“All right. All right. Keep your pants on.” Lenny threw open the door, took one look. “What’s wrong?”
Agitated, I bowled in, almost colliding with the console table in the hall. I’d tried to phone Rocco en route but the line registered as being discontinued. When Rocco said he’d cleared out, I thought it was temporary. I didn’t think he meant excommunication, rip and run. Sending an email from my phone to his work address resulted in a failure notice.
“Through to the lounge,” she said. “It’s cooler in there.”
“Did I get you out of bed?” The way her robe hung off one shoulder, she’d clearly slung it on. I glanced at my watch: 3.05 p.m.
She wrinkled her nose. “It’s not a crime. You gave me the day off, remember?”
“’Course.” I looked up at the ceiling gingerly. “I haven’t disturbed you, have I?”
“I wish.” Lenny’s laugh was genuine. “Do I need to put the kettle on?”
I looked at her soulfully.
“Booze?”
“Can I leave my car here?”
“Sure.” She gave me a shrewd look. “Does Rocco Noble have anything to do with your unexpected visit?”
If only it were that simple.
While she fixed drinks, Lenny indicated I sit down. “Gin,” she declared. “The only drink in a crisis.” I sat down on a mauve coloured Chesterfield in a room that resembled an abstract painting knocked up by a four-year-old. The walls were painted in alternating raspberry and Grecian blue, the contents mostly identifiable purchases from the shop, the exception a high-tech sound system.
Lenny returned, deposited an ice-cold glass in my hand and sat down beside me. She swung her legs up onto my lap, rather like a cat stakes its territory. Normally, I’d protest, but normal counted for nothing these days.
“Now I’m sitting comfortably, you’d best begin.”
So, I did. It took me fifteen minutes to blurt out the whole sorry tale, from my refusal to believe that Scarlet’s alleged depression led to the accident, her involvement with Richard Bowen, his attempt to blackmail her, the terrible revelations about Zach and my father and his connection to Rocco Noble, to Scarlet’s final desperate act.
“Christ, that’s awful,” Lenny said, visibly shocked. “Poor Scarlet.” Sombre, I took a big gulp of gin. “And poor you,” Lenny said. “There’s no easy way to put this but most addicts are liars.” She spoke without judgement, simply a statement of fact. “Did Zach have anything to do with Drea Temple’s death?”
“My heart says no.”
“What about your instinct?”
“Is there a difference?”
“Your heart is what you want to believe. Your instinct tells the truth.”
“Then no.”
“But she was murdered?”
I met Lenny’s eye. Rocco thought so. Why else would my father behave in such a reckless way? And the blood spatter – how had that happened? “Which means that, if Zach didn’t do it, the killer is in the wind.” I told Lenny about Rocco’s warning.
Lenny pulled a face. “I feel bad for saying what I did about him.”
I smiled weakly.
“I need more booze,” Lenny announced, swinging off the sofa. “You?”
“Please.” I handed her my glass. While she was gone, I took out my phone and spotted a text from Chancer: ‘Need to talk. Are you free?’ His timing was terrible.
Lenny plonked a tray of drinks in front of me. “Brought the bottle and there’s ice in the bucket. Thought it could be a long afternoon. You can stay if you want. The bed’s made up in the spare room.”
“Thanks, Lenny, but I’d like to sleep in my own home. I’ll grab a cab.”
“Well, the offer’s there if you change your mind.”
She viewed me with a hawkish expression. “What are you going to do?”
I ran my fingers through my hair. “About my father?” My family resembled a cheap film set; nothing solid behind us except fake computer-generated images. Would I dismantle it all? I honestly didn’t know.
“About everything. Rocco? Zach? Dear God, was your mum in on it?”
“Not sure.” Was that what their argument was about the evening I dropped by? And did my father somehow steer Nate away from attracting any more attention when he spoke to him in the study?
Lenny waited a respectful beat. “Whatever you decide, there will be consequences.”
Out of my depth, I nodded in dismay.
“Do you think Dusty could help?”
“Can’t see how.”
“She’s family. Older, wiser, she might be good in a crisis.”
My aunt was not an obvious choice, although she had known my father for a very long time. I let out a sigh. “I guess a phone call wouldn’t hurt.”