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Paige and Sophie were sitting in the Dixon’s living room while Carolyn paced anxiously in front of them.
“And you’re sure she’s okay?” Carolyn asked. Again.
“She was groggy, but she seemed fine,” Sophie said with a smile.
The local police unit, consisting of a tired-looking older sergeant and a keen young officer in training, had luckily already known who Paige and Sophie were.
Carolyn, panicking when neither Paige nor Sophie were picking up, had called Roman and then gone across the road to get Jason’s address from Wendy. After a ten-minute search Wendy had located her address book and a neat entry in spidery handwriting had informed Carolyn of Jason’s holiday bach address. With this information, Roman had called the local police and asked them to check on Jason’s bach.
When Paige had explained to the officers they thought Polly was being kept against her will in that room, the younger officer had immediately sprung into action and broken down the door. Inside the sparsely furnished granny flat, Polly was lying on a single bed, looking pale and weak. She’d groaned and mumbled in response to her name but fallen back asleep again, clearly under the influence of some sort of sedative. The gruff older officer had shooed them away, told them to go home and that they would take things from here. Paramedics would arrive soon to check her out and transport her back to Auckland.
Paige and Sophie had driven directly back to Carolyn’s house to let her know what had happened—they were officially on the case after all—but Roman already knew and had already passed the information onto Carolyn. Still, she was grateful they were there, because they were the ones who had actually seen Polly, and Tyrone, having been held up in meetings with his phone switched off until only recently, had not quite made it home yet. Apparently, the business deal he was brokering was more important than his missing daughter.
While they waited for Tyrone to come home or for Roman to call with news of Polly or Jason, Carolyn, Paige and Sophie sat in the living room in awkward silence. Finally, a car pulled into the drive. Carolyn raced to the window. “It’s Tyrone,” she said, running to the door.
“Where’s the Mercedes?” Paige and Sophie heard her say in the hallway.
“Getting serviced. I borrowed a company car.”
“You’re covered in grease.”
“Flat tyre.”
“You didn’t call AA?”
“Carolyn, that isn’t important, tell me what is happening with Polly. When will she be home?”
“She’s okay. They’re bringing her back now. They might take her directly to the hospital, just in case, to run some tests. They’ll call soon and tell us. She seems to be fine, they tell me.”
After a moment of silence, peppered with sniffles, both Dixons appeared around the doorway.
“They found her, Tyrone.” Carolyn clutched her husband’s arm as they entered the room.
“Thank you,” Tyrone said, mostly to Sophie, his voice strained with emotion. When he shook Sophie’s hand, she noted the sweatiness of his palm, the tension in his shoulders, and the bags under his eyes. Sophie wondered if he was cheating on Carolyn. Is this what a cheater looked like? Her father had been one, her mother admitting this to her only a few years ago—one of the reasons their relationship had fallen apart. Was Tyrone Dixon telling the truth? He had borrowed another car from work, thus evading their scrutiny. He could have easily come and gone without Sophie noticing, and been off gallivanting with his lady friend all afternoon. But was he really callous enough not to return home when he got news about his daughter? Could he really just stay in bed with his mistress for another hour? He’d have to be some sort of sociopath. Sophie eyed him. He was not a sociopath, but he was definitely carrying a burden.
Tyrone paced the living room. Carolyn just sat on the couch, her mug clasped to her chest, staring at her phone. Finally, it rang.
“Roman, yes?” Carolyn reached out again for her husband’s arm. “Oh good, thank you.” She lifted the phone away from her mouth to convey the message to her husband. “They’re taking her to City Hospital. We’ll meet them there.” Carolyn turned back to the phone.
Tyrone moved across to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a large vodka. He stood there, hands on hips, facing the wall. His shirt was half-untucked at the back. His slim fitting charcoal pants had creases along the back of the legs. Tyrone pushed his hips forward and stretched briefly before running a hand through his hair and downing the rest of his drink.
Sophie frowned.
“Can I get anyone anything?” he said, not bothering to turn around.
Carolyn hung up. “She’d been sedated, so she’s groggy, but physically she appears fine.”
“And Jason?” Paige asked.
“Nowhere to be seen.” Carolyn stepped toward Paige and Sophie and gripped their hands. “Thank you,” she said, her eyes wide with intensity, full of relief, and brimming with tears. “We wouldn’t have found her without you and I’m eternally grateful.”
“You’re welcome,” Sophie said.
“Would it be okay,” Paige said on the doorstep as they turned to go, “if you kept us updated with everything? They still have to catch Jason, after all.”
