Inheriting Fear

by Sandy Vaile

  He knocked on the window and she wound it down.

  “Thanks for sharing the information. I’ll get Davey to chase it down.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said.

  “Are you going back to the apartment now?”

  “No.” The prompt rise of colour up his throat made her smirk. “I have an appointment at Rich Haven, remember?”

  “Oh, with the funeral director, that’s right. Are you sure you don’t want me to come along for moral support?”

  A short shake of the head, and she turned the engine over. End of conversation.

  • • •

  As soon as Mya was out of sight, Luca dialed Davey to relay the partial plate number. Damn, Mya was infuriating, but there was no denying that she’d just outmaneuvered him. Her redhead theory was looking more likely. Kate needed to work double-time on finding out where Rhonda Roach was.

  This mess was getting stickier by the minute. Every fact he acquired made the resolution seem further away instead of closer. What he was sure of was that he needed to put all of these elements together before another body turned up—like Mya’s. But rudimentary bombs and childish threats still didn’t seem to fit with stealth murders.

  • • •

  The car on the side road rolled forward and Mya swerved to avoid being knocked off her motorbike. She immediately felt silly, because she wasn’t on the Triumph, but behind the wheel of Kate’s gold Torana. The tires squealed and the driver of the other vehicle gave her a funny look.

  Driving a car felt strange. At least it was a manual, which made her feel more at home. Luca had warned her to go straight to Rich Haven and back, no side trips.

  Bossy cop.

  She squinted into the morning sun as the car banged over speed humps. Dozens of people walked in the manicured gardens with their elderly relatives in wheelchairs and walking frames. A lump stuck in her throat. On a day like today, she would’ve taken her mum to the lake for sure.

  She’d let Rosalie down in the worst way. The least she could do was face the consequences.

  Her feet dragged across the pavement of the car park, as though conspiring with her resolve, to keep her from the task ahead. An undertaking that would make her worst nightmare real.

  The colours of the building were vivid in the bright light—tabby-cat stone walls, black filigree, and white-washed quoins. Too cheerful for today’s mission. A lump momentarily choked her.

  No, she could do this.

  The smile evaporated from Beverly Aldridge’s face when she looked up. Mya’s cheeks burned with the memory of her vociferous collapse and accusations two days ago. Hell, it felt like forever ago.

  “Hi, Bev. I’m here to see the funeral director.”

  The older woman tilted her head and offered a sympathetic smile. “I’ll call her down.”

  “Do I need to sign in?” It felt weird asking, but she didn’t know what the protocol was now that …

  “If you don’t mind.” Bev dialed the phone.

  Mya signed the register and took a seat, hands clasped on her lap. It was stupid to feel self-conscious. She’d been coming here for nearly a decade. A few minutes later a fifty-something woman in a navy skirt-suit appeared from the eastern hallway. She beamed with a set of too-perfect teeth, like she was having the time of her life. Her perky, Jane Fonda hairstyle had wedding quantities of hairspray holding every crunchy piece in place.

  “Miss Jensen, I’m Penny Oliver, the resident funeral director. I’m sorry for your loss. Why don’t we go into the boardroom, so we can have some privacy?”

  Penny’s steps were quick and short as she laboured against her tight skirt and ten-centimetre heels. Mya followed in jeans and sandshoes.

  “You really are lucky that Rosalie had the forethought to pre-arrange her funeral.”

  Mya didn’t bother correcting her. She’d arranged it herself, after some prompting from Bev. Never did she have the chance to ask her mum what she wanted.

  Penny continued to chatter. “It’s not something people want to think about when they’re healthy, but it’s inevitable. Believe me, it saves family members a lot of heartache when the time comes.”

  What she wouldn’t give to stick her toe in front of Penny’s stilettos and watch the perky woman sprawl on the carpet. Instead Mya pressed her lips tighter together.

