Sharp Shooter (20 page)

First thing I did was feed the birds. Hoo was snippy, trying to bite me as I filled the seed container, and Brains was stand off-ish, refusing to come over for a scratch. I felt vaguely guilty about their moods. JoBob had been out since early afternoon and the birds clearly hadn’t had their walk. But it was almost dark now – maybe tomorrow morning before I went to Eireen Tozzi’s.

I suddenly felt incredibly tired. The day had been long and crappy, and now I just wanted to have a hot, hot shower and lie down.

So I did just that, nibbling the last of JoBob’s brie and biscuits in bed; wondering who the suit with Johnny Vogue was, and watching
Scrubs
re-runs on my LT until I fell asleep.

I slept until well after midday, at which time I staggered out of bed and up to JoBob’s to borrow some bread.

And milk.

And sugar.

And toilet paper.

And soap.

And teabags.

And . . .

‘Tara, can’t you shop for yourself?’ asked Dad, making me jump. He was seated in his favourite chair and his eyes never shifted from the pro golf replay on his plasma.

Now Dad was semi-retired he had two passions in life – his plasma and his MP3 player. Everything else had to fit around them.

‘Didn’t see you there, Dad. Sorry, been busy. Will replace it tomorrow. Promise.’

I escaped with my armload of food booty, making a mental note that I needed to buy a laundry basket to make it easier to carry my food back to the flat.

Breakfast, shower, rummage for clean clothes, iron crumpled clothes and straighten hair – in that sequence.

I could hear the birds fighting in their cage, Hoo chasing Brains around and around. I took toast and a mug of tea outside and opened the cage door. They both climbed out immediately, as if to say ‘about time’. I watched them crawl around the outside of the cage, and up and down the lattice, until I remembered I had no car. A glance at my watch told me it was 2.30 pm. I lured the birds back into the cage with a piece of toast and honey, and snapped the gate shut.

Eireen Tozzi wasn’t the sort of person you kept waiting.

As I walked the back way to her house, Bok called me.

‘Sorry, T. Been so busy with these wankers, but they’re leaving tomorrow. What’s been happening?’

I told him a version of yesterday’s events and could almost hear his teeth grinding.

‘Who do you think trashed your car?’ he asked.

‘Either Barbaro or someone else. I’m thinking someone else.’

‘That narrows it down.’

I sighed. ‘I know.’

‘What are you doing now? How about coffee?’

‘Err . . . maybe not. I’m going to Eireen Tozzi’s to look through the things the burglar turned over.’ I waited for his disapproval but it never came.

‘That’s not a bad idea. I’ll call you. Later.’

I tucked my phone away in my shoulder bag. Somehow, Bok saying ‘that’s not a bad idea’ scared me. It was like he’d left off the subtext, ‘You’re in deep trouble and you’re going to have to start doing something to get out of it.’

I took that thought to Eireen’s front door, past a snazzy, gold Mercedes convertible parked next to the fountain. It seemed a rather sexy number for a lady of seventy plus. Maybe she had visitors.

I was right.

Antonia – Toni – Tozzi answered the door wearing a silk mushroom-pink Alannah Hill shift and a violent red aura. Jenelle’s aura had been red too. But there was red and then there was ‘red’. Toni ‘Falk’ Tozzi was the latter. Not like Jenelle’s fleshy pink tones; more, drowning-in-fresh-blood.

I recognised her straightaway from the other night, and the social pages. Her sandals matched her clothes, and the colour set off the amazing lush blonde hair which swept around her shoulders. Some women do the tousled chic look so well it’s nauseating. Why can’t they just look messy?

‘Are you the cleaner? Reeny said she had a girl coming over to help her,’ she said in a voice that sounded like she’d swallowed a plum and then regurgitated half of it.

I squared my shoulders. ‘Yes, I’m the girl. Could you tell Eireen that Tara is here?’

‘Wait here.’

I did as I was told until Eireen Tozzi appeared in an emerald green sheath dress, pearls and pink fluffy slippers.

‘Tara Sharp. I wondered if you’d remember. The young can be so irresponsible.’

