Beautiful Lies (34 page)

They parked ten yards away, but theirs was the only car. “What if no one's home?” Liana said.

“Let's find out.” Cullen opened his door.

Liana winced at the first blast of desert heat, but she waited for Cullen to join her before starting up a walkway lined with colorful rocks. Her anxiety had nothing to do
with fear of open spaces and unfamiliar surroundings. “Will you do the talking?” she said. “I'm inclined to go straight for her throat.”

He put his hand against the small of her back. “Just hang on a few minutes more.”

At the door, Cullen tapped sharply, then stepped back. A dog began to yap, a toy poodle or something equally miniature. Somewhere in the rear, a girl issued a sharp command, and the dog quieted. Finally the main door swung open.

The girl behind the screen door was blond and fragile, with wispy shoulder-length hair and blue eyes that were too large for her face. She looked like a shriveling English wildflower.

“Brittany Saunders?” Cullen said.

The girl looked suspicious, but she nodded.

“I'm Cullen Llewellyn, and this is Liana Robeson. We're trying to find our son, Matthew. Simon Van Valkenburg tells us Matthew was headed here.”

Liana watched the girl's expression closely. Brittany didn't look like someone who could hide her thoughts or edit them for viewing. As Cullen's words penetrated, the look of confusion that crossed her face was utterly genuine.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Do you know our son? Matthew Llewellyn? Simon tells us you're on-line together, that you visit the same chat room.”

“What's his screen name?”

Liana spoke for the first time. “DoubleL.”

“I…” Brittany shook her head. “Have you ever been in a chat room?”

“No, I haven't.”

“People come and go. I don't get on-line very often. I
don't have a computer, but when I use my friend's…” She shrugged. “I just remember a few names, and that's not one of them.”

“How about SEZ?” Cullen said.

“SEZ? Sure. Kid with a big mouth. He's kinda funny sometimes, though. I guess he's all right.”

“Brittany, are you in trouble of some sort?”

Again the girl looked confused. “Trouble?”

“Simon told us that Matthew was on his way to see you because you were in trouble and needed a friend.”

“Look, I just finished high school, and I got a scholarship to Prescott College. I've never been better. I'm leaving next week to get a job and spend the summer there.”

“Have you ever told Simon where you live?”

Brittany appeared to consider. “You know, maybe I did. Before I realized you weren't supposed to do that. I guess that was stupid, huh? But a couple of months ago we were talking about our hometowns, and I was trying to describe this place.” She grimaced. “Pretty hard to do.”

“The phoney little bastard,” Cullen said. “I'll bet he knows where Matthew really is.”

“Simon,” Liana clarified for the girl.

“Simon sent you all this way for nothing?”

“You're sure DoubleL isn't familiar?”

Brittany looked sympathetic. “This Matthew, has he done something wrong?”

Liana's throat felt tight. “Nothing. Except disappear.”

The Northern Territory, Australia

M
atthew wondered what day it was at home and what his parents were doing. But he didn't wonder for long, since that required concentration. Right now he was so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open and, unfortunately, there wasn't any place to sleep.

“Well,
I
thought he was nice.” Tricia said the words around a piece of hard candy that was passing for supper.

Matthew forced his eyes open. “You judge men the way I judge distances. The road-train guy wasn't nice, and Jimiramira isn't right around the corner.”

They were at one of the few outposts of civilization for hundreds of miles, deep in the heart of the Northern Territory. The building was low-slung and might be gray, except that red dust was so embedded in every crevice and knothole that it looked like the welcome station for hell. There was a dining room off to one side for use by tour groups, a bar with stools for everyone else, and a store, of
sorts, that sold disintegrating paperback novels and basic toiletries with unfamiliar brand names.

Matthew knew the aging woman behind the bar was suspicious of him and Tricia, but he wasn't sure what to do about it. Half an hour ago they had arrived with the driver of a small—by Australian standards—road train. And when both he and Tricia had gone to the “loo,” the man had left them behind.

“Well, he would have been nicer if I'd given him what he wanted,” Tricia pointed out.

Matthew flinched. “Are you kidding?”

“Sure. That's why he left us. You didn't figure that out?”

“When did all that happen?”

“While you were asleep sitting straight up in the seat. Kinky tastes, that one. I told him I had my period. I guess he thought we weren't such good company anymore.”

“You should have told me.”

Tricia giggled. “Why? Would you have broken
his
arm, too?”

“How did he know…ummm…what you do?”

“Do girls in America dress like this?” She held out the short, tight skirt, as if she was about to curtsy.

“Not the nice ones…”

“Well, they don't in Australia, either.” She giggled again. “You're a bit of a mopoke sometimes, aren't you?”

“People can just look at you and tell?”

“That's the point, mate.”

