Inheriting Fear

by Sandy Vaile

  At the rear of the house, he peered through the glass sliding door. Kate was in the bright kitchen, so he tapped lightly. She nearly dropped the bowl she was lifting from an overhead cupboard. Hand on heart, she waved him in. She tossed two Weetbix into a bowl, poured enough milk on to almost cover them, and then sprinkled sugar over the top. “So, did you make alternative arrangements for Mya and Natalie?”

  “I’ve got a nice old couple on the outskirts of town who run a kind of halfway house-slash-bed and breakfast. They’ve agreed to help get Natalie on her feet, but she’ll have to pay board.”

  “Sounds fair,” Kate mumbled around a mouthful of pulped cereal.

  “They can’t take her until next week, but don’t worry—I’ve got Callum organizing something for tonight,” he added quickly. “Like I said on the phone last night, I want you on this taskforce as my right-hand man, or woman. I need you to link Kevin and Melanie to both the jewelry scam and the deaths at Rich Haven. Willy’s confession isn’t enough.”

  “We don’t know for sure there are suspicious deaths at Rich Haven.” She rinsed her bowl and slotted it into the dishwasher. “Could just be a coincidence.”

  Luca opened a buff folder on the bench top and flicked through the documents Beverly Aldridge had provided. “It may as well be, because there isn’t any evidence to the contrary. More specifically, there isn’t evidence, because no one was looking for it. Anyway, can you take this info about the recently deceased to the Fraud Investigation Squad so they can look for patterns? First thing Monday morning we’ll need a magistrate to approve a Bankers Record form so we can access financial records. There has to be some way to link these deaths.”

  “You’re clutching at straws. Coffee?”

  “Yes, please. It’s going to be very interesting to get the autopsy results for Rosalie.”

  “I know it’s none of my business, but do you know anything about Mya? From what you and Natalie told me, she sounds suspicious.” She held up a hand when he tried to interrupt. “I’m only asking because I’d hate to see you get dragged down with her.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Kate, but I did a background check and her bark is worse than her bite.” He glanced down the hall and lowered his voice. “She’s had a rough life.” He ignored Kate’s eye roll. “Her mother ended up in Rich Haven, because her father left the woman brain damaged. It’s no wonder she’s hostile and remote. As far as I can tell, she’s done nothing but take care of her mother and work hard over the last decade.”

  “Natalie said she’s got a reputation for being a lethal kickboxer.”

  “Yeah, she teaches it, but from what I’ve seen, she only fights when provoked.” He rested his elbows on the bench and straightened quick smart. Damn those cuts on his back hurt. There wasn’t any point getting frustrated with Kate; she was only laying out the facts and forcing him to think professionally—something he was finding increasingly difficult to do where Mya was concerned.

  “Did you get your injuries seen to?” Kate rubbed sleep from her eyes.

  “They’re minor, so there’s nothing to do but wait a few days until they scab over.”

  “So what’s on the agenda today?”

  “Well, you should take the day off. Don’t feel like you have to babysit Mya and Natalie. I’m off to Rosalie Jensen’s autopsy.”

  “Better you than me.” Kate grimaced.

  • • •

  Again, Mya woke in Kate’s spare bedroom. An arm and leg hung over one side of the single bed. Staying in it all day seemed justifiable, but she couldn’t. Too many questions needed to be answered, and the Rich Haven funeral director would want to confirm the funeral details, Luca would want a statement, and he’d probably want to know about Rhonda. If anyone could find out where Rhonda lived, surely it was him.

  With new enthusiasm, Mya got out of bed—still wearing yesterday’s undies and T-shirt, because Luca couldn’t find pajamas where there weren’t any—and checked out the pile of clean clothes on the cane chair. There were jeans, a couple of T-shirts, a blouse, tracksuit, and socks. She held a lacy bra-and-undie ensemble up. Trust a man to pick the skimpiest black lace she owned.

  Grabbing the toiletries bag, she quietly opened the bedroom door, intending to sneak to the bathroom before anyone saw her. Halfway down the hall she heard voices and crept closer.