“Yes, of course. Roman said he’d come by tomorrow afternoon. He wants to question Polly when her head is clearer. I’ll call you when we know what time. You should be there. And you can forget about the other job I hired you for,” she lowered her voice, “I don’t care about that anymore. But please, I insist that you bank both of those cheques I gave you. You’ve earned that money. Absolutely.”
“Will do,” Paige said cheerfully.
Paige and Sophie walked out to the car.
“So, this is great news,” Sophie said.
“About Polly or the cheques?”
“Both,” Sophie admitted. “But Paige? This isn’t over.”
“I completely agree.”
***
THE NEXT DAY, SOPHIE arrived at work early, hours before Paige would arrive. Paige liked her lie-ins and they were not expecting any news from the Dixons until later in the day. Sophie’s sleep, affected by worry and doubt in a way that Paige’s would never be, had been interrupted this morning by the sound of Victoria’s hairdryer. Sophie had put in earplugs and tried to drift back off but her mind had already revved up and starting racing in a continuous figure of eight. There was something hovering beneath the surface, and she needed to write it all down. Putting everything that had happened into words might solidify the currently amorphous epiphany she felt was in there somewhere.
“Welcome back. How was your trip?” Sophie had asked Victoria, now in the kitchen making a thermos of coffee to take to work. Victoria had recently switched to the thermos from buying takeaway coffees on the way to work, but it wasn’t to save money, Sophie suspected. It was more likely that Victoria had seen it on a TV show and thought it looked cool. Or maybe it was Gwyneth Paltrow’s latest advice on GOOP. Although she couldn’t imagine Gwyneth advocating caffeine.
“Great!” Victoria had said, a little too enthusiastically. “Such a blast!”
Sometimes Sophie felt sorry for Victoria. She was naturally prickly, and if at work she was anything like she was at home, she probably didn’t have many friends in the office.
“So, the washing machine...” Sophie had begun, still unsure about how much to admit.
“Thanks for sorting that.” Victoria had been uncharacteristically relaxed. “I spoke to the repair guy and he said it was a minor issue. A piece had worn out or something, so he replaced it. Barely cost anything. Pretty much what I’d thought,” Victoria said, in direct contrast to the dire situation she’d painted to Sophie over email.
So, the broken machine hadn’t been Declan’s fault at all. Sophie only felt a little bad for kicking him out. He’d still answered her phone, after all.
“But I did want to ask whether you knew anything about my Genevieve’s Cuisine Pâté?”
“Yeah sorry. Uh... Paige came over and uh... ate it. She thought it was mine. Really sorry. She’s going to replace it but it’s kind of hard to find.” Sophie knew Paige wouldn’t mind if Victoria thought of her as the food-stealing culprit.
Victoria had tsked, seeming pleased that Paige was at fault. “Just make sure she replaces it, would you? Sooner rather than later, I quite fancy eating it... maybe tonight?”
Sophie had suppressed an eye roll, of course she wanted it tonight. At least, she did now she knew it was Paige’s job to replace it.
“You all done in the bathroom? I need to get ready.”
“Umm.” Victoria made a show of thinking about it. “Yes, sure,” she said finally, adding “All yours,” as if she was doing Sophie a favour.
“Oh, Sophie?” Victoria had sung out once more, just as Sophie was closing the bathroom door. “Any idea why we had a surge in power and internet usage while I was away?”
Sophie had groaned.
Now, in the office, Sophie was preparing to write up a report, but first coffee needed to be made, and music needed to be selected. As the coffee brewed, she decided on Blondie. She put on Parallel Lines, loud. One of the great things about this space was the relative sound proofing of the concrete structure and their lack of neighbours.
After jotting down the scattered thoughts rattling around her head, she got to work on creating a template they could use for future case reports. Pleased with the result, she emailed this to Paige with a brief explanation and started filling one in for the events of the past few days.
“Good morning.”
Sophie looked up. It was Roman. Roman was here. “Oh,” she stammered. She could already feel the beginnings of a blush. Damn her overactive nervous system. She turned down the music and stood up, taking a moment to thank the heavens he hadn’t arrived ten minutes ago in the middle of her Pat Benetar break, when she’d been rocking around the office to Heartbreaker.
“Blondie, huh? Your favourite?” he asked, stepping into the office.
“Uh, yes,” Sophie said. “Well, I love eighties music in general. I’m not sure Blondie is my absolute favourite. My favourite song ever probably is a Cyndi Lauper one called All Through The Night,” Sophie said, suddenly feeling shy. Why was she telling him all this?
