Fatal Liaison (4 page)

He removed his shoes and stepped over the doorsill onto the
kitchen’s polished timber floorboards – more of Sam’s hard work. The kitchen,
like many of its era, was spacious, high ceilinged and quite separate from the
living areas. Whilst Greg preferred the open-planned dynamics of more modern
houses, he had to admit that Sam had created a real feel of home within what
she called the hub of the house. Living alone, she tended to live in the
kitchen. Although, he thought, that might change once the renovations on the
rest of the house were completed.

He didn’t loiter in the kitchen, pausing only long enough to take in
the dishes stacked in the dish-rack and the lone coffee cup sitting in the
sink. Once through the kitchen, he faltered. Technically, he might not have
broken into the house, but he still felt like a trespasser in his sister’s
home.

Reassuring himself that he was only there out of brotherly concern,
he took a deep breath and moved forward. Sam wouldn’t think twice if their
positions were reversed so why should he? After all, they were family.

All rooms in the house opened off an expansive hall. Greg poked his
head into what would eventually be the lounge room. The cold stale air smelled
of decaying plaster. Sam hadn’t progressed any further with the wallpaper
stripping since his last visit. She was probably waiting for her big brother to
front up with a wallpaper steamer. It was the same story in the large front
room his sister had nominated as the formal dining room.

He didn’t cross the threshold of her bedroom, instead pushing the
door wide open so he could take in the whole room. The queen bed’s bedding had
been thrown together in the usual Sam style, a book lay open and face down on
the bedside table, and a black handbag sat on the floor beneath one of the
double-hung windows. Handbag? Did that mean that wherever she was, she didn’t
have her handbag with her? Experience told him a woman never left home without
her handbag. But then again, some women collected handbags like he collected
CDs.

A quick check of the other bedrooms didn’t shed any light on Sam’s
whereabouts either. Nor did he find her slumped on the floor in the bathroom or
toilet. Which in itself was good news, but where the hell was she? She couldn’t
have possibly forgotten her plans to spend the weekend with her mother, could
she? Maybe it was the other way round, and their mother had the wrong weekend.
He shook his head; he didn’t know what to think anymore.

In desperate need of a caffeine hit, Greg headed for the kitchen.
Although Sam might be miffed at having what she would probably call her
interfering brother let himself into her house, he knew that once there she’d
expect him to make himself at home.

At the sink, he filled the aluminum and stainless steel espresso
maker’s bottom half with water. With the coffee grounds added, he screwed on
the top and set it on the element.

While waiting for the coffeepot to bubble and hiss, he wandered
around the kitchen, hands in pockets. He breathed a little easier knowing that
at least his sister wasn’t lying unconscious — or worse — on the floor.

The fridge with all its magnets, bits of paper and photos beckoned.
He wondered if Sam realized that her power bill was past due. The date on the
bill stood out in bold numerals, but he guessed if you were looking at it every
day for a week or more it would soon become insignificant. A photocopy of a
duty-roster told him Sam wasn’t due back at work until Wednesday, reinforcing
his notion that there really was nothing to worry about. His sister was just
making use of the extra long weekend. Who wouldn’t?

Working his way down the fridge door, Greg came to a glossy brochure
for Dinner for Twelve. His hands came out of his pockets, his initial sense of
unease returning.

Megan emerged
bleary eyed from her bedroom, her thought processes not fully functional as she
lurched blindly towards the terrace house’s security doorphone.

“Yeah, what?”

“Room service. Wakey, wakey,” responded a sickeningly cheerful voice
through the intercom.

Megan was not a good morning person at the best of times and being
rudely awakened at daybreak on a Sunday morning didn’t help matters any. “Oh
God. Brenda, do you have any idea what time it is?”

“I sure do. It’s nearly eleven o’clock.” Brenda paused, her voice
dropping an octave. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Eleven o’clock?” Megan screwed up her eyes, opened them again and peered
into the kitchen, trying to focus on the wall-oven’s clock. “You can’t be
serious?”

“Deadly. Are you going to let me in or not?”

“Aw, sorry.” Megan pressed the door release button and immediately
heard the distinctive clatter of Brenda’s heels on the downstairs slate-tiled
entrance. Yawning, Megan straightened her robe, pulling the tie tighter as she
waited to greet her friend.

Brenda soon appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in a tailored
navy blue suit, her leather holdall slung over one shoulder and a shallow
cut-off box balanced precariously in her palms. She smelled clean and fresh,
the faint scent of toothpaste lingering. As usual, her hair and makeup were
immaculate. Megan patted her own hair. Although Brenda had made no comment, it
suddenly occurred to her what she must look like. Sleep-tousled hair and puffy,
bloodshot slits for eyes did not make for a good look.

Megan closed her eyes for a moment, praying for the infernal
pounding in her head to let up just a fraction. At the age of thirty-two, she
ought to have learnt the penalties for overindulging in alcohol. And even more
so on an empty stomach. Maybe she was a slow learner, but it’d been a long time
since she’d experienced a hangover of this magnitude. Never again.

She smelled coffee and opened her eyes. Brenda was busying herself
in the kitchen. Cupboard doors opened and closed. Megan leaned against the
countertop, watching as Brenda removed the plastic lid from the second foam cup
and decanted its contents into a ceramic mug.

Accepting the proffered cup, Megan inhaled the coffee aroma before
taking her first tentative sip of the still steaming creamy latte. She licked
her lips. “You know I’m capable of making coffee, right?”

“In your state? And besides George’s coffee is worth dying for.”

Megan started to nod her head, but the resulting stabbing pain
quickly curtailed the movement. It was all she could do to carry her mug over
to the massive solid-oak kitchen table she’d inherited from her grandmother.
Pulling out one of the hefty chairs was almost more than she could manage. She
sank gratefully down onto the chair, propped her elbows on the table and buried
her face in her hands, blocking out the light. The chill in her bloodless
fingers soothed her fevered forehead.

