Brittle Shadows (20 page)

Not that it
mattered; from the feel of her face, she was red enough for both of them. The
air smelt faintly of gardenia and something else she would rather not think
about.

“Please, come
in.” He waved a hand at a couch Jemma felt sure she could still see the heat
rising from.

“If you don’t
mind, I’ll stan—”

A young
pink-cheeked woman with masses of bouncy, strawberry-blonde curls sailed into
the office, a cloud of gardenia following in her wake. She came to an abrupt
stop. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t…”

“That’ll be all
for now, Carly, thanks. Close the door on your way out.” Marcus walked around
behind his desk, putting the expanse of polished jarrah between him and Jemma.
“Business or pleasure?”

“Pardon?” she spluttered.

“I assume
you’re here for a reason.”

She gripped the
strap of her bag. “Business.”

“In that case,
how can I help you?” He motioned to the two straight-backed visitor chairs in
front of his desk.

She had
intended to stay standing, but her legs weren’t as strong as her resolve. He
waited until she was settled before doing the same. Even seated he looked down
at her, his black leather throne raising him a good half a head above her.

“I’ve just
learnt something from the lawyer looking after my sister’s estate that I didn’t
know before,” she said.

Marcus’s
expression didn’t change, as if he already knew what she was about to say.

“It appears
Tanya was much more than just an employee in the business. According to the
lawyer,” she said, spreading her hands wide, “my sister owns a decent chunk of
all this.”

“That surprises
you?”

“Well, yes. How
many of your other employees are also shareholders?”

Folding his
arms across his chest, he leaned back in his chair. “Quite a few, actually.
Employees with a vested interest makes good business sense.”

“Maybe so, but
a million dollars worth? That’s a hell of a lot for a lowly personal assistant.
What bank did she have to rob?”

He laughed.
“The shares weren’t always worth that much. Indeed, at one point, they weren’t
even worth the paper they were written on.” He uncrossed his arms. “I really
don’t see what your problem is. The company policy is that an employee can opt
to take any bonuses payable in shares, share options, cash or a combination of
any of the above. An employee leaves, I buy the shares back at market value. A
win-win situation for all concerned.”

“No wonder she
stayed in the same job for so long. I’d be loyal for a million dollars, too.”
She did a few mental calculations. “That’s what, an annual bonus in excess of
fifty-thousand dollars?”

Marcus rose and
came around to the other side of the desk. She shrank back as he perched on the
desk edge within body heat distance of her. “What you obviously don’t know
about your sister was that she was an astute businesswoman. I didn’t give her
those shares out of the goodness of my own heart. She earned them and then made
them work for her.” He picked up a notepad and pen from next to the phone.
“Actually, you saved me a phone call. If you could write down the name and
address of your lawyer, I’ll get my lawyer to liaise with him – or her – about
buying back Tanya’s shares.”

“Win-win? What
if I don’t want to sell?”

“There’s a clause
in the contract that says that when a person leaves the employ of Bartlett
Developments, all shares owned are to be sold back to the company at market
value and any share options are to be forfeited. So unless you’re looking for a
job, you don’t have much choice in the matter. What is it that you do again?”

“Information
systems auditor. I analyze computer systems and processes for companies, check
the accuracy and validity of data and the like.”

He pinched the
bridge of his nose.

“No job
openings?” she asked, knowing full well that he wasn’t the sort of businessman
who would appreciate anyone with any know-how poking around in his affairs, IT
or otherwise.

“Not at the
moment, no, but…” He laid his hand on her shoulder at the same time as the door
burst open.

Jemma leapt to
her feet. A split-second later, Marcus’s wife stormed into the room, a flushed
Carly on her heels.

“I tried to
stop her, Mr Bartlett,” said the strawberry-blonde woman.

Mr Bartlett?
Jemma clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the humph sound. She bet the
nubile Carly didn’t call him that when she had him locked between her naked
thighs. Or maybe she did.

Danielle
Bartlett flicked the air, shooing Carly away.

“I should be
going, too,” Jemma said, making a move toward the door. “We can finish
discussing that matter some other time.”

Hands on hips,
Danielle barred the only exit. She sniffed the air, giving Jemma a look that
could kill. “The bloody sister! I knew it.”

Jemma hung up from her boss in
Perth and dialed her aunt.

“Gail, it’s
me.”

“Is everything
all right?”

Why did Gail
always ask her that? “Just checking in with my favorite aunt.”

“You make me
sound like your parole officer.”

Jemma chuckled.
“Let me rephrase that. Not checking in, just calling to say hello and let you
know I’ve spoken with Troy. He’s agreed to extend my leave for another month—”

Gail talked
over the top of her. “Another month. But why, Jemma, love? Is there a problem
with the lawyer or something?”

“Not a problem
exactly.” Jemma hesitated, unsure how much she should tell Gail straight away.
“Can I ask you a question?”

“Only if it
means it will bring you home sooner.”

“How much money
do you think Tanya left in her will?”

“Goodness,”
Gail said. “I don’t know. What makes you ask?”

“What would you
say if I told you your eldest niece was a millionaire?” Jemma waited for the
news to sink in. “Gail?”

Silence.

An image of her
aunt slumped on the floor flashed through Jemma’s mind. “Gail!”

“I’m here,
love. No need to shout.”

Jemma exhaled.
“Sorry, when you didn’t say anything I thought you must’ve fainted.”

“I’m made of
much sterner stuff than that.”

“You don’t
sound that surprised. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Not much fazes
me these days. No, I was just thinking how sad it was that your sister isn’t
going to be around to enjoy her money. But why do you have to stay on in
Melbourne? Can’t you just sign what has to be signed and come home? I miss you,
Jemma, love.”

