Bitter Nothings (19 page)

“Talking of which.” Sophie delved into her shoulder bag. “I found Emmet’s sliding around on the floor under my car seat this morning.”

“What was it doing there?”

“I guess it fell out of his pocket.”

Dervla raised an eyebrow.

Sophie gave a hoot of laughter and handed the silver flip phone over. “Get your mind out of the gutter. I saw him walking down Victoria Street in the hot sun and offered him a ride. Which, I might add, he was most grateful for.”

“What was he doing walking in the first place? Where was his car?”

“To be honest, I didn’t even think to ask him.”

“Are you coming in? I have a nice Devil’s Lair Chardonnay in the fridge begging to be drunk.”

“Sorry, can’t,” Sophie said. “Places to be, people to see. You know how it is. Call you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dervla studied her friend’s face. “I hope the ‘people to see’ isn’t Martin.”

Sophie gave an indignant huff. “What do you take me for?”

“Just asking.”

“It’s just boring work stuff.” Sophie checked her watch. “Which I’m already late for. Sorry, hon, have to go.” She didn’t wait for a response.

A door slam and a toot later, Sophie’s sports car accelerated down the street.

The first thing Dervla did once inside the house was to call Emmet’s landline and leave a message letting him know his lost phone had turned up.

The second thing she did was to pour herself a Chardonnay. With or without company, after the day she’d had, she deserved it.

Kicking off her shoes, she debated calling Harry to cash in her dinner raincheck. She was somewhat surprised and, if she were honest, a little miffed that she hadn’t heard from him since the day before. She’d expected him to call to see how her interview with the police had gone. Out of curiosity if nothing else. Of course, he could be waiting for her to call him.

The days of waiting for the man to phone were long gone. Carrying her glass of wine in one hand and her phone in the other, she padded into the living room and set her glass on the coffee table. She made herself comfortable on the couch, tucking one foot under her, and dialed Harry’s number. It diverted straight to voicemail. She hung up and picked up her wineglass.

She sipped the Devil’s Lair Chardonnay, its grapefruity tartness awakening her taste buds, and gazed at the blank television screen. The remote lay within arm’s reach, but even the low hum from the refrigerator was preferable to the news.

The more wine she drank, the more she wished she weren’t alone. She phoned Harry again, leaving a brief message when he didn’t answer asking him to call her.

On her next trip to the kitchen, she returned with the wine bottle. If Emmet wanted his phone back, he’d have to come and get it.

Her mind drifted to the mobile phone she’d found concealed at the bottom of her father’s filing cabinet. She’d convinced herself the number in the call register belonged to the other woman. But what if it had nothing to do with her? What if it wasn’t even her father’s phone? What if he’d bought a second-hand filing cabinet and it was the previous owner’s? She sighed. Now she was stretching it.

Pushing herself off the couch, she went and collected the mystery mobile and Emmet’s silver flip phone. She laid them on the coffee table alongside her own in a row reminiscent of a magic trick. Guess which phone will ring first?

None. But then patience wasn’t her greatest virtue.

Her hand hovered over the phones. She zeroed in on the black Nokia, plucking it from the table and, before she could change her mind, pressed redial. It rang once and cut out. She tried again, this time getting the “mobile phone you are calling is either turned off or out of range” message.

But it’d rung, which meant the phone wasn’t sitting at the bottom of a river or in landfill never to be seen again. Someone had switched it on, no matter how briefly.

Fuelled with Chardonnay, she tapped out a text message:

“Dervla here

again. Have photos

of you with WJ.

Naked photos.

Know you’re

there. Contact me

within 48 hrs or…”

Her father’s mistress could decide what the “or” inferred. Except the moment Dervla pressed send, she regretted it. Reduced to blackmail. How low could she get?

Swapping the Nokia for her own mobile, she called Emmet again. Still no answer.

Harry wasn’t picking up either. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought everyone was avoiding her.

The wine was getting warm. She topped up her glass and returned the bottle to the fridge. What little was left in it.

