Sleight Malice

by Vicki Tyley

  “What else haven’t you told me?” He opened the car door, the interior light switching on, its cool glow highlighting Kim’s flushed cheeks. From exertion, the cold, the wine or all three, he couldn’t be sure.

  “I’ve only found out myself and I don’t have all the details, but a number of life insurance policies Ryan had taken out on Laura have come to light.” She rubbed her hands together. “Can we please talk about this later, somewhere warm,” she said, already moving away.

  Motive? “How much money are we talking about?”

  “As I said, I don’t have all the facts and figures, but it’s substantial.” She gave a backhanded wave. “I’m going. Meet you at Desley’s.”

  His mind reeling, he drove out of the car park on automatic pilot, squeezing into the traffic. He didn’t even know if Kim was in front of him or behind him. What did it all mean? Without knowing all the details, he could only speculate at best. Instead of solving them, the discovery of Ryan’s Nissan Patrol raised even more questions. Where did the dead driver fit in? Did it lessen or increase the chances of finding Ryan and Laura alive?

  He glanced down at his mobile phone charging in the cradle. Two bars. With one eye on the road and the other on the phone display, he scrolled through the phonebook until he found Kim’s number. “Where are you?”

  “Some detective you are.”

  The car behind him flashed its headlights. He checked his rear view mirror and raised his left hand. “You mentioned a number of life insurance policies. Question: why have more than one policy?”

  “I take it you haven’t bought any sizeable life insurance policies recently. Insurance companies set limits over which they require medical examinations, under and all they require is a declaration.”

  “Are you suggesting then that Laura didn’t know about the policies?”

  “It’s possible, but the signatures will need to be analyzed before we know the answer to that one. Hey, where are you going?”

  With a start, he realized he had overshot the turnoff to Desley’s place. Cursing he took the next left, did a U-turn and drove back the way he had come. By the time he pulled up outside Desley’s townhouse, Kim was waiting on the footpath, her heavy navy coat wrapped snug around herself.

  “What kept you?”

  Ignoring her comment, he marched up to the front door and rang the doorbell.

  Desley looked surprised to see him, but even more so when she spotted Kim coming up the rear. “What are you doing here?” she hissed. “Go away.”

  “Are you okay?”

  Before Desley could answer, Selena appeared in the background, her face one of total bewilderment. “I can’t believe it! You called the cops?”

  Desley turned her back on the open door, her hands held palm out at shoulder height. “No, I didn’t. Listen…”

  But Selena wasn’t listening. With her coat clutched to her chest and tears streaming down her face, she pushed past Desley and then Fergus and Kim, fleeing into the night.

  Desley turned on Fergus and Kim. “Thanks a lot.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Desley crossed her arms tight over her chest, her hands gripping her upper arms. “Thanks a bloody lot. She’s never going to trust me now,” she said in response to Fergus and Kim’s what-did-we-do looks. “Anyway, what are you doing here?”

  “You cut me off so abruptly. I just wanted to check you were all right.”

  “I told you, Selena was at the door…” She couldn’t help but catch the sidelong glance Kim gave Fergus. Desley laughed. “You can’t be serious. She’s pregnant not homicidal.” Stepping aside, Desley waved the pair in. A blast of wintry air accompanied them.

  She saw the familiar way Fergus touched the back of Kim’s coat, smelt the faint odor of alcohol on their breaths and wondered if there could be more to the relationship than Fergus had admitted.

  Gooseberry or not, she didn't want to be alone. Besides, playing chaperone would give her a chance to suss out if there really was more to it than mateship. Anyway, what did she care? Hadn’t she sworn off men?

  Playing the dutiful hostess, she offered her visitors a drink.

  “Thanks,” Kim said, loosening her coat belt, “but I’m driving. Although I wouldn’t say no to something soft if you have it.”

  Either Fergus was less concerned about his blood alcohol level or he wasn’t driving. “Beer?”

  She nodded. “I think Brandon might have left a couple of cans.” She wasn’t about to let on she had restocked the beer supplies, and not for the reason she expected her brother back anytime soon.

