Sleight Malice (20 page)

Desley’s
shoulders sagged. For a moment, she had thought the body in the fire had
finally been identified. “Any news on the fire victim?”

Kim shook her
head. “Not yet. Sorry, but I really do have to cut and run.”

Fergus was the
first to break the silence after she left. “I can go, if you’d rather.”

She took a deep
breath. “Fergus, I don’t know what’s happened, but I feel like we’re walking on
eggshells all the time. Have I done something to offend you?”

His eyes
widened, and then his face broke into a smile. “No, not at all! I thought it
was me.”

Surely they
hadn’t been at cross purposes the whole time. “Why? What have you done?”

“Scared Selena
off?”

“There is
that.” She handed Fergus the can of Victoria Bitter and a glass.

“Am I allowed
to ask what she wanted?”

More
eggshells?
“To be honest, I’m not sure. Talk about
Trent, I think. I was trying the softly, softly approach, but she took off
before I could find out much.” Desley refilled her wine glass and took a sip.
“I’m sure she’s holding something back though.” She wrenched the knife from the
cheese. “Like some? I can assure you it’s dead.”

His low,
throaty laugh filled the kitchen. A tingle stole up her spine. She had almost
forgotten how good it sounded.

The doorbell
rang, followed a split-second later by heavy knocking. She and Fergus looked at
each other.

“Expecting
anyone?”

“No, but I
wasn’t expecting you or Selena either.”

More banging.
“Des, it’s me. C’mon, open up. I need to talk to you.” The door muffled Trent’s
voice, but not enough to mask his aggression. “What the hell did you say to
Selena?”

Fergus’s
nostrils flared. “Want me to do the honors?”

“No, he’s my
problem. I’ll deal with it. Why don’t you take our drinks through to the other
room?”

Calling herself
a coward, she waited until Fergus was out of sight before opening the door. Her
ex-husband didn’t rule her life, but sometimes it was just easier.

Trent’s pale
grey eyes glared at her across the security chain. “Aren’t you going to let me
in?”

“I’m tired,
Trent. Can’t it wait?” She closed her eyes, steeling herself.

“Selena is
really upset. I want to know what you said to her.”

“I told her the
same thing I’ve been telling you for ages, and that is, there is nothing
between you and I: it’s done and dusted, over and out, finito.” She sighed. “I
might have also suggested there was hope for her relationship with you.”

Trent’s blond
eyebrows drew together. “What?”

“If I spoke out
of turn, I’m sorry, but I just thought—”

He shook his
head. “Not that,” he said, his fingers closing over the taut security chain.
“Tonight. What did you say to her tonight? I couldn’t get two straight words
out of her.”

“Nothing. I
didn’t have a chance to—”

“Something must
have happened to set her off.”

“If you would
just let me finish, I’d tell you. Selena turned up here tonight – don’t ask me
why – but not long after, Kim or DS Mitchell as you know her, and Fergus
arrived. For some reason, Selena thought I had called the cops on her. She took
off before any of us could stop her. Where is she now?”

“Safe.” He
released the door chain and stepped back. “And that’s all you and your
detective cronies need to know.”

“I didn’t call
them,” she yelled after him as he stalked off.

She shut the
door. Trent had always been a sucker for a damsel in distress, but perhaps
Selena knew that. Anyway, she was safe and that was the main thing. Desley
pushed the deadbolt home.

“Locking me in
now?”

She turned.
Fergus’s intense green eyes held her gaze. “No, everyone else out.”

Eyes jammed shut, Desley rolled
across the bed and fumbled for the phone. Swallowing hard, she managed a croaky,
“Hello.”

“Have a heavy
night, Sis?”

“Do you have
any idea what time it is?”

“No, do you?”

She rubbed her
eyes. “Seriously, it must be the middle of the night.”

He laughed.

“Aw don’t, it
hurts.” Her head throbbed, the pain ricocheting around her skull with each
pulse.

“Must have been
some party.”

The previous
night came back to her in flashes, like a video on fast-forward with whole
series of frames missing.
Selena. Kim. Fergus…

She forced one
eye open a fraction, flopping back on her pillows with relief when she found
she was alone. But then she looked down; she was naked. Her heart contracted,
she couldn’t breathe. Did she undress herself? She couldn’t remember. “What was
that?” She tilted sideways, checking the floor for evidence.

“I asked if
there was any news.”

“News?” Her
clothes from the night before lay in a crumpled heap at the edge of the bed.
One black sock had obviously tried to make a run for it and had got as far the
door; the other had fallen just short of the laundry hamper.

“C’mon, Sis,
get with the plot.”

“Getting
there…” She closed her eyes thinking dead had to feel better than how she felt.
Even her saliva glands had gone on strike and some furry, foul-tasting creature
had taken up residence in her mouth.

“Are you okay?”
He sounded concerned now.

“I’ll live.
Just. You saw the news?”

“Yes. Any
update?”

“No, except it
is Ryan’s four-wheel-drive.”

“And the dead
man?”

“Don’t know.
Not Ryan.” Pushing her hair back from her sweaty forehead, she tried to gather
her thoughts. “Car thief perhaps.”

“What else has
been happening?”

“Work, work and
more work.”

“Makes Desley a
dull girl. Anything else? Have you had any more threats?”

“No.”

“So you’re
keeping your nose clean then?”

She sighed.
“Yes, Mum.”

“Just looking
out for my big sister.”

“Hey, did Laura
ever mention a Maureen McKeown to you? Or have you even heard the name?”

“What makes you
think Laura would’ve mentioned this woman – whoever she is – to me?”

