Chapter 4
I slept in late on Saturday morning. It was probably all the fun I’d had the day before that took it out of me. I had a feeling that working at Baxter & Co. was going to make me very sleepy. Death threats are so underrated as an alternative to sleeping pills.
I lay in bed for a while longer. Just as I was about to get up, I remembered what I’d promised myself I’d do today. So I stayed there.
Two hours later I decided I’d really better face the day, and half an hour after that I actually managed to drag myself into the shower.
I stayed in the shower until I used up all the hot water. When I got out I spent a very long time putting on my clothes and deciding whether to wear glasses or contact lenses. Then I changed my clothes. I ended up in a pair of jeans and a red singlet top. Then I did my hair. Then I redid it. By the end I had successfully put it up in a ponytail with my long fringe tucked behind my ears. Hmm. What now?
For nearly the first time in my life, I actually did my makeup properly. I had to use my mum’s eye shadow and eyeliner because all I had was lip-gloss and mascara. It was kind of hard to do eye makeup when I was wearing glasses, though, so I had to wear contact lenses instead (and I hardly got any mascara on them at all!). I painted my fingernails clear, and then painted my toenails the same. Then I painted them red to match my shirt. Then I painted clear over the top. By the time I was finished I really couldn’t put it off any longer, so I made myself a smoothie (which took a little while because I had to go to the corner shop after discovering we’d run out of almond milk), drank it, gagged at the flavour, Googled the address, jumped in Mum’s Nissan, and drove.
All too soon I reached my destination. I stared at the steering wheel in utter disbelief. Not once since I had gotten my driver’s licence had this car worked properly for me. It always stalled, or wouldn’t go into gear, or got a flat tyre, or had some other problem that meant it wouldn’t go anywhere. No one else had any problems with it, just me. And now, on the one day when I hadn’t wanted it to work, there were no hitches. It ran perfectly.
It hated me. And I hated it right back.
I parked and stepped out of the Patrol, looking around to see if Jeremy’s car was here. It wasn’t. OK, no excuses now. I walked slowly across the lawn, climbed the steps with all the speed and enthusiasm of a funeral procession, and rang the doorbell. No one answered, so I pressed it again. Any second now. Someone will answer the door very soon.
Oh, crap, I thought, realising I’d been pressing a light switch.
I knocked on the door, praying that no one was home. Praying to whom, I do not know. Aphrodite? I know the goddess of love and beauty was maybe not the most appropriate choice for this situation, but she was the only one I could think of. At least she could help me with the reconstructive surgery after I got my face smashed in.
I heard footsteps on the other side of the wood. Damn. Someone was here. And I was pretty sure it would be the person I was looking for.
The door was thrown open and (because I had expected it to open inwards) I was standing far too close. I had no time to move and it whacked me fair in the face, extending the life of my bruise by a few days. I stumbled backwards and fell down the steps. It was lucky that there were only three. I landed on the grass, which was nice and springy, cushioning me from the impact. Plus I was wearing jeans, so no flashing. So far, so good. Thanks Aphrodite!
I sat there on my bum feeling a bit dazed, but aside from that, fine. I glanced back up at the doorway where Lea Martin was standing – well, not so much standing as doubled over laughing at me. It was embarrassing but I comforted myself with the thought that, if nothing else, it was at least better than having her hurl abuse at me. Or having her hurl anything at me, for that matter.
“Are – you – all – right?” Lea squeezed out between barks of laughter. She took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself then came down the steps to help me up. She was wearing a pair of jeans, black and white spotted Keds and a low-cut singlet to match her shoes. She was trying to keep a straight face but the way she kept twitching made it pretty obvious that she was internally laughing at my stupidity.
What is it about people hurting themselves that is so funny? And why do I have to be the one who always seems to be entertaining everyone else? A bit unfair, I thought. But anyway, for the moment Lea’s laughter was a relief, because her happy vibes obviously meant that she hadn’t recognised me yet.
“So, Charlie, are you looking for your darling boyfriend?” she asked with a (gasp!) smile.
Lea seemed to be acting incredibly friendly towards me. And I was pretty sure she was genuine.