While she was in the kitchen a phone rang. She rushed back into the living room. Emmet’s mobile was doing a break-dance on the coffee table’s glass top.

For a second, she hesitated, then flipped open the phone, saw it was Gabe and answered it. “Yo.”

“Huh?” A pause. “Dervla?”

“The one and only.”

“I must’ve called the wrong number,” Gabe said.

“No, you called Emmet.”

“What are you doing answering his phone? Is he there?”

“It’s a long story, and no. I don’t know where he is, but if you do manage to track him down, please tell him I have his phone.”

“I wanted to talk to you as well.”

She flopped back on the couch and kicked her feet up on the coffee table. “I’m all ears.”

“Are you okay? You sound…”

“Drunk? Only a teensy bit, officer,” she said, using her thumb and finger to demonstrate how much.

“This can wait until tomorrow,” he said, more growl than speech.

That sobered her. “No, tell me now. Sorry, I’m not drunk. Honest. I’ve had a couple, but that’s all.” As if to reinforce what she was saying, she sat upright – without wavering. Not that Gabe could see her, of course.

“It might be better if I came over.”

“Not until you tell me whatever it is you’re not telling me,” she said, the words sounding garbled even to her.

“If you insist. I wanted to let you know about the funeral arrangements.”

Her fingers tightened around the phone.

He continued. “It’s scheduled for 10 a.m. Saturday. Same place.” He didn’t need to say same as where.

“Okay,” she said, feeling anything but. “Saturday you said?”

“Yes. Are you all right? Do you want me to come over?”

“Don’t worry about me.” Tears welled in her eyes. She blinked them away. “Think I’ll have an early night.”

“If you’re sure. Call me if you change your mind.”

For a time after she hung up, she remained rooted in her seat, too numb to move. A funeral was so final, a reminder of a life gone. Her father’s life.

The peal of the doorbell roused her. Taking a couple of deep breaths, she rose from the couch and started down the hall. With any luck it’d be Emmet.

Two paces past her bedroom door, she remembered the trio of mobile phones on the coffee table and rushed back to living room. She snatched up the Nokia and shoved it into her handbag out of sight, glancing around the room in case there was something else she’d forgotten. Then back to the front door, opening it before she had a chance to catch her breath.

“Todd!”

The corners of DSS Gleeson’s deep-set ebony eyes creased. “Expecting someone else?”

“No offence, but I was actually hoping it would be Emmet.”

He laughed. “No offence taken. When you do catch up with your brother, please remind him to call me.”

“So what can I do for you, detective?” she asked, still stinging from that afternoon’s questioning.

“I’m actually off duty, but I thought I’d drop by and get those details for John Bailey.”

“You could’ve phoned.”

“Indeed. However, I do have an ulterior motive. I wanted to apologize for any upset our interview might have caused. I know we opened old wounds.”

“Why? You’re a policeman. That’s what you do.”

He flinched.

“Sorry.” She thumped the heels of her palms against her forehead. “Sorry. It’s just been a shit of a day. I’ll be glad when it’s over.” She forced a smile. “No more bitch attitude, I promise.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re beautiful when you’re mad… I mean bitchy?” He chuckled when she rolled her eyes. “It’s true.”

Despite herself she laughed. “The last guy who tried that line on me is now my ex.”

“I take it back.”

Suppressing a smile, she threw open the door. “Come in and I’ll dig out Bailey’s business card.”

She felt his presence as he followed her silently to the other end of the house. The same prickly sensation of being watched. When it suited him, Todd could be charming. But to what ends? She already knew his job came first.

While she rummaged in her handbag, trying to recall what she’d done with John Bailey’s business card, Todd wandered around with his hands in his pockets. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him sidle towards the vase of lilies and gerberas on the dining table, peer into blooms and nod. His posture stiffened, though, as he took in the flowers and card from Harry on the countertop. He moved away.

By the time she remembered where she’d put the business card, Todd was standing at the glass doors staring out at the courtyard. Outside the late sun bathed everything in soft gold.

Ducking into her office, she spotted the card on the desk next to the keyboard straight away. She scribbled the details on a piece of paper and returned to the living room.

