Home Truths (3 page)

The three shuffled down the hall past a long oak sideboard, neatly arranged photographs in silver frames sat on top. They caught Jennifer's eye, and she hesitated, but her sister and niece were in no mood to stop.

‘Wait a minute,' Jennifer said, her tone hushed. ‘Why are we sneaking around as if we might wake the dead or something? And why are we whispering?'

Wide-eyed, the other two answered with a shrug.

‘Whatever, Aunt Jen, as long as I'm in the middle,' Claudia whispered.

‘Okay, but we're being silly.'

Jennifer turned the lights on. The room eased into a muted golden glow.

‘Ahh, now that's more like it.' She smiled at memories, of weekends laughing and dressing up in this very room. ‘A bit over-the-top frilly, but hey, Uncle Bob did it all for us, God love him.'

‘Funny lighting in this place,' Claudia said eyeing the pink, smoky glass ball hanging from the ornate ceiling rose. ‘It's like they have to warm up or something.'

The bedroom was equal in size to that of her uncle's, with pink roses-and-vines wallpaper that Jennifer could never look at for long without feeling dizzy. Flouncy curtains hung over burgundy velvet drapes. Looking like a giant tutu, a pink bedspread covered the mattress of a gleaming antique brass bed.

‘So Uncle Bob decorated this for you guys?' Claudia's nose wrinkled in distaste. ‘Where's the black, or at least dark purple?'

Sofie rolled her eyes.

‘It'll pass,' Jennifer whispered to Sofie. ‘Pink will be the new black. Wait and see.'

‘Poor, stuck-in-a-gay-closet Uncle Bob,' Claudia said, matter of factly.

‘He was, wasn't he?' Jennifer stated.

‘Yeah.' Sofie sighed sadly. ‘He said he had girlfriends, but lately he only spoke about someone called Veronica. He often bought her presents, too. Thing is, I never met her.'

‘Now that you mention it,' Jennifer said, ‘he bought Veronica a bra and panty set in Paris.'

‘Maybe,' Claudia put in with a shrug, ‘his girlfriends were just that — girlfriends.'

‘And they stayed here, in our old room,' Jennifer said as she scanned the excessively pink boudoir. ‘I think he missed his calling. He would've made a wonderful decorator.'

‘Yeah, look, someone threw a frog in a blender,' Claudia said, pointing at a large pink frilly cushion surrounded by green leaves.

‘Claudia's right,' Jennifer said. ‘Many frogs gave their lives so we could have a princess bedroom.'

‘So many frogs.' Claudia swiped an imaginary tear from her cheek.

‘Wait ‘til you see the bathroom.' Reaching for the door, Jennifer opened it. ‘Look, green with fluffy pink accessories.'

‘Bless his cotton socks.' Sofie dabbed her face. ‘He hasn't changed anything.'

‘This bath is awesome,' Claudia said, leaning over the claw-foot bathtub big enough for someone to lie down in.

‘Ooh, a shiver just ran over me.' Jennifer rubbed her arms.

‘You're still wet. Put something else on,' Sofie ordered.

‘My suitcase is in the car.' Jennifer peered behind the bathroom door. ‘This'll do for the moment.' She unhooked a large, pearl grey silk shift from a brass hook. ‘And these.' She held up a pair of fluffy pink stiletto slip-ons. She stripped down to her panties, hung her wet clothes over the tub and slipped on the shift and stilettos. ‘Can you see my bum?' Jennifer bent over with a hand to each cheek.

‘No, and anyway, who cares,' Sofie said. ‘It's just us.'

Jennifer straightened and turned around to face them.

Sofie gulped back a squeal. ‘Look,' she said pointing at Jennifer's chest.

‘I know; my nipples are sticking out, I'm cold — well, I was cold. They just haven't caught up yet.' Jennifer placed her palms over the little buds and rubbed.

‘I don't care about your nipples, look at what's written on the front of the slip.'

Claudia clapped her hands and laughed. ‘It's Veronica's.'

Jennifer turned to look in the mirror above the basin. There it was:
Veronica
, printed in a sparkly pink curly font. ‘Good grief, I hope she won't mind.' She looked down at the slip-ons. ‘Aren't these just wonderfully frivolous? Every girl should have a pair.'

‘There's heaps of great stuff here.' Claudia held up scented bath oils and Chanel toiletries.