My surprise must have registered on my face because the next thing Lea said was, “Oh, jeez love, don’t look so shocked! I knew you were lying the moment you started with that story. I mean, come on, everyone knows Jeremy only cheated on me with women with big tits.” Well, thank you for that lovely self-esteem boost, Lea. That comment will stay in my heart forever. “Oh, shit! I didn’t mean that! Well, I did, but it came out wrong… You’ve got beautiful tits,” she finished, slightly awkwardly.
“Don’t worry,” I reassured her. “I get that a lot.” I meant the flat chest thing, not the beautiful tits. I’d never gotten that before.
We were both quiet for a moment.
“It was an impressive way to quit work,” Lea said, breaking the silence. “It’s a pity I wasn’t around to see Jeremy’s face at the end. That would have been classic. I wanted to get a divorce even before I was married, and you gave me an excuse, so… really I should thank you.”
If my eyebrows had left my forehead and were up past the clouds by this stage, I wouldn’t have been at all surprised. This was ridiculous. No, it was unbelievable. (OK, so those two words mean basically the same thing. Whatever. I don’t care.) I had come here to apologise, expecting her to scream insults at me and not even listen to what I had to say. Instead, here was Lea thanking me for giving her a chance to split up with her husband. Thanking me.
“Um – well – I, er – um – no worries,” I blundered. As you could probably tell, I was a bit shocked. This was definitely NOT what I had predicted.
However, when I thought about it, it made a lot more sense for her to be glad to get rid of Captain Ferret than to be cut up about it. And really, I had done her a favour. I should have expected her to be like this.
But my pessimistic/boring/conservative/sensible side disagreed. Why was she being nice? She had to be angry with me. She was acting. It was all an evil ploy!
Yes, I know. If that was my sensible and boring side, it’s a wonder I wasn’t in a straight jacket.
“Come inside. Jeremy’s out at the moment, thank god. I’m just here to pack up my stuff,” Lea said. I followed her in. “D’ya want a cuppa?” she asked. “I was just about to make one.”
“No thanks,” I answered. I was slightly dubious about how nice she was being, and I wasn’t totally above suspecting that she might still slip something in my drink. Better safe than sorry, and in this instance I planned to play it very safe.
As we entered, I noticed a large pile of suitcases and luggage in the hall. Well, you’d have a hard time not noticing them – we practically had to climb over them to get into the kitchen. Lea filled the jug up with water from the tap and flicked it on.
“This is Jeremy’s house and I just can’t stand being here with him, so I’m leaving,” she explained.
“Where are you going?” I asked her. As far as I knew, she’d lived with her parents before she was married and had moved straight in with the Ferret afterwards.
“I don’t know,” she answered. “My parents are out of the country and I don’t have a key to their place, so that’s out. All my friends either have noisy kids or husbands that couldn’t manage on their own if their lives depended on it, and that drives me insane right now. I guess I’ll just check into a hotel or something and look for a job and an apartment from there.”
“Have you got enou
gh money for that?”
“I don’t know. The divorce hasn’t gone through yet, so I’ll have to stick around Gerongate for a while. But that’s about as far as I’ve planned.”
“Oh.” The kettle, which had been heating (noisily) throughout our conversation clicked off, and Lea made herself a cup of mint tea. As she put the tea bag in the bin, I had an idea. “You could stay at my parents’ house if you want to. It’ll cost way too much staying at a hotel.”
I said I had an idea. I did not say that it was a good one.
I couldn’t tell where this was coming from. I didn’t trust this chick enough to accept a cup of tea from her, and now I was asking her to come live with me. Note to self: make appointment with psychologist.
“Are you serious? Really? That would be OK?” No, not at all. No!
“Sure it would be.” Revised note to self: make appointment with psychologist TODAY. My brain said one thing, my mouth said another. Another very different thing.
“It’s lovely of you to offer Charlie, but I couldn’t.” Oh, thank god! Don’t speak, Charlie. Keep mouth shut. Don’t speak don’t speak don’t –
“Oh, come on, of course you could!” No, no, shut up! Don’t do this! “My family’s not that scary!” Well, now I was just straight-out lying.
“Really?” she asked me unsurely. When I nodded, her face lit up. “This’ll be so great! We might even be able to find a place to move out together somewhere!” She caught herself. “You know – only if you want.” Guess I must have started to look a bit sceptical.