Todd was standing where she left him.

“He’s expecting your call,” she said, folding the notepaper and handing it to him.

One eyebrow arched. “You’ve spoken to him?”

“Only briefly.”

He gave a nod and glanced away. His fingers caressed the crease in the paper. “I want you to know that I’m going to do everything within my power to ensure your family’s killer is brought to justice.”

He drew a deep breath. “I realize that this is probably neither the time nor the place, but after this is all over, I hope you’ll…” He hesitated. “I hope we can stay friends.”

CHAPTER 27

After Todd left, Dervla prowled the house unable to settle. Sometimes she could be dense when it came to deciphering men’s motives. Was he in a roundabout way asking her out? Or was there something he wasn’t telling her?

It was getting dark. She forced down a blueberry yoghurt from the refrigerator, eating for eating’s sake, then went to check her email. A handful of condolences from clients and other acquaintances. The usual newsletters. Not much else.

She pulled up the earlier email from John Bailey, opened the first photo and studied it again. Nothing. As if she thought her tired eyes would see something she’d missed the first time. What did she hope to achieve by uncovering the identity of her father’s mistress? There was still the question of whether the woman was married. How far would a jealous husband go to protect what was his?

With a sigh, she closed the image and sat back. Linking her hands behind her head, she pushed her elbows back and squeezed her shoulder blades together, feeling the stretch in her tight shoulder muscles. A wave of tiredness overwhelmed her. The last few days had finally caught up with her. She struggled to her feet, barely making it to her bedroom before crashing fully clothed on top of the bed.

The next thing she knew the alarm clock was going off. She threw out a hand, flailing for the snooze button. It took a couple of seconds to register that the ringing had already stopped. Not the clock then. Her eyes still closed, she launched herself off the bed and groped her way to the door.

Rubbing her eyes, she opened the door to Emmet. He looked worse than she felt, his cheeks sunken, his eyes red-rimmed. “So the long lost brother returns,” she grumbled. “What time is it?”

“Morning.” His stale beer breath hit her in the face.

She blinked. “God, I don’t need to ask what you’ve been doing.”

Frowning, he looked down at his feet. “Walking?”

“Drinking.” She opened the door wide and waved him in. “Haven’t you been home?”

He muttered something unintelligible and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.

“I’ll take that as a no, then,” she said. “Your mobile’s on the coffee table.”

Emmet stopped in his tracks. “What?”

“Sophie found it on the floor in her car. She gave you a lift?”

His expression relaxed. “Oh yeah.”

“Why were you walking down the road in the middle of the day in the first place? You haven’t lost your license, have you?”

“Coffee first, eh?”

“That bad?”

He gave a manic laugh. “Now, why would you think that?” His voice rose in pitch. “Life’s bloody fantastic. Couldn’t be better.”

“Okay, stupid question, but that doesn’t—” She bit her tongue. “Coffee first.”

While she preheated the espresso machine and popped a couple of slices of bread in the toaster, Emmet checked his phone. “There’s a call here from Gabe. What did he want?”

Dervla took a deep breath and turned around. “To let you know about the funeral arrangements.” Emmet remained stony-faced as she relayed the information Gabe had given her.

Breakfast ready, they drank coffee and picked at toast in silence, the mood even too somber for small talk.

She pushed aside her plate. “So what’s with the walking?”

“I sold my car.”

“Why?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly flush at the moment.”

“But I offered to help you out. It’s going to make it harder to get to job interviews and the like,” she said, sounding more like his mother than his sister.

He lowered his gaze. “Yeah, well…”

“Yeah well, what?”

“I have to learn to stand on my own two feet. Apparently.”

“Who said that? Gabe?”

Emmet repositioned his knife. The dregs in his coffee cup drew his attention next.

She frowned. “Dad? You must know he would’ve given you money if he had it to give.”

“If you say so. We’ll never know now.”

“Why don’t you have a shower while I do this?” She started clearing the table.

On his feet in a flash, his expression said, ‘Anything to escape the cross-examination.’