I crushed Pierce's card in my fist and threw it in a nearby rubbish bin, as I scooped up Daisy's hand.
"Come on, Daisy-girl. I know some King Penguins who are super keen to meet you."
"You do?" she asked all bright eyed and innocent.
Yeah, for my daughter I would find a way to keep us safe.
Even if I had no fucking idea how to achieve that.
Chapter 4
And For Mum?
The motel we were in was a dive. But at least they had accepted cash without raising an eyebrow. I'd done a very dangerous thing before we caught a bus to this part of the city. I'd visited a locker at the Salt Water Baths in Parnell. One I had kept for several years. The lockers in the changing rooms there could be secured with a padlock, they hadn't upgraded to the hourly coin operated style yet. It was a busy enough location to keep things safe, and the number of lockers meant the odd one left unattended for several weeks slipped by unnoticed. I made sure to change the padlock every other month though, so it wouldn't get busted open by staff.
It had been three weeks since I last checked it. The guy on the front counter recognised me though, indication that it was well past time I found a new hidey-hole for my mementoes. It might seem strange to some people that I keep a shoebox full of photos and letters in a locker at a public swimming pool. I could have buried it in the back garden. I could have left it in a drawer at work. Hell, I could have burned the bloody thing and moved on. But part of me wondered whether one day Daisy would ask those questions.
The ones I feared about her Daddy.
She hadn't yet. Five years old and everything else gets countless queries and inquisitive attention, but her father? Not yet. Thank God. Maybe she picked up on some sort of negative vibes from me. Maybe because I didn't openly talk about Rick or our time in Wellington, she didn't think to ask at all. But sooner or later a well meaning kid at school would ask her about her Dad, and she would come running to me.
Hence the shoebox full of paraphernalia I couldn't bear to have stored in the same place where I slept.
But now, as Daisy lay softly snoring in the bed next to mine, I sat frozen in position, staring at a box full of heartache on the bedspread before me.
Rick. Richard Albert Costello, only son of Greta and Marco Costello. Nineteen years old when I met him. Twenty-nine years old when I watched him die. He didn't know about Daisy. Neither of us did that night. If we'd known a baby was growing inside my belly would it have played out any differently? Would we, no... I have not done what I did?
My hand shook as I reached into the top of the box and picked up the photo of me and Rick the day we were married. I was wearing white lace, he was wearing a cheap grey suit that was two sizes too big for him. We were in love, but we were broke. Big dreams, but little purse strings. Still Rick insisted that I wear white and that he wear a suit. Even if he had to borrow it off a friend of his in business school.
Another photo came out, another bitter-sweet memory. I'd forgotten all the good years, all the good times, before...
I closed my eyes and fell back onto my pillow, hot tears spilling out behind closed lids. I thought I was done crying for my dead husband, for the dead father of my child. I thought there was no more room in my heart for him, now that Daisy was here and needed twice the love from me, because he was gone.
Of course, I do blame him. Not for everything. No. I'm to blame for that night, but Rick is to blame for every heart wrenching moment leading up to it. For every misstep we took, for every vile bit of that world he uncovered. For every second we lived a life that was a lie.
I pushed the box off the side of the bed with an angry shove of my arm. The photos spilled out onto the carpet, fanning across the floor in a drunken mess. Rick had been drunk on the lifestyle, on the money McLaren had paid him. On the lie.
He never wore a borrowed suit ever again. He'd died in a tailor made jacket that cost more than a year's worth of Daisy's and my rent.
"Damn you, Rick," I whispered. My head shook softly as I curled up into a ball on top of the bed. The bedside lamp was still on, the television flashing silent images, but I couldn't stand the thought of making the room dark.
The world was dark enough and getting so much darker.
The sound of cartoons blaring out of the television woke me at some God awful early hour. Quickly followed by Daisy's carefree giggles as the characters on screen did something amusing to her young mind. I rolled over and smiled. She beamed at me from her position in the other bed, but when I patted the sheet next to me, she scuffled over without hesitation and burrowed under the blankets, snuggling into my side.
