Thin Blood (20 page)

Confusion
flashed across Narelle’s face. “How did you know where to find me today if you
weren’t following me, then?”

“Purely a
calculated guess. Craig is in hospital, you’re his wife — who else but a wife
would be expected to visit every day? If I’d been following you, I certainly
wouldn’t have sat out in that damned heat for three hours, waiting for you to
show up.” She paused, taking a breath. “I apologise if my methods seem a little
underhand, but I couldn’t see any other way. Please just let me explain and
then, if you still feel the same way, I promise I won’t try to contact you
again.”

Narelle still
looked unconvinced. “If it’s not you, who is it? It doesn’t make sense.”

Mid-shrug,
Jacinta froze, her shoulders up around her ears. Did the police have Narelle
under surveillance? Daniel had intimated that as much would happen if Craig
Edmonds became a serious suspect in the Toolangi murders.

“What is it?
What do you know that you’re not telling me?”

Jacinta shook
her head, her shoulders dropping. “First, was anything taken?”

“Not that I know
of. Why?”

“Any idea what
they were looking for?”

“No.” Narelle’s
jaw tightened. “Where is this going?”

“I just thought
that if we knew what they were after, it might give us a clue to who’s
following you and why,” Jacinta said, determined to keep her suspicions about
it being the police to herself until she knew more.

Narelle stared
into her untouched tea, her fingers absent-mindedly flicking the crimped edge
of her muffin’s cellophane wrap. Seconds ticked by.

Jacinta resisted
the urge to fill the silence, instead stuffing apple and raisin muffin into her
mouth. She swallowed and took another bite, washing it down with coffee. When
Narelle eventually spoke, it was just one word.

“Explain.”

Jacinta choked
on a mouthful of muffin. “Pardon?”

“You wanted to
explain, so explain.”

Her face deadpan
and her eyes downcast, Narelle listened intently as Jacinta did her best to
recount, without going into too much detail, how the long-lost stepbrother she
had hoped she would never see again had suddenly reappeared in her life.

“I hadn’t even
told Brett I had a stepbrother. So you can imagine running into him like that
came as a hell of a shock. I didn’t set out to deceive you. I was going to tell
you, but you had more than enough of your own to deal with without having my problems
lumped on top. I told Daniel you were pregnant only because I was concerned for
your welfare. I swear I haven’t discussed anything else you’ve told me with
him.”

“What does my
welfare have to do with the police?”

Buying time,
Jacinta nudged her coffee cup aside and leaned forward. “The less stress you
have, the less stress your baby has to tolerate,” she said, her fingertips
edging across the table. “I’m hoping that now the police are aware of your
pregnancy, they won’t resort to using shock tactics like they did that time you
collapsed at your place. You can’t escape what’s happened, but if there’s
anything I can do to make it easier for you, I will.”

Tears welled in
Narelle’s eyes. Fighting a losing battle, she jammed the heels of her palms
into her eye sockets. After a few deep breaths, she sat upright, batting her
cheeks with the backs of her hands. “God, I must look a fright,” she said,
running a finger under each eye, smudging her mascara further. “Sorry. I’m not
normally like this. Really.”

Jacinta
retrieved the packet of tissues from her knapsack and passed them to Narelle.
“Don’t apologise. You’re holding up better than I would be in your situation.”

“Yeah, right,”
Narelle said, managing a weak smile.

Jacinta grinned.
“Yeah!”

For a fleeting
moment Narelle’s smile strengthened, her eyes brightening. Then her face
dropped. “Oh God, if only I could wake up and find this has all been a bad
dream.” Pausing, she stared off into the distance. “But it isn’t, is…” She
didn’t finish, her chair toppling sideways as she jumped to her feet. “What the
hell is she doing here?”

Jacinta
swivelled her head in the direction of Narelle’s gaze. None of the faces of the
people walking past the café looked familiar. “Who?”

“Grace Kevron,
the bitch!”

Jacinta stood
up, turned and stepped away from the table, hoping for a better vantage point.
At one of the ATMs near the toilets, a tall woman with straight black hair
slipped her wallet into her handbag and walked away. From the back, she could
easily have been mistaken for Grace. “Are you sure?”

