Xander McIntyre had the door of the taxi open before it came to a complete stop at the western entrance to the Rainbow Cove shopping centre. He handed over two fifty-dollar notes. ‘Keep the change.’
‘Thanks.’ The taxi driver’s eyes lit up as he tucked the notes into a tatty, faded-black wallet. ‘Thanks a lot, mate.’
Xander nodded, slammed the door and strode around the back of the vehicle towards the far lane of the car park. He’d have known where to find the accident, even without the police information. A crowd had gathered midway down the lane, shoppers returning to their cars, passers-by drawn like vultures to a carcass. Overhead, a police helicopter veered away, and a news chopper edged into the air space above the crowd.
Xander shouldered through the onlookers, lifted the fluttering yellow tape and ducked under it, bypassing a uniformed constable.
‘Stay back please, sir.’ The constable, young enough to pass for a school student, thrust a hand in front of Xander in a futile effort to stop him.
Fuelled by adrenaline and anger, Zander ignored him and pushed past until he reached his target. ‘That’s my car.’ He stab-pointed in the direction of the silver vehicle now meshed with a small, red, parked sedan. ‘It was stolen two hours ago from my hotel and—’
‘Mr McIntyre?’ A plain-clothes officer held up his ID, stepped between Xander and his car, and waved off the rookie uniform.
‘Yes. And you are?’
‘Detective John Wilkins. The PolAir helicopter located your vehicle when it was spotted speeding down the highway and followed it here. Could I have a few words with you now?’
Xander inhaled a calming breath. The detective’s intervention was smooth and low-key. He took another deep breath and tunnelled irritated fingers through his hair.
There was a process to follow, but the wasted time grated. Tamping down his impatience, he turned from his car to the detective. ‘What do you need to know?’
The time? Two hours ago.
Where the car was parked? In the secure parking of my resort hotel.
Your hotel? Yes, I own it.
Long minutes passed as Xander answered the detective’s questions, and passed on details supplied by his security team.
A forensics team worked methodically, taking every item from the vehicle and dusting the car and its contents for fingerprints before setting each item in a row on a drop sheet.
‘How long have you owned Rainbow Cove Resort?’
‘About twelve months. Renovations are ongoing. The secure car park where my car was taken from is yet to be upgraded.’
Somebody has a lot of explaining to do when I get back to the resort.
‘Something is always last in a project that size.’ Detective Wilkins jotted a note in his book.
Xander glanced at his watch. He was cutting it fine to arrange for another vehicle before his sister’s plane landed. ‘How long will you need my car?’
‘It will be towed to the police lock-up yard for further examination. Your insurer will most likely have a hire car option available in the interim, but, say, a week. Yours is repairable. Can’t say the same for the other vehicle.’ The detective scanned the bystanders and the wider view of the parking lot.
Xander glanced at the red car, sparing a pitying thought for its unknowing owner. He extracted a business card from his wallet. ‘Losing my car is a damned nuisance, but the other car’s copped the worst of it.’
‘Extra annoying, I guess, since your car was taken from your own premises.’
Xander handed over his card. ‘Do you have a card in case I need to contact you?’
‘Sure.’ Wilkins handed one over and tucked Xander’s into his wallet.
‘I’ll be launching a full investigation into how this occurred.’
Thank God it was my car and not one of my guests’.
How would his sister react when he showed up in an unfamiliar car? According to their mother, Jenny was less inclined to become agitated by change since her operation, but Xander remained sceptical. Until he saw her for himself, he’d do whatever he could to avoid a repeat of his sister’s nerve-wracking tantrums.
The detective turned to the second uniform. ‘Any news on the other car’s owner?’
‘Yes, sir.’ A female senior constable stepped forward, flipped open a notebook and thumbed over a few pages and read the details. ‘Felicity Ardmore. Last known address is in Brisbane, Queensland.’
Wilkins bent down and peered at the car’s crumpled front assembly. ‘So, Queensland plates could mean the owner is here on holiday.’ He beckoned the young constable over. ‘Go into the shopping centre and get them to put a call over the speaker system for the owner to come to her car.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The constable lifted the tape and ducked under it, shouldering through the crowd in the direction of the shopping centre.
A young woman with auburn hair and an armful of groceries emerged from behind an elderly couple holding a trolley with a giant assemble-it-yourself inflatable castle. She slipped under the tape and came to an abrupt halt. Glossy pink lips formed an O shape as she stared at the red car. For several heartbeats her gaze was glued to the point of impact before she turned a dark blue gaze on Xander.
‘You. What the hell have you done to my car?’