  If she expected Fergus to follow her into the kitchen, she thought wrong. She could hear him and Kim talking, the occasional laugh punctuating their conversation.

  A lonely half-drunk glass of Shiraz sat in the middle of the kitchen bench. Reclaiming it, she took a couple of fortifying swigs and headed to the refrigerator. Orange juice. Victoria Bitter. She hesitated, her stomach grumbling on cue as she added a tub of marinated mixed olives and a black wax-clad block of vintage cheddar to her load.

  “What did that cheese ever do to you?”

  She jumped. Fergus nodded at the board, a smile playing on his lips. She looked down at the skinned cheese, the knife embedded deep in it, and felt her face redden.

  Kim made an entrance, snapping closed her mobile phone. “Sorry, guys, but duty calls…” She stalled. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

  “But I thought you had the weekend off,” Fergus said.

  “I did too, but technically the weekend hasn’t started.”

  “What’s so important that it can’t wait?”

  Desley buried her head in the pantry cupboard on the pretext of looking for the crispbread, which were right in front of her. It sounded like Fergus didn’t want Kim to go. Was she that much of an ogre he couldn’t bear to be alone with her?

  “Need to know and all that,” Kim said. “What I can tell you is it looks like we might have an ID for our body.”

  Desley’s head came up so fast, she hit it on the shelf. She winced, gritting her teeth. “Do you have a name?” she asked, rubbing the sore spot.

  “Next of kin have to be notified first.”

  “Well, can you at least tell us what his connection to Laura and Ryan was?”

  “At this stage, we haven’t been able to find one. The ignition was punched out, so it’s feasible that the hapless driver stole the Nissan, but when and where we don’t know.”

  Desley’s shoulders sagged. For a moment, she had thought the body in the fire had finally been identified. “Any news on the fire victim?”

  Kim shook her head. “Not yet. Sorry, but I really do have to cut and run.”

  Fergus was the first to break the silence after she left. “I can go, if you’d rather.”

  She took a deep breath. “Fergus, I don’t know what’s happened, but I feel like we’re walking on eggshells all the time. Have I done something to offend you?”

  His eyes widened, and then his face broke into a smile. “No, not at all! I thought it was me.”

  Surely they hadn’t been at cross purposes the whole time. “Why? What have you done?”

  “Scared Selena off?”

  “There is that.” She handed Fergus the can of Victoria Bitter and a glass.

  “Am I allowed to ask what she wanted?”

  More eggshells? “To be honest, I’m not sure. Talk about Trent, I think. I was trying the softly, softly approach, but she took off before I could find out much.” Desley refilled her wine glass and took a sip. “I’m sure she’s holding something back though.” She wrenched the knife from the cheese. “Like some? I can assure you it’s dead.”

  His low, throaty laugh filled the kitchen. A tingle stole up her spine. She had almost forgotten how good it sounded.

  The doorbell rang, followed a split-second later by heavy knocking. She and Fergus looked at each other.

  “Expecting anyone?”

  “No, but I wasn’t expecting you or
Selena either.”

  More banging. “Des, it’s me. C’mon, open up. I need to talk to you.” The door muffled Trent’s voice, but not enough to mask his aggression. “What the hell did you say to Selena?”

  Fergus’s nostrils flared. “Want me to do the honors?”

  “No, he’s my problem. I’ll deal with it. Why don’t you take our drinks through to the other room?”

  Calling herself a coward, she waited until Fergus was out of sight before opening the door. Her ex-husband didn’t rule her life, but sometimes it was just easier.

  Trent’s pale grey eyes glared at her across the security chain. “Aren’t you going to let me in?”

  “I’m tired, Trent. Can’t it wait?” She closed her eyes, steeling herself.

  “Selena is really upset. I want to know what you said to her.”

  “I told her the same thing I’ve been telling you for ages, and that is, there is nothing between you and I: it’s done and dusted, over and out, finito.” She sighed. “I might have also suggested there was hope for her relationship with you.”

