Thin Blood (31 page)

Careful to stay
out of sight, she edged along the bench and peeked out. Grace stood with her
back to the house, shrouded in a haze of dirty smoke. Squinting, Margaret drew
her face closer to the window. The lid of the kettle barbecue sat on the
concrete near Grace’s feet. She appeared to be poking at something black and
smouldering in the barbecue’s base. A flash of orange.

Margaret gasped,
jerking back from the window. Why would Grace be burning the wig and courier
signs if she wasn’t trying to hide something? But then again, and she had
thought long and hard about this, if a dark-haired woman wanted to disguise
herself, wouldn’t she wear a blonde or a red wig? Anything but a black one.

Clutching at the
table to steady herself, Margaret sat down. She could no longer ignore the
growing dread that her daughter was indirectly, if not directly, involved in
something bad. Who was she covering for? Who was she protecting?

Darkness signalled the end of
another day, the end of another week. Looking forward to a weekend of nothing,
Jacinta kicked off her shoes, curling up on the sofa with a glass of wine and
the television remote control, content in the knowledge Brett would be home the
next day. Maybe then she would stop jumping at her own shadow.

Perhaps Daniel
had been right. Perhaps possums did wear big boots. Certainly, she’d had no
more late night or early morning visitors, invited or otherwise. His
confirmation that Narelle had been at the hospital with her husband all night
also helped quash any lingering doubts she may have had about her friend, but
left her feeling doubly bad that she had suspected her in the first place.

The police were
no closer to tracking down Craig Edmonds’ assailant, but nor had there been any
more attempts on his or his wife’s life. Jacinta was convinced the attack on
Craig, his wife’s murder and the Toolangi murders were all related. But how to
prove it? Leads were scarce, evidence virtually non-existent. The gun had to be
the lynchpin. If only she hadn’t let it out of her hands.

Swirling her
glass of wine, she glanced at the television. Her mind elsewhere, she absently
watched the actors playing out their parts, heard their rehearsed lines. People
living in a world of make-believe.

Narelle’s world
wasn’t much different. Despite her friend’s protestations about wanting a normal
life, Jacinta knew it would remain out of reach until the killer or killers
were brought to justice. Until then, Narelle would have to continue living with
uncertainty, doubts and suspicions. A life spent looking over her shoulder.

Skolling the
rest of her wine, she dumped the empty glass on the side table, pressed the off
button on the remote control and put her shoes back on. The only person who
could help Narelle was Narelle. Intent on making her see that, Jacinta
collected her car keys and headed out into the night.

She turned into
Narelle’s street, pulling up in front of the large, brick house. She let the
engine idle, not convinced she was doing the right thing, wondering if
interfering could cause more harm than good. She switched off the ignition and
sat watching the house. Except for a glow from the pool area, the house was in
complete darkness, the streetlights casting eerie shapes over the front lawn.
She hadn’t stopped to think Narelle might not be at home. But then, movement in
one of the darkened front windows caught her eye.

Gathering up her
shoulder bag, she unbuckled the seatbelt and got out of the car. She stretched
her neck and rolled her shoulders, uncrimping the tight muscles. Determined not
to leave until she had the answers she was looking for, she marched up the
path, her resolve almost shattering when she triggered the security light
sensors. White light flooded the area, making her feel like a rabbit caught in
a hunter’s spotlight.

The front door
loomed. She took a deep breath, steadying her pulse, and kept going. Had
Narelle seen the lights come on? Reaching the doorstep, she hesitated,
half-expecting the door to open. When it didn’t, she pressed the doorbell and,
stepping back off the mat, waited. Nothing. She pressed it again, adding a
knock for good measure.

Still nothing.

Then a thump, a
stifled scream, another thump.

Then nothing.

Jacinta’s heart
raced, the saliva in her mouth drying as she backed away from the door.
Something wasn’t right. Adrenaline-pumped and with no time to call for help,
she ran around the side the house, ripping her jeans as she hoisted herself
over the locked iron gate. In the unlit corridor, she had difficulty seeing
where she was going, stumbling on the uneven cobblestones.

