2

As soon as Paige arrived in the office she made a beeline for the heater.

“How’d it go with Richard?” Sophie said.

“Oh,” Paige replied, going to stand with her back to the heater. “I called him a dick.”

Sophie froze. “What?”

“Only sort of,” Paige assured her as she gave a summary of the meeting. Sophie shook her head in amazement (and admiration) as she listened.

“Why’d you go meet with him again?”

“I thought it was a general catch up but it turns out he has a grant and wants me to do research.”

Sophie’s stomach flipped. Was Paige abandoning her?

“Don’t worry,” Paige said, registering the look of panic on Sophie’s face. “I called him a dick, remember? I will not be taking on his research project.”

Paige had zero intention of quitting on S & S and she was surprised Sophie had even entertained this possibility. As far as Paige was concerned, this was happening—they were going to become successful investigators—and that was the end of the matter.

“That’s good, but Paige?” Sophie bit her thumbnail. “What are we going to do about the no client situation?”

“Umm.” Paige leaned back and twirled in her soft and (relatively) expensive office chair. When deciding on the office furniture they had agreed to get quality chairs. They refused to spend any more time sitting on the kind of cheap, synthetic bum-holders they had endured for the last five years. “Uh...” Paige continued to stall as picked up one of their new business cards, sitting on her desk. They had gone with the pricier option in the end, hoping to convey to their future clients they were a quality and professional operation, but now the invoice was due for payment, she had regrets. Mostly about the tagline.

S & S

Psychological Investigations

No case too big or small!

They had known it was clichéd, of course, but had agreed clichés existed for a reason. People felt reassured by them, and familiarity was attractive. This had been demonstrated in several experiments—Paige and Sophie had both read a convincing meta-analysis on this prior to making their decision. But now that it was in front of Paige, in black and white (ebony and eggshell), the words screamed amateur, and this was a little too close to home. Their Yellow Pages online ad boasted a wide range of services from psychological testing to detecting, none of which either of them were trained for (that’s what the internet was for, Paige had assured Sophie).

But for all Paige’s assurances, she was starting to feel the pressure. They had a small business loan and repayments due each month. It was not a lot but they still had something to lose.

Not to mention their pride.

Paige’s phone rang, saving her from having to answer Sophie’s question. “It’s Tim,” she said, taking her phone and scurrying into the other room.

Paige had been with Tim for five years, which seemed like forever to Sophie. Tim was a civil engineer, successful, dependable, kind, and besotted with Paige. He let (enjoyed) Paige boss him around and it was a match made in heaven. Sophie had once wondered what Tim was like in bed—how could someone that sensible be passionate—but this had conjured up some unfortunate images, so now Sophie studiously avoided thinking about it. Instead, she mused over why she could not find her own Tim. When Sophie reviewed her dating history, it seemed obvious that she was at the mercy of whatever genetic blueprint made her a hopeless third-generation lover of useless European men.

“It’s fine. We’re fine. It’s going to be great!” Paige said to Sophie a she re-entered the main office. She marched over to Sophie’s desk and rifled through the small pile of mail. “Don’t worry,” she added, more to herself. “We have to be patient. We can’t expect to immediately have a client base and heaps of cases, right?” Paige returned to her desk and at that precise moment, as if she’d conjured up forces in the universe, the office phone rang. Paige and Sophie stared at each other with wide eyes for a second before Paige grabbed the receiver. The trade-off for Sophie having to be the front desk of S & S—Sophie had negotiated—was that she did not have to answer the phone unless absolutely necessary. Thus, the official office phone sat on Paige’s desk.

“S & S Psychological Investigations,” Paige said, pasting an alarming-looking smile on her face. She’d read an article suggesting that people can tell if someone is smiling during a phone call. “How can I help?” she continued.

Yikes, Sophie thought, watching Paige bare her teeth at the receiver.

“Oh. Mum.” Paige was instantly irritated. This was not fair of Paige; her mother hadn’t said anything yet. But she would. Just give her time. “Why are you calling on this phone?” She listened, rolling her eyes, but then suddenly sat up. “You what? You do? Soph!” she said, holding the phone away from her ear. “We might have a case!”

***

TWENTY MINUTES LATER Paige’s mother, Alice Garnet, was letting Paige and Sophie into her lovely home in the centre of Remuera.

