Voodoo, Lies, and Murder (20 page)

"Right. How can you tell the difference?" What did I know? I hardly ever ate them, so I wouldn't recognize a pretend one if it poked me in the eye. Well, apart from asparagus. I think I'd definitely recognize those freaky little stick things again.

"The vegetables you get in the burgers are processed to oblivion and pumped full of preservatives. They've got no nutritional value left in them at all." He shook his head at me.

"Okay, great. So I'd actually be better off eating a big, fat, juicy cheeseburger, then?" I asked hopefully.

"There's no hope for you, is there?"

I grinned. "If you see Brad, can you get him to call me?"

"Sure."

Tia breezed into the office wearing a brown miniskirt, a lime-green polo neck, and a brown scarf. Lime-green boots and hooped earrings finished off her Dayglo look. Actually, in today's getup she kind of looked like a mint chocolate truffle. Damn. I had chocolate on the brain again. Giving it up was so bad for my mental health.

"Morning!" She kissed Hacker on the cheek. "I missed you last night. Have you been here all the time?"

"Yep." He grinned back at her with a dopey look on his face.

Young love.

"You're very perky today," I said. "How's the cold?"

"It's completely gone!" She threw her arms in the air in a dramatic fashion as if she were just about to do a star jump in the middle of the office. "Hacker did some reiki on me and it vamoosed! How cool is that?" She draped an arm around his shoulder with pride. "I'll never have to go to a doctor again."

I grinned at her enthusiasm, especially the use of the word "vamoosed," which tickled me for some reason. Maybe it was an Americanism. "Well, I'm glad you're better."

"Any news on the case?" Tia asked.

"Yep, and it's pretty unbelievable, but I've gotta run. I'll let Hacker fill you in. You want anything from Burger Land?"

"No, I'm good, thanks."

I glanced between them, watching their crackling chemistry. At this rate, they'd be getting married sooner than me.

"Okay." And, like Tia's cold, I vamoosed.

* * *

I pulled up at the drive-through window of Burger Land, perusing the menu. Maybe I should try something different. Chicken was probably a healthier option.

"Can I help you, please?" the familiar voice echoed through the microphone.

"Can I have half a dozen chicken nuggets, please?" Oh, wait. Did nuggets mean the chicken wasn't real chicken? I glanced at the menu again. Damn Hacker for getting me all worked up about it. All this wedding diet business was messing with my head. "Actually, I'll have half a dozen chicken premium breast strips instead, please." Breast strips sounded much more like real chicken.

"Sorry, we don't have half a dozen. We only have six, nine, or twelve."

Hmmm. I shook my head. "So I can't have half a dozen but I can have six?"

"Yes."

"Okay, I'll have six, then. And large fries."

"Would you like fries with that?"

"Do you mean extra fries or the ones I just ordered?"

"Pardon, madam?"

"Do you mean do I want two large fries or one?"

"Yes, do you want fries with that?"

"I don't want fries with the fries, but I want fries with the chicken."

"Okay, anything to drink?"

"A chocolate thickshake, please."

"Do you want fries with that?"

"No, thanks. Just fries with the chicken."

"Thank you. Please drive to the pickup window."

I drove up, wondering what the hell I was going to actually get. Dad's eyes lit up when I got there.

"I'll meet you in the car park in a minute," he whispered to me as he handed me my bag of food. "Amber, don't you think three portions of fries is a bit much, even for you? Think of the wedding dress!"

I undid the bag and peered inside. Bloody people. How difficult was it to order a meal these days? If I got fat, it would be all their fault. "I only ordered one portion!" I rolled my eyes at him. "You need some new staff. They haven't got a clue."

He leaned on his elbow, sighing. "Tell me about it."

"Do they get commission on the amount of fries they sell, or something?" I asked.

He nodded. "There's an all-out chip war going on between the staff at the moment."

Any other time, extra fries would be welcome, but now I was on a diet—well, sort of a diet (hey, it was a start!)—I didn't appreciate any fries wars going on when I was at the drive-through. If they were there, you just had to eat them, didn't you? I mean, it would be a complete waste of food otherwise.