“Oh, no, yeah – maybe.” Charlie Davies, Decision-Making Extraordinaire. “Look, how about I call my parents and clear it with them, then we can pack your luggage into my car and head home?”
“Sure!”
“Fine,” I said, sounding a lot less angry than I felt. I wasn’t so much angry with her as with myself. I’d invited her to live with me. Quite apart from the fact that she could potentially end up killing me, I barely even knew her! I was practically inviting a murderous stranger to come share a room with me. And Murderous Stranger had accepted. “I’ll just call my mum. Can I use your phone? I don’t have one.” I know, I know, but I’d only lose or break it if I did.
“Oh, we don’t have a landline and I’ve lost my mobile, sorry,” she said.
“Oh.” Well. What was Plan B? “Well, um, while you finish packing I might head home then, make sure we have a room ready for you, then I’ll come back in, say, an hour?”
“That’s great. Look Charlie, I really appreciate this.” I could see in her eyes that she was telling the truth.
“Don’t worry about it. You better check you’ve got everything packed. I’ll be back soon.”
I went out and looked at the Nissan. It was really kind of pointless having a four-wheel drive in Gerongate. I guess the Nissan had personality. But that personality didn’t like me, and I felt the same way about it.
I jumped into the silver Patrol, inserted the key, held my breath and turned it. It started first go and I didn’t stall it once going home. I didn’t want to ask my parents about Lea staying, so of course the car wouldn’t stuff up, would it?
I pulled into my parents’ driveway and jumped out of the car. I turned to it and narrowed my eyes.
“I hate you,” I hissed. I hope it heard.
“Me? What did I do?” came my mother’s voice from behind me. She was standing there, garden-gloved hands on hips, with her big, floppy straw hat resting gently on her head and her skin greased up with sunscreen. She had obviously been gardening. “Is that why you tried to run me over?”
She thought I’d been talking to her.
“I didn’t even know you were there, Mum.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I didn’t! I was talking to the car!” As soon as I said it I realised it was a mistake. Now she was looking at me as though I was mental. Yes, Miss Outback Mario Kart thought I was crazy.
“I think I preferred it when you hated me,” she admitted. “Maybe you should meet up with some friends tomorrow. Can’t be good for you to spend so much time alone. It’s probably better if you have some other, well, people to talk to.”
OK, it was official. She thought I was insane. Probably with good reason. But maybe I could work this to my advantage…
“Actually Mum, I ran into a friend of mine today who’s out of a home at the moment. She just separated from her husband and it was his house. Since she’s got nowhere else to stay, I was wondering if it was OK for her to live here for a while.”
Mum smiled. I knew what she was thinking. “I’d pay her to live here if she would get my lump of a daughter out of the house occasionally.”
“That’s great! Someone you can hang out and go to nightclubs with. Drink alcohol. Find a man. Or a lady. ” (Meaningful pause.) “The kinds of things that normal people your age do.”
When you hear the way she speaks to me, it’s no wonder I’ve got issues.
“So,” I responded, “should I go pick her up now? Since we’re both looking for a house, we could probably find one together. Sooner the better, I reckon.”
My mother was beaming. I could just imagine what she was thinking. “Finally, the little bitch is leaving. About bloody time! No, you can’t say that. Make it sound like you’re happy for her. Ha, ha, ha – she’ll never know!”
“Of course! How nice? Living with your friend, meeting new people.” Freeing up another room, paying for your own food.
I smiled at her.
“So which friend is this? Joanna hasn’t split up with Oswald, I hope?”
Joanna Riley became my best friend when we swapped our lunches on the second day of kindergarten. We agreed on most things, but unfortunately she had developed a crush on James McKenzie in high school (as had just about all of my other friends), which led to many arguments. Stacey, Penelope, Nancy, Joy, Naomi and Rose all had Level One crushes on James. This involved writing their first name with his last name all over their schoolbooks, cutting pictures of him out of the sport section of the school newsletter and making posters of him to hang up in their bedrooms, attending every sports match where he was playing, and a couple of times they even went to referee training days just to spend more time around him. As a result of this, they all had Level Two certificates in refereeing soccer and touch football games. (All except Penny, that is – she never understood offside.)
