Friday, 4:45 p.m.
“Gotta go, darlin’,” said Simon who was waiting in my bedroom when I padded naked, except for a skimpy towel, out of the shower. He looked good. More than good. He looked edible. Hair tousled, the three top buttons of his shirt open and the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow cresting his rock star jaw. Yeah, definitely edible. “I’d like to hang around,” he went on, “but Joe rang. Not happy that I ducked out of work without letting him know.”
I shook my damp hair from my eyes and sidled up to him, pouting like I’d seen those sexy models do in the magazine section of the Tribute. “Not even time for a kiss before you go?”
His wicked grin made my legs melt. “Always time for a kiss,” he promised, waggling his eyebrows. “Especially when you’re dressed in nothing but a towel.”
He ran one finger over my pouting lips, tracing the outline, and then leaned forward and slowly covered my lips with his hot mouth. I moaned. Felt an ache gathering between my legs. I could spend the rest of my life kissing this man. His mouth spoke of heat and desire and sex and when the kiss deepened and our tongues tangled and caressed—the heat in my groin turned to fire.
It was like a splash of cold water when he pulled away from me. I closed my eyes.
“Oh, God, Dani,” Simon gasped, his breath coming in short sharp bursts. “What are you trying to do—kill me?”
I opened my eyes and smiled at him.
“Suddenly, whenever I’m near you, you turn me on like one of those giant firework displays. It’s interfering with my perfectly good boring life.”
My smile widened.
“But I still have to go,” he insisted and I lost the smile. “Joe’s waiting for my editorial so the paper can be wrapped up for the day.”
Damn…time for another tack.
“Henry’s making an honest woman of my mother in less than an hour. You don’t want to miss that.”
“Sorry, Dani. If your mother had given me prior notice, I’d have asked for the time off. But I’ll be out of a job if I don’t go back to the Tribute…” He glanced at his watch. “…now!”
Okay, time to bring out the big guns.
Exposing all my imperfections without a qualm…I dropped my towel to the floor.
And grinned as Simon’s breathing grew more and more ragged and his eyes caressed my body as though it was an ice cream he longed to lick.
“Oh God, Dani. You’re not playing fair,” he moaned and reached for my breasts.
Bingo!
“Looks like something’s come up,” I pointed out, all innocence, as I watched his erection strain against the crutch of his trousers.
“Okay,” he growled, his eyes turning black. “I can see you’re asking for more punishment.”
“Who me?” I asked, blatantly turning my back on him to slowly bend over and push my naked butt in the air, while picking the wet towel up from the floor.
Before I’d even sent the message to my brain to straighten up again, his arms were wrapped around me, pulling my buttocks up against his erection, which was acting like a missile-finding probe behind me.
“That’s it, Summers! You are in big trouble,” he told me, one hand unzipping his fly while he tore at a condom packet with his teeth. “No time for preliminaries,” he added, and holding me from behind, bent me over the bed.
Then the conversation closed down completely. His fingers, long and supple and oh-so-skillful, played music between my legs until heat and sensation took over and I could barely stand. Sensing my readiness, he plunged inside me while I pressed the palms of my hands on the bed and arched my back in compliance.
“And now I’m going to screw your brains out,” Simon warned, his voice a low growl in his throat.
“Ooh, I love it when you talk dirty,” I told him, squirming against him with approval.
“Dani? Everything alright in there?” my mother called from the kitchen.
“Yeah, Mum. Fine.” I panted and moaned as Simon kept his word and drove harder and harder, banging and slapping against me with every thrust.
“You’d better hurry, dear,” my mother added. “We should be leaving for the registry office in—”
“Ooooh, yeah!” I yelled as I came and the heat of my orgasm burst into flames all around me.
“Sshh.” Simon’s hand covered my mouth and we giggled like teenagers and toppled onto the bed together, legs and arms tangled.
“Er…I’ll leave you to it then,” said Mum after a short pause. “But tell Simon that Joe’s been on the phone again. And…er…time’s ticking away, you know.”
“Oh, God, how am I ever going to face your mother again?” groaned Simon and I laughed at his little-boy expression. “Do you know if she’s going to stick around here for long?”
“After we finish at the registry office I’m dropping the pair of them off at The Lodge, in Williamstown, so we’ll have the place to ourselves when you come back tonight.”
“Thank God.” And then Simon frowned. “Why The Lodge?”
“They’ve booked themselves into the honeymoon suite there,” I told him. “But I have to call in at Megan’s place on the way. She said she’s got something to show me.”
“Right.” Simon swung his legs off the bed and stood up. He smiled down at me, his lopsided grin making me want to crawl inside of him. “Okay, my darlin’. Until tonight,” he said and bent to kiss my belly button, before zipping up his fly.