  Trent’s blond eyebrows drew together. “What?”

  “If I spoke out of turn, I’m sorry, but I just thought—”

  He shook his head. “Not that,” he said, his fingers closing over the taut security chain. “Tonight. What did you say to her tonight? I couldn’t get two straight words out of her.”

  “Nothing. I didn’t have a chance to—”

  “Something must have happened to set her off.”

  “If you would just let me finish, I’d tell you. Selena turned up here tonight – don’t ask me why – but not long after, Kim or DS Mitchell as you know her, and Fergus arrived. For some reason, Selena thought I had called the cops on her. She took off before any of us could stop her. Where is she now?”

  “Safe.” He released the door chain and stepped back. “And that’s all you and your detective cronies need to know.”

  “I didn’t call them,” she yelled after him as he stalked off.

  She shut the door. Trent had always been a sucker for a damsel in distress, but perhaps Selena knew that. Anyway, she was safe and that was the main thing. Desley pushed the deadbolt home.

  “Locking me in now?”

  She turned. Fergus’s intense green eyes held her gaze. “No, everyone else out.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Eyes jammed shut, Desley rolled across the bed and fumbled for the phone. Swallowing hard, she managed a croaky, “Hello.”

  “Have a heavy night, Sis?”

  “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

  “No, do you?”

  She rubbed her eyes. “Seriously, it must be the middle of the night.”

  He laughed.

  “Aw don’t, it hurts.” Her head throbbed, the pain ricocheting around her skull with each pulse.

  “Must have been some party.”

  The previous night came back to her in flashes, like a video on fast-forward with whole series of frames missing. Selena. Kim. Fergus…

  She forced one eye open a fraction, flopping back on her pillows with relief when she found she was alone. But then she looked down; she was naked. Her heart contracted, she couldn’t breathe. Did she undress herself? She couldn’t remember. “What was that?” She tilted sideways, checking the floor for evidence.

  “I asked if there was any news.”

  “News?” Her clothes from the night before lay in a crumpled heap at the edge of the bed. One black sock had obviously tried to make a run for it and had got as far the door; the other had fallen just short of the laundry hamper.

  “C’mon, Sis, get with the plot.”

  “Getting there…” She closed her eyes thinking dead had to feel better than how she felt. Even her saliva glands had gone on strike and some furry, foul-tasting creature had taken up residence in her mouth.

  “Are you okay?” He sounded concerned now.

  “I’ll live. Just. You saw the news?”

  “Yes. Any update?”

  “No, except it is Ryan’s four-wheel-drive.”

  “And the dead man?”

  “Don’t know. Not Ryan.” Pushing her hair back from her sweaty forehead, she tried to gather her thoughts. “Car thief perhaps.”

  “What else has been happening?”

  “Work, work and more work.”

  “Makes Desley a dull girl. Anything else? Have you had any more threats?”

  “No.”

  “So you’re keeping your nose clean then?”

  She sighed. “Yes, Mum.”

  “Just looking out for my big sister.”

  “Hey, did Laura ever mention a Maureen McKeown to you? Or have you even heard the name?”

  “What makes you think Laura would’ve mentioned this woman – whoever she is – to me?”

  “I don’t know. Only asking.”

  “Anyway, who is she?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” What did matter was whether she had any painkillers in the house.

  “Of course it does. You promised me you would stay clear of the police investigation.”

  That’s what he thought. The way she remembered it, she hadn’t promised anything, managing to sidestep the issue altogether. “As far as I know, the police aren’t investigating this woman.” Only a slight stretch. She had to be found first.

  “So why are you asking me about her?”

  She groaned. “What is this? Twenty questions?”

  “I’ve said this before, but I’m going to say it again: it’s not a game, this person is dangerous. Two bodies – that we know of. Don’t you think that’s enough?”

  “What person?” Her brain was having trouble connecting the dots.

  “I don’t know. That’s the point.”

  Boom. Boom. Boom. “Please don’t yell.”

