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But she could tell by the icy silence on the other end of the phone that her mother hadn’t bought it. Lacey cursed inwardly. She hadn’t been sincere enough.
“At least Sammy is here, where she belongs, helping out. Not traipsing around an island in the middle of nowhere avoiding her issues. Unlike some people I could name.” Her mother drew breath, but Lacey knew there was more to come. Then her mum let her have it, questioning how Lacey could stay away from her family for so long, asking when she was coming home to rejoin civilization, telling her how she was letting her family down, making them look bad in the eyes of their friends and the rest of society by her lack of ability to cope. It was the familiar lecture on how she was the worst daughter in the world. Lacey held the phone away from her ear, so she didn’t have to hear it. She’d been informed often enough about her lapses in daughterly duty to know how this conversation would go. A one-sided tirade.
Lacey’s time traveling around Tasmania had given her a certain sense of freedom. Time and space away from her mother had been a liberating experience. It finally made her wonder why her mother was such an ordeal to live with. So, she’d done some research. And she’d thought she may have hit on the answer when she’d read a book about narcissistic personality disorder. It’d been quite an eye-opener, and it explained many of the horrible things her mother did and said. But none of those reasons could ever excuse her mother’s behavior. And she would never change. So it was up to Lacey to decide how she would handle their relationship going forward, which was becoming more and more toxic over time. One solution was to take herself away from her mother’s sphere of influence, hence why her trip to Tasmania was such a good idea. It lessened the amount of guilt trips Lacey had to endure, but it didn’t really solve anything. Certainly not long term.
“Mmm hmm,” Lacey murmured into the phone when it sounded like her mother might’ve finally wound down. It was no use arguing with Elora when she was like this; it only gave her more ammunition. Lacey usually capitulated until she could change the subject. Which she was about to do.
“Is Dad around? I’d like to talk to him and see how he’s feeling as well,” Lacey ventured. There was no way she was going to tell her mother anything about what she’d just been through in the past few days. But someone in her family needed to know. She’d fill her father in on the details and let him decide the best time to tell Elora later on down the track, when she wasn’t in one of her moods.
“Oh, I see. My conversation isn’t good enough for you. Of course, you want to talk to your father. You always were daddy’s girl.” Lacey bit her lip in an effort not to scream. How did you argue against that kind of mentality? Her mother was a nightmare. She wasn’t a daddy’s girl, far from it, but at least with her father she could have a logical conversation, not filled with emotional blackmail bombs going off every ten seconds. “Barry,” her mother yelled down the phone, nearly deafening her. “Lacey is on the phone. She wants to talk to you.”
Perhaps the more tactful thing to do would’ve been to hang up and ring her father on his own cell phone. But Elora would most likely have cottoned onto that eventually, and Lacey would still be in the shit for going behind her back.
“Hi, luv, how are you going?” her father’s familiar baritone came down the line. She and Barry had a pretty good father-daughter relationship. It was only when it came to her mother that she felt Barry let her down. He never argued with Elora to her face. He would merely let her go on with whatever mean thing she was saying at the time. Behind Elora’s back he was caring and supportive, but he’d never once stood up to his wife, and it made Lacey so mad. It also created a lack of respect for her dad. She knew why he did it. His capitulation was for his own protection. So that he didn’t become the target for Elora’s next vicious attack. But in his own way, he was enabling Elora’s behavior.
Lacey had often wondered why he stayed with her. Speculating that it was because of the money seemed small and mean of her, but it might just be true. Barry Carmichael had made his millions establishing a chain of very successful discount pharmacies. He’d started off as the pharmacist in his own chemist shop forty years ago and had built it up into over ten separate shops, with more coming soon. But if he divorced his wife, she’d get half of all his wealth. Possibly more, if her lawyers were good enough. Barry was at work more than he was at home, limiting the time he had to deal with Elora. Probably on purpose.
“I’m doing okay, Dad,” Lacey replied. “But a few things have happened lately, and I need to tell you what’s going on.” Lacey launched into the story of how her van had broken down and she’d ended up being stranded in Boat Harbour Beach. Then she went on to tell him about her walk that fateful morning and how she’d become embroiled in a murder investigation. He listened quietly, only interrupting her twice to get more pertinent details. She mentioned Nico, but only in passing, telling Barry that he was the detective sergeant in charge of the investigation. He needn’t know Nico had also offered her sanctuary after her van had broken down.
Finally, when she wound down and stopped speaking, he said, “That sounds horrific, and my heart goes out to that poor family of the murdered girl. But you need to take care of yourself first, Lacey. You know how…fragile you are at the moment. What are you planning to do? Perhaps it’s time you came home.”
“I don’t know, Dad. But please don’t tell Mum what’s going on. Not yet.”