‘Ready and raring to go, Eireen. That is, if you still want me. I see you have . . . err . . . relatives here.’ I stared at Antonia’s retreating back.

Eireen tossed her head. ‘Pssst. That one is too lazy to lift a hand.’ She crooked her finger.

I followed the diminutive figure, made shorter by lack of high heels, through the foyer, past the sitting room and down a long corridor. At the end of the corridor we climbed a set of elegant spiral stairs and entered the first grand door.

Chapter 31

Y
OUNG
N
ICK
T
OZZI’S BEDROOM
hit me hard psychically – like a piece of furniture dropped on my head from a great height. It wasn’t the first time I’d been affected by someone’s intimate possessions. There’s always residual energy from loved things. Compared to their personal aura, though, it’s more like a dull background radiation; how I imagine the Hubble telescope views the backdrop of the universe.

To me, Nick’s room was more like a theme park at night. Certain objects glowed brightly. This told me two things: either Nick Tozzi was spending a lot of time in his childhood bedroom, or I’d developed an unnaturally strong connection to him.

I glanced down at my chest. The cord from yesterday had disappeared but there seemed to be a slight distortion in my vision right at the spot where it had joined the top of my rib cage.

‘See what he did to my Nick’s room?’ Eireen waved her hands in despair. ‘I’d kill him with my bare hands if I could.’

I surveyed the emptied carton and overturned chest. ‘Well, don’t say that to the police, Eireen,’ I said. ‘They don’t take those comments lightly.’

She turned on me, a miniature schnauzer in pink fluffies. ‘You think I’m joking?’ Her eyes blinked fiercely and her aura swelled and brightened, just like her son’s. I’m glad I’d never been in the room when the pair of them were having an argument.

‘Hi, Tara.’

Damn!

Nick leaned against the door frame, wearing shorts and a t-shirt. His legs were like massive, sculptured pylons. I dragged my eyes from his thighs to his face and his warm, caramel aura.

But not before he’d noticed me looking.

And so, unfortunately, had his wife, who tottered around the expanse of his wide body holding a glass of champagne with a strawberry bobbing in it.

She gave Nick a sharp look in the suspicious manner of wives who were used to women admiring their husbands; or perhaps more than admiring. Jenelle’s comments had made me wary of Nick Tozzi.

‘Shouldn’t you be at work?’ I snapped.

‘We’re staying here at the moment – in the guest room – until our new house is ready. Didn’t I tell you?’

Staying here? Well, that explained the packing carton.

‘What’s the cleaner speaking to you like that for, Nicky?’

‘Tara isn’t the cleaner, Toni. She’s here to help Mum and I sift through this mess. She does this kind of thing for a living.’

‘Maid hire?’ she asked, innocently.

My hackles rose. ‘Actually, no. I’m not a maid or a cleaner. I’m a businesswoman, specialising in communication analysis and kinesic investigation. Kind of like a private detective. Graduated from Harvard.’

‘Harvard? I didn’t know they had degrees in such things.’

‘Yeah. Three years. It runs complementary to their law degree.’

Nick frowned at my preposterous lie but I didn’t care. His wife was a snobby bitch.

‘What is all this talk about,’ piped in Eireen. ‘I didn’t hire Tara – she’s a family friend. Her great-grandfather was lord mayor.’

Toni peered at me closely. ‘You do look familiar. Where did you go to school?’

‘Toni!’ said Nick in a warning tone.

‘Shotske State High in Bunka,’ I lied again. Was there even a place anywhere called Shotske?

‘Oh . . .’ Her interest faded again, and she looked like she’d tasted something bitter.

Nick spoke up to forestall any further interrogation. ‘Pleasant and all as it is chatting, we have a lot on today. Remember, Toni? Could you excuse us while Tara and I get this done?’ He bent over and righted a chair. ‘Mum, would you like to sit?’

Eireen’s eyes glinted with sudden mischief. ‘Seeing as you’re already acquainted with Tara, I’ll leave you both to do this tedious and painful job. Antonia, come with me.’

