Brittle Shadows (8 page)

She dipped her
head, peering up at him from under her fringe, before sitting bolt upright.
“Ethan will know.”

Chris’s hazel
eyes clouded. “Ethan?”

“Ethan Kelly,
the building’s property manager.”

“You’ve met
him, obviously.”

“More than
once.” She then filled him in on her and Ethan’s encounters, finishing with his
abrupt departure from the apartment.

“What, you know
this bloke for less than a day and you’re inviting him in?” Chris shook his
head. “For all you know, he could be your intruder.”

“No way,” she
said, moving her arm from the table so the waiter could serve her meal. “Why
would anyone who actually had a legitimate excuse to enter a vacant apartment, wait
until it was occupied? And in the middle of the night?” She leaned forward and
inhaled the mouth-watering aroma of roast lamb and balsamic, her stomach
grumbling on cue.

“You’re too
trusting,” Chris said, once they were alone again. “Look at how easily you fell
under Marcus Bartlett’s charms. You really should be more wary of strangers,
you know. For your own sake.”

She set her
wineglass down. “Are you always this suspicious of other people?” His concern
for her welfare wasn’t warranted, but still touching in a big brother sort of
way.

“Sorry, it must
be a cop thing.”

“Anyhow, I
wouldn’t exactly call Tanya’s boss and landlord a stranger.” She picked up her
knife and fork, waiting for Chris to do the same. “What is it with you and
Marcus, anyway?”

“Personality
clash. It’s not important.” He sliced through his fillet of kingfish as if it
had done him a great disservice.

She flinched.
“Okayyyyy…” She watched him for a few moments.

“Something
wrong with your meal?” he asked, indicating her untouched plate.

“No, just
thinking.” She ran her knife between two lamb ribs, revealing the succulent,
pink meat.

Chris put down
his utensils and lifted the bottle of wine from the wine bucket. “Too much
thinking is not good for you,” he said, replenishing their wineglasses. “Why do
you imagine I brought you here?”

“Change of
scenery and all that?”

The corner of
his mouth lifted. “Something like that. How’s that aunt of yours? Still mad as
ever…” His face fell. “I meant mad in a good way.”

She laughed,
for a short moment her grief forgotten. “Yes, Gail is as loony as ever. Her
madness helps keep me sane.”

Over dinner,
they chatted about life in Melbourne versus life in Perth, with Jemma trying to
convince Chris that Perth was no longer some desolate outpost.

Chris ordered a
second bottle of wine. She was about to protest, but didn’t. As Tanya would
have said, it wasn’t a school night; meaning she didn’t have to get up early in
the morning.
And
, she thought,
it’ll help me sleep.

“So what’s your
boyfriend do?” He must have seen her blanch. “Sorry, too personal.”

“No, it’s not
that. My boyfriend – or should I say, ex-boyfriend – is an electrician. He used
to work for a small outfit in Perth…” She took a breath. “But as of a few weeks
ago, he works for one of the big mining companies in the Pilbara. Something
like seven weeks on and one week off. It’s a long, complicated story, but
suffice to say, Ross and I’ve had a parting of the ways.”

He gave a
knowing nod. “Thus the roses.”

Instead of
confirming or denying it, she opened the dessert menu. Confessing to not
knowing for sure who sent the flowers, would just fuel his conviction that she
was too trusting for her own good. “Enough about my dismal love life, what
about yours? Any significant other in your life?”

“Past tense.
Meg and I split about twelve months ago, after seven years of not so wedded
bliss.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be. I’m
surprised the marriage lasted as long as it did. You know the jealous, paranoid
type: thinks a man incapable of keeping his…” He hesitated. “Anyway, Meg is now
terrorizing some other poor bloke.”

“Any kids?”

A look of
sadness passed over his face. “No,” he said, fiddling with the edge of the
menu.

Before Jemma’s
alcohol-loosened tongue could make an awkward situation worse, the waiter
turned up to take their dessert orders.

“Nothing for
me, thanks.” One more bite of anything and her jeans would pop. “But please
don’t let that stop you,” she said as Chris went to close his menu. He opened
it again.

Minutes later,
the waiter reappeared carrying an enormous, puff pastry creation filled with caramelized
pear and finished with toasted almond flakes. A meal in itself.

Nursing the
last of her wine, she watched in amusement as Chris tucked into the dessert,
his enjoyment with each mouthful evident.

“Sure you don’t
want to try some? It’s good.”

She smiled and
shook her head, the sudden movement leaving her decidedly woozy. Clutching the
sides of her chair, she waited for the sensation to pass.

“Hey,” she
said, “I didn’t know you were involved in the investigation into Sean’s death.”
Or at least, that’s what she thought she said.

Chris stopped
eating and frowned. “Are you okay?”

She started to
nod, but stopped when the whole restaurant began to tilt.

Wednesday morning, Jemma woke
feeling less than human. Though she didn’t think she had drunk that much, her
memory of the latter part of the previous evening was hazy, to say the least.
Her eyes screwed up against the daylight streaming through the balcony doors,
she pushed herself upright and massaged her cricked neck. She wasn’t even sure
how she had made it back to the apartment.

An hour after dosing
up on extra-strong, extra sweet coffee together with the couple of aspirin she
had found in the bottom of her bag, she felt better. Not perfect, but near
enough.

Showered and
armed with another coffee, she ranged from room to room, opening and closing
cupboards, drawers and doors. Returning her empty cup to the kitchen, she
repeated the exercise, but this time she checked under, behind and above
everything. Her search uncovered nothing of interest, a gathering of dust
bunnies her most exciting discovery. Not that she knew what she had expected to
find. Some revelation about her sister, perhaps? An insight into her death? The
reason someone broke into the apartment? The rest of the typed message she had
found under the washing machine? A clue of some sort? Anything had to be better
than nothing.