‘Veronica has expensive taste.' Jennifer turned on the hot water tap over the basin. The water spluttered then trickled out. ‘I wonder if someone turned the hot water off. I'll find the fuse box and switch it back on. A cold shower is the last thing I want.'

‘Damn,' Sofie complained, frowning. ‘Getting hot water will take hours — but you can wash with the most expensive stuff in the country.'

‘Yeah, and I will.' Jennifer laughed and put her arm around Sofie's shoulder. ‘Look, we're all dead on our feet, let's stick to our plan. Go to the motel and I'll see you in the morning.'

‘Okay,' Sofie clasped Jennifer's cheeks and caught her eyes with hers, ‘I can't believe my sister is opening her own restaurant at last. I want to hear all about it in the morning.'

‘I promise I'll let you in on every detail. Right now, I need to sleep — alone — and you two probably snore. I may have had a catnap, but I've been awake for over forty hours.'

‘You poor thing.' Sofie kissed her cheek. ‘We'll come back in the morning with breakfast.'

‘Sounds great. Juice, strong coffee, and a bacon and egg roll.'

‘Yay! Jeez, finally!' Claudia cried, swung around, headed for the stairs and the back door.

Jennifer took Sofie's hand and they followed Claudia to the car.

‘Make sure you lock all the doors,' Sofie ordered, before getting behind the wheel.

‘Really, this isn't Sydney,' Jennifer huffed, weariness making her sound grumpy.

‘Yeah, yeah, do it anyway,' Sofie ordered.

Claudia muttered about creepy corners.

The old station wagon moved away. The roller door creaked closed. Silence settled around Jennifer and the sense of unease stole through her again.
That's because I'm cold. And I'm cold because I'm tired.
She dragged her case, its little wheels clattering, along the flagstones, pulled it into the house, and locked the back door.
Don't let their wild imaginations frighten you,
she told herself.

* * *

Nikolay Bestemianov lurked in the shadows of an alcove doorway on Grey Street. He rubbed his eyes then focused on the second-storey window of the building across the road from him. He'd nearly collapsed from fright when he saw the woman looking down, directly at him. Thank heavens she'd drawn the heavy drapes again.

Soft light still seeped out past the edges of the drapes. Nikolay sighed and massaged the back of his neck, frustrated at having to wait for the women to leave. Surely the women wouldn't stay in a dead man's house overnight? Perhaps they were tougher than he imagined.

Excitement fluttered in his chest at the thought of being so close to his objective. This was different from sitting behind a computer in Canberra.

He chuckled. His belly bounced and the chuckle became a wheeze. He went for his hip flask. A quick gulp of vodka would ease the wheeze before it became a cough. Damn, he'd left it in the car. He peered up the street at the empty police car parked a short distance away. The car worried him; the officers had to be somewhere — hmmm. If they turned up, it would be a complication he didn't need.

He had been tailing the three women since they left Sydney. Now he knew where Bob had lived and, with luck, this would lead him to the woman who called herself Veronica. His foolish friend and boss back at the Russian Embassy in Canberra would be happy about that, and eventually they would both get what they wanted.

He felt relieved the rain had stopped. Trapped heat in tarred roads combined with the rain caused a warm mist to rise throughout town. Nikolay popped his head out of the darkened doorway, unimpressed. He risked a quick scan up and down the street. He recognised the old station wagon as it turned the corner. He watched them drive down the street. Good, that's one problem solved: they have left the house. That just left the police officers and their whereabouts; he'd have to move carefully. He dared to step out of his hiding place and into the light. Then walking up the road as if he belonged, he headed to find the back entrance to Bob's home.

Nikolay reached what he hoped was the shop's back fence. With a Herculean effort, he pulled himself up to peer over the top: yes, this was the right place. He let himself drop, and rubbed his shoulders.

After a quick scout around, he found the keypad that would open the garage door. It took him no time to figure out the simple code and slide the roller door up. The sound of creaking, rumbling metal echoed out into the night. Panic caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand up. In a flash, Nikolay grabbed the door to stop the action. He shot a glance up and down the alley to see if he'd disturbed anyone. Everything was quiet. He looked down at the gap beneath the roller door, and figured he had about twenty inches. Could he make it?

