Sleight Malice (16 page)

“Don’t worry
about me. Time for a coffee before you go?” she asked, hoping to sidestep the
promise issue.

He grabbed her
by the shoulders. “I’m serious, Desley. Deadly.”

“And so am I.”
She twisted down and away from Brandon’s strong grip. What had got into her
usually easy-going brother?

“Sorry, Sis.
I’m worried about you, okay?” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I don’t have a
spare sister stashed away anywhere if anything should happen to you. Who would
I give a hard time then?”

“Yeah, well,
I’ll forgive you this once. What time’s your flight?”

“Not until later,
but I can get a taxi.”

“Don’t be
silly, I’ll take you.”

They argued
back and forth for a minute or two, with Brandon the victor. “That’s settled
then,” he said.

Desley’s
shoulder bag buzzed. She leapt at it, hoping it was Fergus returning her call.
Unable to put her hand on her mobile at once, she upended the bag on the
kitchen counter. Buried under the jumble of keys, wallet, iPod, memory-stick,
notebook, pens, sunglasses, comb, tissues, receipts and loose coin, it took her
a moment to find her ringing phone.

“Hi, Fergus.”

Brandon gave
her a knowing smile and wandered off in the direction of the living room. She
walked the other way, across the hall into the dining room.

“Just got your
message. It sounded urgent.”

“Did it?” So
much for not letting her stress show. “I mean…” What did she mean? She took a
deep breath and started again. “Have you heard from Kim today?”

“No, but I’ve
had my phone switched off for most of the day, which I do when I’m out on a job
and trying to avoid drawing attention to myself. Problem is I often forget it’s
not on until I go to make a call. Should I have heard from Kim?”

“Selena Papa’s
been taken in for questioning or something. I thought you might have heard what
was going on.”

“And you know
this how?”

She pulled a
face. How was she going to get around this one? “That’s not important now. I’ll
explain everything later. I don’t have time right now: Brandon’s leaving for
the airport shortly.”

“Does that mean
you’re free later?”

She smiled.
“What did you have in mind?”

“Drinks…” he
said, his voice hesitant, “and dinner?”

“Sounds good,”
she said, putting him out of his misery. “Where?”

“Your choice.”
He sounded bolder and more confident. “Just name the place.”

She suggested
her local pub, not because it served the best meals in town, but because she
thought it would be less intimidating than some staid upmarket restaurant. They
could relax and be themselves. No pretences. Less awkward. And if it all went
pear-shaped, she wasn’t far from home.

“Great.
Seven-thirty it is. In the meantime, I’ll see what I can find out about our Ms
Papa.”

“Thanks,
Fergus. I owe you one.” She hung up, already having second thoughts about
drinks and dinner with him. Was she ready to get involved with another man?
Would she ever be ready?

“Owe him for what?”

She started,
turning to find her brother leaning in the doorway hoeing into a tub of
yoghurt. “If you really must know, I’m having dinner with him tonight.”

Brandon
grinned. “And what, you owe him for having to make such a huge sacrifice?”

“Well, someone
else stood me up.”

“Yep, that’s
me: love ‘em and leave ‘em. Talking of which, your beloved ex-husband called me
earlier.”

“Called you?”

“Thinks I can
convince you to give the marriage another chance.”

“You have to be
joking!”

“Yep, that’s
what I basically told him.”

“No, I mean
that he thought he could use you to get to me.”

Brandon cocked
an eyebrow. “So there is a chance?”

“Not a hope. He
must think I’m naïve. The only reason he wants me back is because his fiancée
did to him what he did to me. Selena’s welcome to him.”

“Meow.”

“It’s not like
that.”

He chuckled.
“Whatever you say.”

Unless she
wanted another brotherly scolding, she couldn’t tell him about her visit to
Selena. But had she read the situation right? While pregnant with another man’s
child, Selena was still proclaiming her love for Trent. Would he ever be able
to get past his wounded pride and forgive his fiancée – or ex-fiancée as he
took great pains to point out to Desley?

“Earth calling
Desley.”

“Sorry. What
did you say?”

“I said, if you
don’t need me, I might head off.”

“So soon? I
thought your flight wasn’t until later.”

“I’ve just
remembered there’s something I need to do on the way.”

Now who was
being cryptic? With a cheesy grin, he dropped the teaspoon he had been using to
eat the yoghurt into the empty tub, turned and ambled away. Tit for tat? She
hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with him.

Twenty minutes
later, she waved Brandon off, doing her damnedest to keep her emotions in check
as the taxi backed down her driveway. She turned and walked back inside.

The click of
the door sounded hollow in the quiet. A faint muskiness hung in the air:
Brandon’s deodorant. The only other vestige of her brother’s stay was an empty
refrigerator and a load of laundry. She missed him already.

Arming herself
with a double-shot espresso, she headed to her computer. Fergus had been
working all day, and so should she have. Being her own boss had its advantages,
but it also had its downsides: no paid leave of any kind for one. If she didn't
work, she didn't get paid.

Her clients had
been patient so far, but she couldn’t risk pushing them any further. She had
one outstanding quote for a new website. A skim through her emails revealed
requests for two more. She groaned. Any other time and she would have been delighted
to have the opportunity to ply her web-wares.

She dashed off
replies to all three prospective clients, apologizing for the delay and asking
each of them for additional detail to buy herself some extra time. That left
her with a variety of website tweaks, fixes and various updates. She tackled
the easiest first: updating a webpage with client-supplied text – a simple copy
and paste job. Next she fixed a broken link, pointing it to the correct file.
Working her way methodically through the list, she made good headway.