He was so tired his head was spinning. He couldn't remember exactly how they had gotten this far. Over the past days and nights they had ridden in a variety of vehicles. They had never had to wait for a ride. For the most part people had been helpful, particularly when they realized he was a stranger. Now he wondered how many
of the men had been hoping for some time alone with Tricia.

“The woman at the bar has it figured out,” he said, understanding for the first time why the woman stared with such disapproval.

Tricia looked serious, as if she was trying to concentrate but finding it difficult, too. “I don't know if anyone else will come along tonight. The deeper into the Territ'ry we go, the harder it's going to be to find rides.”

“Do they have rooms here, do you think?”

“Not that we can afford. I guess we have to find out how far we are from Jimiramira and see if we can figure out something from that.”

Matthew ran his tongue over his teeth and swallowed. He tried to remember when they had last eaten. The driver who had picked them up in Broken Hill had divided a stale ham sandwich between them. But that had been at least a couple of rides ago.

“I'd better do the talking,” he said, when the woman shot them another glare. He reached in his front pocket for his wallet, having learned his lesson. He counted what little money he had left. “We've got enough for something to eat,” he said, returning the wallet. “If we split chicken and chips.”

“No. Meat pies. They're cheap enough we can each have a whole one.”

He had a vague memory of going into town with his father as a boy and receiving a meat pie as a special treat. He doubted he'd had one since, but the memory made him eager to repeat the experience.

“Get some crisps, too,” she continued. “And Passiona, if they have it.”

“Passiona? Is that some kind of Aussie dirty joke?”

“You really are a bit of a mopoke.” She wandered off to thumb through the desiccated paperbacks.

When he got to the counter he waited patiently until the woman had finished with a bearded old man who looked like an extra in a silent cowboy movie. When she finally stopped in front of Matthew, she scowled and folded her arms.

For a moment he couldn't think of anything that might break the ice. Certainly not, “You've got a great little place here.” He swallowed. “We were so glad to see your sign. We've been traveling a long time.”

She was dark-haired and sturdy enough to sling him across the room with her pinky. “Where are you from?”

It wasn't a question. It was a command. “The States.” He saw that this wasn't enough. “California.”

“They don't have enough girls like that one in California that you had to find one here?”

“Tricia?” He feigned surprise. “She's a nice girl. Somebody's got to teach her to dress though.”

“Hmm….”

“We're on our way to a place called Jimiramira. Have you heard of it?”

The woman didn't even blink.

“My grandfather lives there. Could you tell me how much farther we have to go?”

“I suppose you left your map in your ute?”

He debated whether to tell her the truth. What if someone hauled them away when they were so close to their goal? “Never mind,” he said. “You're busy. I won't bother you. Could we just have two meat pies and some crisps? And, um…some Passiona if you have it.”

She turned her back, swinging ample hips as she walked to a refrigerator and took out two packaged pies. She flung them in a microwave and pushed buttons until it started,
then she came back with two bags of potato chips and two cans of Coke. “Do you have money?”

He reached for his wallet. “What do I owe you?”

“Lad, I asked if you have money?”

“Enough to pay you, thanks.”

She waved away the bills he offered. “What do you want at Jimiramira? And don't lie to me.”

He suspected
no one
ever lied to this woman. Besides, he was so close now, he guessed there was no point in continuing his charade. “My name is Matthew Llewellyn. Roman Llewellyn is my grandfather. I'm on my way to see him.”

“That so? I didn't know Roman had a grandson.”

“He and my dad, they aren't close.” Matthew looked down at the counter. “Do you know him?”

“Your grandfather? Maybe I do.”

“He doesn't know I'm coming. I don't know what he'll think.” Matthew didn't know why he was going into such detail, but he was too tired to screen his comments.

“He'll probably think it's strange, you having been invisible until now.”

“Well, I'm a kid. I don't have a lot of choice about what I do and where I go.”

Something close to a smile disturbed the sour lines of her face. “Sounds like you might finally have taken matters into your own hands.”

He knew he'd said too much. He stood, reluctantly leaving the food on the counter. “I've got to go. I can't take your food. Thanks, but that wouldn't be right.”

“Sit down. No, get your friend, and both of you come and sit. It's my shout. And don't worry. I'm not about to ring somebody to carry you off. We'll figure out what you should do. But first I reckon you'd better eat.”

He weighed their conversation. He was too tired to
know whether he could trust her or not. Hungry. Exhausted. Afraid that coming to Australia had been the biggest mistake he would ever make.

She reached over the counter and touched his arm. Gently, as a mother soothes a toddler. For a moment he missed Liana so much his chest ached.

“Come on, lad.” She patted his arm. “She'll be right.”

The expression was one his father always used to encourage him.
She'll be right.
He nodded. “Okay.”

This time her smile was definite. “Good lad.”

He hoped he was being a smart lad, too. He motioned to Tricia, who looked as if she might be propositioning a middle-aged man in dusty moleskins who was standing beside her at the book rack.