He eyed his ample belly and, with a resigned grunt, eased down on all fours to the wet ground. A jagged piece of gravel bit into his knee. Clenching his teeth against the pain, he lifted his leg, pulled the stone out and chucked it. It bounced off the fence on the other side of the lane and sent a dog into a fit of raucous barking. Nikolay held his breath and, wasting no more time, sneaked a peek inside the garage. Soft light pooled through the grimy garage window.
Silly women left upstairs lights on in house.
He sprawled down, his big belly flattened against the cold concrete. The pressure caused blood to pound in his ears as he began to squeeze under the door. His back hit the rubber seal along the bottom edge and stopped him cold. He tried to push through, but the metal door rumbled like a roll of thunder.

‘Doorak.'
Fool, Nikolay wheezed. Stuck, he let all the air out of his lungs, which gave him a couple of millimetres, and quickly wriggled, army style, until he was through. He lay inside the garage on the concrete floor, dragging air back into his lungs. That was close. He hauled himself up, dusted his hands off on his clothes and scouted for the way out.

Nikolay's arse vibrated and his heart leapt. He fumbled for the mobile in his back pocket. Hurriedly he wrapped chubby fingers around the phone and flipped it open.

‘Boris, later,' he grated and switched it off. He focused on the garage walls: surely the way out was opposite the roller door.
Ah-ha!
Found it.

The door stood ajar, how convenient for him. He checked to see the coast was clear before squeezing through the narrow space and venturing into the courtyard. He ducked down as low as he could and crept along the flagstones, avoiding the soft earth on either side of the path.

Nikolay felt the sting of a mosquito on his neck and slapped it. He wiped the sweat from his face with his forearm and silently cursed the Australian heat. His thoughts turned to Moscow where the temperature would be thirty below zero. The image of his wife Anna and her last words before he left the embassy in Canberra came back to haunt him.

‘Why not let them send a younger man who knows what he is doing?'
she had said, worried eyes questioning him.

A grumble escaped Nikolay's throat: he loved his ‘wifey.' And despite the couple of slip-ups, he knew the drill. Still, he wished a thousand curses to his
doorak
of a friend in the pathetic political party for making him feel guilty if he didn't do this. So what if they were all sent to Siberia?

He kept to the shadows as he moved stealthily to the back of the house. He turned his face against the glass so he could peer through a torn piece of paper covering the window: the coast was clear. Silently he moved to the door, pulled the lock-pick out of his pocket and began to work on the old lock, opening it within seconds.

He eased the door open. Cool air drew out and caressed his sweaty skin. He saw a bag and suitcase by the stairs. He heard movement.

Someone was still here.

* * *

A change of air feathered across Jennifer's face. She looked around the cavernous shop to see where it might have come from, but there was no explanation for it. Goose bumps crept up her neck. Ice ran through her veins. She stiffened and bolted for the stairs, stilettos clattering all the way.

Reaching the top, logic returned and Jennifer sighed with relief. There was nothing to worry about, she'd locked the doors. ‘All that fear — for what?' she told herself. ‘A headache?'

Her feet were blissfully silent on the carpet runner. She slowed and stopped by the sideboard to check out the photos neatly arranged on top. One stood out from the rest, a silver art deco framed photo of Jennifer's grandmother Polly Feldman.

‘Hi, Gran, I miss you too.' She ran her index finger over Polly's long, white lace wedding gown and the matching veil that crowned her head. Something caught her eye. She stepped closer for a better look. It looked like someone had cut George, Polly's image-driven husband, out of the photo.
Did Uncle Bob do that? Why would he? He must have felt pissed off no end.

Jennifer rested her elbows on the sideboard and cupped her chin in her hands. ‘Gran, how come Mother often said Uncle Bob had strange habits? Maybe she thinks unconditional love is a strange habit.' She skewed her mouth in thought. There had to be a reason for her uncle to cut his father out of the wedding picture and for his sister to shun him so much that he left Sydney to avoid her altogether. How long had the photo been like this? Jennifer hadn't noticed it before. Maybe her uncle's solicitor had the answers. Perhaps in the will, if there was one.

‘Anyway, Gran, I don't suppose you can tell me why there's no hot water, hmm? Maybe I should just fall into the cloud of ruffles.' She could almost hear her grandmother laugh, wag her arthritic finger, and touch the tip of Jennifer's nose, tut-tutting. ‘Comfort overrules? Yes, you're probably right.'