"I'm hungry," she announced and the first hurdle for the day was uncovered.
Thankfully this was one I had come prepared for. I reached into my handbag and pulled out a muesli bar and small box of juice.
"Breakfast of champions!" I declared, handing over the stash, then watched on with a heavy ache setting up home inside my chest as my child willingly ate her makeshift breakfast without so much as a complaint.
Was this how it was going to be from now on? Breakfast on the run in some scuzzy motel in a neglected suburb of a big city? How is this being a good mother?
I couldn't stifle the sob before it escaped, so covered it up with quickly rolling over and slipping out of the side of the bed. I was at the door to the bathroom by the time I could speak without sounding like I was about to break down.
"Don't answer the door to anyone, OK?"
A muffled, "Wokay," was offered up in reply.
No miraculous epiphany came to me under the hot stream of water in the shower. No solution to our dire situation flashed inside my mind as I brushed my teeth with a new toothbrush and toothpaste I'd picked up yesterday on our way here. Only more fears and worries and heartache as I dressed in my hastily dusted down and spot cleaned clothing that had been airing on the rail in the bathroom overnight.
When I came back out into the main room I was presentable, refreshed and clean, but none the wiser.
"Your turn, Missy," I instructed, herding Daisy into the bathroom and helping her through her own morning routine.
By the time we were done it was eight-thirty. Check out wasn't until 10am. So, I didn't see the need to hurry. Besides, where would we go? I sat down at the small table in the corner of the room and blindly watched Daisy laughing at the TV. The shoebox was sealed again, all the mementoes tucked away for another day of bitter-sweet.
I was at a complete loss. I didn't have that much money saved, but every time I accessed it, would it place us in more danger? How far would McLaren go? He'd sent one tattooed freak after me because of a visit from a cop. What would he do now that I had run and given him reason to believe I still had what he wanted? And even if I did think handing it back would help us, I couldn't contemplate doing that with Daisy counting on me to keep her safe.
And there wasn't anywhere I could put Daisy, anyone I could put Daisy with, who would make me feel safe enough to leave her and confront McLaren's man to hand over the goods.
No matter what way I looked at it, McLaren now thought I still posed a threat. He'd obviously believed I'd learned my lesson all those years ago. It was a harsh lesson to learn, after all. And I'd led him to believe I no longer possessed what I took, at the cost of my husband's life. Bile rose up my throat at that thought and I gagged slightly as I swallowed the bitterness back down.
McLaren clearly didn't think that anymore, did he?
He'd sent the goon, as soon as the cop showed interest in me, to check. And I'd run. Of course now McLaren would move heaven and earth to get back what I took, what he would be certain I still had.
So, what were my options?
I glanced at Daisy and sucked in a shaky breath of air.
Could I do it? Could I run with a five year old girl? Could I make my daughter live her life looking over her shoulder?
Or could I do what Rick did in the end? Sacrifice myself for her, like he sacrificed himself for me.
Ah, fuck. I pulled the Yellow Pages phone directory towards me from the other side of the table and looked up Sweet Seduction Café. Having found my goal, I checked my wallet. I'd made sure to take out the largest sum of money the cash-point had allowed last night, so I had enough for a taxi fare, even if we were in South Auckland and Sweet Seduction was in High Street in the CBD.
I didn't allow myself to think too long on whether McLaren's men were watching the store. How much, realistically, could they have accomplished since yesterday? Since Pierce visited me at work? McLaren was under arrest, behind bars, so organising a stake-out of a café that was connected in some way to the cop who questioned me was pretty slim. Wasn't it?
I also had to hope that Detective Sergeant Pierce had thought of that. Why else would he offer me his card with details of some woman's shop on the back for me to use, instead of insisting I contact him through the Central Police Station where he was based?