That was a Level One crush. Jo was on about Level Six, which meant that she was practically a stalker. Luckily when she began dating her now-husband, she fell in love with him and is almost totally over McKenzie. The other girls are also trying to move on, with the help of experienced counsellors and self-medication.
I never thought that I would like Ozzie when Jo first told me about him. You have to admit, ‘Oswald Park, the accountant’ does sound a bit boring. Firstly, I hate numbers, and since that’s what accountants deal with, it stands to reason that I would hate the accountant as well. When you think about it, anyone who spends a lot of time around numbers tends to be a bit cuckoo. Take maths teachers for example. I’m yet to meet a normal one. They’re obsessed with maths. They talk about algebra as though it is the meaning of life, they discuss pi like it’s part of the food pyramid and they worship Pythagoras like he’s a god.
Secondly (and I’m aware it might seem kind of shallow), what sort of a name is Oswald Park? Did his parents have something against him? It sounds like he’s council property. It’s no wonder his parents weren’t invited to his wedding when they gave him a name like that. I wouldn’t forgive them either. I know you shouldn’t hold a person’s name against them (don’t judge a book by its cover, blah, blah, blah) but I just couldn’t help it.
Although I wasn’t looking forward to meeting Oswald at first, it turned out that he was OK looking, if a little bit geeky, and although he was kind of shy to start with, after a couple of drinks he opened right up. I discovered he had a great sense of humour. And jeez was he a massive improvement on James McKen
zie.
Still, I was kind of glad that Joanna kept her maiden name. I don’t know if I could be best friends with someone whose name sounded like a picnic destination.
“No,” I answered. “Jo’s still going strong with Os. It’s another friend of mine.”
Mum eyed me suspiciously. “Jo’s your only friend who’s married,” she said accusingly.
“Oh, this girl wasn’t in our group at school. She’s a bit older than me.”
“What’s her name?”
A simple question, with all the potential of an atomic bomb. I contemplated lying, but then decided to go for the truth. She’d have to find out one way or another.
“Lea.”
“Lea who?”
“I don’t know.”
Well, sort of the truth, anyway.
“Not Lea Martin!”
“No.” Not technically. Technically she’d readopted her maiden name, and since I’d forgotten what that was, I was telling the truth.
Cough.
“Anyway,” I continued, “I’ll go pick her up. We might go out sometime this week, if that’s OK.”
“Of course! You’re an adult. Go out and have fun with your friend. Please. No, I insist. New job, new lifestyle – your life’s really looking up!” Yeah, my life’s looking up – for you, I thought.
“It sure is!” was, however, what came out of my mouth. “See ya!”
“Bye!”
I hopped into the driver’s seat of the Nissan, turned the key in the ignition and it started. It started. I backed it out of the driveway with no dramas. So far, so good. I made it a full two blocks without any problems. I was even beginning to think that maybe this car wasn’t so bad, when it started spluttering and stalled. I tried to start it again, but it didn’t work. The car was stubborn. I kept trying to turn the engine over but had no luck. This car hated me. By this time I was fuming, and so was the car. (I’d been revving it pretty hard.)
I heard another car drive up behind me. I hoped the driver wasn’t in a hurry, because it was a narrow street with cars parked either side and there was no way of getting past me. I had been driving in the centre of the road because the white lines were the only way I could line up the wheels in a monster like the Nissan. Thankfully the car behind me didn’t have sirens or a flashing light, because I’m pretty sure that was a ticketable offence.
Even though I hadn’t been pulled over by the police, I’d managed to accidentally cause a traffic jam in a residential area. OK, so it was only one other car, but it wasn’t helped by the fact that all the street’s residents had come out on to their verandas to see what was happening.
I did what anybody in my position would have done. Well, anyone with slight anger-management problems, at least. I undid my seatbelt, opened the driver’s side door, hauled myself out, kicked the side of the vehicle, and screamed, “START YOU BASTARD!”
All the local residents retreated back into their lairs, not wanting to have anything to do with the crazy lady who was blocking traffic and attempting to start an argument with a Nissan Patrol.