Paige eyed her mother. She was wearing expensive jeans that looked ironed—are you supposed to iron jeans? Paige wondered—and a wool sweater. She was small, like Paige, and always looked contained, neat around the edges—unlike Paige. They both had hair with a tendency to frizz, but Alice Garnet’s hair was always expertly styled into a slick bob, as it was today.

Alice pointed at the shoe station just inside the door.

Sophie slipped off her shoes. “Hello, Mrs Garnet.”

Alice Garnet was a woman who gave the impression of never producing, let alone emitting, any evidence of bodily function. Of this, Sophie was both impressed and envious. As Sophie moved into the living room, Paige made a show of removing her shoes with dramatic thumps and sighs while her mother hovered nearby, further infuriating Paige. Did her mother think Paige needed instructions on how to remove her own shoes?

“Where did you get that shirt?” Alice asked.

Paige could tell by her mother’s tone that she wasn’t asking this so she could rush out and purchase one herself, so she just glared and ignored the question.

Meanwhile, Sophie was moving slowly around the space, letting her fingers dance along the shelves, across the top of the sofa, and over the tasteful, delicate pieces of art scattered throughout the room. Her own family homes had always been modest and her mother was more oriented toward the practical than the aesthetic. Paige’s mother, for all her other flaws, knew how to create a beautiful environment.

“How are you, Sophie?” Alice glided past her and picked up the cloth and cleaner she’d deposited on the table in order to answer the door.

“Good thank you,” Sophie said as Paige appeared in the living room.

Paige watched as her mother wiped the already clean coffee table. Why did it seem as if this was a lesson for her? This is how you clean surfaces, Paige. I hope this is how you clean your surfaces at home.

Paige tried to shake it off but when her mother looked up at Paige with a pointed expression, she knew her instincts had been correct. She suppressed an irritated sigh. Everything her mother said and did was a judgement, it didn’t matter how benign her words or actions seemed.

“On the phone you said something about a case?”

“Yes, assuming you aren’t too busy?”

Paige took a breath, trying to control the rage. Her mum knew they had no cases. This was a dig. A passive-aggressive commentary on the future failure of this business venture. Her mother had tolerated her interest in psychology and grudgingly accepted her pursuit of a PhD, but this new career path was driving her nuts. Paige knew it. Her older brother Thomas, a successful attorney in Sydney and married with two kids, was doing life right, as her mother said, not needing to add unlike you.

Sophie noted Paige’s glare and Mrs Garnet’s pursed lips and hoped this wouldn’t descend into a fight before Mrs Garnet got a chance to tell them about the case. Paige’s relationship with her mother was comically dysfunctional. Beyond the normal mother-daughter problems associated with two headstrong women who were more alike than either of them would admit, Sophie suspected Paige’s overreactions came from a deeper issue.

In stark contrast to Paige, Sophie enjoyed a warm and uneventful rapport with her mother—once they had gotten past Sophie’s teen years, that is. In those awful, awkward years, Sophie had been awkward and awful. A little overweight and crippled by the double whammy of raging hormones and shyness, high school had been an ordeal for both Sophie and her mother. Sophie had felt like a mass of quivering jelly for most it, and had been so distracted she still marvelled that her grades had been good enough to get into university. A year into undergrad psychology, the current version of Sophie had emerged like a butterfly from an unpleasant teenage chrysalis. But it can take a long time to shed the trauma of adolescence.

“So, what is it, Mum, the case?”

“Penny Milton, the founder of the RLBC—”

“The what?”

“The Remuera Ladies Bridge Club.” She enunciated as if this was basic general knowledge. “I bumped into Penny this morning while doing my supermarket shop at Farro.” She paused to look at Paige, as if to say, I do my shopping at Farro, Paige, where do you do yours?

“We got to talking,” she continued. “We realised they aren’t just random incidents!”

“What aren’t, Mrs Garnet?”

“Well,” she paused again, enjoying holding the girls enthralled, “pets have gone missing.”

Paige threw her eyes upward. “So what?”

“Not just missing, they’ve been abducted.”

“Abducted?” Paige said. “Mum, come on.”

“Do you remember TomTom going missing a couple of months ago?”

“Um...” Paige didn’t remember, this news had barely entered her consciousness at the time, but she nodded anyway.

“A couple of days after he went missing I received a ransom note.”

“A ransom note?” Sophie blurted with surprise. “How much for?”

Alice nodded. “Five thousand dollars.”

Paige and Sophie exchanged stunned looks.

