Beautiful Lies (45 page)

“Go ahead.”

She was startled by Cullen's deep voice, and her hand dropped to her side. She faced him. He had pulled on khaki shorts, but his chest was bare. “Go ahead,” he repeated. “Open the door.”

She had come this far, creeping silently through the house as if she planned to rob it. She couldn't refuse and expect him to retain any respect for her. Trapped, she reached out and turned the knob, pushing the door as she did. It swung open, but not willingly, swollen, she thought, from disuse and humidity.

“There's a light switch by the door,” he reminded her.

She hadn't forgotten. She flipped it, wishing he hadn't gotten up, wishing that she could face the younger Liana alone. The room brightened. At her request, Cullen had installed separate lights throughout the studio, over workbenches and sinks, inside display cases. He had bought a reading lamp to place beside an easy chair in the corner, where she had rested sometimes with her sketch pad. It was that lamp that glowed now, illuminating a museum to her past.

“I couldn't bring myself to dismantle it.” He came to rest in the doorway as she moved farther inside. “I wanted to. I thought about putting an office in here so I could work at home in the evenings. But every time I'd think I was ready, I couldn't do it.”

The room was just the way she'd left it. Hand tools hung neatly from pegboard; a rolling mill, vices and draw-plates rested on the sturdiest workbench. One area was partitioned for polishing, the extractor fan set up as if, even ten years later, she could flick a switch to set it whirling. Another area was set up for soldering, with a fireproof mat, blocks and a light shield, so that she'd been able to see subtle changes in the color of heating metal. She wandered the room slowly, trailing her hand over counters, finding them dusty—but only a little. At a glance she could tell that the workstool was still adjusted to her height; the saws had been oiled and cleaned but lay much as she had probably left them.

She turned to Cullen. “Wasn't there somebody who might have used all this? Somebody who could have continued where I left off?”

“I'm fair certain there was, if I'd wanted someone like that.”

“Surely you didn't think I'd be coming back?”

“At first I did. That's how I got through the worst times.”

“And later?”

“I took it a day at a time. I told myself I could always change things around another day.”

“Sarah told me you sell all your pearls wholesale now, even though it would be to your advantage to have some set.”

“That's Sarah's opinion, yes.”

“What's yours?”

“Look around, Lee. I reckon my opinion's clear.”

She didn't know what she had expected. The studio was here. Intact in every way. Ten years had passed, and technology had advanced so rapidly that much of what was in this room was probably outdated. But the bones were here, the basics. She could create wonderful pieces in this room.

If she could create.

She shook her head. Sorrow seeped in to fill the empty space inside her. “When I walked out this door, I left all my talent behind. Everything else is here waiting for me. But not that.”

“You're sure?” He sounded skeptical. “Do you know why?”

She did. She was frightened of her talent, of the free-flying exhilaration that came when she trusted her inner voice. She was afraid to take chances now, and what
was
art except chances, each one greater than the last?

She was afraid of this room, more afraid of what she had found here, and frightened most of all of giving up the safety net that ten years ago had halted her plunge into desolation.

“I don't want my talent back.” She faced him. “It's that simple, Cullen. I don't want to be that woman again. I'm too old and too afraid.”

“That's sounds like a decision. Don't you think it's too early to decide anything? Can't we—”

She cut him off. “No. We can't. You've told me the truth. I owe you the same. I have to keep my position at Pacific International. If I leave, everything I've worked for will be gone.”

“What exactly will you lose?”

She looked away. “My father's will was complicated. But boiled down, it says if I stay with Pacific, I'll have everything I need for the rest of my life, and when I die, Matthew will inherit everything. If I leave, I'm cut off completely, and Matthew has to split control of the company with Graham and Graham's children, if he has any.”

“That's blackmail.”

“That's what it's called, yes.”

“And you'll willingly give in to it? You'd give up a
chance at happiness here? Pacific International means that much to you?”

“It means that much for our son. It's his future.”

“You just said he's going to get a healthy share of Pacific, no matter what you do. And Matthew wants to come to Pikuwa Creek to work with me. He wants to create pearls.”

“Matthew doesn't know what he wants. He's fourteen.”

“No? Think again. He wanted to run away. So he did. To Australia.” He moved closer. “What aren't you telling me? You're paid superbly, aren't you? In ten years' time you've surely saved and invested enough money to be comfortable, even if things fell apart again with me. What else did your father hold over you?”

She didn't answer.

“It's the Pearl of Great Price, isn't it?” he demanded.

She could see it now, the world's most perfect pearl. A natural pearl that glowed against her palm when she held it, that warmed the air surrounding it. A gem any king would covet.

