Bitter Nothings (20 page)

After Dervla dumped the dishes in the sink, she found her handbag and dug out the Nokia to check for messages. Except overnight, the mystery mobile’s battery had gone flat. Amongst her collection of old cables in her office, she managed to find a power cable that fitted and plugged the phone in to recharge.

Thirty seconds later, it let out a beep, her surprised yelp no less shrill.

One message received.

She pressed Show.

“How do I know you have

what you say you have?”

Dervla hesitated, then replied with:

“Red shoulder-length

hair. Small mole over

one eyebrow.”

When she heard the bathroom door open, she stashed the phone back in her handbag and went to meet Emmet. “Give me a few minutes to shower, then I’ll run you home.”

With a thumbs-up, he left her to get ready.

After dropping Emmet off at home, she decided to swing by Sophie’s place on the off chance she hadn’t left for work yet. Taking the back streets, she avoided the worst of the traffic, making it to Surrey Hills in fifteen minutes.

At the sight of Martin’s white van parked on the street, she slowed, her heart sinking. He and Sophie had purchased the brick villa a few months after they’d married, but she’d kicked him out not long after. Then taken him back. And then…

The villa’s front door opened and the unmistakable figure of Sophie’s ex-husband emerged.

Dervla accelerated and drove past, part of her wishing he’d step out onto the street. How many points for an abusive husband? She hung a left at the next intersection and continued around the block.

By the time she returned, the white van was gone. She pulled into the now vacant parking space. Gathering her handbag and her wits, she took a deep breath and opened the car door. Please God, let her be all right.

As Dervla passed the front windows, she saw movement inside and relaxed a little.

Sophie met her at the door, not a hair out of place, no fresh bruising visible. “This is a surprise. You’re lucky you caught me. Come in.”

Dervla wiped her feet on the doormat and followed Sophie through to the white-walled living room. A hint of lemongrass and something sweet scented the air.

“Are you okay, hon?” Sophie bundled a stack of documents together and stretched a rubber band around them. “Has something else happened?”

“Was that Martin I saw leaving?”

“What?” Sophie frowned, then let out a huff. “It’s nothing. Just the usual. Except now he’s saying if we can’t make a go of it, he wants his share of the house.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yes and no. With the way interest rates are, I can’t afford to buy him out. It would mean selling up.” Sophie zipped up her laptop bag.

“You wouldn’t…” Dervla swallowed her words. “It’s just a house.”

“Give me some credit,” Sophie said, answering the unvoiced question. “Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out. Do you have time for a coffee?”

“Don’t you have to get to work?”

“What do you think I have an answering service for?” Sophie patted Dervla’s back and headed toward the all stainless steel kitchen, her heels beating a staccato across the polished floorboards.

Dervla crossed to the breakfast bar and pulled out a stool. “The funeral’s this Saturday.”

Sophie turned. “Oh, hon, I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s good. At least I get to say goodbye. Closure.” Dervla swallowed. “It’s much better than not knowing what happened to him.”

A beep sounded from the depths of her handbag. She fished out her mobile phone. Not hers. Next she checked the Nokia.

One message received.

“What do you want?”

Dervla replied with:
“Just to talk. Please.”

“New phone?” Sophie asked, setting one of the two mugs of coffee in front of Dervla.

“It’s not actually mine. It’s one Dad had.”

Sophie frowned. “So who are you texting?”

“His lover.” Dervla waited for Sophie to stop choking on her coffee. “You don’t think it’s a good idea?”

“What lover? Who is she?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out. You don’t happen to know of any redheads that Dad might’ve fancied, do you?”

Sophie gave her a blank stare.

“I’m sure I told you about the photos.”

“What photos? What are you talking about?”

After Dervla filled her in about John Bailey’s visit, Sophie said, “So where does the phone come into it?”

“I think Dad used it to call the woman in the photos.”

Sophie stirred another teaspoon of sugar into her coffee. “How come you have it? I mean, I would’ve thought it’s something the police would be interested in.”

“I’m sure they would be. But since I found it
after
they’d already searched Dad’s office, I think I’m entitled to hang on to it for a short while, don’t you?”

“Where did you find it?”

“Under the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet.”

“Strange place to keep a phone.”

