Marriage & the Mermaid (Hapless Heroes) (13 page)

Could Moore have seen them when they’d interviewed her briefly in the bedroom? He wasn’t saying, but that could be a ruse. Maybe he was
pretending
he hadn’t so Baz wouldn’t realize they suspected Venus was involved in … what? More than a rescue? What if Steve hadn’t been innocently trying to save her? She had baulked when he’d used the word
rescue
in retelling her the events.

Whatever the truth of the situation, Baz was sure Venus was innocent, and without thinking it through properly he cut over Moore to say, “Venus isn’t here any more, I’m sorry.” An uncomfortable silence followed so Baz went on to give an improbably story about waking up and finding her gone, of searching both the bushland and the beach, and then deciding she was a flake and that they were happy to see the back of her.

“Why didn’t you inform me immediately?
“ Moore asked.

Good point. “I’d planned to ring this morning,” Baz lied, “when I finished searching. But my father had one of his bad spells and I had to settle him down. I didn’t realize there were suspicious circumstances around Steve’s death, so it didn’t seem like a priority.” Baz stopped babbling and held his breath.

“Fair enough,”
Moore said. “
But I’ll need to check out the room she stayed in. Don’t touch anything until I get there, all right?”

“Sure,” Baz said with more confidence then he felt, “but can you ring me before you come so I don’t miss you? I might have to take dad to the doctor.”

“Are you home this evening?”

Fuck! “Sure. At this stage.”

“You’ve got my number. Ring me if you have to leave. Otherwise I’ll see you in a couple of hours. And you said Miss Dalrymple’s mother was a family friend. Could you have her contact details there when I arrive?”

“There’s been a storm,” Baz threw in, although he could well imagine Moore thinking,
No shit, Sherlock.
“The roads could be difficult in the dark,” he added, hoping like hell that they were flooded.

“I’ve got a four wheel drive,”
Moore said.
“It’ll get through.”

“Great. Fine. See you then,” Baz said brightly, and hung up the phone. Then he looked at it for a couple of seconds before slumping against the bench top to put his hands over his face.
“What
am I doing?”

Protecting a murderer?

No, Baz didn’t believe that. Venus was a lot of things, but he didn’t believe her capable of murder. Unless Steve
had
tried to rape her and she’d hit him in self–defense? Christ, he should have persisted with his questions and not let her distract him with all that nonsense about getting pregnant. He was certainly digging a hole for himself with the police. Now he needed to find somewhere to hide Venus
and
come up with an explanation for his lack of contact details for the mother he’d invented for her –
a dear friend of my aunt.
What had he been thinking!

Hell, what if Moore asked his father?

Maybe Baz should tell Venus to leave. It was starting to get all too hard.

But after a couple of seconds of thinking about that Baz realised he couldn’t, because he didn’t trust her to not take stupid risks in her mission to get pregnant. He really needed to find out what her true story was before Moore arrived, but what if she stonewalled him? Could he tell her he needed answers or he’d turf her out? Was he determined enough to do that? Because there was no point in threatening something he wasn’t prepared to follow through on.

He was just mulling that over, realizing he’d never been in such a mess before, when he heard a sound that jangled down his spine like marbles banging down a set of stairs.

The doorbell.

His heart slammed into his ribs – then he caught his breath. It was way too soon to be the constable, unless Moore had lied about how close he was. No. That was too horrible to contemplate. It had to be someone else. So he took a moment to calm himself down then he turned and, with remarkable presence of mind, put the tray of party pies into the preheated oven.

“More guests for the party,” he said softly to himself, a surreal calm overtaking his previous terror. Then he forced himself to walk at an even pace down the hallway that led to the front foyer. It was lined with photographs of Wilsons – four generations of them in all their finery, lined up outside Saltwood. Not a single one of them had committed a criminal offence, or at least had never been caught.

Baz told himself he wasn’t about to be the first.

So he reached for the doorknob and grasped it, but in the end he didn’t have the courage to open it. What if it was the constable — if Moore had been trying to trick him? Perhaps he should at least move Venus into another room.