  “Sis,” he said, softening his voice, “I’m only saying these things because I care.”

  “I know and I promise I’ll be careful.” Wasn’t she always? “Anyhow, what’s the goss on Pete and his girlfriend?”

  “Sorry, what girlfriend?”

  “The girlfriend he was two-timing, the one you thought Pete should confess all to: that one.”

  “Gotcha. That’s all over now. They’ve gone their separate ways.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Why?”

  “Because didn’t you have a thing for her?”

  “No. What gave you that idea?”

  Out went her theory that Brandon had been secretly seeing his mate’s girlfriend when he had been in Melbourne. “Nothing. Ignore me.”

  “Okay. Get some sleep.”

  Her fingers relaxed. The phone dropped and bounced. It stayed where it landed on the bed next to her. She couldn’t summon the strength to replace it on the cradle.

  Downstairs. A noise. Forgetting her hangover, she sat bolt upright, the top of her duvet clutched to her chest. The phone clattered to the floor. She froze, all her senses on sudden alert.

  A smell suspiciously like grilled bacon reached her nostrils. Burglars didn’t cook breakfast, let alone buy the ingredients. But that meant Fergus had stayed the night. She felt relieved, horrified, famished and nauseous all at the same time.

  Dragging herself out of bed, she pulled on the first clean clothes that came to hand: a pair of multi-colored leggings and a turquoise jumper three sizes too big for her. Glamorous and sexy it wasn’t.

  She crept down the stairs, one eye on the front door and one on the entrance to the kitchen. She contemplated making a break for it, but not for long. One: she doubted she could summon the energy to do anything more strenuous than shamble. Two: it was her house. Three: she couldn’t remember the last time someone cooked her breakfast.

  Another couple of steps and she could see right into the kitchen. Fergus – or another man with his trademark mop of dark curls – stood with his back to her, whisking eggs from the sounds of it. He hadn’t heard her.

  Needing to sit down before she fell down, she hauled
herself onto a barstool. She downed one of the two glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice, breaking the perfect symmetry of Fergus’s table setting. She licked her lips, eyeing off the other glass.

  “Go ahead, I can squeeze more.”

  She jerked back, almost toppling the stool. Her face burned. Feeling like a naughty child caught in the act, she forced herself to meet his gaze. With a knowing smile, he collected three oranges from the red string bag next to the refrigerator and returned to his mess of bowls, boards and various utensils.

  After skolling Fergus’s glass of juice, she almost felt human again. Almost. What she really needed was an industrial-strength espresso. She slid off her stool, but was waved back.

  “Coffee coming up,” Fergus said, reading her mind.

  She pinched herself. Numb. Harder. She winced. No it wasn’t some bizarre alcohol-induced dream. She did indeed have a man in her kitchen whipping up a gourmet breakfast and waiting on her hand and foot. She pinched herself again just to make sure.

  But why? He hadn’t made breakfast, not even cereal and toast, the morning after he spent the night on the couch. “Fergus, I have to ask…”

  “Hmmn.” Focused on spooning coffee into the espresso machine’s stainless-steel filter, he didn’t look up.

  “Did we…?”

  “Did we what?”

  “You know.”

  “Know what?”

  “Damn it, Fergus, did we have sex last night or not?”

  “What do you think?” His face gave nothing away. The toaster popped and he crossed the kitchen.

  “Was it good for you then?”

  “Not particularly.”

  She flinched. Hit a girl while she’s down, she thought.

  He turned around, a plate piled high with scrambled eggs, sautéed button mushrooms, grilled bacon rashers, tomatoes and toast in each hand. “You should try sleeping on that couch.”

  “Nothing happened?”

  He set the plates down on the breakfast bar and pulled up a stool. “Not in the state you were in.”

  “Oh.” What else could she say? She had no excuses. Drinking to oblivion was Trent’s thing, not hers, the only exception she could remember being the day he announced he was dumping her for another woman. She wasn’t even sure how last night had happened.