***
Gritty-eyed and tired, Flick blinked, desperate to make sense of the scene in front of her. A silver Beamer’s grill was meshed with Ruby’s caved-in front in a twisted mechanical embrace. Her faithful, fifteen-year-old car had brought her from Queensland, across the border into New South Wales to Rainbow Cove. And now it appeared the northern resort town would be its final resting place. Her stomach lurched, and she gulped her next breath through her mouth.
What the hell was she going to do? A deep-bellied, primal cry sounded a great option. Homeless, jobless, and as bereft as an orphaned child, everything she owned was in the boot and back seat of Ruby.
Why, oh why had she pulled in here to buy groceries?
Palm trees lining the border of the car park swayed in the breeze.
A tall, dark-haired, grey-suited man with an annoyed frown and a BMW keychain dangling from his hand turned his head and looked her way. His gaze flicked from her face over the rest of her.
‘You. What the hell have you done to my car?’
His gaze snapped back to her face. ‘Ah, you’re the other owner. Ms—Ardmore, is it?’
‘How do you know my name?’
‘The police checked your rego plates. They’re probably looking for you inside the centre as we speak.’
Of course they had checked. She was the only one still out of the loop, as always.
Bitterness at the blows life kept pegging at her fed Flick’s anger. She stormed across to where he stood between two police officers. Setting her bags of groceries on the bitumen, she glared at him ‘You—you’re the incompetent driver of this vehicle, I take it? How the hell did you manage to hit Ruby?’
‘Ruby?’
‘My car. You hit my vehicle, though God knows how you—’
‘You’ve—named your car?’ The man looked at her as though she was missing a few marbles.
She stiffened her shoulders and glared at him. ‘Doesn’t everyone?’
‘Guess I missed that class at driving school.’
‘Humph. That and a few others by the looks of this effort. How did you crash—’
‘I didn’t. My vehicle was stolen this morning.’ He sketched a hand at the mangled wrecks. ‘This is the result.’
A man held out a business card, smoothly inserting himself into the conversation. ‘Ms Ardmore, I’m Detective Wilkins. Mr McIntyre’s stolen car was being followed by our helicopter and ended up here when the thieves attempted to evade arrest. We have apprehended the three occupants of the vehicle and ascertained who was driving at the time.’
Heat ran up Flick’s face and she closed her eyes and groaned before looking at Grey-suit. ‘Sorry, I’m sorry. You didn’t drive into me. I get it.’
‘We’re both victims of those hoodlums, Ms Ardmore.’ He gestured at Ruby. ‘Your car is more damaged than mine. You won’t be able to drive it once they’re separated, let alone open your boot.’
Flick looked down the side of her car and her insides curled. The impact had pushed Ruby into the light pole behind her car. Even from the front she could see the crumpled boot.
The detective glanced from her to the man.
McIntyre, was it? The reality of her situation hit home. Did his name matter? The mangled mess was a visual metaphor for her life.
Destination—going nowhere; employment prospects—nil; finances—desperate.
‘We’ll be a couple of hours here at least. Perhaps you could go for a coffee and a bite of lunch. I can phone you when we’re ready to tow both cars.’ The detective’s tone was businesslike, but his eyes conveyed sympathy.
‘Excuse me?’ An older couple with a trolley signalled for the police officer’s attention and pointed at a station wagon two down from Ruby. ‘Do you think we could get our car out now? We’re on our way to our granddaughter’s birthday party with her present.’ The man tapped the box in their trolley.
‘Certainly, sir. Come through.’ Wilkins turned back to Flick. ‘Can you give your details to the constable first, and then you might find it more comfortable inside out of the heat.’
‘Sure.’ There was nothing for it. Given Flick hadn’t been present at the accident, the constable’s questions were few and her answers were short and to the point. ‘I was gone about thirty-five, maybe forty minutes in total, I guess.’
‘Thanks, Ms Ardmore. We’ll let you know when we’re done with your vehicle. If you need a tow truck, I can give you the names of a couple of reputable local operators.’ The constable closed her notebook and handed her card to Flick. ‘If you have any questions you can call me on this number. I’ll ring you with the accident report number later today for you to give to your insurer.’
‘Okay, thanks.’ Flick bit her lip—there would be little insurance payout on poor, ancient Ruby. She bent to retrieve her groceries, only to find Mr Grey-suit had beaten her to it. He stood with her two hessian shopping bags dangling from one tanned hand. They looked incongruous against his tailored suit.
‘Give me those—I can carry my shopping.’ The waspish tone wasn’t Flick, not normally. But her life was spiralling out of control. She had to hang on to whatever she could, even if it was only the handles of her grocery bags.
‘It’s the least I can do.’ He lifted the police tape and followed her away from their crashed cars. Inside the shopping centre, he indicated a trendy café on the right of the main doors. ‘This place does a good coffee.’