“Huh.” Roman nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. He was wearing a dark blue suit that looked just the tiniest bit too small, a white shirt and no tie. A light grazing of stubble caressed his jaw, but his hair colour was close enough to his skin colour to make it hard to see.
“You’re into... let me guess... blues? Or maybe jazz?” Sophie tilted her head.
Please don’t say jazz, she thought.
“Yeah, classic blues, French hip hop, and soul... like from MoTown,” Roman nodded. Looking around, he added, “Paige not here?”
Sophie shook her head. “Not yet. Just me.”
“So, this is the S & S headquarters.” Roman said. “The coffee smells good,” he hinted with a smile.
“Oh, of course. Let me get you a cup. Take a seat.” Sophie pointed to the visitor chairs in the corner under the window. Sophie made them both coffees, hoping there wasn’t actually a neon light on top of her head flashing: NERVOUS.
“I’m going to the Dixon’s later today, to do a follow-up interview with Polly,” Roman said, accepting the cup of coffee. “Thank you.”
Sophie placed her own coffee on the small table between them and went to sit down but missed the seat and ended up straddling the armrest. Roman reached out a steadying hand and in response Sophie jolted sideways so she ended up in the chair, but with one leg still hooked over the arm. As she righted herself she wondered how red her face was and why she didn’t generally have more bruises.
Sophie lifted her cup to her mouth, trying to think whether she’d checked the mirror before she left the house this morning. Once, she’d gone through a whole morning at uni with a dab of toothpaste smeared on her chin. She was also asking herself why she hadn’t taken that extra ten minutes to make sure she looked professional, or at least presentable. Her hair was piled into a messy bun—it needed a wash—and she was wearing jeans and an androgynous plaid shirt. She’d brought a change of clothes (and her makeup bag) for the visit to the Dixon’s this afternoon but for now, she’d opted for comfort. Sophie scratched her neck and patted the back of her head, trying to work out how many strands of hair had escaped so far. Sophie felt as if she looked like she’d just emerged from a bush, but Roman was having trouble remembering why he’d stopped by. Sophie was so awkward, so vulnerable and beautiful, he almost couldn’t stand it.
“Last night must have been quite a dramatic evening for you,” Roman said. “How did you know where she was?”
“Oh, ah...” Crap, Sophie thought. She couldn’t just lie to him, to a police officer, but she didn’t want to get Leo in trouble. Or them, for that matter. “We just kind of put two and two together,” Sophie said, keeping to the truth. “We found out about Jason from Polly’s friends, and when we realized he’d been away for the same amount of time as her, we—”
“Decided to drive to Opoutere to check his bach?” Roman raised his eyebrows.
“Um...” Sophie shifted with discomfort. “So, Polly’s okay?” she changed the subject.
Roman sipped his coffee. Carolyn had said something about a phone trace, so which one of them had the IT skills to do that? Roman was both surprised and impressed, and decided to let the topic drop.
“Physically, at least. I don’t know how something like this could not have a lasting psychological impact, though.”
“Do you think it was Jason?”
Roman shrugged. “There’s no trace of him so far and there’s very little evidence he himself had been at the bach. But there’s definitely circumstantial evidence, so we have an alert out. Hopefully we’ll pick him up sooner rather than later and be able to question him.”
“What about Dominic?”
“Yes, Carolyn mentioned Dominic knew Jason. I’ve questioned him, but there isn’t any evidence linking him to this. And he was working the night she disappeared.”
“There was a Facebook post,” Sophie said, “essentially saying Polly should disappear.”
“Yes,” Roman conceded. “What do you think? Do you think he was involved?”
Sophie looked at Roman with surprise. He was seriously asking her opinion. “Honestly? No, I don’t. He’s intense and a bit aggressive, but I didn’t get the impression he was lying about her.”
“And you would know, wouldn’t you?” Roman said. “A PhD in behavioural analysis, correct?”
Sophie couldn’t contain her smile. Had he looked her up?
“I couldn’t have two rogue “detectives” running around without knowing at least something about who they were,” Roman explained.
Sophie nodded. “But you already knew Paige.”
“I knew her father.” Again, at the mention of Terry Garnet, something flickered across Roman’s face.
“Can I ask you something, Detective?”
“Please, call me Roman.”
“Uh, okay. Roman?” Sophie said. Saying his name, to him, felt strangely intimate.