“She’ll need to know soon. Because if she finds out some other way…” Her father didn’t need to finish his sentence; Lacey knew her mother would never forgive her if that happened. “The poor murdered girl has already been on the news over here, but you know your mother rarely watches TV.”
“I know,” Lacey replied glumly. But even a few days of peace from her mother’s constantI told you soswhen she found out would be a welcome interlude. “I’ll call her in a few days. I promise.”
“Okay.” Her father’s voice was full of uncertainty. He didn’t like keeping secrets from his wife. Could she trust him to hold on to this one for the next few days? “And, Lacey. Let us know what your plans are soon too. You know I don’t often ask things of you, but I really think it’s time you abandoned this trip. This girl’s death…well, it feels like a sign.”
“Mmm hmm,” Lacey murmured, not wanting to disagree with her father. Because the sad truth was, she didn’t know what she planned to do next. The more she thought about it, the more foolish it seemed to keep going with her travels. How could she continue while her involvement in this whole murder hung over her head? Seeing Imran today had helped bring her back from the edge, stopped her slipping into her previous habit of retreating from the world. But perhaps she should go home and arrange to see her old psych on a more regular basis. Try and get back into a routine. Rejoin the real world.
CHAPTER TEN
NICO UNLOCKED THE back door and was met by an ecstatic Smudge, who forgot his manners and jumped up to lick his face. Nico let it slide, because his mind was taken up by other things. Such as coming home to a house with the lights on and a delicious smell emanating from the kitchen. Coming home to someone else. A warm house, that felt like someone lived here.
It’d been an especially trying evening. He undid the band from his hair, shaking it free, and scrubbed a hand over his tired eyes. Working in these rural stations was often fulfilling and never dull. But it also had its drawbacks. Like having to deal with locals who he liked, and interacted with every day, only to treat them with seeming indifference while he was executing his job. He’d just come from down the hill, where he’d been paying a visit to Margie and Herb. And it hadn’t been pleasant. But that was the job, he had to keep reminding himself of that.
He entered the kitchen and was greeted by the sight of Lacey leaning her hip against the countertop and talking into her phone. Sending him a tight smile, she went back to listening to whoever was on the other end of the phone, her knee jiggling impatiently. He drank in the sight of her, taking the chance to flick his glance from top to bottom. She’d kicked off her boots and was wearing socks beneath her tight jeans which outlined her shapely legs and hips as she shifted from one foot to another. Her blonde hair hung long and straight around her shoulders, softening her features and hiding the side of her face. Her dark-blue sweater hugged her curves. The scene of Lacey standing in his kitchen set off something warm and nebulous inside his gut. Like he wanted to go up and touch her just to make sure she was real. He’d seen her wearing this same outfit around the police station for most of the day, but for some reason she looked different. Like she belonged here.
Smudge still gamboled around his knees, so he bent to give the dog a proper pat. Shrugging out of his jacket, he hung it on a hook next to Lacey’s by the back door and removed his service weapon from its holster and stowed it in the small gun safe in a top cupboard in the kitchen. He was just about to head into the living room to give her some privacy, when he heard her say, “Yes, Dad, I understand. I’m sorry, but I really have to go. I promise to call you again soon.” With that, she hung up and pushed her phone into her back pocket with a dramatic sigh.
“Sorry. That was my dad.” She rubbed her forehead and grimaced and he wondered what they’d been talking about. Her parents must be worried sick about her being a prime witness in a murder investigation. His mother still worried about him, even after all this time of him being a detective.
“Don’t apologize,” he replied.
“You’re home a little earlier than I expected,” she said, lifting a corner of her mouth. “I made pumpkin and spinach pasta. Would you like some?”
“Sounds divine.” His mouth had already been watering from the smell drifting through the kitchen. “I’ll just light the fire, if that’s okay?”
“Sure. That’ll be nice. I’ll heat up your dinner.”
He lit the fire most nights. It was a gentler heat than gas, which he normally kept for the odd occasion when he couldn’t be bothered to fetch the wood and strike a match. But it might be nice to sit in the living room with a crackling fire, a glass of red, and Lacey’s company.
Smudge accompanied him outside. He knew the dog was dying to go for a walk, but perhaps he’d take him later, after dinner. It only took him a few minutes to set the fire and light the kindling, and he soon had a bright blaze going in the hearth. Just as he stepped back, warming his palms against the flames, Lacey entered the room, a plate of food in one hand and a bottle in the other.
“I’ve already eaten,” she said apologetically. “But I found your stash of wine in the cupboard, and I’d love to join you in a glass. I hope that’s okay?”
“You read my mind,” he replied with a grin, taking two crystal glasses from a wooden side table behind the couch. They were an heirloom, belonging to his grandmother on his father’s side. French cut crystal and probably quite expensive, but he rarely used them. Tonight was as good as any time to bring them out of hibernation.
