Thin Blood (4 page)

Jacinta seized
the opportunity. “I swear I won’t mention anything at all about the case. You
have my word.” And she always kept her word.

“So, what’s your
agenda? Why have you invited a couple of people that you’ve never even met to
dinner?” He sounded tired. “And besides, I’m really surprised that Narelle
accepted your invitation. From what I know, they don’t socialise much. What
else haven’t you told me?”

It had taken a
lot of talking and coaxing to sway Narelle into accepting the dinner
invitation. Jacinta had implied, if not actually stated, that it had been
Brett’s suggestion and that he would be offended if they didn’t accept. Her
tactics had been a little underhand, to say the least, but they had worked.
And, true to her word, she had no intention of discussing the disappearance of
the first Mrs Edmonds or the ensuing murder trial. Initially, all she wanted
was to get an impression of what sort of people they were. Nothing more.

Even after she
told Brett all that, he still sounded sceptical. She hung up, vowing to prove
him wrong. After all, journalism and integrity didn’t have to be mutually
exclusive terms.
Quite the contrary
, she thought as, unfurling her legs,
she moved to the edge of the daybed and stood up.

With the phone
still in her hand, she wandered over to the dining table she had commandeered
and looked down at the paper and documents laid out in piles around her laptop.
It was only a slight exaggeration to say the stack of overdue bills was almost
as high as the trial transcript next to it.

Brett had wanted
to pay them for her. However, they were bills she had incurred, and she didn’t
think it right that he should bail her out. Although she disliked being
indebted to anyone, even her lover, she could make exceptions for banks, credit
card providers and utility companies. But they wouldn’t wait forever.

Dropping the
phone on the table, she reached across and picked up a yellow-covered,
spiral-bound notebook. She had filled it with research notes, her thoughts, and
any other snippet she thought might be pertinent to the story. Somewhere
amongst all the scribblings were the threads of an exclusive. Her big break, if
only she could tie them all together. And hopefully without snapping too many
along the way.

After kicking off her high heels,
Narelle Croswell padded in bare feet across the kitchen’s cool, tiled floor to
the refrigerator. Feeling oddly buoyant, she hummed as she grabbed an open
bottle of Hunter Valley Chardonnay from the fridge door.

With the wine
bottle tucked under her arm and her fingers wrapped around the stem of a wine
glass, she made her way to the sliding glass doors that led out to the swimming
pool, collecting the phone from its cradle on the way. She had yet to tell
Craig what she had done.

Stepping out
onto the sandstone paving, she paused, savouring the light breeze as it
caressed her flushed skin. The hint of dampness in the air reassured her that
the promised cool change was on its way. Early evening sunlight, dappled by the
branches of eucalypts, bounced across the tiny ripples on the saltwater pool’s
surface. A scene set for entertaining.

Narelle couldn’t
remember the last time she had socialised, let alone entertained.
But maybe
that drought is about to break
, she thought. A small smile tweaked at the
corners of her mouth as she deposited her load onto the polished aluminium
table, poured herself a glass of wine, and settled down in the nearest sling
chair. Maybe they could start living like normal people again. Maybe they could
stop hiding from the world.

Her first
reaction had been to turn down the invitation, but Brett Rhodes’ girlfriend,
Jacinta, had been especially persuasive. What did she have to worry about?
Brett and she had worked for the same company for nearly three years with no
problems. A private dinner party wouldn’t leave them feeling exposed and
vulnerable the same way a public restaurant would. It could be fun.

Now all she had
to do was sell the idea to Craig. She set her wine glass on the table, picked
up the phone and pressed the quick-dial button that would connect her to
Craig’s direct line. Although he was due to leave the office shortly, Narelle
hoped that by phoning him while he was distracted by his work, he wouldn’t say
no outright. He would want to talk about it at home. And that’s exactly what
she wanted. Then the drive home would give him time to mull over the
proposition. Or at least that was the theory.

He answered on
the fifth ring. Keeping her voice light and cheery, she asked how his day had
been, making small talk before adding, almost as an afterthought, that they had
been invited out to dinner. She tried to make it sound like it was no big deal,
that dinner invitations were commonplace for them.