I closed my eyes and prayed this was the right thing to do. How could I know for certain that going there would help? Where else did I have to go? Never in a million years, despite my history with the likes of Roan McLaren, did I think something like this would happen. That I would be fearful for my daughter's safety, to the point of trusting a stranger enough to help us out.
This wasn't what my head was telling me we should do, but one look at Daisy and my heart was pleading with me to do something, anything, to get her off the street and keep her safe.
I had no choice anymore, after yesterday's close call, and admitting that was one of the hardest things I'd ever had to do.
I let Daisy watch the last of her cartoon, then bundled her out the door. I'd ordered a taxi earlier which arrived five minutes after we checked out, making it possible to hide my nerves from both the motel receptionist and Daisy. Any longer and they would have been eyeing me up strangely like the woman at Daisy's school.
I took a deep breath and then gave Sweet Seduction's address to the driver, all the while trying not to vomit in my mouth out of sheer terror.
Daisy could tell I was upset. Kids know, don't they? She sat silently, and unusually non-inquisitively, staring out her side window as Auckland city grew bigger and bigger as the CBD grew closer. The music on the taxi's stereo grated. The static on his communications radio made me jump. And the ride took the last of my confidence and left me feeling decidedly raw by the time the car pulled up at the kerb outside the store.
Moulded glass and English pub-style wooden framed windows met my eyes as we stepped out of the vehicle and stared at the welcoming glow of what had to be the singularly most delightful looking premises on this stretch of road. Everything either side was steel and straight lines, not an ounce of character in sight. But this store, this place, it stood out, it shouted, "Hello!" It made you long to go inside.
I'm not sure I could have done it, if it hadn't have appeared to be so quaint, so welcoming. So non-threatening. Even having made it thus far, I'm sure I would have backed out, so jangled were my nerves. Every sound on the street made my body shake. Every flash of colourful clothing caught my fearful eyes. Every sharp bark of laughter made me cringe.
But the decadent smell of coffee mixed with chocolate somehow soothed, and the warm, muted yellow-gold glow of lights, behind those magical rounded panes of glass, beckoned.
Clutching Daisy's hand tightly in mine, I pushed the swing door open and walked into a different world.
Black overstuffed sofas with hot pink piping and a mixture of hot pink and white throw pillows, dotted the dark polished wooden floor. Interspersed with tables and chairs in a similarly dark colour, haphazardly placed as though creating a maze for the customers to traverse. In one corner was a lowered section of flooring inundated with copious amounts of oversized floor pillows. People were actually lounging in the space in their high street fashion clothes. Steam rose from a behemoth coffee machine over by two large counters, the sound of beans grinding and the loud bang of the porta filter being emptied by the barista made my heart leap into my throat. Chocolate permeated the air from a chilled, glass fronted cabinet under the main counter, various shades and shapes of cocoa morsels were displayed on identical sized white trays.
People were everywhere. Lounging, sitting tapping away on laptops at tables, perusing CDs towards the back in a darker lit alcove which must have stored the music, or just chatting while sipping their take-away coffee cups, which matched the décor colouring to a T. All of them looked relaxed and happy and content. The whole place screamed comfortable.
And strangely safe.
The Exponents' Why Does Love Do This To Me? was playing on the stereo, louder than I would have expected, but somehow blending in with the cacophony of conversation, whilst drowning out the mechanics of making large volumes of espresso. When Jordan Luck reached the chorus, as though they were at a cricket match cheering from the stands, the customers all stopped what they were doing or saying and sang the words. "I don't know. Why does love do this to me? I don't know. I don't know."
Once the chorus finished they went back to their drinks and chocolate and conversations.
A small amused sound escaped my lips. My office was not far from here, yet I hadn't even known this place existed. Daisy tugged on my hand, making a beeline for the chocolates and sticking her hot little hands on the glass frontage, while her nose almost flattened itself against it too. Mist coated the glass as she exhaled, her big beautiful brown eyes lifting to mine.
"Please, Mummy. Can I have the penguin?"