“Not if you don’t want anyone else to know about it,” Dervla said.

“Hence why you think it has something to do with an affair?”

“That and the only number – no name – that appears in the call register has texted me twice now.”

“You or your father?”

“Me. I identified myself as Warren’s daughter.”

Sophie gave a slow nod. “So what does this woman have to say for herself?”

“Nothing yet. I still have to convince her to talk to me.”

“Good luck with that.”

Dervla glanced at the silent Nokia and sipped her coffee.

“What time’s the funeral on Saturday?” Sophie asked.

“Ten o’clock. I’d like it if you could come.”

“No question, hon. I’ll be there.”

For a long moment, neither spoke.

“What’s happening with your love life?” Sophie asked.

“What love life?”

“Well, has Harry…” Sophie’s finger spun circles in the air “…what’s-his-face sent you any more flowers?”

“Not more. The ones I thought were from him were actually from Todd.”

“Todd the cop?” A grin spread across Sophie’s face. “It’s either a feast or a famine with you.”

“You can’t read anything into it.” Dervla gulped her cooling coffee. “People send flowers when someone dies. It’s customary in case you’ve forgotten.” She climbed off the barstool. “You have to get to work. Time I was going.”

Chuckling, Sophie stacked the two coffee mugs in the dishwasher. “Anyone ever told you how transparent you are?”

Dervla suppressed a smile. “Okay, perhaps I should cross subterfuge off my CV, but when there’s something to tell, you’ll be the first one to know.”

CHAPTER 28

Coffee and warm yeast scented the air. Dervla gazed out the café window, the clatter of crockery and pans coming from the kitchen behind her somehow comforting. Two women, their gym shoes at odds with their tailored skirts, marched up the footpath. Off to work. Exactly where she should be. However, the last thing she felt like doing was sitting alone at home, trying to concentrate on a computer screen.

A yellow and red ochre poster on the café wall, advertising The Melbourne Didjeridu Festival, caught her eye. Seeing the superimposed black-and-white image of an aboriginal man wearing not much more than body paint and playing his culture’s traditional wind instrument, made her think of “men’s business.” Legend had it that any female touching the didgeridoo faced infertility.

She glanced at her mobile. Harry still hadn’t called. When she thought about it, she knew so little about him except that he’d once been married to Lucinda, Dervla’s stepmother. Despite that and the short time she’d known him, not returning phone calls didn’t seem in his nature. Even if it were only to say goodbye.

Before she could change her mind, she dug Harry’s business card out of her wallet and dialed his work number.

“Stedman Distribution, good morning,” announced a cheery female voice.

“Harry Kilbourne, please.” Dervla held her breath.

“I’m sorry Mr Kilbourne is currently on leave. Perhaps someone else could help you.”

“No, I need to speak to Mr Kilbourne. Do you know when he’ll be back in the office?”

“Not at this stage. He’s attending an interstate funeral. If you care to leave a message, I’ll make sure he gets it.”

“No, that’s fine. I’ll email him instead.” Dervla hung up.

At least she knew Harry hadn’t returned to Brisbane, or if he had, he hadn’t informed his employer. She drummed her fingers against the table edge.

She opened a browser window on her phone. How many H Kilbournes could there be in Queensland? According to the White Pages, none. He either didn’t have a landline, the number was registered in someone else’s name, or he had a silent number.

Blocking her caller ID, she tried calling Harry’s mobile again. If he were avoiding her, he wouldn’t know it was her phoning and perhaps answer. And if not, he needn’t know how many attempts she’d made to contact him. She didn’t want him thinking she was desperate or crazy. Or both.

She tossed her phone in her bag and scraped back her chair, leaving the espresso she’d ordered untouched. Her earlier coffee with Sophie sat heavy in her stomach. A waitress clearing the neighboring table stopped to let Dervla past.

Outside, the day was heating up, the sky a cloudless blue. Cyclists weaved through the stalled traffic, squeezing through gaps that even a caver would think twice about.

Stepping out of the thoroughfare, she took a moment to gather her thoughts. In the park opposite, she spotted a gaunt, shaven-headed man and did a double take. A thin dark-haired woman joined him. What were the chances?

