stool again.
“I’m going to talk to Willy Mason, and if he doesn’t corroborate your story, I’ll be back.”
• • •
Outside Pete’s Pawn Shop, Luca paced back and forth, while Kate stood silent.
Maybe Willy Mason came to Mya’s house the other night to silence her, because she found out about the scam, or she was already involved in it.
“Let’s get a drink and think this through,” he told Kate.
They headed across the road to a cafe with round, plastic tables under a bullnose veranda and settled in a quiet corner inside. Luca spread paperwork across the table. A waitress delivered two cappuccinos, a custard tart for Luca, and a chocolate doughnut for Kate.
“What’s going on?” Kate tore the top off a tube of sugar and stirred it into her cappuccino.
“I don’t know, but it’s tied to the Happy Vale scam.”
“You mean Rich Haven?” Kate frowned as Luca shook his head.
“I mean the same group that I suspected at Happy Vale Nursing Home has set up at Rich Haven and they’re stealing jewelry from little old ladies. But I don’t think that’s all.”