It was not yet 8:00 a.m. when Roxy awoke, and at first she had no idea where she was and what was going on. Then it hit her with a force that made her cringe beneath the sheets, her eyes scrunched up as Jed’s burning body began flashing over and over in her mind like a bad YouTube video stuck on a loop.
She kept seeing Jed strum his guitar, his hand going down hard and fast across the strings just as the piercing crack rang out and the smell of burning flesh filled the air. But something else was niggling at her brain. There had been a cry, just a millisecond before his hand hit the strings. She was sure of it. It was as though someone was crying out to warn him, but it all came too late.
Roxy flung the sheets off and jumped up, trying to shake the horrendous memories away. The cry must have come afterwards, she was getting confused; she was disoriented and traumatised. What she needed was a strong coffee, and fast. Yet Roxy was reluctant to return to the main house. It wasn’t just that she was scared of running into the grieving widow—what could she say to the woman who didn’t want her there in the first place? Roxy also felt like the worst kind of intruder now. No one wants to worry about a houseguest in the middle of a crisis. Maybe she should just pack up and go home?
“Not before you get some decent coffee!” she told herself, stepping into the tiny bathroom.
Roxy stood under the gushing shower for many long, blistering minutes trying to erase the sights and smells and horror of last night. She knew she should get out soon, they were on tank water, after all, but she really didn’t care about that, and she doubted they would either. Conserving water would be the last thing on anyone’s mind today.
Eventually, Roxy gave up and got out, then riffled through her luggage for black gym leggings, an oversized sweater and her joggers. She’d thrown them in on a whim, not really expecting time to exercise, but now she was grateful for them. A long speed walk was just what she needed.
Since returning from Germany, Roxy had done no physical activity and both her brain and body were crying out for some, especially after last night. She slipped a blue cap over her black hair, put on her dark prescription Gucci sunglasses and stepped out of the bails.
If she was lucky, the Goddess Café would be open.
Despite getting badly lost only two days before, Roxy calculated that the café couldn’t be more than a few kilometres away. If she headed down the driveway then stuck to the main road, she had to come across it. And she was right. Within twenty minutes, she spotted the shop just off Jasper Road and, as she got closer, was relieved to find several patrons at outdoor tables, the front door wide open. Most of the patrons looked up as she approached, but she kept her cap down and headed straight for the shop.
Sunnies still in place, Roxy looked around. Govinda was nowhere to be seen, but there was a tall, sinewy man of indiscriminate age with dark curly hair pulled into a thick bun at the top of his head and a tribal tattoo on one arm. He was wearing the hippie uniform—lots of felt and velvet and the customary flares—and might have been in the local band last night. He looked vaguely familiar as he piled avocadoes into a crate at the back of the shop where a small selection of largely bruised fruit and vegetables marked “Organic” were displayed.
“Hey there!” he called out. “I’m Hans.”
“Hi, Roxy Parker.”
His face crinkled into a smile. “I know who you are. You’ll be needing a coffee then?”
She stared at him, stunned. This really was a small town. “Thanks, yes, latté with cow’s milk please.”
“I’ll bring it out to you, just pop your three bucks on the counter if you like.” He then turned back to the crate and continued unloading, so she did as suggested before heading to a spare table out near the road. It had just one chair and she was glad of that. Several people were staring at her again and she didn’t meet their eyes. She didn’t know if they’d heard the news about Jed, but she didn’t want to engage with anyone. Not yet, not before her caffeine fix.
Unfortunately for Roxy, Macker Maroney had other ideas.
“Hell of a night, hey?”
Roxy looked up to find the photographer looming over her, his dark glasses on.
“Were you there?” she asked, trying not to scowl.
“I heard the goss. Can I hear your version of it?”
Now she let the scowl have full rein. “Not a chance.”
Roxy looked away but it didn’t perturb him. He pulled a chair from another table and plonked it across from her, then sat down.