She rounded the
corner of the house by the swimming pool. Immediately she ducked back.
Silhouetted in the light by the pool, two figures tussled on the ground.
Crouching down and shielded in the shadows, Jacinta crept forward. She heard
Narelle’s plaintive voice and another, more strident female’s, but couldn’t
make out what they were saying.

Pressing her
back up hard against the wall of the house, she felt in her bag for her mobile
phone, panicking when she realised she had left it on the kitchen bench. She
glanced back at the two women, unable to staunch her cry as she caught the
glint of metal, the split-second interruption enough for Narelle to escape the
clutches of the other woman.

Narelle scuttled
backward, yelling at Jacinta to run, as she made a dash for the house. Narelle
wasn’t quick enough, the other woman pouncing and snagging her ankle, bringing
her prey down with a thud.

Letting out a
blood-curdling shriek, Jacinta hurtled across the paving. She threw herself on
the woman’s back and gouged at her eyes. Howling with rage, the woman bucked,
tossing Jacinta aside like a rag doll. She heard the crack in her arm before
she felt the pain.

The woman
advanced, laughing and brandishing a long-bladed knife. “You should have kept
your reporter nose out of it, bitch.”

All of a sudden,
Grace’s voice rang out. “Kirsty!”

The scene froze,
an instant snapshot. Jacinta’s mind spun, the moment too surreal to grasp.
Kirsty?
Narelle’s sister? Craig’s wife? The murdered woman? That Kirsty?

“It’s over,
Kirsty. No more.”

Baring her
teeth, the woman laughed. “Grace, darling, how right you are,” she said, her
eyes narrowing at the gun pointed at her. “So you found it.”

“You used me.
After everything I did for you, how could you? I thought you loved me.” Tears
streamed down Grace’s cheeks as, using both hands to hold the gun, she moved
forward.

“Grace, give me
the gun.”

Grace continued
to advance.

“Darling, you
know I love you.” Kirsty lunged for the gun, grabbing first the barrel and then
Grace’s arm. Both women fell to the ground, wrestling for control of the
weapon.

A gunshot
shattered the night.

Grace toppled
back, a look of disbelief on her face.

Kirsty clutched
her abdomen, blood blooming under her shirt, pooling on the pavers under her
body.

Jacinta adjusted the sling, the
cast on her fractured left wrist weighing heavy on her neck, the afternoon’s
heat only adding to her discomfort. Seated at the end of the outdoor table,
Narelle and Wendy chatted non-stop about babies and pregnancy matters. Pain and
gory bits not exempt. If they wanted to put Jacinta off ever having children,
they were succeeding.

She glanced
across to the men congregated around the barbecue. Brett and Craig supervised
while Daniel cooked, talking men’s business, no doubt. Craig caught her eye and
smiled, raising his beer in a toast. She raised her glass in return. Who would
ever have thought they could’ve been in the same space together without tearing
each other apart, let alone be on friendly terms? All those years of being
unfairly persecuted would have hardened the most placid of people.

Kirsty Edmonds’
funeral had been a small, private affair, restricted to direct family. That
hadn’t stopped the media jostling for position outside the church, waiting for
the mourners to emerge. Bids for the Edmonds’ story had come thick and fast,
but Narelle and Craig hadn’t been swayed by promises of riches and celebrity,
preferring to keep a low profile. Instead, they’d handed the scoop to Jacinta,
trusting her to be their spokesperson.

Pulling the
pieces together had been the hardest part. With salvaged memories and Grace’s
help, the picture became clearer.

Kirsty had
always been a jealous person, but marrying Craig had only aggravated it, not
alleviated it. Unless she knew where he was and what he was doing every minute
of every day, she wasn’t happy. Suspecting Craig was cheating on her fuelled
her insecurities. She became obsessed with finding the other woman. She stalked
him incessantly, watched his every move, eavesdropped on his conversations,
checked his pockets, smelt his clothes, scrutinised his mobile phone bill, read
his SMS messages, rifled through his briefcase. The thought it could be her own
sister obviously didn’t cross her mind at that stage.