She heard a
sharp intake of breath and knew she had failed.

Silence.

“Craig?”

He responded
with a sharpness of tone that she hadn’t heard before. “We’ll talk about this
when I get home.”

Click. He had
hung up.

Stunned, Narelle
set down the phone and picked up the wine bottle to refill her glass. She had
predicted that he would want to discuss it at home, but nothing had prepared
her for how he had said it. It was a side of her husband she had never
experienced before. But she had heard something else in his voice. Could fear
be behind his uncharacteristic behaviour?

She picked up
her wine glass from the table and skolled its contents in two gulps. Craig
would be home soon.

Domesticity wasn’t Jacinta’s
greatest virtue. The kitchen looked like a hurricane had just passed through
it. Dirty pots, bowls and utensils littered the bench. A thick, garlicky pasta
sauce bubbled like a hot mud pool on the stove, splattering cooked tomato in
all directions. Salad greens sweated inside plastic bags, sharing the sink with
empty tomato cans and onion skins.

Wiping her hands
on a tea towel, she glanced at the clock, feeling a flutter of panic. Salads
still had to be made, lemons squeezed for the dressing, the pasta sauce
finished, parmesan cheese grated, the antipasto platter organised…

The list seemed
endless, not to mention that she still had to shower and change. If she wasn’t
careful, their guests would arrive and she would still be standing there,
looking like a victim of the same hurricane that had hit the kitchen.

Fortunately,
Brett had volunteered — or rather, had been recruited — to look after drinks
and the music, as well as set the table. Mentally crossing those chores off her
list, she went in search of the glass dessert bowls she knew she had; she just
wasn’t sure where they were stashed. She was quickly remembering why they
didn’t entertain often. Brett couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about,
but he wasn’t the one running himself ragged.

Somehow she
managed to finish the food preparation, clean the kitchen, and check that Brett
hadn’t set the table with the forks on the right and the knives on the left.

The doorbell
rang just as she was putting the final touches to her makeup. She paused,
relaxing on hearing voices she recognised. Patrick and Shauna were punctual, as
always. That should make it a little less stiff when Craig and Narelle arrived.
If they arrived. Narelle had confirmed with Brett on Thursday, but who was to
say they hadn’t changed their minds since then.

The doorbell
rang again, filling Jacinta with trepidation this time. Whose bright idea was
it to invite a man accused of his wife’s murder and his new wife to dinner?
What if they saw straight through her? What if she unintentionally stared at
them? Or worse, avoided eye contact? What if she had one too many glasses of
wine and blurted out something she shouldn’t? The more she thought about it,
the more perilous it seemed.

After checking
herself one last time in the mirror, she fixed what she hoped was a welcoming
smile to her face and went to meet her guests. As she shut the bedroom door
behind her, she heard laughter and the clink of glasses coming from the other
end of the house. A good start.

She found
everyone congregated in the brick-paved courtyard off the living room, drinks
in hand, being entertained by one of Patrick’s infamous tall tales. Jacinta
smiled to herself. As long as he was the centre of attention, he was happy. He
could be guaranteed to liven up any party. So far, so good.

Long-legged
Shauna stood beside her sturdier red-haired fiancé, rattling the ice cubes in
her glass and giving a good impression that she had heard it all before. And
more than once, too.

Brett and their
other two visitors had their backs to her, but all turned in unison when
Patrick, without missing a beat in his performance, blew her a theatrical kiss.
Now she was the centre of attention.

Smiling sweetly,
she waited for Brett to make the introductions. Narelle Croswell, with her mass
of brunette curls and model looks, was a marked contrast to her relatively
plain, fair-haired sister. The only photos of Kirsty Edmonds that Jacinta had
seen were cropped images posted on various websites. Still, the sisters looked
so different that it was hard to imagine they shared the same genes.