“Look, I’m really not interested—”
“Oi, just hear me out first, love, no need to shoot me down in flames.”
Roxy’s scowl deepened and she looked around. The same patrons were still watching, some now frowning, and she hoped they did not think she was about to spill the beans to the local paparazzi. She felt grubby again all of a sudden.
Macker did not seem to notice her discomfort, simply reached for the cigarette packet in his shirt pocket and held it out to her. She shook her head and he said, “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I work for the local paper, the Valley Times. It’s a legit newspaper, and I’m just trying to get the facts straight.”
He was now lighting his cigarette with a plastic lighter, holding one large hand around it to shade it from the breeze. “I just want to know what happened, that’s all, how it went down. I think we all owe it to Jed. We just want to do justice to Jed’s memory.”
Roxy felt a wave of nausea. What a sleazebag.
She was about to say as much when the shopkeeper appeared with her coffee. He handed it to her, glanced from Roxy to Macker and back again before leaving them to it. She felt even grubbier and wanted to race after him, to explain that she didn’t know this guy and she didn’t intend to help him out.
Sighing heavily, she reached for the sugar dispenser and poured several teaspoonfuls into her cup, then gave it a little swish while Macker continued dragging on his smoke, watching her intensely. After a good sip of her brew, she decided there was no point arguing with him; she had encountered paparazzi before. Best to just shake him off.
Keeping her tone as casual as she could, she said, “I understand you have a job to do, and I’m glad you want to get the story straight. But I’m not the person to speak to. You should try calling the house or maybe contact the police directly.”
He blew smoke up into the air, then leaned forward, his nicotine breath stale; his eyes just visible behind his dark glasses. “I just want to hear your side of the story, love, it won’t take you long.”
Roxy smiled stiffly. “I don’t think so.”
He sat back. “I’ll pay you well for it. You’re without a book now, you’re going to want my money.”
“I don’t need your money, book or no book.”
“Too good for that, huh?”
Roxy groaned audibly and placed her hands on the table to push her chair back, but he grabbed hold of one wrist and held her down.
“You think you’re better than me, don’t ya?”
Roxy shook her wrist free and glared at him. “I know I’m better than you.”
“Why, because they let you in the front door? That makes you worse, sweetheart, because you’re the one peddling their lies. At least I’m putting some truth out there, setting the record straight.”
“What?” Roxy’s jaw dropped. “You call sneaking photos behind bushes and repeating gossip in trash mags the truth? Are you serious?”
“Oh, so you’ve never read any of those ‘trash mags’ before? Of course you have! You all do. And who do you think puts that stuff in there? It doesn’t write itself, you know.”
“That’s funny. I was under the impression that’s exactly what happened. All bullshit, no substance.”
He exhaled smoke again, this time straight at her. “You don’t need to be a bitch about it. I’m just saying we can work together.”
“And she’s telling you to bugger off!” It was Sam’s voice again, and he was now standing behind Roxy, hands on his hips, a deep frown etched into his forehead. His dog, a large, black and white border collie-Alsatian-cross, was beside him, looking almost as angry as his master, his eyes trained on Macker, the hair on his back standing on end.
Macker looked from Sam to his dog and back again; a sliver of a smile on his chapped lips.
“Well, if it isn’t Big Brother Sam. Haven’t you got a little sis to be sobbing about?”
“Go fuck yourself, Macker.”
The dog growled sensing Sam’s anger, and Macker held his hands up defensively. “Hey, take a chill pill, mate. I’m just having a friendly conversation with a fellow journo, that’s all.”
Roxy recoiled at this, but before she could say otherwise, Sam stepped towards Macker, hands now by his side, fisted into balls. “She doesn’t look too friendly to me,” he said, “and don’t call me mate. I’m no mate of yours.” Then to Roxy he said, “You okay?”
She shook her head, but she wasn’t sure she needed Sam Forrest to rescue her either. The man had other ideas.