Cullen moved closer. “He bloody well tied that into his scheme, too, didn't he?”

She hedged. “Why would I base any decision on the Pearl of Great Price? It's gone.”

“Because you know in your heart Matthew has it. And you think you'll have it back once we find him. What did the will say about the pearl, Liana? Exactly what did it say?”

Her throat was dry. “I don't know why this matters. I don't have to defend any of my decisions, Cullen. We aren't married anymore, remember?”

“Then it won't matter if you tell me, will it? I have no power over you.”

But he did. More than anyone—except a dead man who had known his daughter too well.

“You owe me the truth,” he said, when she didn't answer.

She couldn't find a way to tell him. How could she put into words what she had done, and why? How could she admit that in trying to give Matthew everything, she had denied him his father?

His expression changed. “It has something to do with me, doesn't it?”

She exhaled sharply. It was all he needed. “So it does. Since you won't tell me, let me see if I can think like your dad. He wanted victory over you. He wanted to rule your life, only you wouldn't let him. You escaped, and then you married a man whose family had a claim to your father's greatest treasure. Am I getting close, Lee?”

“Stop, Cullen. It isn't helping anything.”

“Stop, Cullen, because I'm dancing on the edge of the truth? Let me dance a little closer to the heart of it, then. When you left me and went back to California, your father saw he had one more chance to control your life. Better yet, you had a son, his natural heir. And so he had even more reason to ensure that you'd do what he wanted.”

“Stop this….”

He continued as if she hadn't spoken. “So when you returned to Thomas like a whipped puppy, he knew what he had to do. He had never been able to manipulate you, and he probably saw that once you recovered, he wouldn't be able to manipulate you again. So he used the one thing he had.”

She closed her eyes.

“Our son,” he said. “Am I spot on, Liana?”

Her voice was lifeless. “Thomas was ill by the time I got back to San Francisco. A few months later he was dying. He called me to his bedside one afternoon.” She opened her eyes. “You and I were just beginning custody
negotiations. He told me that he was afraid if Matthew was allowed to come here to visit you, you might try to keep him. He said his attorneys were afraid that if that happened, I might never be able to get Matthew back. I told him he was wrong, that you would never hurt any of us that way, but of course Thomas didn't agree. So he told me he was leaving me the Pearl of Great Price in his will, but only if I agreed not to let Matthew come to Australia until he was eighteen. He claimed that if Matthew came to Australia, you might trade his return for the pearl. He said you were a Llewellyn, after all….”

Cullen was silent.

She recited the rest in a monotone. “He had a brigade of high-powered attorneys. The will is ironclad. If I return to you before Matthew turns eighteen, or if Matthew comes here to visit, the Pearl of Great Price will be sold. I don't care for myself, Cullen. I never have. But that means it will never belong to Matthew, that the pearl my grandfather lost his life to gain will never belong to his great-grandson.”

“If you return to me? That was part of it?”

“Yes,” she said softly.

“That frigging pearl!” Cullen swept his hand along the top of the nearest workbench, and tools that had lain there for a decade crashed to the floor. “Never mind you and me, Lee. That's one thing entirely. You kept Matthew away from Pikuwa Creek because of the pearl?”

“I made sure you had a month every year with him. Thomas wanted to arrange it so you didn't see him at all. I wouldn't let that happen. I managed—”

He cut her off. “Does Matthew know any of this?”

“I don't know,” she said miserably. “It's possible.”

“Well, he's bloody well here in Australia now, isn't he? So you've lost the pearl anyway, haven't you?” He stared
at her, and suddenly she saw new comprehension in his eyes. “No, you haven't, have you? Because nobody at Pacific International knows he's here. They think he's off in Arizona somewhere. That's why you agreed to keep this trip a secret. You weren't just worried about his safety. You were worried about your inheritance!”

“Not mine!
His!
Matthew deserves that pearl! It's his birthright.”

“Once we find him, you're hoping to slip him back into the country, put the pearl in your safe and go on the way you have for ten years, aren't you?”

“How can it be any other way? I owe him this. I owe Matthew the world. I'm his mother.”

“You owe him your love! You owe him a good start and the wings he needs to fly when the time's right. You damned well owed him a father, and you owed him a mother who knew what was important and what was extortion, but that's all! No pearl, and no corporation.”

“You don't know anything about it! That pearl is all the security Matthew will ever need. He can do anything he wants, be anything he wants—”

“It's not about Matthew, Lee. It's about you! The bloody thing represents your entire life, doesn't it? You've never struck a balance between freedom and security. Your mother gave you freedom without security. Your father gave you security, but he bound your hands.”

“What does my childhood have to do with this?”

“You think that pearl is both rolled into one perfect iridescent sphere. But it's not! It's a freak of nature. It's one oyster's attempt to heal itself, but there's something you've forgotten. In the long run, that pearl was responsible for the oyster's death. Well, it won't heal you, Lee, but it can bloody well kill the best parts of you.”

He paused only for a moment. “Maybe it already has.” He turned and left the room.

She wanted to call him back, to remind him that ten years ago she'd had every reason not to trust him. To explain that if she'd known the ways he was going to change, she would never have agreed to Thomas's conditions. She wanted to scream that he had driven her to this, that she had been alone and terrified that she would never be able to do enough for their son by herself.

But she didn't. Because even though all those things were true, so were the things that he had said. By her actions she had earned the Pearl of Great Price for Matthew. But Matthew had needed more: his father's companionship and his mother's integrity.

Somewhere in the far recesses of the house she thought she heard a telephone. The sun was just coming up, but the pearler's day began at sunrise. Cullen might dress and leave, and what would she do? Sit on the porch and wish Matthew would appear, so she could spirit him home without anyone knowing that he had left the country? Sit on the porch and ask herself if at any time in the last ten years she had made even one good decision?

She put her face in her hands, so tired and disheartened that she didn't know if she could face another day of waiting. She had chased Cullen away with nothing more than the truth. Had she done the same with Matthew?

“Lee.”

She looked up to find Cullen in the doorway. She waited.

“That was the Derby police.”

Instantly alert, she forgot everything else. “Have they seen or heard something?”

His face was impassive, as if he didn't want to share
even the most basic emotion with her. “There's been a murder. An old man named Pete Carpenter, a bit of a recluse, apparently. But someone in town recalled a man and a boy asking for directions to his house yesterday. The boy fits Matthew's description. The man introduced himself by his first name.”

“Roman…”

Cullen nodded curtly. “Get dressed. We're going to Derby.”

W
hitey Pendergast, a middle-aged officer of the Derby police, was waiting for Cullen and Liana when they arrived at what was left of the old seaside shipyard where Peter Carpenter—Old Pete, to his mates at the pub—had gone to live after retirement. The shipyard had belonged to Pete's father. Now it was nothing but smoke and rubble. As they walked down to the water, Whitey, a thin man with an incongruous beer belly, filled them in on Pete's history.

“Kirby Carpenter, that's Old Pete's dad, was a fair enough shipwright. He built more than a few seaworthy vessels in his time. But this place had gone to gundy by the time Old Pete came back to end his days.”

Near the water's edge, Whitey brushed his booted toes through a pile of glowing cinders that had once been a shed. “Pete fixed up the house a bit, just so it was liveable. He was really more interested in the property. He rebuilt the jetty with the help of a couple of mates. Then he brought in a small fleet, odd vessels of different sorts that he'd col
lected over time. Some to repair, some to restore or sell, I suppose. What you see is all that's left.”

Cullen stared out at the water. The fire that had raged through the house and yards had spread to the jetty and the boats anchored along it. The tide was low, and one flat-hulled sailboat lay like the skeleton of a beached whale on the mud flats closest to the house. What remained of the others—he counted five—listed and smoldered in the water beyond.

Whitey had already explained that whoever had set fire to the house and property had untied the boats first, then doused them with petrol before setting them aflame. Pete's body had been found in the hold of a trawler, which looked to be his latest work in progress. The arsonist and murderer hadn't reckoned with the swift tides, which had lifted the fishing vessel from the mud flats before it turned to ash. Pete had not vanished on the floating funeral pyre. The flames had gone out, and the first men at the scene had removed his body before the trawler capsized. It hadn't been charred badly enough to disguise the bullet hole to his temple.

“The first to arrive didn't find anyone?” Cullen asked.

“Whoever did it was gone. You know how long it takes to respond to fire in a place like this one. If there hadn't been surveyors on a parcel of land to the west, the flames might be leaping still.”

The air remained heavy with smoke. Liana coughed and cleared her throat. “Could there be more bodies?”

Cullen was surprised she had put the question so bluntly. As Whitey had acquainted them with the situation, Cullen had struggled with a less direct way to phrase it.

“I won't lie,” Whitey said, without meeting her eyes. “It's still possible. But I don't think so. We've searched all
the boats and what's left of the house, the sheds, even the boot of his car.”

“Some of the boats are under water.”

“Two of the surveyors swam out and poked around. We'll be hauling what's left to shore as soon as we're able, but I don't think we'll find bodies.”

Cullen didn't glance at Liana. He had tried to look at her as little as possible since informing her of the murder early that morning. “I'm going to send a couple of my divers up here, just to be certain. Now tell me again what you know about Matthew and my dad.”