At the entrance to the café there was a cut-out Santa and sleigh piled high with glittery fake presents; inside, Christmas decorations and tinsel had replaced the Halloween theme still evident in a few shops while soft smoky-jazz replaced the canned carols piping through the shopping centre’s sound system. With fewer than eight weeks until the holiday, Flick was grateful to be spared chirpy Christmas carols. Her frazzled nerves couldn’t handle goodwill to all men. Not towards the thieves who had stolen her companion’s car and totalled poor Ruby.
The café was busier than when she’d glanced into it on her way back to the car. The scent of ginger slice fresh from the oven had tempted her then, but now food was the last thing on her mind. She headed for a table near the back and sat.
He set her shopping on the bench seat and extended a hand. ‘I’m Xander McIntyre. I live out on the cove.’
‘Flick—Felicity Ardmore. I am—was—just passing through. Guess I’ll have to find somewhere to camp. Any recommendations for caravan parks or camping grounds close by?’
A frown flickered across his forehead and he shook his head. ‘The caravan park closed last year and there’s no camping allowed along the foreshore. But there is the resort if you fancy a few days of relaxation.’
A resort? She probably couldn’t afford a meal there let alone a single night. Not when every cent she had was destined for a deposit on Pecorino. Mr Fancy BMW-driving Grey-suit probably never had to practise economies like she did. She doubted he’d ever struggled with making ends meet or choosing between eating for a day as opposed to buying a work tool. She grimaced at the memory—her fancy French whisk had cost her an arm and a leg.
Poor Ruby. What am I going to do without her?
‘If Rainbow Cove isn’t your destination, where are you heading?’
‘Oh, I was aiming for Newcastle, I guess.’ Distracted by the scent of ginger and subtle spice, and worry over her car and immediate prospects, Flick realised too late how slack this sounded when Xander frowned again.
Judgemental, pompous …
She fiddled with the fringed bottom of her Balinese shoulder bag. What business was it of his anyway?
‘You’re on holiday?’ He unbuttoned his jacket and set one arm along the top of the booth.
‘Kind of.’
‘How can you be kind of on holiday? Either you are, or you aren’t.’
Her head snapped up and she clenched her hands on her lap. Right now, she needed Xander poking and prodding into her personal life like she needed a hole in the head. ‘I needed a change from my old job, okay? Can we leave it at that?’
Xander raised both hands before folding his arms on the table. Grey eyes met hers. ‘Not my business. What would you like to drink? My shout.’
Embarrassment curled through Flick. She wasn’t the only one whose day had been ruined. Xander, at least, was trying to be pleasant while she was behaving like a total bitch. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before meeting his gaze. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t allow shock to overwhelm my good manners. Do they have berry smoothies here?’
‘A good choice. That’s their speciality.’ His smile tipped up one side of his mouth as he stood.
It softened the harsh planes of his cheeks, and turned Flick’s first impression of corporate pomposity on its head. Maybe if he lost the tie …
‘Don’t worry. I’d be surprised if you weren’t still in shock. I’ve had a little more time than you to process what’s happened.’ He moved to the counter and joined a short queue, pulling out his phone and tapping out a message while he waited to order.
Flick ran her hands over her jeans-clad thighs and tipped her head to one side. Xander was being decent about it all, in spite of being just as inconvenienced, and through no fault of his own. She needed to calm down, to take a moment to regroup and appreciate his thoughtfulness and consideration.
There was more to him than the suit. His dark hair, neatly trimmed but shorter than she liked, was more dark brown than black beneath the café’s down lights. His smart suit and clean-shaven jaw placed him firmly in the corporate sector, at least in her mind, but his lean body was more along the lines of an Aussie Rules player. Did the suit make the man? Would he look as good in boardies and T-shirt?
As if I don’t have more pressing concerns than a chance acquaintance’s good looks.
At fifteen years old, Ruby was insured at the minimum level. Given the extensive damage, Flick considered her insurer unlikely to offer to repair her little car.
There had been a television helicopter filming. What if her parents saw her car on the news?
She took out her phone and texted two quick messages that she was unharmed, but Ruby was probably a write-off, and hit send on the second message before Xander returned. Dad would be frantic if he saw her car on the news. Mum probably wouldn’t notice.
Xander set a metal stand on the edge of their table and her eye was drawn to the artwork; their table number blazed on the side of a cartoonish cappuccino cut-out. It was kind of quirky in the sophisticated setting of black tiles and stainless steel café. ‘So, back to your problem, Felicity.’
‘Please—can you call me Flick? Only my mother calls me Felicity.’ And that was punishment for daring to be her father’s daughter. Flick sighed softly and slipped the phone back into her bag.