Next, she
unpacked and repacked the remaining moving boxes in the study, putting those
containing Tanya’s clothes aside for the Salvation Army. Even if by some
miracle they had fitted her, Jemma couldn’t have worn them. Too morbid.

Sitting with
her back against the wall, the carpet prickly against her bare legs, she
thought about her next move. Which at that point was getting to her feet. Her
phone rang, giving her the impetus to do something about it.

Her finger hovered
over the answer button. Should she or shouldn’t she?

“Jem, it’s me…”
The caller coughed. “Ross.” As if she wouldn’t recognize his voice, not to
mention his caller ID.

“Hmmn,” she
said, for want of something to say.

“I saw Gail
yesterday.”

“I know. Thank
you for the flowers, by the way.”

“Say what?”

“Nothing. Don’t
worry about it.” She knew it had been too good to be true.

He cleared his
throat. “Why didn’t you tell me about Tanya?”

“Because I
didn’t want you staying with me out of some misguided loyalty.”

“But you
shouldn’t have had to go through that alone.”

“No.”

“I’ve fucked up
big time, haven’t I?”

Jemma bit down
hard on her lip, tasting blood.

“I never meant
to hurt you, Jem. Honest.”

“I know. When
are you heading back up to the mines?”

“Monday. Hey,
we’re still mates, right?”

“Yeah, mates.”

Hanging up, she
tapped her phone against her palm. If Ross hadn’t sent the roses, who had?
Perhaps Ethan, as a way of an apology for doubting her story. Or Marcus as a
housewarming gift for his new tenant, short-term as it was. Both were possible,
not that she was about to risk embarrassing herself by asking either man. The
card had obviously been mislaid, and sooner or later, someone would say
something. For now, it was the least of her worries.

No sooner had
she set the phone down than it rang again. This time it wasn’t a number she recognized.

“Jemma, it’s
Ethan Kelly. I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.” Polite and
businesslike.

“Not at all,”
she said, perching on the edge of the desk. “What can I do for you?” Two could
play at the same game.

“Let me buy you
a coffee, so I can at least apologize in person for yesterday.”

She started to
thaw. “I suppose that could be arranged. When and where?”

“How does in
about half an hour at the café we bumped into each other yesterday sound?”

Pulling a face,
she looked down at her grubby T-shirt and denim shorts. “Sounds fine,” she
said, already in the throes of wriggling out of her shorts. Top next.

Half-naked, she
raced around the apartment like a Flash media clip on fast-forward. Bathroom:
clean teeth, mouthwash, spray of Bvlgari perfume. Study: Levi jeans, wrap-front
top, sandals. Kitchen: down a glass of water. Back to the bathroom: dusting of
bronzing powder to make her look healthier than she felt, mascara and a touch
of lipgloss for added color. Study again: earrings, a quick upside-down shake
of her long hair.
Thank God for the tousled look
, she thought, as she
came back up again, giving her appearance a quick once-over in the robe mirror.

She grabbed her
bag from the living room floor, rummaging in it for her sunglasses as she
headed for the door.

About to step
into the lift, she remembered her mobile phone. She raised her wrist to check
the time, only to realize she had forgotten her watch, too. Cursing, she bolted
back to the apartment, hearing the lift doors close as she slid her key into
the lock.

Two minutes
later, she was back in the corridor, shifting her weight from foot to foot as
she waited for the lift to return.

The short ride
down allowed her a couple of calming breaths and then she was off again, out
the doors and up the street at a fast trot. She daren’t be late. As she had
already discovered, Ethan wasn’t the sort of man to hang around without good
reason. This time she wanted some answers.

Hot and out of
breath, she entered the café, scanning the Lego-inspired tables for his dark
head. She was about to check the staff alcove around the corner when she felt a
touch on her shoulder.

“Looking for
someone?” Ethan asked, flashing her a smile as she turned.

For some
unaccountable reason, she blushed, her heart skipping a beat. Hoping he hadn’t
noticed, she fumbled in her bag for her wallet. Another relationship of any
kind was the furthest thing from her mind. “Have you ordered?”

“Let me get
this. It’s the least I can do.”

“Large
cappuccino, please,” she said to the round-faced girl waiting behind the
counter.

“Make that two,
Lesley. Cheers.”

Thankfully, the
café wasn’t as busy as the previous day and they scored a table out in the
open. Ethan played the gentleman and waited until Jemma was seated before
taking the chair opposite. When his left hand came up to stop his tie flopping
forward, she noted the absence of a ring. Not that it meant anything.

Ethan opened
his mouth to speak at the same instant as she did. They both stopped, waiting
for the other to continue. Neither spoke. And then they repeated the farce,
bursting into laughter at the end of it, breaking whatever ice was left.

“Let’s start
again, shall we?”

“From where?”

The corner of
his mouth lifted. “From wherever you like.” He extended a hand across the
table. “Ethan Kelly’s the name.”

She laughed.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr Kelly. Mine’s Jemma Dalton.” His hand felt cool and
dry against her hot skin.

For the next
few minutes they did nothing more than drink their cappuccinos and indulge in
small talk.

“Sorry about
yesterday, by the way,” Ethan said, pushing his cup to one side. “Family
crisis.”

She waited for
him to elaborate. He didn’t. “Everything okay now?”

He rocked his
hand. “Time will tell. Any more unwelcome visitors?” he asked, making it sound
as if she were contending with nothing more threatening than a couple of pesky
mice.

“No, thank God.
Which reminds me,” she said, using the opening, “did you get a chance to look
into those missing security transactions like you said you would?”