“Of course, Sophie,” he replied. A flush bloomed on his cheeks.
“Is there something about Mr Garnet’s death that bothers you?”
Roman’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “Wow.” He shook his head. “How did you...?” He trailed off, his eyes searching Sophie’s. “You are an expert.”
“Every time you mention it, something crosses your face, and I get the sense that, it’s unresolved, or you have doubts? I thought it was a fishing accident. Cut and dried.”
“That’s what it looked like. It was ruled an accidental death.”
“But you don’t think so?”
“No. I mean, I’m not sure but, yes I have doubts.”
“Does Paige know?”
“No. I didn’t want to drag it all up for her.”
Sophie nodded. Even now, four years later, Paige’s wounds hadn’t healed. If she found out there might be more to her dad’s death than a fishing accident, who knows how she would react.
***
CONTRARY TO WHAT SOPHIE thought, Paige was not enjoying a lie-in.
She too had been propelled out of bed earlier than usual, but it wasn’t anxiety, she was on a mission to get payment for the successful return of Mr Minx. It did not matter they’d been fired, they’d still returned the cat, and they should be paid for their efforts.
“Mrs Milton, I’m Dr Garnet, of S & S Investigations,” Paige said to Penny Milton, who was looking slightly bewildered at this small and determined person at her door. It was 8:45 a.m. and Penny Milton was already coiffed, made-up and scented, but an unexpected visitor before nine was hardly civilised.
“Oh yes, Alice’s daughter. How lovely. Come in, won’t you.” Penny feigned pleasure at this visit, but she knew this was not a social call.
“I’m here about Mr Minx,” Paige said as she followed Penny down the hall.
“Of course you are,” Penny Milton said under her breath.
Half an hour later Paige drove away, mentally patting herself on the back. She had the cheque in hand. Penny Milton had put a fight, as expected, but Paige had won. Despite the bungled interception, Paige had pointed out, they’d still returned Mr Minx safely back to a thrilled Mrs Burmeister. Mrs Milton and agreed this was a valid point, but had countered that at this point, they’d been acting on their own volition in continuing to work on the case. Their contract with the RLBC had already been cancelled. Also a valid point, Paige had nodded. It had been the threat of loud conversations about how the RLBC didn’t pay their bills around the nicer cafés in Remuera village that had finally convinced Mrs Milton to bring out her chequebook. She’d even seemed impressed at Paige’s doggedness—at least that was Paige’s interpretation.
Paige decided to visit her mother on the way home. She’d received three voicemails and one irritated text which she wouldn’t ignore because it had threatened an impromptu visit. A few minutes later Paige pulled up into the driveway and walked up the stairs. Inside her mother sat at the kitchen counter, sipping a cup of coffee as she flicked through a magazine.
“Oh, so you are alive, then?” Alice shut the magazine and regarded Paige with a frosty look. “You know, you should be the one checking on me every day, Paige. Even I have to admit it to myself I’ve entered an age bracket where things can go wrong.”
Paige regarded her mother, only just sixty years old, trim and fit with daily walks and Yogilates, the absolute picture of health, and raised her eyebrows.
“Gosh, are you alright Mum? Have a fall, did you?” Paige said sarcastically. “The hips giving out on you, are they?”
“Honestly Paige, is it too much to ask for an iota of respect for your own mother?”
“It’s just a little over the top, isn’t it? You aren’t exactly frail.”
Alice’s eyes narrowed. “Did you get my message about Thomas’s visit for Christmas?”
Paige had not listened to her messages, she never did. “Oh, um. Yeah. Remind me again though?”
Thomas’s visits home were partly fun, partly chaotic, but mostly bittersweet for Paige. The kids took centre stage, which Paige didn’t mind—she felt real affection for them, and at least it meant her mother wasn’t fussing over her—but she’d lost her childhood connection with her brother and this bothered her. Thomas didn’t like to reminisce about their dad, whereas Paige was aching to do so. She couldn’t understand Thomas’s reaction to his death. Already in Sydney with two children when it had happened, he had seemed only slightly troubled by the whole event.
“Check your messages, Paige. All the details are there.”
“Mum.”
“Fine. He arrives on the 22nd and we’ll have a family dinner here that night, as well as the usual Christmas day lunch.”
“Okay.” Paige pulled the magazine her mother had been reading over to her and scanned the cover. It was Home & Garden, something she would never read in a million years, but she started flicking through it anyway.
Alice waited.
“So, we solved the Pet Napper case,” Paige said finally, not looking up.
