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Lexi stared at the watch in disbelief. The outer envelope matched a million others sent through the post on any day. Padded and nondescript. But her mysterious gift giver hadn’t offered a chance for her to trace them. No postmark, no return address, and probably no fingerprints. Just the gentle, lilting scrawl of her name.
As Lexi turned the watch in her fingers, she noticed an empty slot on its left side. She didn’t remember seeing it there before. Lifting it to her face, she peered at it and realisation dawned like a sunburst. “Micro SD card,” she murmured. “I figured I’d turned off the device, but it kept recording.” She blew out a breath. Someone had disabled and returned it. They wanted her to understand her error. “Not Rojas then,” she said with a sigh. She placed it on the hall table and reached for the council envelope.
Nahla wound around her legs as Lexi headed towards the bathroom. Tearing the envelope proved ridiculously hard, and she left a tattered opening at the top. A sheaf of embossed paper seemed reluctant to leave the safe folds and Lexi wrestled it free. She set it on the vanity and rubbed her eyes. A painful scratchiness emanated from her lids. Turning away from the letter, Lexi stepped into the shower cubicle to disrobe. Dust cascaded from her clothes and hair to litter the tray like orange and grey speckled snow.
It took half an hour of scrubbing to loosen the sweat and ingrained dirt from Lexi’s skin. She emerged from the shower and set the washing machine to salvage her clothing from the Rangiriri bush muck. While sitting at the kitchen table and sipping a mug of hot coffee, she remembered the discarded letter and retrieved it. She hauled her towel tighter around her and stared at the serif font in disbelief. The words swam until each line merged into a river of confusion. A lump lodged in her chest and she struggled to inhale. The last remaining life raft in her tenuous security tilted and threatened to dislodge her into an unpredictable sea.
The council had used a jolly, swirling font to issue their horrible declaration. Lexi read the bolder sentences four times without understanding. Her knees gave, and she sank into the kitchen chair with a thud. The envelope fluttered to the floorboards, its tattered edges a portend of her future. She discerned certain pertinent buzz words from the text. Infrastructure. Environmental benefits. Hamilton City’s exponential growth.
The mayor and his councillors had sacrificed Lexi’s quiet, untouched Drake Street to the jaws of an expressway extension. No public consultation, no discussion. Central government had squeezed out the hefty budget, and they intended to begin the compulsory purchase process for affected property owners. Surveyors would arrive the following week to assess the homes slated for demolition.
Lexi dipped at the waist and pushed her head between her knees. The antique wallpaper swelled and swam in her peripheral vision. The damning letter stared up at her from the floor. Nahla lifted one end with a curious paw before sitting in the centre of the paper. “They can’t do this,” Lexi comforted herself. “They can’t do this.” But her wise inner voice told her they could. And they would. They’d done it before, purchasing property at a fraction of its market value and citing the recession for the catastrophic drop in house prices.
Nausea roiled in her stomach, and she couldn’t think straight. A rates rise seemed preferable to no home at all. Patrick Allen’s kind legacy lay in tatters at her feet.
Lexi’s phone vibrated on the table. It edged across the renovated planks as it vied for her attention. She lifted her head enough to spot Garima’s private number flashing on the screen. Her hand shook as she reached for him, both with the need to hear his voice and a craving for his customary calm in the storm. Her lips parted to reveal this latest attack on her security, but he spoke first. Urgency lined his voice. “Lexi, do you have that thing?” he whispered.
Confusion added to her dismay as she replied, “Thing?”
“Yes, thingy!” Pique and impatience. So unusual for Garima. “You said you owned one. I need you to test the church.”
Lexi’s mental scrabbling produced nothing useful. Quick footsteps carried Garima outside and traffic sounds backed his agitated hissing. “I got to wondering how Dad knew about the confession to Father Donald so fast.” He lowered his voice enough to become almost inaudible. A lorry’s engine braking smothered the rest of his sentence.
“I’m having a bit of a crisis here,” Lexi managed. Her chest heaved, and the nausea didn’t lessen.
“He’s bugged the church!” Garima’s voice rose to a wail. “We don’t know how he makes his money, Lex. What if he blackmails parishioners after recording their confessions?”
Lexi pushed out an agonised breath. Once again, she sidelined her own distress to deal with her brother’s. “I don’t believe even he’d sink to that. No, he bugged my kitchen.” She tutted at her own foolishness. “He heard our conversation on Monday when you visited. I found the device. Or rather, the cat did.” Pieces shifted into place like Tetris blocks. “He sent someone in to find it on Wednesday and they left a drawer ajar.” Lexi tutted and squeezed the bridge of her nose. “We need to stop him, Gari,” she declared. “We can’t go on like this.”
Her brother calmed at her soothing tone. “But would you still check?” he asked in a small voice.
“Yes.” Lexi forced steel into her spine and rose, hauling her towel tighter around her breasts. She retrieved the council’s death sentence from the floor and dropped it onto the kitchen table. “I’ll meet you at the church within the hour.”