With a weary
shake of her head, Narelle bent down to pick up her fallen chair, setting it
upright again. “Next I’ll be hearing voices,” she muttered under her breath.
Sitting back down at the table, she swigged her now cold herbal tea as if it
were medicine, screwing up her nose in distaste as it went down.

She then opened
her muffin, picking the raisins from it and placing them on her saucer but not
actually eating anything. Sitting down opposite, Jacinta bided her time,
folding the cellophane wrapping from her muffin into tight eighths before
releasing it to spring open again.

The show over,
the volume of conversation around them soon picked up. Cups clanked. Chair legs
scraped against the floor. Although they were no longer the centre of
attention, Jacinta would rather have left their audience behind altogether. She
glanced at Narelle, but she seemed lost in her own little world, the dissection
of her muffin her only concern.

Jacinta gathered
up her knapsack, pushed in her chair and stepped over to the other side of the
table. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

Blinking
rapidly, Narelle looked up, her mouth forming silent words. She hesitated for a
second before standing, but once on her feet, moved decisively toward the exit.
However, her sudden burst of energy proved short-lived, lasting not much
further than the hospital’s main doors.

By the time they
reached the car park, Jacinta felt in need of a reviving cold shower. Narelle,
too, looked ready to drop as she trudged the last few steps to Jacinta’s car.

Whether it was
the more comfortable seating, the air-conditioning, the absence of
eavesdroppers, or something else altogether, Narelle started opening up within
minutes of being in the car.

“Jacinta.” She
paused. “I’m sorry. I should never have accused you of following me or breaking
into my house. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course I should’ve realised
Grace Kevron would be the only one warped enough to do that sort of thing.”

“Grace? You
really think it could be her?” Daniel’s comments had led Jacinta to believe the
police were the likely culprits. But then again, she had learned enough about
Grace not to put anything past her.

“Who else could
it be? She’s had it in for Craig and me right from the start. She’s crazy.”

“Crazy enough to
be dangerous? You should be talking to the police about this. They can protect
you.”

Narelle snorted.

“I’m serious. I
think you should stay with me, at least until Craig comes home.”

“Thanks for the
offer, but I refuse to let that woman drive me away from my own home. Don’t
worry about me. I’ve organised for security cameras to be installed right
around the house, so if she tries to break in again, she’ll be caught in the
act,” Narelle said, the slight quaver in her voice undermining her brave words.
“If all else fails, there’s Craig’s gun – if I can find it.”

Jacinta’s heart
skipped a beat. “A gun?” According to Daniel, Craig Edmonds had never had any
firearms registered under his name.

“Don’t panic, I
would only use it to scare her off. It’s old. It used to belong to his father.
I don’t even know if there are any bullets for it.”

Jacinta’s grip
tightened on the steering wheel. Loaded or unloaded, old or new, guns were
guns. But right then, her deep-seated aversion for anything capable of killing
at the touch of a finger wasn’t her primary concern. One minute Narelle had
been accusing her of betraying her, and the next she was confessing her husband
owned a gun. Something didn’t add up.

Wanting to gauge
Narelle’s reaction, Jacinta waited until they were stopped at a traffic light
to pose her next question. “You do realise the two women found in the Toolangi State Forest were shot, don’t you?”

Narelle’s jaw
dropped. “What are you saying?”

“I’m not saying
anything, I’m just asking.”

“Well, if you’re
implying Craig is somehow involved, you’re crazier than Grace Kevron,” retorted
Narelle, her voice loud and indignant.

“Please, I
didn’t mean to upset you,” said Jacinta, pulling into the Edmonds driveway.

Before she could
turn off the ignition, Narelle had jumped from the car. “Thanks for the lift.”
The car door slammed on her clipped words.

Watching Narelle
as she bolted across the lawn toward the front door, Jacinta couldn’t shake the
uneasy feeling Narelle was testing her allegiance. What was she supposed to do
with the information about the gun? Go to the police and betray a confidence?
Or pretend the conversation had never happened and do nothing? Did the gun even
exist?