She stopped
around four o’clock to replenish her coffee cup and stretch her stiff body.
Another couple of hours and she would have the most pressing jobs completed;
just in time to shower, change and get to the pub to meet up with Fergus. She
hadn’t yet let herself think of it as a date and all that implied.

Back in front
of the computer, she allowed herself a couple of minute’s respite, sipping her
coffee as she perused a couple of the news sites. Laura and Ryan’s
disappearance didn’t even rank a mention, nor did the arson of their home or
the murder of the unknown man. With nothing to feed the media, it had become
yesterday’s news, speculation and false sightings not even keeping it alive.
How soon before the police downsized their investigation?

She thought
back to Selena’s comment about the cottage in Howqua belonging to a friend of
Ryan’s. Laura had told her it belonged to a friend of a friend. Who did own the
cottage? Could it have any bearing on the case?

“There’s only
one way to find out,” she said aloud, her fingers flying across the keyboard. A
quick search led her to the Land.Vic website. For a second she thought she
might have to front up at the Land Information Centre in person, until she read
that for less than $20 she could have a copy of a property title emailed to her
within minutes. She whooped, elated that something was going her way for a
change.

Credit card in
hand she punched in the order details and sat back. Before she had a chance to
think what the information might tell her, a loud ping announced the arrival of
a new email.

She opened it,
scanning the document for a name.

Maureen Carmel
McKeown.

Sole
proprietor.

No
encumbrances, caveats or notices.

No activity in
the last 125 days.

The name meant
nothing to her; it didn’t even sound vaguely familiar. And what were the odds
that the Spring Street address, current when the purchase had been registered
nine years previously, would still be valid?

A search of the
online White Pages revealed no listing for any M McKeown in Spring Street, or
indeed the city. But a lot could happen in nine years. She could have married,
moved interstate or even country, leaving a friend or someone else to look
after the Howqua property. Then again, perhaps she had a silent number.

Googling the full
name resulted in no hits, but replacing it with "Maureen McKeown"
gave her 1,090 listings. Ireland. United Kingdom. America. France. Canada.
Sweden. She narrowed the search to Australia: 35 and no guarantee any of them
were the Maureen McKeown she was looking for.

She scrolled
through them: real estate agent, teacher, secretary, resident’s association
committee member, footballer’s mother, gardener, relationship counselor;
occupations as diverse as the locations. Supping her now cold coffee, she
stared at the screen. Most had email addresses included, but what could she
say?
Excuse me, but do you own a holiday cottage in Howqua?

Starting with
the Melbourne real estate agent, she ploughed her way through the list. One by
one, she opened each link, looked for an email address and sent a brief note
explaining she was trying to locate the owner of the property, though not
detailing why. The sites that required she register her details before allowing
access she left to last.

She pressed
Send on the final one – a South Australian travel agent registered on the
OldFriends network – and signed out. With a start, she realized she was sitting
in near darkness, the room’s only illumination coming from the computer
monitor. She checked the time.

7:48 PM

“Shit!” She bounced
to her feet, scattering paper and bills in her panic to find the phone.

Fergus watched the hotel’s wide
timber and steel double doors, his heart skipping a beat each time they swung
open. Then the fanciful clock above the bar would draw his gaze, its exposed
multi-colored cogs a visual reminder of every passing minute.

Door.

Clock.

Door.

Clock.

A young busty
blonde woman sitting alone at the bar kept glancing his way. He avoided eye
contact. He didn’t need the complication. However, he did need another beer.
Taking a convoluted course through the tables to the opposite end of the bar,
he managed to avoid passing too close to her.

Where was
Desley? Dumped on his first date? Worse, before the first date. Not a good
start. He reasoned he could phone her, but he didn’t want to come across as
desperate or worse, possessive like her ex.

The
shaven-headed barman passed him his drink and took his money. Pocketing the
change, Fergus headed back to the table, his imaginary blinkers firmly in
place.

He picked up
the menu, more as a prop than anything else. He already knew it by heart. He
could feel the blonde woman’s eyes boring into him, daring him to look up.
Until then, he’d never realized how fascinating a glass of beer could be.
Another day, another time and perhaps he might’ve played along, but the woman
he wanted to flirt with wasn’t some blonde stranger.

Sighing, he
wondered if he was just fooling himself. He couldn’t deny he had felt the
chemistry from the moment he met Desley. But had she? With all the dramas that
had been unfolding in her life, it was hard to tell. All her energies were
going into trying to find out what happened to her friend. He hoped he could
inspire that same loyalty.

Having her
ex-husband hanging around didn’t help either. If the ego-driven pretty boy was
Desley’s type, then what hope was there for him?
But
, he reminded
himself,
he is her ex for a reason
.

Just as the
blonde woman slid down from her barstool and sashayed his way, tall drink in
hand, his mobile rang. In his haste to answer it, he almost dropped it.

“Desley, hi.”

“Oh Fergus, I
am so sorry. I completely lost track of time. I was trying to get caught up
with some work and… and… Anyway, you know how it is. Give me half an hour to
freshen up…” She paused for breath. “That’s if your invite still stands, of
course.”

“No rush.”
Liar
.
“See you when you get here.”

Desley hung up,
but he kept talking. “Okay, darling. Give the twins a kiss for me. Love you,
too.”

Out of the
corner of his eye, he caught the blonde making her way back to her spot at the
bar. Fergus smiled. He was no longer some dejected bloke stood-up by his date,
but a loving husband and father waiting for his wife who happened to be running
a few minutes late.
One day…