Next to her,
scuffing his feet on the ground, Craig Edmonds looked much less at ease than
his wife. He had aged considerably since the photos plastered all over the
Internet had been taken. His face had thinned and his dark hair was flecked
liberally with grey. The moustache was gone and he wore rimless glasses.
Despite the ageing, he was still an attractive man, and Narelle and he made a
striking couple. They certainly didn’t look evil.

But what did
evil look like? If Grace Kevron was to be believed, she had just shaken the
hands of two cold-blooded murderers.

Brett kept
casting her sidelong glances and she kept pretending she didn’t see them. They
had talked in depth about what subjects were off limits and what weren’t, but from
the looks he was giving her, he wasn’t taking anything for granted. Pouring a
glass of Evans & Tate’s Sparkling Pinot Noir Chardonnay, he moved to stand
directly in front of her, only releasing the champagne flute to her fingers
when he held her gaze. It was the telepathic equivalent of a stern reminder.

After a few
minutes of idle chitchat, she headed inside to the kitchen. She had originally
intended to make the dinner a formal, sit-down affair in the dining room, but
since the evening was so balmy and everyone seemed to be comfortable outside,
she decided to take the meal to them. First course, anyway.

As she passed
through the lounge room, Kate Ceberano’s soulful voice reflected her thoughts:
“Will
you still love me tomorrow? Tonight with words unspoken…”
If she kept to
her promise not to start asking questions of Craig and Narelle, there would be
no reason for Brett not to love her tomorrow. She knew she had nothing to worry
about, as long as she stuck to her role of the perfect Stepford wife.

Hoping she was
better at acting than cooking, she started removing the lids from the plastic
containers of olives, semi-dried tomatoes and marinated eggplant she had bought
that morning. Although she had bravely attempted to grill the eggplant slices,
they had come out looking like charred bits of dish sponge. What was more, they
tasted worse than they looked.

While Jacinta
was in the middle of arranging curled, wafer-thin slices of prosciutto and
coppa on the platter, Shauna turned up with the wine bottle, offering both a
refill and assistance. Or, in Jacinta’s case, salvation.

“Narelle and
Craig seem like a nice couple. How do you know them?” Shauna popped a black
chilli olive into her mouth.

Jacinta
hesitated. “Ummm… Brett works with Narelle at Woodridge.” She quickly changed
the subject, delegating Shauna the task of setting the outside table.

By the time she
had carried the antipasto platter, a floury ciabatta loaf and a bread knife out
to the courtyard, Katie Melua’s bluesy jazz voice was flowing from the stereo
speakers. The light, lemony scent of the citronella lamps wafted through the
air.

With the aid of
a couple of bottles of an excellent King Valley Riesling, the party had soon
devoured the first course, leaving little more than crumbs and olive pits. Any
tensions that might have been there dissolved as the couples laughed and
talked. Even Jacinta had started to relax. So, when Craig suddenly asked her
what she did for a living, she was thrown off balance for a second.

Brett quickly
stepped in, filling the void. “Jacinta is, as they say, between jobs right now.
Unfortunately,” he dropped his lower lip in an exaggerated pout, “my idea that
perhaps she could devote all her new-found free time to being my slave didn’t
work out.”

The original
question was soon lost in the ensuing laughter. Breathing a silent sigh of
relief, Jacinta collected the dirty plates, excused herself and headed back
inside.

No sooner had
she started stacking the plates in the dishwasher than she heard the
click-clack of high heels on the slate behind her. She turned, expecting to see
Shauna again, and almost dropped the plate in her hand when she saw Narelle
standing there instead, a couple of empty glasses in her hands.

“I’m sorry, I
didn’t mean to startle you.”

Jacinta smiled
at her. “No problem. I just didn’t see you, that’s all.” She reached for the
glasses, adding a “thanks” as she placed them in the dishwasher.

Like Shauna had
earlier, Narelle then offered to help. Had they arranged to take turns, or had
it just turned out that way? Jacinta’s first thought was to politely decline
and send Narelle straight back to the party, but then a little voice in her
head piped up. When else would she get the chance to talk one on one with
Narelle? Even though she couldn’t ask the hard-hitting questions she would
dearly have liked to, there was no reason she couldn’t get to know her better.