“But I thought—”
“Yeah, but we kept working on it and solved it anyway. Mr Minx is back with Mrs Burmeister.”
“Oh. Well... good work,” Alice said.
“And the other case we were working on, the missing girl—Polly Dixon?”
Alice nodded; she’d seen the story in the paper.
“We were the ones who found her and now she’s home and safe.”
“I didn’t realise you had other clients.”
“Well we do... so... anyway, I can pay you back. I just have to wait for the cheques to clear.” Paige glanced up at her mother.
“No rush, you know that,” Alice said as a surge of pride blossomed through her chest. “Just pay it back whenever you want.” She turned and busied herself at the sink, not sure what to do with her hands.
***
SOPHIE REFILLED THEIR coffees and managed to return to her chair without mishap.
Roman dipped his head to take a sip of the fresh brew, suppressing a grin at her obvious, careful movements. How could she be so adorable and so unaware of it at the same time? How does someone who looks like her have such an air of complete naiveté. It could not be real, could it? Girls, women like Sophie, knew the effect they had, surely. Isn’t that what high school was for? Fine-tuning their skills of torment. Angelique Devenue had been his tormentor in collège. Roman, quiet and shy but determined, had been turned down by her several times, with increasing derision. Teenage Roman Leconte had been rather non-descript—a little chunky, with one of those faces that takes a bit of weathering to become handsome, and without a hint of his current air of mastery. Along with acquiring a squarer, leaner, more rugged face, he had lost weight with age—although recently some of it had crept back on. Roman was a stress eater. He fiddled with his belt absentmindedly; it was cutting into his hip.
“Thanks for calling about my car,” Sophie said, once she’d settled in her chair. Despite the increase in caffeine, she was starting to relax. “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to call you back... things got a bit hectic.”
“No worries. I wasn’t sure whether, was it, Declan? I wasn’t sure he passed on the message.”
“Oh yes, sorry.” There went any calm she’d been feeling. “He’s not my... uh... he’s just, he was staying with us. He’s... no-one.”
God, Sophie was making herself cringe. It just wasn’t possible to be more awkward.
“Oh... right.” Roman’s eyes met hers and then dipped to his hand which went to his wedding finger, and massaged the still visible indent. Sophie got the impression that fiddling with his wedding ring was a habitual and unconscious gesture, which meant he had almost certainly been wearing it until recently. She felt something drop in her chest.
“Did you want to file a report about your car?”
“Oh, um, I don’t know that there would be much point. I have virtually no information.” Sophie paused. “Hit and runs... that’s not your area, is it?”
“No, well—”
“Sophie!” Paige came barrelling into the room. “Roman. What are you doing here? Doesn’t matter. Guess what?”
“You’ve been to see Penny Milton and you got the second half of our payment,” Sophie said, tearing her gaze away from Roman.
“This game isn’t fun when you play with her,” Paige said to Roman.
“I can imagine.” Roman smiled. “I’ll leave you to it.” He put his coffee cup down and stood, stretching his legs. “I wanted to let you know, Carolyn invited you to join us this afternoon. Not while I interview Polly, of course, but when I debrief the Dixons. Maybe around four o’clock?”
“Great, thanks,” Paige said.
“Ok. See you later. And thank you for the coffee Sophie.”
“Oh, yeah, no worries. Of course... come by any time,” she stammered.
She watched him leave, wondering what would have happened if Paige hadn’t come back. She had so much she wanted to ask him. Where was he from, originally, what was the source of the faint accent she could hear. What was he like in high school? Was he one of those boys who had paralyzed her during the day and then the reason for her tears at night? What political party did he support? What was the story with his wedding ring, and why was he suspicious about Paige’s father’s death?
***
LEO WENT FROM CAGE to cage, assessing each of the small pointy faces as they turned to him and either sniffed at him tentatively, or watched him with casual disinterest.
Part of him wanted a kitten, the cuteness factor was off the charts, but they required much more attention than an adult cat, not to mention the toilet training. He finally moved on from an adorably inquisitive tabby and stopped in front of an older, wary looking cat that was jet-black with green eyes.
“Meow,” the cat said.
Emmitt, he thought immediately. Not only because of his emerald coloured eyes, he just looked like an Emmitt. And he looked as if he had been around the block, seen some things, but still had some love to give. He took a step closer to the cage, and after a second of hesitation Emmitt pushed his head up against the wire, inviting Leo to stroke him. Leo did, at the same time signalling to the RSPCA attendant he’d made his choice.