  The boardroom was almost bigger than her house, with a dark wood table and twenty-two high-backed chairs around it. Penny held out a chair at the end, where there was a silver tray with water glasses on it. Then she angled into her own seat, uncomfortably close to Mya. She produced a crisp sheet of paper from a leather compendium.

  “Now, I need to check the information compiled eight years ago.” Penny droned on about the chapel, music, readings, flowers, and the cremation.

  None of it would bring her mum back. It was all Mya could do to stop herself from covering her ears and screaming. Her gaze drifted to the window and the manicured gardens. A decade of memories, yet she hoped she’d never set foot in the place again after the funeral.

  “Are you sure you don’t want a priest to say a few words?”

  With her attention focused on the slender canes of a willow tree swaying in the breeze, Mya said, “What’s the point? No God ever watched over her while she was alive.”

  “Or a wake?”

  “Mum’s gone. No amount of wasting money will bring her back.”

  “It’s a good way to say goodbye. You don’t have to have an open casket or anything.”

  “There’s no one to come but me.”

  The funeral director sighed and offered Mya a tissue.

  She hadn’t realized she was crying. “I’ll say goodbye to her, but no wake.”

  “And I believe we’re waiting on the coroner’s office to release the body.”

  Mya flinched. “Yes.”

  “Okay, there’s nothing more I need. I can assure you, your mother’s funeral will be dignified and tranquil.”

  They shook hands, and Mya hurried to get the hell out of there.

  Chapter 33

  Luca watched the pathology technician open a stainless steel door on the mortuary refrigerator and slide Rosalie Jensen’s body halfway out. Eggles bent to study her face through a lighted magnifying glass.

  “There are three faint peri-mortem bruises on her left cheek, vaguely oval in shape. Ruler, please.”

  The assistant handed it over.

  “Evenly spaced, approximately two centimetres apart, but not in a straight line. Detective, would you like to take a closer look?”

  Luca stepped forward to examine the bruises. The centre mark was closer to the nose and the right mark the farthest away. “What do you think caused them?”

  “Hmm.” The pathologist moved the magnifying glass over the area again. “I’m not sure.” He tilted Rosalie’s head to the right. “There’s another bruise here.” He pointed to a butterfly-shaped mark halfway down the side of her neck.

  “Looks like an ink blot. It’s not like any weapon mark I’ve seen before.” Luca imagined what would make this configuration of bruises.

  Eggles photographed it.

  “Wait!” Luca gasped. “May I try something?”

  “Be my guest.”

  Luca slipped on a pair of blue latex gloves. He forgot to breathe through his mouth and the persistent scent of decay stuck between his teeth. He huffed it back out. With his head tilting from one side to the other, he still couldn’t piece together the situation that might have unfolded in Rosalie’s bedroom. He spread the fingers of his left hand and touched her cheek. The oval bruises almost exactly matched his fingertips.

  “Yes, you’re right,” Eggles agreed, “but what about the neck?”

  Luca positioned his left hand and arm in various directions, but nothing aligned.

  “What about this?” Eggles stood beside Rosalie’s head. “If I were going to inject someone behind the ear, I would …” He touched fingertips to her left cheek and lowered his palm over the but
terfly bruise. “That’s it.”

  They exchanged a knowing look. Rosalie resisted, so her assailant had to hold her face. Without being asked, the assistant handed over a measuring tape and his boss measured the distance between the palm and fingerprints.

  “This will give us an idea of the size of the assailant’s hand.”

  “Looks short enough to be a woman,” Luca speculated.

  Hell, Mya might just be right about Rosalie being murdered. In that case, he needed to keep an even closer eye on her. It was reasonable to assume the perp would want to finish off what the bombing didn’t accomplish.

  • • •

  The apartment was empty when Mya returned from Rich Haven. She flopped face first onto the too-hard bed. There were decades of memories of her mum, and they were all she had now. So many events had machinated to bring her to this point in her life, but she couldn’t regret them all. Without the pain and tears and degradation, she wouldn’t have had this much time with her mum.