  Kate’s question was barely audible. “What’s the Rich Haven director doing?”

  Luca answered her. “I told him Rosalie Jensen’s death is being treated as suspicious until such time as the autopsy proves otherwise, and, to get a jump on the situation, I expect him to cooperate with my team and let me know if he sees anything suspicious. Otherwise I’ll send in a larger team, and they’ll be a lot less discreet.”

  “Way to tread lightly. What about the jewelry?”

  “I told the director we’ve arrested someone for the theft and duplication of Rosalie’s jewelry but suspect a larger operation. He’s being very cooperative and has offered to contact the families of all the residents and ask them to authenticate items kept by residents, even if they look genuine.”

  “Excellent,” Kate said. “I need to blow dry my hair and get moving, because I’ve got a few chores to do today.”

  Mya jumped behind the nearest door, which happened to be the bathroom, and locked it. Standing barefoot on the cold tiles, she heard light footsteps halt and the handle rattle.

  “Sorry,” Kate called.

  Inside the toiletries bag Mya found a comb, but it would have been better if Luca had packed a WeedWacker to tame the mess that was her hair today. There was a toothbrush, facial moisturizer, and deodorant, but no makeup. It would’ve been in the cabinet with the other items, although she rarely bothered with it. Was he, by chance, a rare breed of man who preferred the natural look? Brownie point to Luca.

  Pinching a blob of Kate’s toothpaste, she rushed through the basics, in a hurry to quiz Luca. Now that she was more lucid, she had heaps of questions. One thing she couldn’t find in the bag was a hair band, and a search of the bathroom cabinet was fruitless, so she left her hair down.

  She tossed the bag under the sink and headed for the kitchen, calling, “Bathroom’s free” as she passed the master bedroom.

  Luca turned at the sound and smiled. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

  “Nine o’clock is not late on a Sunday, you freak.”

  He chuckled and busied himself filling the kettle and putting teabags into mugs. “I like your hair down.”

  That caught her off guard. She didn’t do pleasantries as a rule, but attempted to return the compliment. “I like the jeans/cop combo.” Okay, it sounded more sarcastic than complimentary.

  Through the thin fabric of his pale blue police shirt, she could see a higgledy-piggledy arrangement of bandages.

  A few scratches my arse. Did they hurt?

  Something red on the floor caught her eye. Her motorbike helmet was in front of the heater, visor up. “How did that get here?”

  “Oh, I had your motorbike transported back to your house, but the helmet was sitting in the rain, so the lining’s wet.”

  “You stuck my bike on the back of a truck?” Her jaw dropped at the thought of her pride and joy being manhandled by a courier.

  He laughed. “I rode it, actually.”

  “Oh.” She hadn’t picked him for a motorcyclist. That was thoughtful of him. “Can you give me a lift home today?”

  His smile disappeared. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “I’m not asking your permission. I just want a lift.”

  “Mya, someone tried to kill you yesterday.”

  Her breath caught at the harsh reality.

  “I’m organizing a motel room for a few days. Just until we figure this out.”

  With tight lips and narrow eyes, she squared her shoulders. “I’m not going to be intimidated.”

  Luca’s chest strained against his shirt as he straightened. “It’s not about running away. It’s about keeping
you alive. Besides, the door might be getting replaced today, but the place still stinks of smoke and needs repainting.”

  As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. It wasn’t smart to sit where Rhonda could find her. His face was stern, so she changed the subject.

  “Hey, do you know what happened at the pub last night? I was rostered on and didn’t phone them. In fact, I haven’t seen my mobile since yesterday.”

  “Don’t worry, here it is.” He pulled it from his back pocket and placed it on the bench. “I called the Croydon Hotel and let them know there’d been a death in the family”—he averted his eyes—“and said you won’t be in for at least a week. Then I figured you could do with some peace, so I held onto it. Besides, I thought the bomber might try to contact you.”

  “Did she?”