Irrational with
jealousy, Kirsty saw relationships where none existed. A friendly smile, a
look, a touch perhaps, but that was all. Tamara Whitfield and Chandra Pinder
were hapless, innocent victims, their only sin that they had been acquainted
with Craig Edmonds. But as far as Kirsty was concerned, these two women were
vying with her for her husband’s affections, and they had to be stopped.
Permanently.

It must have cut
deeply when she eventually found out her husband’s lover was her own sister.
The two people she loved most had betrayed her. She wanted them to suffer. In
her mind, death would’ve been too kind. She went one step better, framing them
for her own murder.

Filled with
hatred, she must have spent months plotting her revenge. The insurance
policies, a new identity, seducing Grace, fabricating evidence, an escape route
– all meticulously planned. All the while, Craig and Narelle carried on their
illicit affair.

Biding her time,
she waited for the right moment, slipping Rohypnol or a similar stupefying drug
into his whisky before provoking him into an argument. Mixed with the alcohol,
the drugs would have taken effect quickly, ensuring he wouldn’t remember
anything that happened next.

Time to stage
the scene. As a nurse, she had no problem drawing her own blood. Smearing it
around the house, she used it to full effect, creating the bloodbath illusion.
Planting the hairs in the boot of her car was even easier.

Then, under the
cover of darkness, with her husband passed out on the bed, she made her escape,
flying out of the country that night under an assumed identity, using a false
passport and looking a far cry from the photo splashed across the media in the
ensuing days and weeks.

She no doubt
followed all the news reports, revelling in the havoc her untimely
disappearance had caused. The coup de grâce had to have been seeing her husband
charged not once, but twice for her murder.

And she would
have pulled it off without a hitch, if she had been able to stay away. After
years of relying on the media to keep her informed, Kirsty wanted to see for
herself the impact her actions had had on the lives of her betrayers. Jacinta
could only imagine her fury when she discovered her unfaithful husband and
traitorous sister were married, with a baby on the way. She was prepared to go
to any lengths to ensure the couple didn’t live happily ever after.

Using Grace’s
infatuation for her for her own ends, Kirsty convinced Grace to be her eyes and
ears. She then set about systematically incriminating Craig and Narelle again.
Dropping the gold and sapphire cross in the forest near the victims’ bodies,
planting the gun inside the house, tipping off the police: it all went
according to plan. What Kirsty hadn’t counted on was Grace developing a
conscience and coming off her schizophrenia medication. Hiding the gun at
Grace’s place after she retrieved it from the recycle bin was probably Kirsty’s
worst move. Grace thought Kirsty was setting her up in the same way she had set
up Narelle and Craig.

Accident or not,
Grace had saved the lives of two women and an unborn child that night, and
perhaps her own. With Kirsty no longer manipulating her, Grace was free to live
her own life. A week after the funeral, Grace had packed up her house, moving
to Sydney to be closer to her mother and to start life afresh.

A couple of days
later, the For Sale sign had gone up in front of the Edmonds house. Finally,
Narelle and Craig were laying the past to rest.

Brett tossed a
wine cork at Jacinta, breaking through her reverie. She looked up, smiling.
Through it all, he had been the one constant. She owed him a lot, and even more
so since he had convinced her life was too short not to do what she wanted.
Monday morning, she would quit her job.

***

Thank you for
reading Thin Blood. I love to hear from my readers:
[email protected]

Based in rural Victoria, Australia,
she writes fast-paced mystery and suspense novels in contemporary Australian
settings.
More information about Vicki and her books can be
found at:
www.vickityley.com

SLEIGHT ~ use of
dexterity or cunning, especially so as to deceive.

MALICE ~ the
intention or desire to do evil; ill will.

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