“We don't know it was your son.” Whitey removed his hat and used it to fan himself. “An older man and a boy stopped at a restaurant outside of town yesterday afternoon and asked about Old Pete. The place is called the Diver's Inn. The proprietor's a man name of Dick Jones….” He frowned. “You know Dick?”

At Cullen's nod, he continued. “Dick gave them directions. When he heard about the fire, he drove out here to tell me. He said the boy was tall, maybe eighteen or so, brown hair, sunburned. The man was in his sixties. A wiry bloke. Dick didn't remember much, but he remembered the name Roman.”

“Matthew could pass for eighteen,” Liana said.

Cullen's voice was cold, even to his own ears. “We'll have to take your word on that, since I haven't seen my son for a year.”

If Whitey heard Cullen's resentment, he gave no sign. “Did your dad know Old Pete? Has he ever spoken of him?”

“Dad lives in the Territory, between Darwin and Alice, off the Buchanan Highway. I don't know how they would have met.”

“Cattle station?”

“That's right. Jimiramira.”

“Pete worked for a company that shipped cattle from Wyndham. That was his job for years. Might explain how they knew each other.”

“It might.”

“You said your son was missing….”

“Right-o. He came to Australia to see my dad at Jimiramira, and they took off together. We thought they might be coming down to Pikuwa Creek. Matthew hasn't been there since he was small.”

“We'll be watching for them. They might be the last to see Old Pete alive…besides whoever murdered him.”

“You don't think my dad and Matthew had anything to do with this?”

“I didn't say that. But it's odd, isn't it, that they came looking for him, and he was killed just afterwards.”

Liana stepped closer, so that neither man could avoid her any longer. “Whitey, it's possible somebody might be after Matthew.”

Cullen had been reluctant to mention that until he collected all the facts, but Liana was right. The time had come.

Whitey pulled his hat over black hair slick with sweat. “After him?”

Cullen told the story of Matthew's disappearance and the aftermath in as few words as possible. Whitey listened, his frown deepening. “Why would anybody want to catch up with the boy?”

Cullen turned to Liana. “Suppose you tell him.”

She met his eyes. Hers were sad, and for the first time since their conversation in her studio, he felt a flicker of compassion. She lifted her chin and turned to Whitey. “Have you ever heard of the Pearl of Great Price?”

 

Cullen said next to nothing on the trip into Derby, and Liana didn't know what to say. They drove directly to the Diver's Inn to show the proprietor Matthew's photograph. Dick Jones, who winked at Liana and tried to shout Cullen a drink, thought it might just be the same boy. They stopped and asked others who might have seen Roman and Matthew, or the Jackeroo. When that was unsuccessful, they drove back to Pete's, but nothing else of interest had turned up in the ashes.

“There is one thing,” a soot-streaked Whitey said, as Liana turned back to the ute Cullen had driven to the site.

“What's that?”

“We got a call back at the station. I haven't had time to investigate. Bloke over at a petrol station in Broome says that yesterday Pete brought in a car for repairs. Claimed it belonged to somebody else. Pete told this bloke, Ralph Nakamura, that he was going to fix it himself, but he needed a part he didn't have. He dropped it off and got a ride back with one of the surveyors.”

“What kind of car?” Liana asked.

“I didn't talk to him. I just got the message a little while ago.” Whitey fumbled through his shirt pocket and handed Cullen a piece of paper. “Here it is. You find anything at all, I want to know,” he warned.

“Done.” Cullen folded the paper and stuck it in his pocket.

Liana got into the ute and braced herself for what would be another bumpy ride to the highway. She waited until they were on their way before she spoke. “Do you think it might be the Jackeroo?”

“It might.”

They had gone at least a mile before she spoke again. “Cullen, you can't forgive me, can you?”

“I have more important things to think about right now.”

“All those years ago, I didn't understand how much you loved him. You had just gambled away his trust fund.”

“I know what I did!”

“I didn't know you would change and become…”

“Become what?”

“The man I thought you could be.”

“You never gave me a chance to prove myself, did you? You held my son and my heart hostage to a pearl.”

“Matthew turns eighteen in a little over three years. Everything will belong to him then.”

“Are you trying to say that in three years I can have my son back, Lee? That if I just wait patiently for three more years I can have my son here in Australia, and maybe you, as well?”

She didn't answer.

His knuckles whitened as he gripped the wheel tighter. “You sold us all for a flash chunk of calcium carbonate.”