“And you paid? TomTom was returned... unharmed?” Sophie asked. She’d walked past TomTom just moments ago, lazing in an almost obscenely indulgent way in a sunny spot on the front porch.

“Yes. He was fine.” Alice waved her hand as if there was never any doubt, and disappeared into the hallway for a moment, returning with the vacuum cleaner.

Paige stared in disbelief. If she started vacuuming while they were here, in the middle of this conversation...

Alice unwound the cord.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this, Mum,” Paige said.

Alice plugged in the cord and straightened to consider the question. “They were very clear about that. No word to anyone, no police, no press, or else.”

“But it could have just been a kid, mucking around.”

“Yes, possibly, but I’m glad I did it, because Penny told me it happened to another lady last month... and her dog turned up dead. So there you go.”

Sophie flinched. “That’s awful.”

“And now, poor Mary Burmeister. Her cat is missing.”

“Mary Burmeister wants to hire us to find her cat?” Paige sighed with disdain.

Sophie elbowed her. “It’s a case isn’t it?” she whispered.

“It would be Penny Milton that hires you. Mary Burmeister’s a member of the bridge club, but Penny is the chair,” Alice continued, “and when I mentioned your new...” Alice circled her hand as she searched for the appropriate word for Paige’s career choice, but gave up. “Penny thought it was a terrific idea. Heavens knows why, but she’ll talk to Mary today.”

“Great, thanks.” Sophie smiled.

“I told her she shouldn’t bother, waste her time,” Alice continued, fitting the vacuum head to the hose.

“Mum!”

“Paige, this is important. Penny Milton is a notable figure in our community. It wouldn’t look good if her friend’s cat died.”

Paige and her mother locked eyes. Alice slowly leaned down and flicked on the power switch. Paige stalked out of the room.

“Where are you going, darling?” Alice called.

“It’s fine, Mrs Garnet,” Paige heard Sophie say. “Why don’t you give me Mrs Milton’s details and tell me everything that happened with TomTom.”

Their voices grew faint as Paige reached the top of the stairs. This house was too big for her mother to be rattling around in alone, but she refused to sell up and get a smaller place. Four bedrooms and one occupant. It was criminal, really, in the current housing market. Paige knew there was little chance her mum would re-marry, even though she wished she would—it would give her someone else to focus on instead of Paige. But her mum, she could appreciate, was still grieving for her husband and probably always would.

Paige walked past her old room—long ago turned into a yoga and crafts room—and Thomas’s room, which had become a guest bedroom. The third room, which used to be her father’s home office, was now more of a study. Paige entered her parent’s bedroom, which wasn’t weird because she wanted to visit the traces of her father she knew were still there.

She sat in the bottom of the double closet and pulled out the old photo album that documented the burgeoning relationship between her mother and father in the summer of 1983. It was a wonder her parents had got married at all, let alone remained happily married until his death. They were opposites, both in temperament as well as upbringing.

Terry Garnet, from a working-class family, had propelled himself through high school and into a law degree almost by determination alone. He’d become a successful defence lawyer by working for small organisations that tended to fight for the underdogs. He won a few landmark cases against greedy corporations and had quickly risen to the position of partner. He continued his social justice work, unusually working both corporate and criminal cases, but always championing the rights of the maligned or less fortunate.

In comparison, Alice Chamberlain was born into a well-off, middle to upper class family, and had never known what it was like to be short of money. She too had gone to university, but had treated it like a pastime, just managing to complete an indulgent degree in art history, before marrying Terry.

Paige stroked her favourite photo of her father, taken at the beach with Paige on his shoulders. He’s grinning through his moustache and Paige is squinting into the sun, her little paws firmly gripping his forehead. A lump appeared in her throat and she swallowed it away.

***

DOWNSTAIRS, SOPHIE WAS nodding and smiling, trying to fight off the glazed expression she knew was creeping onto her face.

Mrs Garnet was telling her a story, and a natural storyteller she was not. Stories tended to end with her throwing her head back and laughing or clapping, thus signalling to her audience the conclusion of the tale, rather than the presence of an actual punchline.

“Oh, yes. Very funny,” Sophie took an educated guess at the appropriate response. “Thank you for all this, Mrs Garnet. I’m sure we can make something of it. I’ll just go see where Paige is. We’d better get going.” She smiled as she edged out of the room, bumping into the doorjamb as she backed away.

“Such a pretty girl,” Alice mused as Sophie left, as if this was somehow relevant.