* * *
Mum, Henry and I arrived at the registry office with two minutes to spare.
Mum was nervous. You could tell by the way she slipped her hand into the pocket of Henry’s suit coat every few minutes to check that he hadn’t lost the ring. Henry, on the other hand, looked quite chipper. Thanks to a quarter bottle of brandy which Simon had thoughtfully procured earlier to replace the hot tea.
A sign on the scarred registry-office door declared, “No dogs allowed. No drugs. No alcohol. Turn off all mobile phones. No swearing. You are on camera.” Underneath that, another sign declared, “Welcome. Enjoy your day.”
Go figure.
Switching off my mobile, I dropped it into my pocket and trudged behind Mum and Henry to the desk at the far end of the room. Surprisingly it was a very basic desk. Probably bought from Cash Converters or eBbay. Undeterred by his stark surroundings, Henry parked his walker against the wall and slipped his hand into Mum’s.
“Ready?” he whispered.
“Whenever you are, Henry.”
Behind the basic desk sat a bird-like woman, head down, shuffling papers. “Henry Baxter and Gwendolyn Summers?”
“That’s us,” said Mum, and my insides went all gooey when she smiled at Henry and squeezed his hand.
The woman glanced up, her bureaucratic smile set in place, took in the age of her next customers and I watched her smile falter. “Um…you are here to be married?”
“Yes, love,” agreed Henry, anxiously peering at the woman’s face through the lens of his coke-bottle thick glasses. “We are in the right department, aren’t we? I thought there’d be a few streamers and balloons to mark the event.” He swiveled his head around to Mum for confirmation. “Didn’t you, Gwenny?”
“Yes,” Mum said, and gave the room a quick once-over. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt to brighten this place up a bit,” she told Bird-woman. “Like, arrange some nice cut flowers in a vase and put some romantic music on the sound system and—”
Bird-woman coughed and shuffled her papers again. “Can we please get on with this? I have another couple to marry before six o’clock.” She stretched one arm out and drew a sheet of paper from the pile on the desk toward her. “Now, I have a few questions I need to ask before we can proceed.”
“Shoot,” said Mum.
“Fire your best shot,” said Henry.
I cringed. Note to self—next time I go to the Mall, buy some corny DVDs with a G-level rating for the residents of Sunny Days. Something with cute doggies, singing tap dancers and smiling women in dirndl skirts.
“Henry Thomas Baxter and Gwendolyn Danielle Summers; are you both in agreement of this marriage?”
“Of course.”
“Wouldn’t be here if we weren’t.”
“Are either of you under the age of—” Bird-woman looked up, rolled her eyes and zeroed in on the next question on her list. “Are either of you involved with—”
Suddenly, she tossed the paper aside, shrugged both shoulders and gave us the first genuine smile of our visit. “To hell with the questions—let’s rumble,” she said and undid the top button of her cardigan.
Ten minutes later, Henry Thomas Baxter and Gwendolyn Danielle Summers had been joined together as husband and wife, Bird-woman was shaking hands and patting backs, and I had myself a brand new stepdad.
* * *
On the drive to Megan’s, I asked Mum if she and Henry planned to shift into a new house now they were married.
Mum seemed genuinely taken aback at my question, but didn’t answer immediately.
“Oh no, we love it at Sunny Days—don’t we, Gwenny?” Henry chirped, and in my rearview mirror I saw him lean over and kiss her on the cheek.
“Of course we do, darling,” Mum assured Henry and then went on to explain the situation to me. “You have to realize, dear…if we lived on our own, Henry and I wouldn’t have time for the fun stuff in life. We’re not youngsters any more. Our aim in life now is to make whoopee while the sun’s still shining, as they say.”
“Whoopee!” echoed Henry and I wondered whether Simon had given him just a tad too much brandy.
“At Sunny Days,” Mum continued, “everything gets done for us. There’s no shopping to worry about. No housework. No mowing lawns. Gawd no! The only shifting we’ll be doing is into a double room in the couples section of the facility.”
And then I heard smooching and giggling in the back seat, and sang la la la la la in my head so I couldn’t picture what was going on behind me.
To celebrate, we’d stopped at the Gawler Arms hotel for a drink and a meal after signing the register so it was now almost seven o’clock. Consequently, when we reached Megan’s cottage on the outskirts of Cockatoo Valley, the sun had set and warm welcoming lights blazed from the front windows.
I parked the car beneath a large gum tree at the side of the house and leant over the front seat. “Did you want to come in?”
“Oh, no. You go ahead.” Smiling at Henry, Mum shook her head.
“Okaaay. Won’t be long.”
