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Christie wandered through the cottage not long after dawn, refreshed from a deep and happy sleep. Apart from the wet areas, now delayed thanks to the break-in, each room was almost complete. By the time Martha and Thomas returned, it would be ready for them to decide if they wanted it. If not, well, perhaps Rupert would be lucky and get it.
After locking the cottage, she checked the garage. Barry had wound a chain around the handles with a large padlock. All secure. Her foot crunched onto something. A shard of porcelain from the bath. Bits must have flown everywhere and it was surprising the person responsible hadn’t been hurt. She wrinkled her brow, trying to remember something but was distracted by a cigarette butt a metre from the shard. None of the workmen smoked on site – Barry insisted on it – so whose was it? She squatted down. It reminded her of the butt she’d found smouldering at the end of the street.
She carefully picked it up in a tissue and buried it in a pocket. Most likely this was nothing, but finding two butts like this was odd. Very few locals smoked and she’d never once seen anyone toss a butt. It was worth showing to Trev.
***
Nauseous from downing almost the whole bottle of very fine whiskey last night, Rupert lay in the back seat of his car. He’d been there all night after stumbling around for hours in the dark. He thought he was parked somewhere between Martin’s property and Willow Bay, up some hidden track, but his memory was fuzzy.
He had to get up; he needed to find a place for breakfast to settle his gut. With a bit of luck he’d find his way out of wherever he was and get to somewhere like Green Bay. If he could drive in a straight line.
Forcing himself out of the car, he then leaned against it for a few moments, drawing the brisk early morning air into his lungs. Birds sang in the trees above, worsening his pounding headache. He got into the driver’s seat and closed his eyes, which didn’t really help. An annoying alarm kept going off.
With a groan, he picked up his phone, which was somehow in the footwell of the passenger’s side and ringing. “It’s barely morning.”
“We’ve got a problem.”
“We always have problems,” Rupert complained, closing his eyes again.
“Ingrid’s vanished. I’ve been to her apartment, to the office, phoned her. Nothing.”
“Well, she’s not here—”
“Rupert. Shut up and listen. What did she do? Are the cops really involved?”
“Yes.”
Derek swore. Rupert smiled to himself. Seemed that particular alliance was done.
“Where are you now?”
Rupert squinted at the trees. “Somewhere near River’s End. But I’m not a suspect. Christie and Daphne still think I’m just this bumbling city guy looking for a sea change. I’m coming back to Melbourne later today.”
“Not yet.”
His mind was clearing now and he remembered Derek insisting any force was acceptable. “Boss, maybe you should come and do it. I’m not pushing the artist off a cliff.”
“I don’t want details. Just results.”
Rupert stared out of the window, wondering when the money would get into his account.
“Are you still there?” Derek demanded.
“Boss. You know those voicemails from Ingrid, about doing over the studio?”
“Deleted of course.”
“Nope. One of them is pretty incriminating about your part in this.”
“What?”
“I’m not going to be working for you anymore. But I’d like a decent severance pay... if you get my drift, boss.”
Derek screamed down the phone. “You get nothing! Nothing, you hear? There’s no proof I’ve done anything other than send you to buy a property on my behalf. How you’ve conducted yourself is on you.”
“So,” Rupert continued as if Derek hadn’t spoken. “I want double my salary and ten times my bonus in my account today.”
“You’ll get paid when you’ve split those two apart and I’ve got my cottage.”
“Oh, and about splitting them. She’s wearing his ring. He painted her with a lovely diamond and emerald engagement ring on... are you there?” Derek had hung up. Never mind. There was nothing keeping him here now. He lit a cigarette.
***
If he hadn’t been in his office, Derek would have thrown his laptop against a wall. Rupert had to be lying. Christie would not marry Martin Blake. She was a sophisticated, educated woman with a successful career and a life in Melbourne. With him.
He dropped into his chair and put his head in his hands. This couldn’t be happening.
“Sir?” There was a tap on the door.
“Get out, Lorraine. Hold my calls.” He didn’t lift his head.
“Sorry, sir, but the police are here.”
Now, he looked up. Behind his secretary were two uniformed police officers. Were they here for Ingrid? Or him? Damn her.
“See them in.” Derek took a deep breath and got up. He waited to one side of his desk as they came in. One male, one female.
“Good morning, sir, I’m Senior Constable Mayer and this is Constable Todd.” The female officer spoke and the male officer nodded.
“How can I help? Do you wish to sit?”