Narelle Croswell leaned against the
door and breathed out, her body sagging as she heard Jacinta’s car reverse down
the driveway to the street and then accelerate away. The heavy stillness inside
the house engulfed her, accentuating her own emptiness. She had never felt so
alone.

Nor had she ever
felt so exhausted. Every muscle in her body ached. Somehow, she mustered the
strength to push herself away from the door and shuffle zombie-like to the
bedroom. She flopped down on the unmade bed, kicked off her shoes and fell
backwards, sighing as her head hit the soft pillow. She crossed her lower arms
over her eyes, too tired to get up again to close the curtains.

Past the point
of sleep, she lay there, her mind a jumble of erratic thoughts. Nothing was
going according to plan, and feeling sorry for herself wasn’t working. She had
to stay strong. She needed someone to blame.

Her breathing
quickened as anger displaced self-pity. Anger at her family for abandoning her.
Anger at Craig for not being there to protect her. Anger at Jacinta for being
too nice. Anger at herself for believing in a real future. She knew it had all
been too good to be true.

She rolled onto
her side, tucking the pillow under her chin, and stared at the wall. Listening
to the low hum of the air-conditioner, she concentrated on slowing her
breathing, and counted back from one hundred.

…ninety-five…ninety-four…ninety-three…

She froze, her
breath catching in her throat. Had she imagined it? Was someone in the house?
Her ears straining to pick up every sound, she heard only the hammering of her
own heart. Sliding from the bed, she crept toward the doorway into the hall,
stopping just shy of the threshold.

Staying close to
the wall, she edged forward, all her senses heightened. A faint grumbling sound
from the direction of the kitchen sent her pulse skyrocketing. Paralysed by
fear, she stood stock still, one hand touching the wall, the other suspended in
mid-air.

Recognition
finally kicked in. She sank to the floor, a half-laugh, half-scream erupting
from her throat. If the fridge switching on was enough to freak her out, how
would she react in the face of real danger? She had to take back control. The
foetus growing inside her depended on it.

Forcing herself
to take slow, controlled breaths helped. Her heartbeats steadied as the
adrenaline dissipated. She felt stronger.

Getting up, she
took two steps, stopped and then, before she could give it any more thought,
marched straight down the hall. Trying to fool herself into believing she
wasn’t in the least nervous, she kept her eyes forward, focusing on reaching
the kitchen.

Once there, she
pulled the blinds. Crouching down in front of the dishwasher, she removed its
plastic kickboard. Then, lying on her back on the hard, tiled floor, she
reached into the dark cavity. With her shoulder wedged against the square edge
of the dishwasher, she strained to feel for the box. Nothing. She grunted in
frustration and tried again, almost dislocating her shoulder in the process.
Her fingertips grazed tin. Satisfied it was still there, she withdrew her arm.

In the garage
she found a pair of long-handled barbecue tongs. Coming back through the door,
she glanced across the kitchen bench to the meals area, deciding as an added
precaution to draw all the curtains.

Returning in the
semi-darkness to the kitchen, she resumed her position on the floor and, using
the tongs, reached under the dishwasher to the back corner.

After a couple
of attempts, she succeeded in hooking the end of the box and dragging it out
onto the tiles. Wiping sweat and grit from her eyes, she sat up, resting her
back against the pot drawers. She stretched her legs straight out in front of
her and laid the tarnished metal box on her lap. Brushing the dust from its
top, she unsnapped the two clasps and raised the lid.

Taking a deep
breath, she peeled back the black oilskin to reveal the .38 Special revolver
nestled inside. For a few moments, she just stared at it. Then, struggling to
control the tremor in her hand, she touched the gun, her fingertips tracing the
cold steel barrel and cylinder down to the diamond-hatched grips. She lifted it
out, its weight heavy in her hands.

She had fought
all her life for what she had wanted, and she wasn’t about to give up.

“Daniel!” Jacinta’s glass thudded
against the wooden chair arm, slopping ice-cold lager over her hand. “What are
you doing here?” she demanded as, leaning forward, she deposited the glass on
the outdoor table and flicked her fingers.