When Sophie got to the master bedroom and saw Paige sitting half inside the closet with photos spread out around her, her heart pinged.

“You okay?” Sophie asked.

“Yeah,” Paige said with a small smile. “Let’s go.”

Alice was waiting at the front door. “Should I tell Penny to expect your call?”

“Um...” Paige said, fumbling with her shoes.

“I thought no case was too big or small?”

Paige clenched her teeth. God she was infuriating. Giving her a business card had been a mistake.

“Paige? I’m happy to tell Penny not to bother,” Alice called out to Paige, who was now marching down the steps.

“We’ll be in touch with her, thank you Mrs Garnet,” Sophie assured her as she hurried after Paige.

Alice Garnet stood at the door watching as Paige and Sophie drove away. With a sigh, she pulled her phone out from its place in the back pocket of her ironed jeans and scrolled down to Penny Milton’s number.

“Penny darling, hello. Yes, I spoke to Paige and they will take the case. They’ll be giving you a call later on... what? Yes of course, I said I would, didn’t I?” A trill of laughter covered up Alice’s irritation at being reminded of the favour she now owed Penny. “She’ll solve it, you’ll see. She’s very clever... yes, I did hear about your eldest son’s award, yes...” Mrs Garnet re-entered the house and shut the door behind her.

***

“PAIGE WE CAN’T JUST ignore this, it’s a possible case.”

Back at the office Paige was still refusing to entertain the disappearance of a cat as something worthy of their attention. She also refused to admit the reason she was being stubborn was because her mother was involved.

“If you don’t call, I will,” Sophie bluffed.

“Fine. Give me Penny Milton’s number.” Paige stalked over to Sophie’s desk and took the piece of paper from her.

“Remember, Penny is the one who wants to hire us, but the cat owner’s name is Mary Burmeister.”

“Penny, the head of the—” Paige consulted the piece of paper. “The Remuera Ladies Bridge Club.”

“The RLBC.” Sophie grinned.

“Okay, I’ll call... although there’s every chance he was just sleeping in someone else’s garden last night and is already back at home happily licking his butthole.”

“Gross.”

Paige dialled.

“Penny Milton speaking.”

“Oh yes, hello, this is Paige Garnet, my mother—”

“Yes, of course. The investigators. We were just talking about you,” Penny’s voice was muffled as she held the phone away from her mouth. “Ladies... it’s the private investigators on the phone.”

Paige heard a murmur of voices and got a mental image of three or four well-coiffed and immaculately dressed women clutching their pearls as they huddled around Mrs Milton and her (for some reason rotary-dial) telephone.

“It’s Mary’s British Shorthair, Mr Minx, who is missing. Mary saw him in the garden yesterday afternoon, but when it came to dinner time he was nowhere to be found. She’s beside herself with worry, poor thing. She hasn’t been able to leave the house for worry Mr Minx would return, needing her care. But we thought it prudent to wait until she received a ransom note, like the one Alice got.”

Paige nodded. “Seems wise.”

“But if she does, we the RLBC would like to hire you for the safe retrieval of Mr Minx.”

Penny went on to state the RLBC would pay $500 as a retainer and $500 upon solving this heinous crime. Paige hesitated, considered negotiating, but agreed. The pay was terrible, insulting even, given how wealthy these women were, but this was all that was on offer. You do not become rich by overpaying people. And if they solved this one, it was a start, and they could boast a 100% success rate on their website.

Mrs Milton would pass on Paige’s number to Mary Burmeister who would call if her cat had indeed been abducted. Paige hung up and smiled. As ridiculous as it was, this might be their first actual case and it thrilled her to her very core.

***

POLLY DIXON STAGGERED as she reached the door.

She paused to lean against the frame, bringing her hand to her head. Her head was fuzzy, as if it had been somehow filled with cotton wool. She felt as if time had slowed down around her. She blinked a couple of times and tried to swallow but even that simple act was difficult. There was a noise from somewhere behind her, but it was muffled.

“What?” she croaked. There was a roaring in her ears. Where was she? Nothing seemed familiar. She squinted into the darkness. Who’d turned off the lights? There was some sort of pounding or banging coming from somewhere in the distance. She tried to raise her hand to rub at her eyes, as if this might help her vision, but her arms felt so heavy, she couldn’t move them at all. Her legs buckled and she pitched forward.

She tried to cry out, but she made no sound at all.