I angled myself out of the car, stood up and took in the peace and quiet of Megan’s country property. After spending so many years in a crowded apartment while working, she loved it here because her cottage was so isolated. No near neighbors to watch any comings and goings, which meant she could still continue her profession with a few rich, selected clients on a cash-only basis and laugh while giving the tax department the finger.
“No need to hurry, dear,” Henry told me, his face flushed as he fumbled with his seat belt and then pulled Mum towards him. “Gwen and I will be just fine out here.”
La la la la la…
Leaving the two lovebirds to their canoodling, I loped up the graveled path and knocked on Megan’s door. Suddenly, I didn’t want to be out in the dark, surrounded by trees and shadows and potential killers. Blame the sinister happenings of the last couple of days. And why hadn’t I insisted Megan tell me about Sweet Lips over the phone? All this cloak and dagger stuff wasn’t helping my insecurities. In fact, I wouldn’t feel safe until I settled Mum and Henry into the honeymoon suite at The Lodge and drove home. Once there, I’d lock my front door, ring Simon to remind him not to forget his handcuffs, and hibernate until the killer was caught and incarcerated.
“Hi, Dani, I’ve been waiting for you. Come in.” Megan, her clothes, makeup, and hair immaculate, as usual, opened her front door and stepped aside for me to enter.
Geez! Didn’t this woman ever just kick back in comfortable daggy clothes and chill out while scoffing a box of soft-centered chocolates?
“Can’t stay long,” I told Megan and followed her into the kitchen. “You said you’d found something interesting about Sweet Lips. I’m all ears.”
“Mary Foster was a bitch,” snarled Megan and her beautiful face darkened. “A lying, cheating bitch. Always has been. Only two weeks ago she came to see me. Standing right where you are now, laughing and boasting about how I’d never have her husband while she was alive. She didn’t want him—wouldn’t even have him in her bed—but would she let anyone else have him? No way. And when I tried to tell him what Mary was really like, he wouldn’t believe me. Called me a whore and a liar and said he didn’t want to see me anymore.”
Whoa…what had I just stepped into here? Had Megan been drinking? When I first asked her about Mary Foster she’d told me she didn’t know the woman. Yet here she was talking about her as though she not only knew her intimately—she hated her guts.
“Um…Megan, you said you had something you wanted to show me,” I reminded her. I’d check out the surprise, tell her it was great and then bolt back to my car and drive like hell. The Megan I knew and loved had been invaded by a body-snatching monster.
“Oh, sorry Dani,” Megan said, shaking her head and giving me a rueful grin. “I got a bit carried away there. Forgive me. Would you like a cup of coffee? A glass of wine?”
“No, nothing for me, thanks. I really can’t stay long,” I told her and frowned. “What’s this surprise you want to show me? I hope it’s worth coming all the way out here to see.”
“Oh, it is. Believe me…it is.” Smiling, she picked up a large key from the kitchen table and moved towards a closed door on the other side of the room. A door I knew led into a guest bedroom. I knew because I’d stayed in the room one night when one of our research sessions had gone on past midnight. “Come with me,” she said, beckoning with one long, black-taloned finger. Seeing me hesitate, her smile widened. “Hey, it’s a good surprise, Dani. You’ll get a kick out of this.”
When she unlocked the door, I followed her into the room and looked around. Nothing seemed out of place—bed made, pictures dusted, antique comb and brush set in place on the dressing table. The only difference from when I’d last been in the room was the naked man tied to a chair. A two-inch-wide strip of grey insulation tape covered his mouth. His long legs, gouged and bloody, were attached to the chair legs with what appeared to be barbed wire. His pale skinny body was covered in bruises and cigarette burns. And his arms were fastened behind his back.
But it was the look of sheer terror in the man’s eyes that undid me.
“Derek?” I gasped and felt the chicken schnitzel I’d eaten for dinner flutter its wings.
“Yes, it’s Derek,” agreed Megan, her voice flat and unemotional. “My snake-in-the-grass ex-lover. The man who, after promising to divorce his wife and marry me, laughed in my face when I begged him to give her up. He told me he’d never leave his wife for a filthy whore like me. A filthy whore? When his holier-than-though wife shagged more men in a night than there are days in a week.” She chuckled and my blood froze. “So, of course, when I killed Mary, the last laugh was on him.”
“Megan, what—” I turned around and my words stuck in my throat, threatening to choke me. Megan had produced a gun from inside her designer label, suede, Versace jacket. A black gun. A black gun with a mother-of-pearl handle.
She smiled a wide, crazy smile and aimed the gun at Derek Foster’s head. “This is what I wanted to show you, Dani,” she said, and pulled the trigger.