Oh well. Now that the crazy lady had alleviated some of her anger and there were fewer spectators, she felt slightly better. Only slightly, because now she had a sore foot as well. When foot vs. Nissan, foot comes off second best.
I heard a car door close and realised that the other driver had gotten out of their vehicle. I didn’t look at them – I was too embarrassed.
“Car troubles?” The voice belonged to a young male and sounded very casual considering he’d just seen me lay into a Nissan and call it names. If I’d seen someone do that, I’d be shit scared. I’d stay in my car.
Unless it was someone I knew… Oh, please, god no, let him be a stranger.
“Pile of shit won’t start,” I told him. I still couldn’t quite bring myself to look at his face.
“Mind if I have a go?”
Looking past him, I checked what sort of car he was driving. I wanted to make sure that he wouldn’t just drive off in mine. Not that I normally would have cared a whole heap if someone made off with the Nissan, but today I had to pick up Lea. Plus, Mum probably wouldn’t have been too happy if she was kicked out of the Outback Grand Prix because someone Grand Theft Auto-ed her machine. When I saw the car he was driving, however, I realised that he wasn’t going to take the Nissan. By the look of his vehicle, he probably was a car thief, but if he had the skill to get cars like that, he wasn’t going to bother with a Patrol. I know I certainly wouldn’t if I had a Ferrari.
Jeez, I thought to myself, they’re pretty uncommon. I only knew of one person in the whole of Gerongate who had one…
I finally dragged my gaze up to his face. I had guessed right. Standing there in front of me, in faded jeans, a black printed T-shirt and worn-in Vans, was James McKenzie.
So that was why I’d cringed at the sound of his voice.
I finally answered his question. “Be my guest.”
He raised his eyebrows at me.
“What?” I snapped. “What’s your problem?”
“Just not the response I’d expect from you is all. I would have guessed something closer to, ‘No, piss off you moron. I don’t need you to help.’ Like that time when I found you trying to crawl along the pavement with your arm in a sling and it turned out later that you also had a broken leg and three cracked ribs.”
“I’m sorry,” I said sarcastically. “Would you like me to try again? I didn’t mean to be polite.”
“Of course you didn’t.” Of course I didn’t? What the hell was that supposed to mean?
“What the hell was that supposed to mean?”
“Well, your behaviour towards me in the past sort of gives me the impression that I’m not one of your favourite people.”
“You aren’t.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I know that. But I really have to thank you. If you weren’t so horrible to me in high school, having the whole city think I was a murderer might have been hard. Compared to you it’s a walk in the park.”
“Well, I suppose being named and shamed is what you get for killing someone. And he was the only person who liked you. Then again, you always have been a bit of a dickhead.” Take that, McKenzie.
“Unfortunately, I’m not the killer, as much as you’d like to think so. The truth can be so inconvenient.”
“Yeah, especially for you.”
“I didn’t kill him.”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know, sweetie. I have confidence in the police force to find the killer.” Like I believed that for a second.
“That why you hired Sharps Carter, then? Because you have so much confidence in the police?”
He looked startled. “How did you find out about that?”
“I find out about everything.”
“Right. Who killed my uncle, then?”
“Haven’t found that out yet.”
“Exactly.”
“But I will.”
He gave a snort of laughter. “Yeah, after it’s printed in the newspapers.”
“I have a talent for finding things out for myself.” So there.
“Right. I look forward to seeing you solve Frank’s murder, then.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I could do it, you know.”
“Of course you could,” he said.
“I could!”
“Sure. And I could give you a house, but it’ll never happen.”
While I knew he was just being an arsehole, the idea was so tempting. “A house?”
He frowned. “You heard the part where I said it would never happen, right?”
“What if I solve your uncle’s murder?” I said. “Would you give me a house then?”
He laughed. “If you find out who killed Frank, I’ll give you anything you want.”
“That’s a dangerous deal to make.”
“Fine. I’ll give you a house.”
“And?”
He raised his eyebrows. “A house isn’t enough??
??
“From someone as rich as you?” I shook my head. “Absolutely not. Stop being so tight.”
He sighed. “Fine. I’ll give you the house and…” – he looked up towards the sky, picking a number at random – “… ten thousand dollars.”
