Fatal Liaison (3 page)

Megan drew a deep breath and lifted her chin. “Actually, she’s only
here to support me.”

“Good friend.”

“The best,” Megan said. “What about you? Are you a Dinner for Twelve
virgin, too?”

He laughed. “I wish. No, I’ve attended a few of these functions.
Call me a sucker for dinner parties with strangers.” Nick’s gaze strayed to the
other side of the table.

“Or new friends.”

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Dinner parties with new friends.”

“Right.”

At that moment, Wayne returned. “Do you mind?”

“Just keeping it warm for you, mate,” Nick said, standing.

Megan reached for her wine. By the time the main courses arrived,
she was famished and more than a little tipsy. Her Cajun chicken could have
been made of cardboard for all she cared as she devoured it with gusto. With
eating as an excuse, she didn’t have to continue feigning interest in Wayne’s
prattle. If she heard negatively-geared or positive cash flow one more time,
she couldn’t be held responsible for her actions.

Brenda, on the other hand, appeared to be in her element. The small
clique that’d formed around her consisted of Pauline on her left and Lawson
directly opposite her. Even the wanton Linda wasn’t impervious to Brenda’s
charms.

However, those charms didn’t extend to Mr Ginger Moustache. His
interests lay elsewhere, and unfortunately for Megan, she chose that instant to
look up. She found to her disgust he was leering openly across the table at her
breasts. And then the sleaze winked at her. She gagged, her appetite promptly
deserting her. Her hand tightened around the stem of her wine glass. She only
just managed to refrain from throwing what was left of her wine over the creep.

Greg Jenkins’ foot
slipped, the top rail almost castrating him. Scaling fences was definitely not
what a business suit and dress shoes were designed for. Sensing he wasn’t alone,
he looked around. A boy of around eight or nine years of age stood staring at
him, dwarfed by a huge black Great Dane.

One glance at the beast’s massive, slobbering jaws was all the
impetus Greg needed to complete his climb over the fence. He landed heavily on
the concrete on the other side, his ankles taking the brunt, but at least he
had a barrier between himself and the dog. Even though the boy seemed to have a
firm grip on the leash, Greg entertained no doubt whatsoever who was leading
whom.

“Are you a burglar?”

Greg’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh, no. My sister lives here and…” He
stopped himself. Why should he explain himself to a kid?

Anyway, the brief explanation satisfied the boy, and he and his dog
ambled off down the footpath. Some neighborhood watch team they made.

He’d called around to his sister Sam’s place the day before and even
though her car had been in the driveway, there’d been no sign of her. Assuming
that her new guy had whisked her away for the weekend, he’d used the back of
one of his business cards to leave a message for her, asking her to call him as
soon as she got in. It’d been less than twenty-four hours since he’d shoved the
message under her front door, but the more he thought about it, the less likely
he thought that his sister would just take off without telling anyone where she
was going. Let alone disappointing their mother.

He told himself he wasn’t being paranoid. He just happened to be
passing her place on the way to an appointment. As a self-employed financial
planner he worked around the needs of his clients, and unfortunately, sometimes
Sundays were the only days they had available to see him. Hence the suit.

He turned from the padlocked gate and started down the concrete
path.

A cockatoo screeched. He jumped, losing his stride.

“Yes, you!”

Frowning, he turned.

“Oi, what the ’ell do you think you’re up to, matey?”

Cockatoos were smart but not that smart. Shielding his eyes from the
sun’s glare, he searched for the source of the noise. The chubby bespectacled
face staring down at him from the fence didn’t resemble a parrot in the least.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, what are you doing? You don’t live here.” The woman’s two
chins jutted forward as if to say you can’t fool me.

“Mrs…” he paused, expecting her to fill in the blank. She didn’t.
“This is my sister’s place.”

She studied him, her eyes narrowing behind the thick lens. “Oh,
yeah. Come to think of it, you do look sort of familiar.”

Familiar? What did she do? Spend her days spying on her neighbors?

Muttering under his breath, he turned to walk away but hesitated.

“Do you know Sam well then?” he asked, his initial irritation at
being accosted by the nosey neighbor waning.

“Oh, yeah. What a lovely young girl she is. Always waves and says
hello.”

On intimate terms then, he thought somewhat sarcastically. “I’m
sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Norma Ogden.” She smiled at him, warming to the situation.

“Mrs Ogden, Norma, when did you last see Sam?”

“Let’s see,” she said looking skyward for a moment before turning
her attention back to Greg. “It must’ve been last Wednesday night. She looked
pretty as a picture, too, I might add.”

“Was she going out?”

“Oh, yes, I think so. A young man called for her in a taxi.”

His pulse quickened. “Had you seen this man before? Do you know who
he is?”

She frowned, cocking her head to the side. “Has something happened?”

Forcing a smile, Greg shook his head. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Mum
thought Sam was driving up this weekend, but Sam’s obviously clean forgotten
and made other plans.” He smiled again. “No worries. She’ll turn up,” he added,
more to reassure himself than Sam’s neighbor.

A telephone rang somewhere in the house behind Norma Ogden. She
looked over her shoulder and back again at Greg, obviously torn between staying
and going. “Sorry,” she said, climbing down from whatever she was standing on,
“I’ll have to answer that.”

Still thinking about the mystery man in the taxi, he continued on
his way, following the path around to the back of the house.

The timber boards creaked as he stepped up onto the partially
enclosed back veranda. A pair of scruffy sneakers, missing their laces, lay
discarded in front of the coir doormat. The selection of herbs lined up in
small terracotta pots along the wide balustrade looked in need of a dose of
water. Nothing out of the ordinary then.