I handed him the money. "See you in a minute."

He nodded and I drove round to the car park. I pulled apart a steaming piece of chicken breast, inspecting it for signs of pretend breastiness. I took a sniff. Nope, it looked pretty real to me. I popped one in my mouth. Yum. I was halfway through them when Dad opened the passenger door and slid in, glancing around to make sure no one was around.

"Here." He handed me a CD. "I was going through the CCTV tapes and I saw Steven meeting Chantal in the car park. I recognized her right away from the newspaper report about her disappearance."

I swallowed a chunk of chicken and grinned. "When did this happen?"

"The day she disappeared. It was seven p.m. and pretty dark, but you can still make it out clearly on the copy I burned for you. They met in the corner of the car park and had a heated chat about something, and then she got into Steven's car and drove out."

"Well, well, well. Sneaky Steven. I knew he was hiding something." I wondered whether him meeting Chantal was a good thing or bad thing. Chantal wasn't on the list of donors for the Holbrook Clinic. Did that mean she was still alive for the time being? Hadn't they found a suitable recipient yet for her organs? Or did it mean that she wasn't being held by them at all? Had she disappeared for another reason entirely? If so, what was it? And what was the extent of Steven's involvement in all of this? "Is Steven here?"

Dad shook his head. "He's on duty in a couple of hours."

"I'll be back to have a word with him later, then, after I've checked it out." I took a slurp of shake. "Thanks, Dad."

"You owe me one." He pointed a finger at me. "Tell your mother she can buy that hat and it will get her off my back."

I offered him the packet of fries. "Fries?"

"Not likely. They're only pretend potatoes."

"What's wrong with everyone around here? Don't you appreciate good junk food when you see it?"

Pink Hair came out of the restaurant and went round the back of the building for a smoke.

"I've got to go." Dad climbed out of the car. "I'm pretty sure she's the one nicking the money." He leaned back inside. "Think about what I said."

I chewed on my fries and nodded. Dad would move on to another case soon and Mum wouldn't have to deal with burger smells anymore, then they'd both forget about harassing me. I hoped.

I finished off my breakfast and checked my mobile phone battery and reception. They were both working fine, so why hadn't Brad called? I phoned his mobile again.

Voicemail.

I phoned the house.

No answer.

I phoned Hacker. "Yo, has Brad come in yet?"

"No. He hasn't rung in, either."

"Where the hell is he, then?" A picture of the voodoo doll flashed in my head with the pin through its head.

I was starting to get that horrible doomsday feeling again.

I floored the Toyota through town, breaking a few speed limits on the way home. I yanked the handbrake on, flung open the door, and was out of the car before it had even come to a complete stop.

"Brad?" I called out in the lounge.

No answer.

I rushed into the kitchen.

No sign of him. No breakfast dishes, either, and he always ate breakfast.

Marmalade ran down the stairs, meowing at me.

I scooped him up. "Where is he?"

Marmalade blinked and meowed again. He jumped out of my arms and ran back up the stairs.

I followed, taking them two at a time to our bedroom.

My breath caught in my throat.

Brad lay in bed, the sheets tangled around him. His eyes were shut, his breathing slow and labored, and he was shivering.

For a moment I just stood there, rooted to the spot with fear and surprise. Then a tsunami of adrenaline took over and I ran to the bed. "Brad?"

No response.

I shook him gently. "Brad? What's wrong?"

He moaned but didn't open his eyes or speak.

That was when I noticed the rash on his chest.

Shit. I knew what that meant. My heart seemed to stop pumping for a few seconds.

Tears sprang into my eyes. "Brad? Can you hear me?" My voice came out croaky and high-pitched.

No response.

I think I let out a scream at that point, but it sounded like it was far off in the distance, as if the sound were coming from someone else.

I punched in 999 on my mobile and called an ambulance.

I went into full-scale panic mode as I waited for them to arrive. I stroked his head, which felt burning hot, and yet he was still shivering.

Rushing to the bathroom, I soaked a flannel with cold water. I pressed it to his head and he made a gargling sound in the back of his throat.

"It's okay, babe. I'm here." I choked back the tears. "The ambulance is on its way."

