| |
It was over. All of it. Done.
Sophie groaned and curled up into a ball on the sofa so she could go over her unfortunate state of affairs one more time from a foetal position.
First, her car was in the shop, the mechanic currently coming up with some painful figure Sophie would have to pay for its release. It didn’t even matter how much—anything over fifty cents and she couldn’t pay. Second, she now had washing machine repairs to pay at the end of the month. She’d already messaged Victoria to deliver the bad news. She’d tolerated Victoria’s subsequent lecture—she hadn’t known until now it was possible be scolded over email—and agreed to call the number she gave her. Victoria had an account with a repair guy so they could get it fixed on invoice. Victoria would be, she said with menacing undertones, investigating the cause when she got back. If it turned out to be normal wear and tear it would be a flat expense. Otherwise, since it was Sophie’s load that’d caused the problem, she’d be footing the entire bill.
“Cup of tea love?” Declan asked, strolling through from her bedroom.
“Whatever,” Sophie mumbled.
Third, the Declan situation. He’d been here for days and had yet to buy a single grocery. For a guy verging on skinny he ate a lot. He insisted on doing the washing-up every day because he said his washing up skills were second to none (he was wrong); but it was so clearly just an attempt to provide a reason for his continued presence, even Sophie’s patience was wearing thin.
Last but not least, both their cases were dead in the water. Mary Burmeister had called Paige this morning. In shocked, betrayed tones she told Paige that the Pet Napper had been in touch. He told her what happened but assured her that despite Mary’s flouting of the instructions, Mr Minx remained unharmed. He was giving her another chance but there was to be absolutely no interference by anyone else this time or else. He would give her a few days to get the money together and call again with drop-off instructions. All in all it sounded very polite and amicable, but even in her quiet, old-fashioned way, it was clear Mary Burmeister was furious. Sophie couldn’t blame her. They had after all, kind of bungled the whole thing, and it made Sophie double-down on her insecurity and uncertainty about their ability to do this job.
The icing on the cake was that twenty minutes ago Polly had posted a message on Facebook saying she was coming home in a couple of days.
The disappearance of Polly Dixon had never been a case to start with.
Sophie picked up her phone. “Richard? Hello. Sorry to call on the weekend, but I’ve been thinking about your offer... can we meet?”
***
PAIGE WAS ALSO AT HOME curled up, but instead of into a ball of crippling anxiety, she was enjoying a cup of tea and a foot rub, both courtesy of Tim.
“What do you think?” She gently pushed Tim’s leg with the foot not being massaged.
“I think...” Tim looked up from his laptop to meet Paige’s eyes.
“You weren’t listening.”
“I was half-listening. You are worried because both cases are falling apart.”
“Yeah.”
“What does Sophie think?”
“Hmm,” Paige mused. Paige had no need to worry whether Tim was secretly in love with Sophie. He’d been terrified of her for more than two years after they first met, eventually relaxing into general shyness around her—which wasn’t much different from his usual demeanour. Tim often asked Paige what Sophie thought because he knew Sophie’s naturally cautious nature often provided a needed balance to Paige’s bull-headedness.
“But what do you think?” Paige pressed.
“I don’t know what to say except I know you’ll find a way. You always do. What about a new case? Or going back to the Dixons to make doubly sure they don’t want to hire you?”
“Hmm, yeah. With the message Polly posted the police will definitely back off, but Carolyn might still think something is wrong!” Paige smiled as she grabbed her laptop and keys. “I knew I kept you around for a reason.”
***
PAIGE RAPPED SHARPLY on the door, twice, but no one answered.
She had no phone number for the Dixons, she realised, and no way of knowing if they might come home soon or not.
Back inside her car, parked across the road from the Dixon’s house, she opened her laptop and set up a wireless hotspot with her phone. She would wait for an hour—they may have just popped out for coffee—and in the meantime she would search the news for any other stories she could envisage becoming actual cases.
Fifteen minutes and not a hint of a potential case later, a motion in the corner of Paige’s eye pulled her attention away from the screen. The Dixons were not arriving home unfortunately; it was just the elderly woman who had waved at Carolyn that first day. Paige searched her memory. Wanda? No, Wendy. Yes. Wendy. She was watering the pot plants on the porch of the house Paige was parked outside.
Paige watched as Wendy set down the watering can and eased herself down the steps to walk down the path to check her mailbox. She pulled out a couple of mailers and tucked them under her arm before walking over to her neighbours to do the same, like she had the other day. The neighbour must be away, Paige thought idly, noticing that both Wendy and her neighbour’s houses were considerably more modest than most of the others on this street. Simple bungalows, retaining much of their seventies style and features, they contrasted the much larger and clearly renovated houses all around them. With a yawn, Paige wondered whether this pissed off the rest of the residents in the street, whether they were worried this lack of ostentatious display of wealth would devalue their own attempts to increase the value of their property.
As Paige watched the woman trundle back, she suppressed another, wider yawn just as something occurred to her.
“Excuse me, Wendy,” she called as she leapt out of her car.
“Yes, dear?”
“You were talking to Carolyn Dixon the other day. Do you know them... the Dixons very well?”