“I miss you,
too, but it’s not quite as simple as that. Tanya’s assets are tied up in
employee shares, which have to be sold back to the company.”

“Surely that
could be done from here. After all, isn’t that what all this new fangled
technology stuff is supposed to help with?”

Jemma smiled.
It had taken her long enough to convince Gail of the benefits of email and the
Internet, now her aunt was turning it back on her. “It’s easier in person, she
said, wandering as she talked, drawn toward the roses on the table. “I’ll be
home as soon as I can. Promise.”

“Huh! Where
have I heard that before?”

“I’ll call you
soon, okay? Love you.” Ending the call, she regarded the vase of roses in front
of her. Beautiful as they were, they had to go. No more game playing. If the
anonymous someone wanted to waste his or her money, so be it.

The bouquet
proved too large for the flip-lid rubbish bin in the kitchen. She ended up
breaking all the stems in two, before wrapping the whole lot in wads of
newspaper and plastic shopping bags. Leaving the parcel at the door for her
next trip down to the rubbish skip in the basement, she went to check her
emails.

Her Inbox
contained nothing of any real interest. She opened a new Internet Explorer tab
and gazed at the blank page. Gail wanted her home in Perth, and Jemma wanted to
go home, but until she had done her utmost to uncover the truth behind Tanya’s
death that couldn’t happen. She clicked the Home icon, bringing up the Google
search page, and typed in “Kerry Mullins.”

She scrolled
through the first hundred results, searching for anything that looked remotely
like the Kerry who had been Sean’s ex. The first eight links she clicked
amounted to nothing, but she struck it lucky with the ninth. Or at least she
hoped it was the right one. After all, how many personal trainers in Melbourne
could be named Kerry Mullins?

ShapeZone, an
inner-city women only gym, employed a number of ‘qualified and experienced’
personal trainers, of which Kerry Mullins was listed as one. ‘Book now for your
obligation-free health and fitness appraisal.’ Before she knew what she was doing,
she had completed the online form, using her mother’s maiden name and
nominating Kerry as her personal trainer of choice. She hesitated for a brief
moment and then pressed the Submit button. Except for a few kilos, what did she
have to lose?

Within minutes,
an email arrived confirming her appointment for the next morning. It went on to
advise her to restrict herself to a light breakfast and to wear comfortable,
loose-fitting clothing. She screwed up her face and checked the time. If she
hurried, she could make it to the shops before they shut. She hadn’t thought to
pack any gym gear, not that what she owned was suitable for public exhibition,
anyway.

She grabbed her
keys and purse, gathered up the newspaper wrapped bundle of crushed roses, and
charged out the door.

The lift doors
opened to the car park basement. She darted out, hurled her bundle at the large
green rubbish skip. Not waiting to see if she had hit her mark, she raced back
and pressed the lift button, hoping no one upstairs had called the lift in the
seconds she had been gone.

“Damn.” She
hopped from foot to foot, watching the floor number indicator light move from B
to G to 1 to 2 to 3 to 4 to 5 to 6. It stopped on 6, her floor, and then
started to descend again. She counted it down, one foot forward in readiness.

As the lift
doors parted, she came face to face with Ethan Kelly. He flashed her a smile.
“Just the person—”

Jemma jumped in
the lift. “Sorry, can’t stop. I’ll—” The doors closed before she could finish.

A sweet smell hung in the air, a
melting pot of deodorizers, sweat and pheromones. Not unpleasant. The clanking
and whirring sounds emanating from beyond the wall behind the reception desk,
on the other hand, were more akin to torture. She still had time to change her
mind.

Jemma
approached the front desk with trepidation, the pouty-lipped smile of the
Barbie doll waiting to greet her not helping. “Karen Wheatley,” she said, using
her mother’s maiden name. “I have an appraisal booked with Kerry Mullins.”

“Welcome to ShapeZone,
Karen. Kerry will be with you shortly.” She handed Jemma a clipboard, a yellow
pen dangling on a chain attached to the clip. “If you could just fill out this
form while you’re waiting, that would be great.”

Jemma glanced
down at the form and cringed. Date of birth, occupation, medical history, next
of kin… More fabrications to go along with the pseudonym she had adopted. She
only hoped she would be able to remember them all and not trip herself up
somewhere further down the line. She took a seat over by the door and started
writing.

“Karen
Wheatley?”

Jemma gave the
woman peering down at her a blank look.

“Are you Karen
Wheatley?”

She wasn’t off
to a good start. “Sorry, yes,” she said, standing and extending her hand.

The ex Mrs
Mullins was not at all what she had expected. Only the athletic physique part
of Chris’s description fitted. Nor did the madwoman image Fen had painted tally
with the gentle-faced brunette stood before her.

Kerry gave her
a warm smile. “Pleased to meet you. You look familiar. Have we met before?”

Jemma shook her
head. “No, I don’t think so. I’ve only just moved to Melbourne.”

“Oh, so where
were you before?”

“Brisbane,” she
said, saying the first place that popped into her head. No doubt, Kerry would
have studied her adversary and known Tanya had hailed from Perth. Jemma didn’t
want to give her any reason to put two and two together.

“Why don’t we
finish that paperwork in my office? This way,” Kerry said, guiding Jemma toward
an open door at the end of a short corridor.

Thanks – or
maybe no thanks – to a skylight, the office was suffused with natural daylight.
No hiding anything with light that bright.

Kerry closed
the door, oblivious to the fact her potential new client was the sister of the
woman who stole her husband. Or at least, by all accounts, that’s how she had
perceived it. She waved her hand at the electronic scales next to the desk.
“Let’s start with those vital statistics, shall we?”