He stepped over the sneakers, and banged on the door. “Sam, it’s me.
If you’re there, open up.”

Waiting less than thirty seconds, he tried again. Pressing his ear
up against the door, he held his breath as he strained for any sound of
movement within. Nothing.

Now what? Hand on head, he scanned the veranda for possible hiding
places. Then he lifted each pot of herbs in turn, checking first under the
saucer and then between the pot and the saucer. He checked under the doormat.
He even looked under the damn ridiculous gnome that Sam called her good luck
friend. He searched everywhere his sister could’ve possibly hidden a spare door
key. He came up empty-handed, his efforts wasted.

Scratching under his shirt collar, he walked out onto the threadbare
lawn. Something else in need of water. Where was Sam? What the hell was she
playing at? She was pushing the envelope too far this time. Where was her head?
Didn’t she realize that their mother wasn’t up to coping with this sort of
stress? Undoubtedly, Sam would turn up all bright and cheery wondering what all
the fuss was about. God, he hoped it was as simple as that.

A sudden vibration against his chest nearly sent him into orbit.
Taking a deep breath, he reached into his inside suit pocket and drew out his
BlackBerry. Any ray of hope it might be Sam calling was dashed as soon as he
saw the caller display.

He cleared his throat. “Greg Jenkins.”

“Greg, it’s Henry Kent.”

The client Greg was on his way to meet.

“Morning, Henry. Good news: I managed to track down those stats you
were after.” No one eavesdropping would’ve ever suspected he was standing in
the middle of his absent sister’s backyard gazing vacantly at the dilapidated
rotary clothesline taking centre stage.

“Good. Look, sorry to do this to you, but can we reschedule?”

“No problem.” He switched his BlackBerry to hands-free mode and
pulled up his calendar. After finding a new appointment time that suited them
both, he ended the call. For a change, fate was on Greg’s side. Now he could
devote more time to tracking down his AWOL sister.

First things first, he needed a plan of action. Retracing his steps,
he returned to the veranda and tried calling Sam’s mobile again. When it
diverted to her voicemail, he hung up without leaving a message. He’d already
left four. Next, even though he knew it was pointless, he tried her home phone
number. From inside the house he heard the muffled jangle of a ringing phone.
He let it ring until, with a resigned sigh, he disconnected the call.

Restless, he paced the veranda. He didn’t even know in what
direction he should be heading. In a sense, he was stranded. No way did he want
to climb back over that treacherous fence, but without a key, he also had no
access to the street through the house.

But he had to do something. Even if it was just getting into the
house. For all he knew, his sister could be lying comatose on the floor inside.
Kicking aside the sneakers, he rattled the doorknob. If this were a movie, the
script would have called for the door to be unlocked. Real life was never that
easy.

Stepping back, he drew out his wallet from his hip pocket and opened
it. The first credit card that came to hand was his Visa. He tried to maneuver
it between the door and the doorjamb – something else he’d seen in a movie. All
he succeeded in doing was to buckle his credit card, rendering it useless.

He shed his suit jacket, his gaze sweeping the veranda and beyond.
In the backyard’s far corner, past the clothesline, sat a small windowless
corrugated-iron shed. With any luck, he might find the housebreaking equipment
he needed in there.

The bolt on the shed door was stiff, but with a little jiggling and
grunting he managed to slide it back.

He stepped inside, breathing in the musty-earth air. His eyes took a
moment to accustom to the gloom. A host of spiders had set up home, gossamer
threads spanning the width and breadth of the enclosed area. He shuddered, and
using one of the garden stakes propped by the door, cut a swathe through to the
back of the shed where a motley collection of garden implements lay rusting.

This was ridiculous. He didn’t know the first thing about breaking
into a house. Breaking a term deposit, yes, but housebreaking was way outside
of his realm of expertise.

He bent forward and gripped the grimy wooden handle of what he
thought was a spade. Unfortunately, the handle and the steel spade blade had
parted company and he was left holding just the handle.

“Shit!” He flung it to one side and kicked at the pile of rust and
steel, dislodging a pair of heavily corroded hedge clippers. The remaining
clutter was in no better condition. Odds were that any one of the neglected
tools would give before the door ever would.

With his frustration growing, he turned and faced the doorway. To
the door’s left, past the stack of garden stakes, was a set of grey painted,
steel shelves laden with dust-covered paint cans and other home improvement
paraphernalia. To the right, an old push-mower leaned against the wall along
with a roll of fencing mesh. It wasn’t until he was about to concede defeat
that he actually thought to look up. A nail stuck out at an obtuse angle from
the timber doorframe’s upper-left side. Edging closer to the frame, he peered
up at the nail. A small metal ring looped through two bronze-colored keys hung
from the makeshift hook.

Greg felt a glimmer of hope that fizzled just as fast. It was
illogical to expect that one of a pair of old keys hanging in the shed would
fit the back door. Nevertheless, he reached up and unhooked the keys. No harm
in trying and if, by some extraordinary stroke of luck, one of them unlocked
the door he wouldn’t have to resort to brute strength. And more importantly,
the door would remain intact. Greg was more than aware of the countless hours
Sam had spent sanding and oiling that door and knew she would be hard pressed
to forgive him if he damaged it.

Leaving the shed door open, he returned to the house. He studied the
two keys. They looked similar, nothing really distinguishable to tell them
apart. He inserted the first key into the lock, holding his breath as it slid
all the way to the hilt. Exerting a slight pressure, he tried to turn the key
clockwise. It didn’t budge.

The next key slid in just as easily. When the key actually turned in
the lock, he could barely believe it. He opened the door with a gentle push.

“Sam? Are you there?” Even though he didn’t expect a reply, courtesy
dictated that he call out before entering.