  He left the lid off the sugar and turned around. “Why do you say ‘she’?”

  “I told you yesterday I’ve been receiving threats and then a woman tried to run me off the road.”

  “You recognized the driver?”

  “Well, no, but I saw frizzy red hair. It’s got to be Rhonda.”

  “I’m sure you think so, but I’m going to need a little more to go on. What kind of threats?” He took a pen from an assortment in a purple plastic holder beside the phone. The jet engine sound of a hair dryer started in the bathroom.

  “So far there have been notes and the four-wheel drive.”

  “Okay, so why don’t you explain who this woman is and why you think she’s making these threats to you specifically.”

  “After Cockroach died—”

  “Cockroach?”

  “Oh, I mean Jack Roach, my father. Anyway, this woman turned up about a year later, saying he was her father, too. She wanted to know all kinds of stuff about him and me.”

  “And that’s when you changed your name.” He grimaced and shrugged, looking suitably sheepish.

  So, he’d done a background check. Not surprising for a detective, but what other little secrets had he discovered? The last thing she needed was him thinking he knew her, or worse, throwing a pity party for her lousy childhood. It had taken sheer willpower to create her new life, and no crazy stalker bitch or nosy cop was going to take it away.

  He put the pen down, grabbed milk from the door of the fridge, and left it open while he poured. He squeezed the teabags between the teaspoon and his thumb and stirred slowly, thoughtfully, then slid a mug to Mya.

  “Why do you think Rhonda wants to kill you?”

  Nice subject change, Luca.

  “I’m not sure, but she was irate when she turned up the first time. If she thinks Cockroach was her father, then maybe she thinks I owe her something. I guess I don’t need to explain what he did to Mum, or how I inherited his estate.” Yeah, you ought to look guilty, buddy.

  “And you never heard Jack mention a previous wife, or children?”

  Mya shook her head.

  “I’ll look into it. The probate office would have checked for and notified any living family, so I don’t see how Rhonda’s claim could be true. She might just have found out that you were coming into an inheritance and thought an eighteen-year-old was an easy target. Still, I can’t see that as motivation enough to … do anything to Rosalie.”

  Luca tapped a finger on the kitchen counter. “There was something else I wanted to talk to you about. Are you planning on leaving Adelaide?”

  Her whole body tensed. “You know I’ve applied to Deed Poll, don’t you?”

  One small nod confirmed the extent of his prying. “Mya, you’re part of my investigation now and I need to know that you’re not going to disappear. Tell me what you’re running from.”

  “Nothing now, you idiot. I obviously didn’t vanish fast enough for Mum. So sorry to inconvenience your investigation.”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I need to know where you are so I can keep you safe.”

  She slumped onto a barstool and stared into her tea. There was nothing in the world she wanted to do more than visit her mum today. Take her for a walk around the lake and brush her hair, but she wouldn’t be able to visit her again. Ever. It felt like she’d lost her twice.

  The numbness and shock had worn off. Now there was white-hot pain deep inside her. Everything dear to her had been stripped away, and it felt like her skin had been flayed from her body one agonizing sliver at a time.

  She wrapped her arms around her body to hold it together. Tears prickled her eyes and she blinked them back. Luca had seen enough yesterday. The last thing she wanted was to have to run to the bedroom and hide.

  “I need you to give me all the information you can about Rhon—”

  She looked up to see why he’d stopped speaking. A traitor tear rolled down one cheek and she swiped it away with the back of her hand.

  “I’m sorry if I’m talking about this in a matter-of-fact way. Mya—” He waited until she looked at him again. “I want to get to the bottom of this, but I understand if you can’t tell me everything today.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course. I know what it’s like to lose someone you care about. We’ll talk again this evening.”

  Her shoulders sagged with relief and she felt him move closer. Warmth radiated from his body with an aroma that made her feel safe and excited at the same time.

  “Who did you lose?” she whispered.

  His face turned away minutely. “It was my wife, seven years ago.”