“We've got to find that girl some clothes,” the woman said. “Or find you different company.”

 

For the first time since spaghetti in Sydney, Matthew was full. He was also as tired as a teenage boy could get. Every time the old ute hit one of the road's considerable ruts, he slammed against the side of the truckbed. But he was fast reaching the point where even that wasn't enough to keep him awake.

“Charlie wouldn't have banged me up this bad,” Tricia said. She sounded philosophical. No matter what happened to her, she never whined. Matthew had to give her a lot of credit. Her expectations were low, but even when those weren't met, she didn't complain.

“It wouldn't be bad if the roads weren't so rough,” he said.

“Well, Yank, you're in the backblocks, now. We think it's good luck just to have any road at all.”

“I know,” he said grumpily. “And lucky to have a ride.” The woman behind the bar, Mrs. Myrtle, had really come
through for them. First she'd fed them. Then she had found jeans, sneakers and a plaid shirt for Tricia, and a clean T-shirt for him. Finally she had let them shower one at a time in a guest room. And when they emerged, she had introduced them to Noel, the old man at the bar who looked like he ought to be leading packhorses for Gene Autry.

“I won't be turning off to Jimiramira,” Noel told them. “You can spread out your swags at the crossroads and walk in tomorrow.”

Matthew had been about to point out that they had no swags, when Mrs. Myrtle interrupted. “I'll put something together for you. Just tell Roman to bring them back next time he comes this way.”

They had climbed into the bed of the battered ute, and Mrs. Myrtle had followed a few moments later with patched sleeping bags and pieces of canvas to tuck beneath them. She had wrapped sandwiches, too, and added bottles of spring water and a flashlight.

“You be sure to point out the way so they don't wander off,” she instructed Noel. “And you two,” she warned Tricia and Matthew, “stay on the road. Don't take shortcuts. Just use the torch tonight, and follow the road straight along in the morning. You'll be at the homestead soon enough if somebody doesn't pick you up first. Just in case, I'll ring up Roman and have him keep an eye out.”

Matthew hated to lose the element of surprise. In a matter of minutes a man could come up with a thousand excuses why he didn't want to meet a grandson he had never acknowledged.

He thanked her as profusely as she would allow. Then he added casually, “Maybe you could wait until afternoon to call my grandfather?”

She gave a brisk nod. Then she turned to Tricia. “And
you. Go back home soon as you can. Somebody's looking for you, that's for certain.”

Tricia had just shrugged. Now, bouncing in the back of the ute, Matthew wondered if she would comply. He had no idea what his grandfather was going to say about him, much less her. He had practically promised that Roman would buy her a ticket wherever she wanted to go. But in his heart Matthew suspected Roman would send her back home to her parents.

Maybe she had known that all along.

“Can you see why I got out of the Territ'ry when I could?” Tricia asked sleepily.

“Is Humpty Dumpty like this?”

She giggled. “Humpty Doo. No, it's a bloomin' paradise in comparison. Darwin's too far down the road for my tastes, but it's a pretty enough town.”

He thought it was a good sign she was defending her roots. “Then what's your point? Why did you leave?”

“Doesn't matter if it's Jimiramira or Darwin. It's not Sydney, is it? It's hard work, all the time, and heat and flies. I just had enough of it, that's all.”

“You fought with your parents, didn't you? That's why you left.”

She was silent.

“What about?” he asked after a while.

“Doesn't matter.”

“It matters to you.”

“My dad was always after me. Work harder in school. Work harder at home. We're doing this for you. We want you to be somebody. It made me crook, that's all.”

Matthew felt like he was swimming in deep water—with crocodiles. But he felt obliged to continue. “Did he, you know, hit you and stuff?”

She shook her head. “Not my dad. Not ever. Nobody ever bashed me, till Charlie.”

“Then he yelled?”

“No. My dad doesn't shout.”

“You know, I'm having trouble understanding this.”

“Why? You ran away, too, didn't you? You've been lying all this time about why you're here and who you are. I heard what you told old Myrtle. Matthew Llewellyn. But you're carrying somebody else's wallet now, aren't you?”

“I didn't run away, not like you mean. I just had to come here and do something.”

“What?”

“Meet my grandfather.” It wasn't a lie. It just wasn't the whole truth.

“Well, I had to do something, too. I had to get away from my parents. Because I was never going to be anybody, only they just couldn't see it. I'm as useless as an ashtray on a motorbike. I could have worked day and night for the rest of my life, and I never would have been what they wanted. I'm not good in school. I don't want to help them grow their bloody mangoes, I got tired of disappointing them, so I left. And now they'd be really disappointed, wouldn't they? If they knew what I've been doing.”

Matthew didn't know what to say. Tricia's problems were a lot greater than his ability to solve them. He only knew one thing for sure. “If we were talking about my parents, I know they'd take me back, whatever I'd done.”