I glanced down at which treat she was pointing to, surprised to see a penguin shaped chocolate complete with yellow coloured "feathers" on its head and breast. Just like a King Penguin.
"Oh good choice!" the woman behind the counter announced. "We call him Percy the Princely Penguin. What do you say, Mum? A prince for a princess?"
"He's not a prince!" Daisy exclaimed.
"Daisy," I warned, offering the blonde behind the counter an apologetic smile.
"He's a King Penguin from the Antarctica. I'm going to study them one day," Daisy announced with an air of finality.
"Oh," the woman replied, lifting a hand to her mouth and tapping a finger thoughtfully. "Well in that case, we'll call him Kenny the King Penguin."
"I prefer Keanu the King Penguin," another blonde behind the counter chimed in. This one had curly hair, as opposed to our server's longer wavy hair. Both girls had stunning, mischievous blue eyes and wore identical uniforms.
I did another quick scan of the shop, noting the carefully outrageous colour scheme, delightfully quirky furnishings and well thought out presentation of all the staff. I was stunned to find myself falling for the place. Literally within minutes of walking through the door.
Even the randomly placed furniture didn't set my OCD off. That urge to straighten the chairs and tables so they were all at right angles to each other, was placated by the prim and proper appearance of the staff, the meticulously displayed chocolates under the counter, and the unique, but uniform look to the front of the shop.
"Shall we let the Princess decide?" Blonde number one suggested.
"You spoil all my fun, Gen," Blonde number two replied, making a show of poking her tongue out at the one she'd called Gen.
Gen, short for Genevieve I suppose. My eyes returned to her face, wondering what her connection to Pierce was. She delicately tapped a finger on the top of the glass case, bringing my attention to her rather large diamond engagement ring. Ah, maybe that explained it.
"So, what do you think, Princess...?" Gen left the question open.
"Princess Daisy," I found myself saying from out of nowhere.
"Um," Daisy said, big, wide eyes flicking between both women. She started biting her bottom lip.
My daughter had been through hell the past twenty-four hours, and being asked to name a chocolate penguin sets her insecurities off?
I crouched down next to her and whispered, "You don't have to name it, Daisy-girl. But you can have one, if
you like."
She leaned forward and whispered in reply, "I don't wanna hurt their feelings."
I felt the two women still on the other side of the counter.
"How would you hurt their feelings?" I asked.
"'Cause I don't like either of those names."
"Ah," I said, knowingly. "What name do you like?"
"I like Kelly."
I smiled. Kelly for Kelly Tarlton's of course.
"I think they might like Kelly too, baby. Why don't you try them?"
She shuffled her feet and then looked up at them from under long brown lashes.
"I seen the penguins at Kelly Tarlton's yesterday," she mumbled.
"Hey, I know!" Blonde number two said with over the top enthusiasm. "How about Kelly for a name?"
Daisy's head shot up.
"You know what?" Gen replied, finger tapping on her lips again. "That is utterly brilliant. In fact, I'm writing a sign up now and placing it in the display."
Daisy smiled winningly at them. And received two beaming smiles back.
"And for Mum?" Gen asked.
"Trim Flat White and a Kelly King Penguin chocolate too, please."
"Coming right up!" Gen announced, ringing the total up on the cash register. I handed over the right amount, thanked them both profusely for making my daughter's day, and took an order number on a small chrome stand. I spun around to locate a place we could hide in for a while.
And came face to face with Detective Pierce.
Chapter 5
Can I Call You Kelly Too?
How the hell did he know I was here already?
His eyes scanned my face, then swept down my body. I saw a flicker of recognition there, no doubt cataloguing the fact I was wearing the same outfit as yesterday's. I stifled the urge to shift my feet, feeling decidedly unworthy of his attention. He spotted Daisy and immediately crouched down on his haunches.
"Hello," he said softly. Daisy clung to my leg, half hiding her face behind my thigh. "My name's Ryan. And you are Princess Daisy."
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