“Thank you, no. We are looking for your colleague, Ingrid Kauf—”
“So am I!” he interrupted, returning to his seat. “She owes me money and has disappeared in the middle of a straightforward job.”
“What exactly was this job?”
“She wanted to look at some land on the coast with a view to us bidding on it. Last I know, she was there. I’ve tried to contact her for a couple of days, but no answer on her phone. I even went to her apartment this morning but no reply.”
“When did you last speak with her?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe the day before yesterday? Look,” he leaned forward in his seat, “she was missing her husband. He’s in Germany or somewhere. She’s probably just gone for a visit.”
Senior Constable Mayer stared gravely at Derek. “Without informing you? Does she have friends, or other relatives we could speak to?”
“What’s this about? She’s not in trouble, is she?”
“Why would you suggest it?”
“You’re worrying me. Ingrid was acting strange last time we spoke. Said she really wanted a piece of land or something and the people didn’t want to sell it. She said she’d have to make them see things her way, but I thought she was joking.”
Senior Constable Mayer put her notebook away and handed Derek a business card. “If you hear from her, or think of anything to help us locate her, please call.”
The officers left, leaving the door open. Derek jumped up and closed, then locked it. He dialled Ingrid’s number and again it went to her voicemail. He had no intention of leaving more messages. Between Ingrid and Rupert, they’d managed to stuff things up big time.
It didn’t matter where she was. He’d done nothing wrong. And now he had only one priority. He tapped his intercom.
“Lorraine, arrange a hire car. I need it in one hour.”
***
“Sorry, mate, gonna have to get forensics in but they’ll take care with your paintings.” Trev shook his head at the forced lock on the studio door. “Do you think he was disturbed before... well, any damage was done?”
“No. For some reason, whoever broke in either had no intention of vandalism, or changed their mind. God knows.” Martin leaned against a wall. “There is one thing missing. A bottle of Chivas Regal Diamond Salute.”
“Expensive?”
“Not cheap. But it was for Thomas, well, both of us. Nice on the deck after a long day.”
“Most likely saw it there and swiped it. Guess in the scheme of things, losing a bottle of scotch is better than your paintings. What he did to Daphne is disgusting, all her nice things shattered. Keepsakes, things they’d collected on their honeymoon and for what?”
“And Christie’s goods. Is this some kind of thrillseeker, Trev, or something more sinister?” He went to the painting of Christie and traced her face, smiling slightly as he remembered the feel of her warm skin against his.
Trev joined him. “What are you thinking?”
“Christie’s ex is trouble. Last year he let himself into her place and gave her a scare. He’s a narcissist through and through, charming one minute and close to violent the next.”
“I had no idea. But what would he have to do with this?”
“Ingrid, or Bethany Fox, whatever her real name is, has a business partnership with him. They both want Christie’s cottage. Scare campaign perhaps? Sending some message. Derek sent Christie a painting he’d bought after they broke up. It’s one of my paintings. No note, no follow up contact so she doesn’t even know if it now belongs to her, or is just part of some ploy to get her attention.”
“I believe he’ll get a visit this morning. Ingrid is proving elusive.”
“Martin? Oh, no...” Christie ran in, hand to her mouth. “Your paintings?”
“It’s okay, sweetheart. Nothing’s damaged.” Martin met her halfway and took her into his arms. “Just a bottle of scotch stolen and the lock broken.” He felt her relax against him and loosened his hold.
She gazed up, worry in her eyes. “When?”
“Last night. Randall got all toey when we got back. Whoever did this was long gone, but I stayed down here just in case.”
“You should have called me.”
“No.” His tone was firm and she nodded imperceptibly.
“Morning, Christie.”
“Oh, sorry. Morning, Trev. Any idea who is doing all these dreadful things?”
Trev and Martin exchanged a glance. “Too soon. But the more fingerprints and other traces we get, the more chance of catching them. Anyway, hang around a bit if you can, Martin. I’ve got a couple of things to follow up.” He nodded to them both, then hurried out.
Christie went to her portrait. She laughed softly. “When did you paint the engagement ring?”
“Around the time George and I designed it.”
“Confident?”
“I asked the universe. Putting the ring where it belongs was simply the law of attraction.”
Christie wound her arms up around his neck. “Oh, there’s definitely a law of attraction here.”
He chuckled. “Not quite what I meant.”
“So what are you saying?” On her toes, she kissed him. “The universe has a lot of explaining to do.”