  She’d once felt sorry for Cockroach after his mother died from a burst appendix. No one found her until it was too late. An appendix seemed too small and insignificant an organ to cause such a catastrophe in their lives.

  Mya had been too young to really understand his grief, but now she owned it. The clogged feeling between her ears, the hollowness in her chest, the gut-wrenching pain of losing the most important person in her life. It was no wonder Jack had been unable to love the people who were still in his life. Self-preservation was a powerful thing.

  Rosalie had wanted to live. Mya had seen it in her eyes. If only she could be sure her mum hadn’t known what was happening to her in the end, and hadn’t suffered.

  The stench of disinfectant from Rich Haven lingered on her skin, and the pillow beneath her face smelled of an unfamiliar detergent. She used it to muffle a scream.

  After the funeral she was going home, no matter what Luca said. She wouldn’t live in fear. Rhonda could go to hell. There was nothing more the bitch could take from her anyway. Better still, she’d hunt her down and make sure the redhead never hurt anyone ever again.

  She must have lain on the bed for a long time, because by the time her eyes and mind came back into focus, the sun was low enough to blind her through the window. A flock of pink and grey galahs fossicked on the lawn for insects. They took flight in a swirl of hoarse squawks as a car pulled up.

  Car doors shut and the front door of the apartment opened. Luca, Kate, and Natalie were talking in the kitchen. A kettle boiled and then the bedroom door opened.

  “Would you like a cuppa, Mya?” Kate asked.

  For a moment she seriously considered pretending to be asleep. “No, thanks.”

  “I picked up some dinner. Thought it’d be good to eat together, so we can go over what we found today.”

  “I don’t want dinner. I don’t want anything.”

  The door closed with a soft click and footsteps retreated down the hall.

  • • •

  “Is Mya all right?” Luca asked as Kate reappeared.

  “Hard to tell. She wants to be alone and doesn’t want dinner.”

  “I knew someone should’ve gone with her to Rich Haven.” He shook his head.

  “She’s independent, Luca. There has never been anyone else to rely on.”

  Kate pulled Indian food from a plastic bag and dumped it in the middle of the dining table while Luca searched the cupboards for plates and cutlery.

  Natalie pointed the remote control at the TV and flopped onto the couch. Had she always watched this much TV? It couldn’t be healthy. He sniffed his hands. The stench of powder-coated latex gloves lingered, so he washed them yet again.

  Kate sidled up to him and whispered, “How did Natalie go today?”

  “Good. She recognized quite a few pieces of jewelry that Rich Haven families turned in, so we have plenty of evidence on that front. Unfortunately, she didn’t have any new information about how the operation worked or the other members. Did you dig up anything interesting?”

  Luca poured Coke into four glasses and Kate dished out pappadams.

  “As a matter of fact, I did.” She flashed him a sly smile. “I found a property owned by Rhonda Morten.”

  “You mean before the trail dead-ends?”

  “No, I mean she still owns it.”

  His heart rate quickened, but he didn’t want to hope.

  “She bought a property in Birdwood and there is no record of its sale. I dug deeper and the rates and utilities are being paid regularly, but it doesn’t look like anyone lives there.”

  “You drove out there? Today?” He tore four squares from a roll of paper towel in lieu of serviettes.

  “Yep. I only got back at five. I’ve got the Fraud Squad tracing the bank account where payments are coming from.”

  “Good work.” He high-fived her.

  “Do you want to turn that thing off and have some dinner?” Kate frowned at Natalie before returning to their conversation. “Did you get any new information from Willy?”

  “I’m keeping up the pressure, but he’s not talking. I-I’ve got some bad news, though.” He concentrated on a hangnail but felt Kate’s gaze on him. “The Rich Haven director phoned this afternoon. Kevin and Melanie didn’t show for work today. I put a car on Kevin’s and Evan’s houses, but no luck.”

  “Damn! They’ve done a runner.” Kate banged her fist on the table.

  “There’s nothing we can do about it. There just isn’t any concrete evidence of their involvement.” He pulled his hair band out and dragged fingers through to separate the strands.