She didn't know what to say. Her life had changed so drastically since Matthew's disappearance that she had been off balance ever since. For ten years she had carefully constructed an existence, and now its very foundation was under attack. Not just from Cullen. Not just from her beloved son. But from her own fragmented heart.

They arrived in Broome sooner than they should have, but Cullen was obviously in no mood to think about speed limits. The town flew by as he sped to the petrol station. Broome had been spruced up beyond her wildest imaginings, a frontier town that was now as charming as it was interesting. Bougainvillea bloomed in lush fountains of color; exotic boab trees provided sculptured focal points. Architecture with an Asian flavor proclaimed that Broome was unique and proud of its heritage, and the colorful ra
cial mixture of people in the streets proved the heritage would continue.

“You can stay in the ute,” Cullen said as he parked under a palm tree swaying in a light breeze.

“I'd rather come with you.”

“Suit yourself.” He got out, and she followed.

Cullen found the owner, a man with dark skin, Malayan features and a Japanese surname. Cullen explained what they were looking for. The man, who was busy with another customer, gestured to the back of the station, where cars sat in an otherwise vacant lot. “Third car.” He fished through his pocket for keys and handed them to Cullen.

Liana followed Cullen behind the station. A four-wheel-drive vehicle was third in the makeshift row. “There it is,” Cullen said. “Now let's see if it belongs to the station.”

Liana was sure of the answer, but she followed him to the car and saw by the logo that it was a Holden Jackeroo. Cullen unlocked the door and slid into the driver's seat. It took only a moment of rustling through papers to find what he was looking for. “It's Jimiramira's.”

She could almost smell smoke. She visualized the smoldering ruins of the shipyard. “So they were there at Old Pete's.” Her voice cracked.

He got out, conflict twisting his features. Then he sighed and put his arm around her. “She'll be right, Lee. It's not the worst news. They were at Pete's. We know that for certain now. But Pete was the one who drove the car here and left it. If Dad and Matthew had still been with him, Dad would have brought it here himself.”

“Where are they, then? They had plenty of time to get to Pikuwa Creek if they borrowed another car from Pete.”

“If that's where they were going.”

“What do you mean? Where else?”

“If they'd borrowed a car they'd be at Pikuwa Creek. But it wasn't a car they borrowed.”

She straightened, but she didn't move far away. “What?”

“We don't know how many boats Pete kept at the old shipyard, do we? He had a collection. We know that. He made them seaworthy. That was his hobby.”

“Matthew and your father on a boat? On one of Old Pete's refurbished sailboats?”

“It's been staring us in the face. Matthew isn't coming to Pikuwa Creek. He's taking the pearl back to the place where it was found. That's why he needed Dad's help.”

“But why? It just doesn't make any sense. It's his inheritance. Matthew's ancestors died to keep that pearl.”

Cullen's eyes were sad. “Matthew understands what you never have, Lee. The pearl has destroyed before, and now it's in danger of destroying the person he loves most. He's going to put it back in the ocean to save you.”

 

“I thought there would be more wind.” Matthew stood at the bow of the motorsailer
Argonaut,
which he and Roman had borrowed from Pete Carpenter, and watched his grandfather trim the mainsail.

“You're in some kind of a hurry, boy?”

“I don't think I have my sea legs.”

“You're not crook, are you? Hang your head over the side if that's what this is about.”

Matthew didn't feel sick, exactly, just odd, as if parts of his body weren't where they were supposed to be. Nothing, not hands or feet, and particularly not his stomach, felt familiar. “It was nice of Pete to let us use this boat.”

“I reckon he's a good mate, at that.”

“I wish it was a real pearling lugger.”

Roman grunted. The boat was picking up speed, al
though at the rate they were traveling, he had already informed Matthew it would be tomorrow or later still before they reached their destination. “You wish for a lot, don't you? You'd have to wish for a full crew, besides.”

Matthew knew when to draw the line. He was amazed that he and his grandfather had come this far. The fact that the
Argonaut
had never been a pearling lugger meant very little. But going to the Graveyard meant everything, and that was where they were headed, thanks to Pete, who had showed them exactly how to get there.

“Couldn't we use the motor, just until the wind picks up?”

“Not unless you want to take a chance on not having enough fuel to get us back.”

Matthew hadn't thought about that. The hold was stocked with fuel, but he supposed the boat would burn it quickly. He knew now that there was a lot he hadn't thought of when he made his plans to come to Australia. Luck had been on his side. For once the pearl had brought good luck instead of devastation.

Matthew braced himself as the sailboat picked up speed. Roman might not have sailed for years, but he hadn't forgotten the basics, and his old touch had returned once he'd had some time to experiment. “Does it seem strange to be going to the place where Archer killed Tom?”