The traffic lights changed to green. Dervla darted across the street, dodging cars and bikes. A horn sounded and she lost sight of the couple. She slowed, looking up and down the street. Emaciated as they both were, they couldn’t have just disappeared.

She ran into the park, scanning the paved and grassed areas for any sign of the pair. A white-haired woman walking her terrier shied out of her way. Dervla uttered an apology and kept going. Cutting through the trees, she emerged from the shade of a Moreton Bay Fig tree onto a wide path. Up ahead, the shaven-headed man and his companion loitered near one of the garden beds.

“Alana!” Dervla waved.

Her half-sister turned but made no move to close the gap. “What now?” she growled, when Dervla reached her.

Dervla caught her breath, nodding an acknowledgement at Alana’s boyfriend. If anything, Toxic was thinner than the last time she’d seen him. Two deep scratches down the side of his face looked as angry as he did.

She reached a hand out toward Alana and hesitated. “It’s about our father.”

Alana drew back, her dark eyes flashing. “I don’t have a father, remember? You can have the murdering fucker.”

Toxic wrapped a tattooed arm around his girlfriend’s bony shoulders. “Leave off.”

“Dad’s dead.” It wasn’t quite how she’d planned to break the news.

Alana stared at her.

“Why should we care?” Toxic tightened his hold. “He never did.”

Tears welled in Alana’s eyes. She lowered her gaze.

Dervla hung back, her half-sister’s fragility like an invisible armor.

Silence stretched. A jogger skirted around them.

“I know this is probably not a good time, but we should talk.”

“Nothing to say,” Toxic said.

“Maybe, but the police have a few questions they want answered.”

Alana sniffed and lifted her face. “Police?”

“Dad didn’t kill himself,” Dervla said, her voice as soft as she could make it. “He was murdered. It’s been all over the news.”

“Why do the police want to talk to us?” Alana’s voice sharpened. “We ain’t done nothing.”

Dervla’s bag beeped. She ignored it. Whoever it was could wait. “No one’s saying you have. The police are talking to everyone connected with Dad or Lucinda. Everyone.”

“So? What’s that got to do with me?”

“You’re Warren’s daughter.”

“Not according to him.”

“If it helps, we can do a DNA test.”

Alana huffed. “What good is that now?”

A young mother with a baby in a stroller gave them a wide berth.

“Peace of mind?” Dervla glanced over her shoulder. “Why don’t we finish this over coffee? My treat.”

“Nothing to finish,” Toxic said, tugging on Alana’s arm. “We done talking.”

“At least tell me how I can get in touch with you,” Dervla said. “Where are you staying?”

Alana’s top lip curled. “Why do you care?”

“I’m your sister.”

Confusion clouded Alana’s pale face.

“We have to go,” Toxic said, steering his girlfriend away before she could say anything.

“The funeral’s Saturday,” Dervla called.

CHAPTER 29

A steady drizzle had been falling since before dawn. Dervla sheltered with her brothers under the eaves at the rear of the funeral home, well away from the media’s prying eyes. The service was due to start in fifteen minutes.

Gabe squeezed her shoulder. “Ready?”

“In a bit. You go.”

“I’ll wait. We should all go in together.”

An umbrellaed-figure wearing sunglasses appeared around the corner. “So this is where you’re hiding.”

Dervla breathed out.

“I was beginning to think I had the wrong address,” Sophie said, collapsing her umbrella when Emmet moved aside to make room for her. The sunglasses stayed in place. She leaned in close to Dervla. “You okay, hon?”

A lump rose in Dervla’s throat. She pressed her tongue hard against the roof of her mouth and nodded.

“Hey, isn’t that your half-sister?” Sophie pointed toward an ivy-covered arbor on the other side of the low box hedge to their left.

All heads turned. Careful not to slip on the wet concrete, Dervla followed the path around the hedge, then cut across the lawn to where the two Goth-ghost-like figures stood. Except up close, Alana looked more haunted than haunting. Toxic looked like Toxic, scowling at Dervla as if it were all her fault they were there.

Before Dervla could speak, Alana’s eyes widened, her hand groping for Toxic’s as she stumbled backwards. Dervla turned to see Todd and a uniformed police officer striding toward them. Another officer blocked Alana and Toxic’s exit.