He was just vacillating on this idea, wondering if he could back out of the foyer without the visitor realizing he’d arrived on the other side of the door, when he heard a sneeze. A woman’s sneeze.

Immediate he thought of Venus, flipped the bolt with his thumb and wrenched the door open.

But there, standing on his front porch, soaking wet but with a tentative smile stood… Wynne Malone!

“Hey, Baz,” she said softly.

“Fuck,”
he replied.

Chapter Fifteen

W
ynne faltered, her smile fading.
Fuck.
Did that mean he wasn’t happy to see her? She’d been on edge for most of the six hour drive, struggling to remember why she’d thought cornering Baz at his father’s house would help him fall in love with her — in fact, wondering how he could see her arrival as anything other than an invasion of his privacy.

She’d been so worked up by the time the storm had hit, the gale–force winds had felt like the hand of God trying to push her back home. But still she’d persevered, telling herself that the road to love was often paved with tribulations and that she would ‘overcome’.

That determination
had
faltered when her car had bogged, but after a few self–pitying tears she’d rallied and trudged through mud for two hours. Now, exhausted and drained of any reserves of bravado,
Fuck
was the last thing she wanted to hear.

Still, she pasted a weak smile on her face and held out a dripping hand. “Just wanted to say sorry in person.”

“Wynne,” Baz said, in the same tone as he’s said
Fuck,
but she forced her hand to remain extended and eventually he took it, pulling her over the threshold and glancing behind her quickly before slamming the door on the rising wind.

He stood back then and frowned at her, as though unable to get his head around the fact that she’d appeared on his doorstep. But it shouldn’t have been a complete surprise. Hadn’t he read her letter? He just continued to stare.

Luckily she wasn’t a complete mess. Wynne had only just taken her raincoat off and left it on the front gate (not wanting Baz to see her even carrying it – bad memories), so her smart pink, knee–length suit was mostly dry. More than could be said for her hair. The sweeping chignon her hairdresser had fussed over that morning was fallen out and hung like rats–tails down her back.

“Wynne?” Baz said again, this time in a questioning tone, but that was all he said and, tired though she was, Wynne realised she’d have to move the conversation forward herself.

She put her small suitcase on the marble floor tiles beside her and straightened to look him in the eye. “Did you read my letter?” she asked gently, then waited for him to tell her he’d thrown it away unopened. His frown merely deepened and she nervously tucked a rat–tail behind her ear, hoping she looked waif–like and vulnerable, instead of the drowned rodent she feared was more likely. “Deputy Principal Barnes gave me your address to post it to,” she lied. Baz would know, as well as she did, that Barnes could lose his job for giving out personal information. There were laws to protect privacy.

But instead of questioning that part of the story, Baz said, “What letter?”

Wynne felt her heart flutter uncomfortably. Was he going to deny even receiving it? “I sent you a letter of apology by registered mail. The post office told me your father signed for it two days ago.”

Baz closed his eyes on a sigh. “That explains why I didn’t get it.”

“I said in the letter that I was heading up this way to visit my sister,”
another lie,
“And wanted to drop in to apologize in person.” Her gaze dropped down to her muddy pink stilettos. “How embarrassing,” she added and tried to force a blush, but she was freezing cold and shivering so heated cheeks were hard to conjure.

There was a heartbeat of awkward silence before Baz said, “My dad’s a bit forgetful. He’s probably put your letter somewhere safe and…” He shrugged, then added, “Anyway, apologize for what? I was the one who was rude.”

Wynne let her held breath out silently and tried not to smile, but that was even more difficult than conjuring the blush. She felt exultant. Everything was working out perfectly! “And now my car is bogged,” she said, gazing up at him again through her sodden eyelashes, “and I’m stuck here. I’m so sorry. Like you need more trouble from me.” She offered him a weak, self–deprecating smile.

“Bogged? How far back?” Baz seemed inappropriately pleased about that.

“About two hour’s trudge away,” she replied, risking a wider smile.

Miraculously, Baz smiled back. “So the road’s completely blocked?”

She nodded. “No one will be able to get out of here until my car is moved.”

“Or
in,
“ he added, grinning at her.