“Is that all?”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s all your uncle’s life was worth to you? Wow, James. That’s cold.”
James shook his head in disbelief. “Are you seriously using my uncle’s murder to try and extort money from me?”
“Make it twenty thousand and we have a deal.”
“You’re on.” We shook hands over the bet, with James wearing a massive smirk on his face.
“You know you’re gonna lose, don’t you? Take my advice and leave it,” he said.
I smiled. “Getting cold feet, James? That why you’re trying to talk me out of it?”
“No. I’m just being nice. It’s gonna hurt your pride when you lose.” Like I hadn’t had my pride hurt before. Um, hello, did he not remember the high-school wedgie incident? Did I even have any pride left?
“If I lose, which I won’t,” I corrected.
“We have much better resources.”
“‘We’ as in who – the police?”
“Yeah.”
“So you’re still accepted as being one of them, then? That’s strange. I would’ve thought they’d disown a murderer.”
“Well, we probably would, but seeing as I haven’t killed anyone, I’m pretty safe, aren’t I?”
“So why did they fire you? And why can’t they find the officer who is supposedly your alibi? Wasn’t she gonna lie for you? Is that what happened to her?”
I could see the anger welling up inside him. I know that this is sad, but I was definitely enjoying it.
He spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m not fired, I’m on leave. And they can’t find Sarah because she’s holidaying in South America with her mobile turned off. When she comes back, she’s going to tell the truth and I’ll be off the hook. Sorry if that kind of bums you out. Gonna make things a lot harder, isn’t it?”
“You don’t think I can do this, do you?”
“No, I don’t. You don’t have access to any information apart from what’s in the paper and the gossip going around your circle of friends.” Wouldn’t be so sure of that, mate, I thought. I’m the secretary/researcher for Baxter & Co. What’s the bet I’ll be able to find out some information from Mr Carter? OK, so I had a bit of a head start. Whatever. I needed it.
“I could always question your mother.”
“That’s low,” he said, shaking his head. “Nearly as low as you smashing my car up with a wrecking bar.”
I didn’t know what he was complaining about. His uncle had replaced his old second-hand car with a brand new Ferrari. But I suppose, he had saved up for months to buy the sound system for it… Oh well. You can’t take back what you’ve done.
Not that I wanted to.
“And she’ll probably speak to me a lot more freely than she would to a policeman.”
“You’re still gonna lose.”
“Oh, come on, McKenzie. Quite a large proportion of the police force can’t even tie their own shoelaces, let alone catch a murderer.”
“Which proportion would that be?”
“The male proportion.”
“That includes me.”
I glanced at his shoes. Elasticated.
“Yeah, it does.”
He gave a derisive laugh. “All this coming from someone who can’t even make it up a flight of stairs without falling over. Anyway,” he said, before I could cut in, “I wasn’t talking about the cops. I was talking about Tim Carter. Think you’re going to win against him?”
“Yeah. I’ve got some hidden talents.”
“He’s got experience, resources, contacts – he’s the best.” He looked smug.
“Better than Adam Baxter?” I asked, quoting the name I’d read on the Martin file yesterday. Not that I had any clue who he was. He sounded like he might be important, though, what with having the same name as the company and all.
The smug look fell off his face.
“How do you know all these guys?” he demanded.
“I find these things out.”
“Mmm. Sure.” Before I could respond, he said, “Look, do you want me to start your car? Or should I just leave you to it? Maybe you can use your super detective skills to figure out what you’re doing wrong.”
“Start the car,” I said, eyes narrowed. He jumped into the driver’s seat and turned the key. It started first go. I made a sound of disgust. Why me? Why did the car hate me so much? James hopped out and I could see he was trying to disguise his amusement.
“Son of a bitch,” I said. I don’t know where it came from – it just kind of popped out.
“Me or the car?” James asked, still trying not to laugh.
I shrugged. I really didn’t know.
I climbed back into the car, attempting to look moderately co-ordinated (which, with a four-wheel drive, is quite difficult at my height) and tried to take off. Ten points to whoever can guess what happened? You got it: the car stalled.
James opened the door and told me to move over. I did. Then he got in and started the car.
“Arsehole,” I said, knowing very well who I meant that time.