“I know them a bit, I suppose. Just to chat to here and there.”
“Can you tell me something?” Paige drew level with her, taking in bright, kind eyes under the straw hat she was (unnecessarily—the sky was overcast) wearing. “Did you see—”
“Are you asking about Polly? Who are you?”
“I’m uh...” Paige thought quickly. “Carolyn’s niece, from Wellington. You probably saw me here the other day?”
Wendy studied Paige thoughtfully. “No,” she said firmly. “I don’t think so.”
Paige sighed. “Well I was. I’m Carolyn’s niece and I said I would ask around about Polly. She’s so worried.” Paige attempted a pitiful expression.
“Yes, of course she is, poor dear.” Wendy shook her head
“Did you see Polly, before she disappeared?”
“They’re always coming and going, that family, all of them. Everyone is so busy these days.”
“Yes, busy... but Polly?”
“No, I didn’t see Polly that day; I couldn’t tell you where she went.”
“Do you think she’s gone away on her own?”
“I have no idea, my dear. The younger generation, you are all so independent. She could be anywhere.”
Paige returned to her car. She would wait for another half an hour and then go home for an afternoon nap.
***
STILL SWADDLED ON THE couch in misery an hour later, Sophie was driving herself nuts.
Richard had not returned her call yet and anxiety about the impending conversation was eating away at her. She needed to do something, but what? What she really wanted to do was drown her sorrows in a tub of ice cream and a good Netflix binge, but she couldn’t do that with Declan here. She glanced over at him, considering him as a possible source of stress relief, before deciding she couldn’t encourage him further by introducing the exciting possibility of spontaneous daytime sex. No, she would go for a walk, or maybe even a run. She could have a break from Declan and clear her head.
Sophie was neither a natural nor regular runner, so she started off at a brisk walk, eventually breaking into a slow jog as she neared Pt Chev beach. She carefully navigated the steep hill, muddy from recent rain, to get down to the water’s edge. There, she felt instantly calmer. What was it about water that could have such a profound effect, Sophie mused, walking along the edge where the sand was hardest. After reaching the far end, she climbed up the steps to take her back to the road. Sophie attempted to break into a jog again, but she felt so awkward and ungainly, like her arms and legs were flopping about at weird angles (they were), that she dropped back to a walk.
Maybe she should take up yoga. It was supposed to deliver a number of health benefits, including reducing stress and anxiety. Maybe that would help quiet her racing mind. Sophie made a mental note to check out nearby classes and even this act of doing something, making a future plan to make her feel better, in fact made her feel a bit better.
But when she got home and saw Declan sitting exactly where he had been when she left—on the couch—irritation swept through her once again.
“How was your run, Princess?”
Sophie stared at the coffee table.
There was now a teacup and an empty packet of biscuits sitting next to her phone, which is what Sophie was staring at, because when she’d left the house, her phone had been in her room.
“Fine thanks,” Sophie said, eyes on the table. “Um... why is my phone out here?”
“Oh, it rang.”
“So?”
“So, I answered it.”
“You answered my phone?”
“I thought it might be important?” Declan said. “I was trying to be helpful,” he said, a hint of a complaint in his voice.
“Who was it?”
“Uh... Robert... no... hmmm.” Declan squinted into the distance as he tried to remember the name. Meanwhile, Sophie’s chest had tightened uncomfortably.
“Roman? Roman called me?”
“That’s it. He said he heard about your car. Asked if you wanted to file a report or something?”
“What did you say to him?” Sophie was panicked. “Did he ask who you were?”
“Yeah.”
“And what did you tell him?” Sophie’s teeth were clenched. She stepped toward Declan, who looked confused.
“Well, of course, I said it was Declan, love.” He shook his head as if Sophie was losing her mind.
Sophie collapsed on the couch. Roman probably thinks Declan is her boyfriend. Who wouldn’t? It was the logical assumption. A serious enough boyfriend that he felt he could answer her phone. She looked over at Declan, his eyes fixed on the TV. His hair flopped over one eye, which must have been annoying to see through, but looked rather dashing.
“Declan?”
“Yes, love.”
“Get out,” Sophie said, then offered a tentative smile. “Please.”
***
WHEN POLLY WOKE, THE same cotton wool fog encased her brain.
Her throat was painfully dry, she had furry teeth and a vile taste in her mouth. As she struggled to reach the bottle of water sitting on the bed stand, she heard a key rattle in the door. She quickly retracted her arm and shut her eyes. The door opened and someone entered the room.
When she found the courage to open one eye just a slit, she saw a figure wearing bulky overalls, a ski mask and a cap, depositing something on the table in the corner. More water, napkins and a container of something. It smelt like chicken soup. Thank God, Polly was starving. The figure dragged the small table over so it was right next to the bed and retreated without uttering a single word, without even turning their head properly in her direction.
Polly pulled herself up and propped herself against the bed with the two thin pillows, retrieved the napkins, spoon and soup from the table, and balanced the tub of soup on her lap. She managed to eat half of it before her lip quivered, her brow crumpled, and hot tears started streaming down her face.