Toni wavered, not wanting to leave us alone, yet knowing that she couldn’t refuse her mother-in-law’s imperative. Duty and fear of Eireen won out, and she followed Eireen from the room.

Nick sagged a little with tension release. ‘I’m sorry, Tara. Toni can be a bit rude.’

I nodded. ‘Oh well. Your problem, not mine,’ I said cheerfully.

His mouth pursed. ‘Yes.’

‘Let’s get to it then. Can I touch things? Or do I have to wear gloves or something.’

‘The police have finished here. They’ve taken their pictures. I thought we could start with the chest and then move on to the carton.’

‘No need for system,’ I said, standing in the centre of the room and letting my eyes defocus. There were several bright objects. I walked from one to the other. First was a tangle of ribbons and pennants proclaiming various season wins, then came an autographed basketball. I couldn’t read the name on it.

A pair of huge size-sixteen boots stood in the foot of the open closet. I bent over to them. They had the faint smell of mould and an eyelet had pulled out.

‘Haven’t worn them since I left the States,’ he said.

I smiled. I could understand that. Wearing them again would somehow dilute the memory.

Each thing was significant enough to Nick to glow with his energy, but none were the thing I was looking for.

Then I noticed something next to the overturned carton, covered by some clothes. The energy around it was bright but disturbed.

I lifted the clothes off it. ‘What’s that?’

‘It’s an antique writing desk; a portable one. My grandfather left it to me. He fancied himself as a poet.’

‘What do you keep in it?’

He thought about it. ‘Some special things. Odds and sods.’

‘Do you mind if I have a look through it?’

‘Sure. I guess.’

I sat down cross-legged and gently turned the writing desk up the right way. It was like a small drawer with a lid, shaped for writing on your lap. The wood was scarred and inexpertly restored, but the leather insert was in quite good condition. I ran my hands over it and felt a little charge. This piece had been owned and cherished by many people and somehow their lives were all still evident in the energy. Mr Hara called it ‘living memory’. Natural materials were like that – wood, especially. I couldn’t tell who or what, just that it was there.

Some of the contents had been tipped out and spread around; some were still inside. A tingle spread across my body. This was significant, I was sure. Something in this little desk was important. I scooped it all into one pile. ‘Nick, can you come over here please?’

He came over and knelt down next to me. ‘What is it?’

I passed him the papers. As I did, the thread between us reappeared; from his chest to mine.

‘Could something here be important?’

He looked at the first item, an envelope with an old stamp on it. He didn’t need to look inside to know what was in it. I noticed a slight flush rise up his neck.

‘Love letter?’ I joked.

‘Jenny Baracas. She races Super cars now.’

‘Lucky her,’ I muttered with genuine envy.

He set it aside and picked up the next piece. ‘Ticket stubs to my first game.’

I shrugged. ‘Can’t see much importance in that . . . err . . . other than to you, I mean.’

He discarded them and picked up the next thing: a glossy brochure with a windsurfer on the front. ‘The place we went to on our honeymoon.’ Instead of putting it on top of the letter and the stubs, he threw it towards the bin.

The next thing was a manila envelope, slightly crumpled. He drew the papers out of it.

‘These are lease documents,’ he said.

I raised an eyebrow.

‘Toni’s father gave me a Pilbara mining exploration lease for my birthday a while back.’

‘Novel present.’

‘He’s a Falk,’ he said, by way of explanation.

I sort of got what he meant. The Falks had been involved in the West Australian mining industry for a lot longer than I’d been around. They reputedly owned great chunks of land throughout the Pilbara and Kimberley, and goldmines near Kalgoorlie.

‘Why is the document in here?’ We were sitting facing each other, our knees almost touching.

‘This carton had all my private documents that I keep at home. But the lease is worth nothing. The assay report said there isn’t enough of any particular mineral to make it worthwhile mining it. Fifty acres next to a national park and not a damn speck of anything to get excited about. I can’t understand why he leased it in the first place. Guess he made a mistake, and thought he might offload it on his beloved son-in-law.’