‘I see.’
His keen appraisal suggested that he did indeed see. Far more than she was comfortable revealing, far more than she was willing to share.
‘You know what, forget it. Felicity is fine.’
A dull headache began building behind her eyes. Lack of sleep and emotional emptiness did that to her. She’d reached breaking point. Her eyes pricked with angry tears and if she didn’t get out now, she’d have no dignity left to preserve.
Grabbing her shoulder bag, she opened her mouth to tell him she’d changed her mind about waiting with him.
The waitress, carrying a tray with an espresso shot, a glass of water, a light purple smoothie, and two plates, one bearing a chocolate brownie and the other a piece of ginger slice, stopped at the end of their table, effectively blocking Flick’s escape. The scent of ginger—her favourite comfort food—curled under her nose.
‘Who’s having the brownie?’ The waitress held the plate and glanced from Flick to Xander.
Flick turned her head and eyed off the ginger slice. Her nose may have twitched at the heavenly aroma of fresh, good-quality baking.
‘Your choice, Felic—Flick. They both look good.’
Flick. He called me Flick.
It highlighted how tightly wound she’d become that she placed so much store on a name. With her emotions all over the place, sitting down for a drink with Xander offered a brief respite.
Her stomach gurgled—loudly. She pressed a hand against it. ‘I skipped breakfast.’
‘In that case, would you like something more than a slice? Toasted sandwiches, maybe?’ Xander grinned, a full-on, disarming smile that made him look—less corporate executive and all too human.
Appealingly human. Distraction of the best kind.
‘Just the slice. Are you sure you don’t mind which you have?’
Xander nodded, giving no indication of a preference either way.
‘The ginger for me then, thanks.’
Plates and drinks sorted, the waitress left them alone. Flick cut her slice into four and raised a piece to her mouth. The scent of ginger offered rare comfort, a reminder of her first cooking attempts with her father. Closing her eyes, she breathed in flavours and memories. Her tongue touched the corner of her mouth, remembering the taste, texture, scent—security.
Opening her eyes she looked across the table.
Xander hadn’t moved. His gaze appeared riveted on her hand, or the slice—or maybe her mouth—before his eyes flicked up and met hers. On another man she’d interpret it as interest, but on him …
One brief, revealing glance. Awkward, uncomfortable … distracting.
She was mistaken. They’d only just met. Shock had skewed her view.
Lips a hair’s breadth from the slice, she tried to gather her scattered thoughts.
Think, Flick, why else would he be looking—there?
‘Um, would you like to taste this one?’
He shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s just food.’
‘Of course it matters. My father taught me to tell quality cooking by its aroma across any room. This slice will be amazing.’
She set her piece of slice down, balanced an untouched quarter on the knife and lifted it onto his plate. ‘Good cooking creates so much more than just food. It’s made with love and should be bliss in each bite. Taste that and then tell me it’s just food.’
Xander tipped his head to one side. ‘You sound as passionate as my friend, Christophe. He has the restaurant at the resort.’ Xander picked up his knife and cut the brownie into two neat pieces, balancing one half on the knife and lifting it onto Flick’s plate before wiping his fingers on the paper serviette.
Regretting the impulse that had lost her some of the ginger slice, Flick eyed the brittle-edged brownie with resignation. ‘Where’s this resort?’
The espresso cup looked ridiculously small in Xander’s hand as he watched her over the rim. ‘As the crow flies, just the other side of the headland. By road, about five kilometres. Why? Are you interested in taking a room there?’
‘I—maybe.’ Telling Xander she couldn’t afford to stay in a resort was too personal, but if this Christophe shared her passion for food and if—a big if, and she wasn’t about to get her hopes up yet—there might be a chance of finding work with him, she was interested. If her hopes were dashed after the morning she’d had, the breakdown that had threatened when she’d looked at Ruby’s caved-in front and rear might still happen.
‘There’s a taxi rank on the eastern side of the centre. Everyone knows the resort, and I’m certain there are vacancies at this time of year.’
‘Great—wonderful. Okay then.’ She bit into her slice and closed her eyes, concentrating on the flavours melting on her tongue. Living in the moment and focusing on the simple pleasure of good food and a tentative contact at the resort would get her through the rest of the morning. After that …
A five-kilometre walk to the resort would be a breeze compared to the three hundred kilometres she’d planned on driving before she stopped for the night. It would be good to stretch her muscles and give her time to plan her approach to Xander’s friend, the chef.
A tiny nugget of ginger released a delicate hit of flavour on her tongue. Ha, the best laid plans …
Apparently Rainbow Cove had other plans for her.