  She counted backward. That would put him in his mid-twenties. So young to have been married and lost someone, but she knew all about losing everything when you were young. “I’m sorry. What happened?”

  Luca sighed deeply. “We were married for a couple of years when Olivia discovered a lump in her breast.”

  “Oh.” There really wasn’t much more to say.

  A finger touched gently under her chin, raising her gaze. There was something almost pained in Luca’s eyes and his gaze slid down to her lips. Kiss me already. No, that won’t help clear my mind.

  Whoa, it was getting a bit serious here. Time for a subject change. “How did you get the scar on your lip?”

  His arm dropped to his side. “I stepped between a bully and my seven-year-old cousin on the way home from school one day.”

  A born protector.

  “How old were you?”

  “Ten. As you can see, I had more attitude than brawn. The bully hit me in the face. Split my lip right open. I know it’s ugly.” He shrugged back from her.

  She reached to trace the faint line and rested the tip of her finger on his lips. “No, it makes you look authentic. Anyway, you have the brawn to match the attitude now.”

  “Maybe.”

  Without another word, he picked up his file and headed for the back door. As the sliding door clicked shut, Mya noticed his mug of tea on the bench, still full.

  Chapter 29

  Luca knocked on the mortuary door and looked through the glass insert at shaggy, walnut-coloured hair. The forensic pathologist looked up from his reading and waved Luca in.

  The air inside was cool, and Rosalie Jensen’s naked body was face up on the gleaming steel table, which rested on a central support column. She looked peaceful, except for the telltale tag on her big toe. The pathologist and his assistant wore stern expressions, so Luca dropped the polite smile and switched to studying the slip-resistant PVC floor. Random black spots made it look like someone had spilled paint. He hadn’t worked with this particular pathology team before, so wasn’t sure what to expect. Most were casual, but some liked to assert their authority.

  He offered a hand to the forensic pathologist, who reciprocated with a firm grasp. The skin on the man’s hand was smooth, his nails clean and trimmed, but his face looked like it had been parched in the sun too long and developed tiny fissures in the surface.

  “Patterson, I’m Milton Eggles.” His voice was as rough as gravel underfoot. He didn’t bother introducing his assistant, but the man nodded at Luca.

>   “Have you had time to go over my notes, doctor?” Luca tried hard not to wrinkle his nose against the overpowering smell of stale tobacco that emanated from the pathologist.

  Eggles opened a buff manila folder and resumed reading. “There didn’t appear to be anything suspicious in the room where the deceased was found … but the next of kin insisted on a post-mortem. Correct?”

  “Yes. My—um, the next of kin recently received threats and believes her mother was murdered, but there was no obvious sign of a struggle and I didn’t find anything that looked out of place in the room.”

  “Hmm.” Eggles swapped the folder for a bound booklet of photographs with Central Crime Scene printed on the front, along with the case number. “The body looks posed.” He glanced up. “Nursing home staff?”

  “Yes. The nurse who found the body repositioned it slightly for the next of kin to view. However, she did say Rosalie’s head was tilted to the right, arms by her side, one leg bent.”

  “And the deceased had an existing TBI?”

  Yep, Jack Roach had given her a traumatic brain injury, all right. “Despite the fact that the next of kin’s suspicions are currently unsupported, I’d like as much evidence as possible preserved, because the body will be cremated.”

  Eggles pulled a metal glove over the latex one on his left hand and then added another layer of blue latex over the top. He reached up to switch on a sound-recording device that hung from the ceiling.

  “Shall we get started?”

  Luca stepped to the foot end of the table so he could watch the post-mortem without getting in the way. Although he’d never actually met Rosalie Jensen, knowing she was someone Mya cared about made it feel almost like watching someone he knew. His stomach roiled.

  It also made him more determined to find out what had happened.

  With hawk-like eyes and nimble fingers, Eggles inspected between each toe and methodically moved up the front of the body, swabbing orifices, taking scrapings from under nails, peering in the crooks of elbows and between fingers. The technician took photographs and handed equipment to Eggles as evidence needed collecting.