“How about I get you out of here.” He tilted his head in the direction of his Jeep, parked in the café parking lot. He must have already been here when she walked up.
Roxy hesitated, loath to play the damsel in distress, yet a quick glance at Macker told her the slimeball was going nowhere fast. He was now leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over, smug smile barely able to hold his cigarette in place. Without her own wheels, she might struggle to shake him off. What if he followed her all the way back to the Moody property? That was the last thing anyone wanted.
“Go on then,” Macker said. “Run away with Sooky Sam.”
Roxy railed. “Hey, he lost his sister, you don’t need to be so rude about it.”
“You think that’s what he’s crying about?” Macker snorted. “He’s sooky because his sister was a slut who got her kit off for kicks—”
Sam roared with anger and lurched at Macker who ducked out of his seat, his fists up. He was laughing. “Come on, then, you stupid sop. You’ve been wanting to do this for months.” He was pointing to one side of his jaw now. “Come on, give me your best shot.”
“That’s enough!” Roxy yelled, reaching out to Sam, trying to stop him from throwing himself across the table at the photographer. The entire café was now watching them, and now Hans was approaching, a grim look on his face.
“Come on, Sam,” Roxy said, grabbing his arm and pulling him away. “Let’s get out of here. I could do with the fresh air anyway. This place was starting to stink.”
She flashed Macker a furious glare then pulled Sam in the direction of his Jeep.
“You are an arsehole, Macker Maroney, and I will get you one day!” Sam was yelling, his dog bouncing around his feet yelping along with him. “You are history, you hear me, history!”
Sam shook Roxy off and began striding towards his vehicle, his dog dashing ahead to stand by the driver’s door as if waiting for it to open. Sam whistled once and the dog looked around then ran to the back of the truck and leapt up into the tray where he positioned himself into a corner and sat down. Sam held the passenger door open for Roxy and she got in. Without saying a word, he then slipped into his side, cranked the engine to life, checked his rear-vision mirror, and pulled out onto the main road in a hail of dust.
Neither of them gave Macker so much as a second glance.
After a few minutes driving along, the wind whipping Roxy’s hair up through the open window and cooling down Sam’s temper, he glanced across at her and said, “I’m really sorry about that. The guy’s a lowlife. But I shouldn’t’ve lost it with him.”
“Don’t worry about it. He was out of line.” She glanced around then, suddenly aware they had not taken the Jasper Road turn off. “Hate to break it to you, but you missed my turn.”
He looked at her briefly then back at the road. “You said you wanted fresh air. I know just the place.”
Roxy smiled. “Oh. I was just referring to Macker’s bad breath. I actually just want to return to the Moody property, thanks. I need to get back and talk to Houghton, see how things are going with Annika.”
Sam’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. “I can’t do that, sorry, not just yet.”
“What?” Roxy glanced across at him and he shot her a quick look then returned his eyes to the road.
“Just need you to come with me for a bit. It won’t take long.”
A flutter of trepidation hit Roxy’s stomach, and she shook it away and half laughed. “Oh, I see, kidnapping me now, are you?”
“Something like that.”
There was no trace of humour in Sam’s voice and Roxy’s smile sunk like a lump of cement. “You’re kidding, right?”
He shook his head. No, he was not. She turned her whole body to face him now.
“What’s going on, Sam? Where are you taking me?”
This time he didn’t look at her and he didn’t speak; his jaw was tense, his knuckles were white, and she felt the flutter in her stomach turn into a gale.
“I really don’t know what you think you’re doing,” she said, “but I’m not impressed. You need to turn this car around and take me back to the Moody property please. Immediately!”
Again, Sam ignored her and kept right on driving, and the blood drained to her feet. Oh God, she thought, what the hell was I thinking?
In her haste to escape the sleazy paparazzi, she had just gotten into the car of a man she knew nothing about, the same man the police had been asking pointed questions of the night before. The man who’d just, minutes earlier, threatened to kill a photographer.
It was as though she had willingly jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire.