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A sumptuous lobby greeted Lexi, the wide front doors standing open. Stairs lined one wall while archways into luxurious rooms occupied the other. Chandeliers and expensive wallpaper decorated the cavernous space.
“Shut the doors.” The old man’s face peered from an arch ahead of her. Butter icing already adorned his top lip. “Keith thinks someone will murder me in my bed. Says I’m too infirm to defend myself. He doesn’t realise I play dumb for his benefit.”
Lexi closed the front doors behind her and walked towards the kitchen. Samuel Barnard seemed sprightly and capable as he jogged around on light feet. His leather slippers squeaked against the tiles as he retrieved two tea plates. The rough smoker’s voice had disappeared. Lexi frowned at his convincing act over the telephone. He’d played the feeble old man card well.
An industrial kitchen occupied the entire width of the rear of the house. Lexi stared around her as she sank onto a high stool before a breakfast bar. “This is amazing,” she commented. “I’m not surprised your son wants you to realise the capital.”
“Not for me!” he barked. “Wants it for himself. Says he’s an investment banker, but I suspect he’s in trouble. He got himself a wife half his age who spends money like water and kiddies who need all the best stuff.” He set the patterned tea plates on the counter and added tiny cake spoons. His actions proved more cultured than Lexi expected. Less like a builder who’d lived alone for the last twenty years.
He settled beside Lexi on a matching stool. His knees creaked, and he grunted with pain as he sought a comfortable position. When he pulled the cake box towards them, Lexi saw he’d already licked a line of butter cream from the chocolate ganache muffin. “I bought them for you.” She shook her head and pushed her plate away. Her coffee fitted in the gap between it and her hand. “Mr Barnard,” she began. “We should talk about your inquiry.”
He spoke around the brown cake swirling in his mouth. “I didn’t make it.” Crumbs plunged onto the plate like rubble. “Why would I? I don’t want all that dragging up again.”
Lexi blew out a breath. “Do you have a Facebook profile, Mr Barnard?”
“Sam. Call me Sam.” He smiled at her, his rheumy blue eyes keen and perceptive. “I had one once. My laptop broke about a year ago. I didn’t know where to get a new one. It’s too hard to know who to trust. Everyone wants to sell a foolish old man their sob story. Besides, I lost my driving licence just before that.”
Lexi turned to him and raised an eyebrow as he stuffed more cake into his mouth. “Please, tell me it wasn’t because of ill health.” Her gaze moved to the second muffin case lying crumpled on his plate.
“Na.” Sam shook his head. “A cop stopped me. Said I ran a red light. It got heated.” He turned towards her. The butter icing had slipped onto his smooth chin. “Did you know it’s possible to get a criminal conviction for shouting at a cop? Violence against an emergency worker. How ridiculous is that?”
Lexi pursed her lips and her coffee cup shook in her hand. She imagined what she might get for kicking a police officer in the balls. “No, I didn’t know,” she croaked.
“No driving licence.” Sam waggled his brows and jabbed at her with his elbow. “I’m reliant on Keith for rides to the supermarket whenever he deigns to visit his old dad.” He spat the words, accompanying them with a hail of crumbs. “He sold my old Mercedes. I loved that car. Owned it since the eighties. He even sold my personalised plate with it. Barney. Worth a fortune that was. He wants power of attorney over my bank account. I think he’s trying to starve me out.” His shoulders slumped. “I got me a woman, but he chased her off, too. Protecting his inheritance.” His lower lip wobbled. “She wanted nothing from me but some company. He wouldn’t even let me have that.” The last mouthful of cake rolled from his fingers onto his plate. He surveyed it with the same hopelessness as a man Lexi once saw who’d lost his home in the 2011 Christchurch earthquake. Utterly bereft and not sure how he’d recover his life.
She reached out and closed her fingers around his greasy hand. “Your life is your own,” she whispered. “Not for others to control.” Her jaw hardened at the memory of Rojas and how he’d enjoyed taunting her over her affair with Tarant. She’d bested him once, but he would come back. He had a point to make. And the shadowy motorbike rider forced her to set traps in her own home. Her words sounded hollow when others controlled her life. She smiled sideways at the old man and squeezed his craggy knuckles. “I fancy a jaunt to an electronics store, don’t you? How about I help you buy a laptop and show you how to set up an online supermarket shop?”
“You’d do that? But you don’t know me.” His eyes widened to fill half his face. His mouth opened and closed.
Lexi exhaled. “Someone is using your identity, Sam. It’s time we wrestled a few things back from them, don’t you think? And no one should rely on another’s help, especially when they show reticence. Let’s claw you some independence back.”
Samuel Barnard blossomed like a bud in Lexi’s company. She drove him to the nearest electronics store and helped him to select an android tablet. He seemed keen to hide his foray back into communication from Keith. The tablet lent itself to being hidden at speed. The store’s technician helped Sam to set up his device, adding a lock screen code and loading the relevant software. Sam paid for a warranty and added a subscription for online support.
Back at the house, Lexi showed him how to perform a Google search. She added his favourite supermarket’s online service to the browser. It took another hour to build a decent shopping list and place an order for the following afternoon. Sam beamed like a child as he selected bananas and other items Keith always forgot to fetch.
Lexi resisted judging Sam’s son. Responsibility for an ageing parent rested heavy on anyone’s shoulders, clashing with work and family demands. Sam had too much time alone to think. And to turn a man who did his best into a monster.
Lexi helped him to activate a streaming service on his new tablet. He’d paid for the subscription for years, but somehow lost the settings on his TV. As he settled into his favourite armchair in the lounge, his fingers scrolled over the screen like a teenager. “I’m going to watch a UK detective series,” he announced. He glanced up at her, his cheeks pink and his lips parted in an ecstatic grin.
“Great,” Lexi replied. “Don’t forget your shopping arrives tomorrow afternoon. It can come at any point during that two-hour slot. They’ll email with the invoice to the Gmail we set up, so you’ll know what items are coming. Perhaps Keith can get the things which aren’t available. Keep that little notebook with all your passwords safe so you can check your banking app and your emails.”
“I will.” He patted his pants pocket. His expression sobered. “I’m very grateful to whoever employed you, Miss Allen.”
Lexi inhaled. “About that, Sam. Do you remember the password for your Facebook account? And which email you used to set it up?”
His nose wrinkled. “My friend did it for me. She saw a picture of my grandchildren and helped to set it up on my old laptop. I clicked a few things but then lost interest. Keith doesn’t bring the kids to see me, so what’s the point of tracking their lives in photographs? It just made me sad. That girl he married doesn’t like me. The feeling’s mutual. I preferred his first wife, anyway.”
“His first wife?” Lexi frowned. Her search of the ancestry site and then the public online records showed no prior marriage for Keith Barnard.
Sam shrugged, his interest captured by the theme tune of a familiar eighties detective show. “They called themselves married. But my good Catholic wife called it ‘living in sin’. She said a few Hail Mary’s over that, I can tell you.” His shoulders and head bobbed in time to the music. “Casey,” he said with enthusiasm, taking Lexi by surprise. “I can’t remember her last name. Nice girl. Worked in the office up at the Christian Camp near Rangiriri. I think it’s why she broke up with Keith. She eventually got God and wanted marriage. The idiot refused. I think that’s also how Trent got the job there as the cook.” His gaze softened. “And how he met Liza.”