His eyelids fluttered open and he stared at me with glassy eyes.

"My…head…hurts," he croaked before falling unconscious again.

My heart twisted inside. A guttural sob worked its way from my stomach up to my throat.

This couldn't be happening. Brad never got ill. He was the fittest person I'd ever met—a roughty toughty, kick-ass ex-SAS guy. He'd done the toughest missions and always came out on top.

I gripped his hand tight until I heard the ambulance pull up outside.

Rushing down the stairs, I slipped, sliding down the last one, nearly falling on my ass.

I ran to the door and let them in. "He's upstairs. Hurry!"

Two paramedics followed me with bags of equipment.

"I think he's got meningitis." I didn't want to say it out loud, but I had to. Saying it would make it true, and I couldn't bear to let it sink in. It was the voodoo curse. That fucking voodoo doll had done this. That was the only answer.

I stood around helplessly, flapping my hands as they took his vital signs and asked me questions. They hooked him up to an IV drip and maneuvered him onto a stretcher.

"Do you want to ride in the ambulance with us?" they asked as they loaded him into the back of it.

"Yes," I cried, jumping on board.

I reached out for his hand as the paramedic monitored him. "You'll be okay, Brad. I'm here."

His eyelids fluttered but didn't open.

My stomach lurched. I let out a whimper that sounded like an animal in pain. I was so scared that even the roots of my hair felt like they were trembling.

You'll be fine, Brad. You're strong. You'll be better in no time. You have to be okay, we're getting married. I love you.
I repeated that over and over in my head until we reached the hospital.

As the paramedics wheeled him into the emergency room, my heart flip-flopped around.

"Suspected meningitis," one of the paramedics said to a young male doctor who had rushed to meet us.

"Take him to exam room one," the doctor said.

Before I could worry about how young the doctor was and whether he could possibly be any good, since he looked about twelve, he said to me, "What symptoms did he have?"

"Last night he was complaining about a sore neck. He was unconscious when I got back home this morning, although he woke up briefly and complained about his head hurting. And he's got a rash on his stomach," I said in a garbled rush as we all hurried along the corridor to an isolated examination room.

It was all my fault. I should've known something was wrong when he didn't wake up as I got out of bed this morning. What if I'd got there too late? What if he d…d…no, I couldn't even think the D word. God, I'd been such an idiot wasting all this time. Sod all the messing around I'd been doing. Life was too short to spend worrying about whether I'd be happy with the person I loved. Life was for living the happiness right here and now. I was so going to marry him as soon as he got better.

I wiped away tears with the heel of my hand as the paramedics transferred him from the stretcher to a bed.

"Does he have any illnesses or allergies?" the doctor asked.

"No." I shook my head, unable to tear my eyes away from Brad's pale face.

Nurses rushed into the room, hooking Brad up to all kinds of monitors.

"We need to do some tests," the doctor said to me, opening Brad's eyelids and shining a light in his eyes.

"If you can have a seat in the waiting room, we'll take it from here," a matronly nurse said. "We'll let you know as soon as we have some news for you."

I nodded blankly, letting out a huge gush of air that I hadn't even realized I'd been holding as she steered me carefully out the door.

In the corridor, I leaned against the wall, fighting the urge to throw up. I needed air.

It wasn't until I got outside and took huge gulps of it that I realized my heart was beating so hard my whole body was shaking. I paced the entrance, trying to get a grip as I attempted to phone Hacker with fumbling fingers. Three times I punched in the wrong number before I finally managed to get my fingers to cooperate with my brain.

"Brad's in hospital," I said breathlessly as soon as he picked up. "I think he's got meningitis."

"Shit. I'll be right there."

I hung up and dialed Mum.

"Amber, honey! How are you? Suzy's here at the—"

"Mum," I wailed down the phone. "Brad's in hospital." I told her what had happened.

"Okay, honey, don't worry," Mum, ever calm in a crisis, reassured me. "Brad's as fit as they come. I'm sure he'll pull through just fine. I'm coming down there now."

"No, it's okay. There's nothing much you can do at the moment, and Hacker's on his way."

"Are you sure?"