  “Oh, I almost forgot that Davey wanted me to pass on a message. He traced the car parked out front of Mya’s house. It was a rental and the ID used to hire it was fake,” Kate said.

  “Of course it was. You know, I was thinking earlier that the whole stalking thing didn’t fit with the scam at Rich Haven. Now I’m not so sure. Going to the trouble of having a fake ID and hiring a car so it can’t be traced shows significant planning. Not what I’d expect from your average stalker.”

  Natalie slid silently into a seat, and he watched her play with her food.

  “What about Mya?” Natalie asked.

  He sighed. “I’ll see if I can get her to come eat something.”

  He tapped on her bedroom door and, after a moment of silence, opened it. Mya lay facing the window, so he took her still-packed bag off a vinyl chair and sat so he could see her face. Her hair was flayed like a halo on the pillow and, despite her puffy face, she looked beautiful. Seeing her vulnerable like this was disarming. It would be nice to hold her tight and make her feel safe, but she might be too fragile for even that after today.

  It was comical how much his perception of her had changed. A week ago he was sure she was involved in a scam, a belief that was intensified by her prickly personality. Now he appreciated where she was coming from. She’d fought for everything she had and was let down—by her father, the law—and still she had the spirit to empower other downtrodden women. There was something deeply attractive about a person who could rise above so much crap.

  “Did you get everything organized today?” he asked her.

  She nodded, but her eyes remained focused somewhere outside the window. He was intimately familiar with the stages of grieving. She was still in shock and he was worried about what she’d do when she reached the anger stage. For that reason, he wouldn’t tell her about the Sux yet. Poison going missing was likely to explode the pressure cooker.

  “I should’ve moved Mum as soon as I got the first letter from Rhonda,” she whispered, eyes glistening.

  Guilt.

  “It’s only natural to feel that way, but none of this is your fault. I know you’re in pain right now, but I promise it’ll get better.”

  “When?”

  “Maybe a long time, but it will get better.” He placed a hand on her forearm and their gazes met.

  Mya sighed. “You think I should get up and have dinner with eve
ryone.”

  “You need to do what feels right for you.”

  “Nothing feels right.”

  “Then live each moment as it comes. I know it’s excruciating right now, but it’ll get better, eventually.”

  Ha! Who was he to give advice? Olivia had been dead seven years and he’d only now made a real effort to move on. Ironically, it was Mya who’d stirred in him a desire to find love again. The one woman in Australia who was least likely to want him; after all, he embodied everything she hated—authority figures, men, and he’d lied to her about who he was when they’d first met. It would be just his luck to find a hot chick he actually liked, living two doors from him, and not be able to be with her. Not to mention she could well spend seven years doing her own mourning.

  But she was the most resilient person he’d ever met, so there was hope.

  Chapter 34

  Luca pulled an A4 pad of lined paper from under a pile of manila folders on his work desk, and flipped it over to a fresh page. With a scrawling hand, he jotted key points about his case, hoping to make some sense of it, or see a link where he hadn’t before.

  There was a knock at the door and Old appeared.

  “Good morning. What can I do for you?” Luca waved a hand at the spare chair in his office and watched all seven feet of the man fold awkwardly onto it. Old ran two fingers along a short ginger moustache and opened the folder he held.

  “Casual day?” He nodded at Luca’s jeans.

  “I don’t intend staying long.”

  “Half your luck. Fraud Squad examined the estates of the deceased women, as you requested.”

  “Already? Great. What did they find?”

  As Old bowed his head, the polished skin on either side of his deep widow’s peak gleamed. “Six women bequeathed money to Spurious Enterprises shortly before they died. At first glance it looks like a legitimate charity.”

  “But?” Luca was on the edge of his seat, biting hard on the end of his pen.

  “But the function of the charity is listed differently on each bequest. So we dug a little deeper. In one instance Spurious Enterprises is listed as supporting cancer research. The husband of the woman making the bequest died of lung cancer.”