“Here, get this into you.”

Oh God, it was that cheery voice again. Megan squinted through
spread fingers at the tray Brenda had placed on the table. On one plate were
wedges of fresh rockmelon and on the other a toasted sandwich of some
description. A glass of water and two white tablets sat between the plates.

“Thanks, Mum,” Megan mumbled as she popped the two Panadol into her
mouth, washing them down with a gulp of water.

“Someone has to look after you. You’re not doing a very good job of
it yourself.” Brenda slipped off her suit jacket, hanging it on the back of one
of the other chairs before joining Megan at the table.

In between mouthfuls of rockmelon and latte, Megan apologized to her
friend for leaving her in the lurch the night before. “There was no way I
could’ve remained in the same room, let alone the same table as Mr Ginger
Moustache—”

“Robert.”

“What?”

“Robert. His name is Robert.”

“Whatever.” Megan had endured her fair share of oglers in the past,
but there was something about the guy that made her feel distinctly
uncomfortable. Something she hadn’t yet been able to put her finger on. “Did
you see the way…”

The corners of Brenda’s mouth twitched, her caring look morphing
into one of amusement.

“I’m glad someone is enjoying this,” Megan said.

“C’mon, laugh. It really is rather comical, you know. Think of it as
another of life’s adventures.”

Megan gave half a laugh and stopped. “Laughing hurts.” The
painkillers and breakfast had helped, but any sudden movement was still out of
the question. “How come I ended up like this and you look like you’ve just
spent a month at a health farm?”

Brenda tapped the side of her nose and chuckled. “I stopped drinking
early on in the night. I knew I didn’t have the luxury of a long sleep-in
today, so I was extra careful.”

It wasn’t until then that the reason why Brenda would be wearing a
suit registered with Megan. Brenda’s job as a real estate agent meant more
often than not, she had two or more homes scheduled to be open for inspection
on a Sunday. She, on the other hand, with her job as a recruitment consultant
for PTS Personnel, worked comparatively sane hours.

Brenda set her mug of half-drunk coffee down on the table. She
settled back into her chair, a smug smile spreading across her face. “C’mon,
ask me.”

“Ask you what?”

“What I found out last night.”

“Okay, what’s the goss?” Megan asked, playing along. “What little
scandal have you managed to uncover now?” Her friend reveled in gossip, the
juicier the better, but of course, there was no pleasure in it unless she could
share it.

Brenda needed no further prompting. “Our dating-for-the-desperate
proprietor is a widow. Her husband was killed in a car accident early in their
marriage. She never remarried. Still too much in love with her husband, so she
says. Started the agency because she wanted to give other people the
opportunity to experience
real
love for themselves. Apparently.”

By this stage, Megan was starting to think she should be hearing
violins. It all sounded like something you’d read in a cheap romance novel.
“And why did she tell you all this?”

“I asked. How else would I find out these things?”

“You’re not just winding me up are you?” Brenda was a natural born
prankster, so fairy tales were right up her alley.

Brenda’s eyes widened. “Me? Would I do that? Never. Seriously though,
that’s exactly what she told me.”

“Okay, so where does Lawson fit into the equation?”

“That’s still a bit of a mystery. As far as I can work out from the
little I managed to wheedle out of him, Lawson’s been going to those functions
on and off for quite some time. From what I can gather, he has no problem
attracting the opposite sex. It’s keeping them that’s the issue. And it’s not
him doing the dumping either.”

Megan cocked an eyebrow. “Doesn’t that tell you something?”

“Yep. There’s something wrong with those women.”

“Forever the optimist, aren’t you?”

It was more a statement than a question, but Brenda answered anyway.
“That’s me, but,” she paused as she groped in the pocket of her suit jacket
hanging on the chair beside her, “I’m also a realist.” Brenda waved the silver-colored
card she’d extracted from the pocket under Megan’s nose.

Megan plucked the card from Brenda’s fingers. She was surprised to
see it was Lawson’s business card. According to the card, Lawson Green was a
systems programmer for Frey Technology. It even listed his after hours number.
“Unbelievable. When did he slip you this? What, with Linda all over him on one
side and Pauline on the other mothering him, I wouldn’t have thought the poor
bugger would’ve had the opportunity.”

“Ah hah, you forget there was one small window,” Brenda said,
drawing a box in the air with her index fingers, “when we came back from the
ladies just before they served the first course.”

That one small window, as Brenda referred to it, had been evidently
enough time for an exchange of business cards, if nothing else. Then there was
the thorny matter of the competition. “I hate to burst your bubble, but what
about Linda? She and Lawson looked pretty tight from where I sat.”

A slight frown creased Brenda’s brow. “Yeah, but I’m a patient girl.
I don’t really think they’re a match made in heaven, do you?”

“You? Patient? Now you are being funny.” Patient was not a word
Megan would’ve ever used to describe the impulsive Brenda De Luca. Everything
in Brenda’s life had to happen instantly and if it didn’t, she drove herself
and everyone around her crazy trying to make it happen.

“How about I rephrase that and say: all’s fair in love and war.”

“Now that’s more like the Brenda I know.” Megan chuckled as she
returned Lawson’s business card to Brenda’s outstretched hand. “Any other
cards?”

“I don’t collect them, you know.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Megan winced. Even raising an eyebrow was too
much in her state.

Brenda smirked. “What about you? Don’t pretend that cute guy with the
glasses I saw you talking to wasn’t interested.”

“Who knows? Mr Hotshot Property Entrepreneur came back before Nick
and I even had a chance to talk.”