| |
No, Lexi didn’t know. How could Donald Douglas and Liza Schmidt share a family connection? She stared up at Joanne through watery eyes as she fought to get her breath back. “What about their names?” she wheezed.
“Liza’s first husband died.” Joanne watched her struggle, but offered no help. “Are you okay? I should run or I’ll miss my slot at the clinic.”
“Yes, you go.” Lexi waved her off, grateful for a moment to recover. She slipped her jacket off her shoulders and draped it over her left arm. Sweat trickled down her spine and she shuddered.
“You okay?” Tarant’s deep voice spoke from behind her. “You having a heart attack?”
Joanne’s bottom wobbled as she jogged up the hill towards the car park. The dog sniffed something in the bushes beside Tarant’s trainer. Lexi glared up at him. “It’s twenty-five degrees centigrade in the shade! And I’m on sick leave!” She rose, her eyes flashing with temper. “Why am I here? How do you get me to keep working when I’ve asked for time off?” Her voice rose into a screech and the dog lifted its nose from the bush. A pink diamante collar wound around its woolly fur.
“Hey!” Tarant held up his palms in a placation. Lexi considered how easily she could fall into his arms and push all her cares into her tomorrow-self. But that way spelled disaster. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t. And Garima, who never expressed feelings of dislike, had made his misgivings about Tarant Leon clear.
“I’m fine.” Lexi wiped the moisture from her brow with the back of her hand. She set off towards her vehicle. The hill attacked her resolve, and the springy dog bounding effortlessly up its gradient shamed her.
Tarant’s long, easy stride kept pace with Lexi’s ungainly trot. “What did she tell you?” He tilted his wrist to inspect his sports watch.
“Am I keeping you from something?” she sniped. She winced as he halted on the path and snatched at her right wrist. The force whirled her around to meet him.
“I love you.” The words tumbled from his lips without preamble. “There. I’ve said it. I’m an idiot, okay?”
Lexi stared up at him, aware he expected her to say something at least. Sincerity and pain brewed behind his long black lashes. He appeared more vulnerable than she’d ever seen him. Two years and eight months ago, she would have enjoyed this moment. She imagined herself leaping into his arms and kissing the worry from his handsome face. Instead, she closed her eyes and barricaded her soul against him.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I already told you, it’s too late.” She dragged her wrist free and followed the bounding schnauzer up the path to the car park. It circled at the top in response to Tarant’s whistle and doubled back to him.
“Lexi!” He jogged behind her after a painful interval. A leash hung between his hand and the dog’s obedient neck. It swung like a washing line. “It’s okay.” His large hands closed over her shoulders. “You made yourself clear. But then last night confused me.” The sentence petered into nothing. He swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “What do you want from me?”
Lexi used the remote to unlock her SUV. A satisfying click pre-empted the indicators flashing orange in response. Joanne’s tyres had left satisfying rubber burns on the concrete. Lexi sighed and forced herself to face Tarant. “I want to go back to before,” she concluded. “I passed my exams, but I still have heaps to learn. You’re an excellent teacher.” She shrugged. “But you stopped bothering. It’s like you’ve lost your hunter’s spirit. The office is a mess, and so are you.” She halted. The words sounded vicious once released. She winced but couldn’t retract them.
Tarant dropped his hands. The dog blinked at him, her upturned face a picture of trust. “Maybe you’re right.” He ran his hands through his hair. “See you later.” He strode away from her, his muscular legs tightening with each powerful stride.
Lexi shook her head and sank into her driver’s seat. She used the vanity mirror to push her hair back into a half decent ponytail. “Right, kid,” she said to her reflection. “It looks like you’re on your own.” She regretted her harshness towards Tarant, but her left elbow twinged as a reminder of his betrayal. This wasn’t the first time he’d abandoned her. And she’d cared a lot more last time.
Back at her house, Lexi checked her rudimentary traps for an intruder. The hair remained where she’d left it, and relief flooded her veins. Needing the mental stimulation of work, she sequestered herself in her office. The tiny fourth bedroom faced the rear garden and provided a refreshing lack of distraction. She threw the window open to encourage air flow and changed out of her sweaty clothes. In comfy shorts and a tee shirt, she settled to work on her PC.
The company’s login to an ancestry website allowed her to search Liza’s history with less difficulty than following the more laborious public routes. She tracked down her birth certificate, marriage details and death registry entry. Liza Douglas was born in 1963, two years after her brother, Donald. Another child followed twelve years later. A death notice for their mother, Martha Douglas, showed she’d died in childbirth and the baby didn’t survive. Lexi printed off the relevant items, not because she needed to, but because it fuelled her sense of achievement. She liked to hold a physical file and to watch it grow and swell as she gained more information.
Next, she turned her attention to Samuel Barnard. A Hamilton local, he’d married young and fathered two children in the 1970s, Trent and Keith. Their birth certificates listed him working as a labourer. A quick search of the company’s website revealed he’d owned and operated his own building firm before selling it in 2011. Lexi calculated his current age as eighty-three. Following the death of his wife thirty years earlier, he’d never remarried. Lexi located an obituary for Allison Barnard, but no death certificate. Not unusual for the 1980s. “And he owns a Facebook profile,” she mused. Experience proved that women used social media more than men. Even into their nineties, they proved technologically savvy and capable of staying in touch with friends and family. But Samuel Barnard had no wife, and no technical background. He’d made no posts on his Facebook account and only given a thumbs-up during minimal family interactions. “Yet he filled in a website inquiry form and paid using online banking,” Lexi mused.
Nahla popped into her lap, claws extended. “Ouch!” Lexi grumbled as the cat retracted her claws and settled. “Why are you so mean to me?”
Her finger smoothed the soft ginger fur as she pondered the mystery. “Is the date change on the photo a clerical error? And if so, what difference does a month make? And I wonder,” she mused. “What if that’s the trigger for this investigation? In which case, the client might not be Samuel Barnard.”