Wynne felt her heart beat that little bit faster. He was just so gorgeous, so completely scrumptious, from the tips of his tousled black hair that touched his shoulders, down past those ‘take me to bed’ eyes and deliciously white teeth, all the way down that lean, tanned body in its casually stylish tee shirt and shorts, to his Italian leather sandals. Oh yes, he was a man who could dress himself. Wynne
loved
that about him. Loved everything about him, in fact.

“Looks like I’m stuck here,” she repeated, waiting for a reaction to that.

Baz nodded, apparently unperturbed. “I’m surprised to see you, Wynne,” he admitted, “but I have to say it’s a happy surprise. You’re timing is impeccable!”

“Is it?” Wynne replied. Whatever tiredness she’d been feeling immediately evaporated. He was glad to see her! This was so much better a beginning than she’d ever dared to hope for.

“Things are very… odd here at the moment,” he added, and smiled wryly. Wynne felt her heart leap up into her throat. He was
unbelievably
sexy up close. “ … so it will be a delight to have someone normal to talk to.”

Wynne’s smile faltered. She’d never thought of herself as ‘normal’. Her father had always used words like ‘extraordinary’ and ‘talented’ and ‘bewitching’ to compliment her. But given time, Baz would come to recognize those qualities in her himself, so in the short term Wynne could pretend to be ‘normal’ if that was what he needed.

She put a hand up as one of their students might, and said, “Boringly normal here. Or at least, normal in a wet kind of way,” she added, and wriggled her shoulders to draw attention to her plight.

Baz was onto that straight away. “Oh God, Wynne,” he said, smiling ruefully, “Here I am blathering away and you’re dripping wet. I’ll show you to the guest room and you can change into something dry.”

“Lovely,” she said, hoping the contents of her
Louis Vuitton
knock–off weren’t sodden. Oh well, they probably had a clothes dryer. And while she was waiting, Wynne could swan around in a towel, looking enticing. She’d bet that would get under his skin.

He reached down and picked up her suitcase then gestured down the wide hallway. Wynne walked at his side, trying not to gawk at him, but it was hard. She’d never been up close for this long, and the warm scent of his skin and the delicious curve of his full lips was making her light headed. She’d fantasized about kissing him so often it was challenging to be back in the reality where they were virtual strangers and she had to keep her hands, and her lips, to herself.

For now.

“So why is my visit good timing?” she asked, following his lead as they ambled down the hallway.

Baz stopped abruptly and simply stood, looking down at the carpet runner on the polished timber floor.

Wynne had been watching him closely so she was privy to the flash of emotion that crossed his face. Clearly she’d reminded him of something and it was a shock — but why, when he’d been so happy about her arrival? Baz continued to stand still, breathing, looking down, and she could almost hear cogs turning inside his brain. He’d forgotten something and now he had to adjust… the conversation? His plans?

“The guest suite isn’t available,” he said, and looked up with a strained expression on his face. “It’s being renovated.
I’m
renovating it,” he added. “Wallpaper. Tiles. It’s a mess.”

“Oh.” Was he going to throw her out into the rain? Wynne felt her bottom lip start to tremble. She’d been so close. So confident. Overconfident!

“There’s another room,” he said, and pointed back the way they’d come. “It’s next to mine.”

“Oh,”
Wynne said again, unable to keep up with the conversation. Was he putting her next to him because he wanted to seduce her? She felt a real blush rise then and it wasn’t only her face that felt hot. They simply looked at each other and for a terrible few seconds Wynne thought she was going to push Baz back against the wall and kiss him senseless. But of course she didn’t. Instead she made her numbing lips to form words. “Look, I’d be grateful for a public toilet at this point,” she told him. “So anything more luxurious than that will be fine by me.”

Thankfully he laughed and the tension between them dissipated. “It’s nicer than a public toilet,” he told her, and they set off walking back along the way they’d come. “Are you hungry? I’ve got party pies in the oven.”

“Starving,” she said. “And party pies? Wow. You country folk live well.”

Baz laughed. “Gourmet party pies,” he bragged, leading her back past the foyer and along another corridor. “My dad loves them,” he added and shrugged a tiny
what can you do?
shrug.