“I don’t know.
Only asking.”

“Anyway, who is
she?”

“It doesn’t
matter.” What did matter was whether she had any painkillers in the house.

“Of course it
does. You promised me you would stay clear of the police investigation.”

That’s what he
thought. The way she remembered it, she hadn’t promised anything, managing to
sidestep the issue altogether. “As far as I know, the police aren’t
investigating this woman.” Only a slight stretch. She had to be found first.

“So why are you
asking me about her?”

She groaned.
“What is this? Twenty questions?”

“I’ve said this
before, but I’m going to say it again: it’s not a game, this person is
dangerous. Two bodies – that we know of. Don’t you think that’s enough?”

“What person?”
Her brain was having trouble connecting the dots.

“I don’t know.
That’s the point.”

Boom. Boom.
Boom.
“Please don’t yell.”

“Sis,” he said,
softening his voice, “I’m only saying these things because I care.”

“I know and I
promise I’ll be careful.” Wasn’t she always? “Anyhow, what’s the goss on Pete
and his girlfriend?”

“Sorry, what
girlfriend?”

“The girlfriend
he was two-timing, the one you thought Pete should confess all to: that one.”

“Gotcha. That’s
all over now. They’ve gone their separate ways.”

“What’s her
name?”

“Why?”

“Because didn’t
you have a thing for her?”

“No. What gave
you that idea?”

Out went her
theory that Brandon had been secretly seeing his mate’s girlfriend when he had
been in Melbourne. “Nothing. Ignore me.”

“Okay. Get some
sleep.”

Her fingers
relaxed. The phone dropped and bounced. It stayed where it landed on the bed
next to her. She couldn’t summon the strength to replace it on the cradle.

Downstairs. A
noise. Forgetting her hangover, she sat bolt upright, the top of her duvet
clutched to her chest. The phone clattered to the floor. She froze, all her
senses on sudden alert.

A smell
suspiciously like grilled bacon reached her nostrils. Burglars didn’t cook
breakfast, let alone buy the ingredients. But that meant Fergus had stayed the
night. She felt relieved, horrified, famished and nauseous all at the same
time.

Dragging
herself out of bed, she pulled on the first clean clothes that came to hand: a
pair of multi-colored leggings and a turquoise jumper three sizes too big for
her. Glamorous and sexy it wasn’t.

She crept down
the stairs, one eye on the front door and one on the entrance to the kitchen.
She contemplated making a break for it, but not for long. One: she doubted she
could summon the energy to do anything more strenuous than shamble. Two: it was
her house. Three: she couldn’t remember the last time someone cooked her
breakfast.

Another couple
of steps and she could see right into the kitchen. Fergus – or another man with
his trademark mop of dark curls – stood with his back to her, whisking eggs
from the sounds of it. He hadn’t heard her.

Needing to sit
down before she fell down, she hauled herself onto a barstool. She downed one
of the two glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice, breaking the perfect
symmetry of Fergus’s table setting. She licked her lips, eyeing off the other
glass.

“Go ahead, I
can squeeze more.”

She jerked
back, almost toppling the stool. Her face burned. Feeling like a naughty child
caught in the act, she forced herself to meet his gaze. With a knowing smile,
he collected three oranges from the red string bag next to the refrigerator and
returned to his mess of bowls, boards and various utensils.

After skolling
Fergus’s glass of juice, she almost felt human again. Almost. What she really
needed was an industrial-strength espresso. She slid off her stool, but was
waved back.

“Coffee coming
up,” Fergus said, reading her mind.

She pinched herself.
Numb. Harder. She winced. No it wasn’t some bizarre alcohol-induced dream. She
did indeed have a man in her kitchen whipping up a gourmet breakfast and
waiting on her hand and foot. She pinched herself again just to make sure.

But why? He
hadn’t made breakfast, not even cereal and toast, the morning after he spent
the night on the couch. “Fergus, I have to ask…”

“Hmmn.” Focused
on spooning coffee into the espresso machine’s stainless-steel filter, he
didn’t look up.

“Did we…?”

“Did we what?”

“You know.”

“Know what?”

“Damn it,
Fergus, did we have sex last night or not?”

“What do you
think?” His face gave nothing away. The toaster popped and he crossed the
kitchen.

“Was it good
for you then?”

“Not
particularly.”

She flinched.
Hit
a girl while she’s down
, she thought.

He turned
around, a plate piled high with scrambled eggs, sautéed button mushrooms,
grilled bacon rashers, tomatoes and toast in each hand. “You should try
sleeping on that couch.”

“Nothing
happened?”

He set the
plates down on the breakfast bar and pulled up a stool. “Not in the state you
were in.”

“Oh.” What else
could she say? She had no excuses. Drinking to oblivion was Trent’s thing, not
hers, the only exception she could remember being the day he announced he was
dumping her for another woman. She wasn’t even sure how last night had
happened.

Fergus tucked
into his breakfast, motioning for her to do the same. As appetizing as it
looked, her stomach and nostrils weren’t quite ready. The treacly-thick coffee
she swallowed in three gulps, the caffeine like an adrenaline shot.

Then she
noticed her keys sitting on the bench. “Don’t tell me I went out last night.”

His mouth full,
he shook his head, continuing to chew. He swallowed. “I borrowed them this
morning, only so I could let myself back in when I came back from the shops.”

“Oh.” Another
eloquent response.

The phone rang.
She let it ring. Whoever it was would fare better talking to the answering
machine anyway.

“Desley, its
Helen Escott. I thought you should know that I’ve heard from Paul. He wouldn’t
tell me where he was, just that he was okay and not to worry…”