The Fall That Kills You Page 4

  “Of course. It’s the only chance I get to see Ellie anymore.”

  Ellie is Kevin’s fiancé. She’s a far more patient woman than me, because they’ve been engaged for what seems like forever now. I keep trying to explain to Kevin that women don’t wait around forever for a man to do what’s right. At some point, you need to put your ring on their finger, or they start to drift away looking for another man who will.

  But that was how things were done in my generation, and Kevin’s world is different. What he and Ellie have works for them. That’s really all any mother can ask for.

  Well that, and grandkids.

  Now there’s a thought that makes me smile.

  “Yes, mother, Ellie will be there.” He gives me a wink and then puts his arm around my shoulder, not unlike the way his father’s ghost just did. Together we start down the stairs. “So. See me off, and I’ll let ya get back to running this amazing establishment in the center of one of the best towns in all of Australia.”

  “I’ll see you later, then… oh, wait. Kev. Hey, I wanted to ask you…”

  Something slipped in my memory, and I forgot.

  Looking at me funny, Kevin waits for the rest of the sentence. “What is it?”

  “Um. It’s about Malik.”

  His brows bunch together. “Malik? Who’s Malik?”

  “Mister Brewster, I mean. Malik Brewster. I wanted to ask you about…”

  Something.

  Kevin stops me at the bottom of the stairs. “Finally figured out his first name, didya? How’d that happen?”

  “Actually, all I had to do was ask him.”

  “Well, well. Too bad it’s not always that simple. So, what was it you wanted to ask me?”

  I stared up at him, trying to remember. Funny, I know there was something I wanted Kevin to do for me. Something about Malik Brewster. Now, for the life of me, I don’t remember what it was.

  “I guess I’ll have to ask you later. Whenever it comes back to me.”

  “Mom, is everything okay with Brewster? We’ve talked about him before and I’m still not sure I trust him. If there’s something going on with him you can tell me.”

  “If there was I’d tell you. Promise.”

  At least, if I could remember it, I would. Maybe there wasn’t anything after all. I must be imagining it.

  That must be it.

  After Kevin was gone, I decided to go up to my rooms. I needed to lay down for a little.

  At the top of the stairs, Mister Brewster was standing, and watching me.

  You know, on second thought, maybe it’d be the perfect time for a walk. Yeah, that sounds better.

  Lakeshore is the perfect town for a walkabout.

  Usually that involves miles of trekking through the Outback, looking for yourself and figuring out the mysteries of life. In Lakeshore, you can accomplish the same thing in your own backyard. There’s just something about the air here. Something about the buildings, all painted white as a nod to a moment in our history. See, once upon a time, the town was burnt to the ground by bushrangers. We rebuilt, and painted everything white because it was inexpensive and quick.

  That’s the very definition of the people here in a nutshell. Smart. Brave. Independent.

  And able to pinch a five-cent piece until it bleeds Queen Elizabeth’s pearls.

  There’s Monterey Pines up and down the streets and all around us, lending their scent to the air we breathe. The scraggly trees are just as hardy as the people who live here, and some might say just as attractive. Pine Lake was named for the Montereys. There’s two more lakes around the town, which is of course how Lakeshore got its name. Besides Pine Lake, there’s Gallipoli Lake, and Lake Bowen. One’s great for swimming, one’s great for fishing, and the third one just looks pretty.

  I can’t imagine living anywhere else.

  Leaving Malik Brewster at the top of the stairs, I headed outside. My thoughts were unsettled after helping Kevin give that poor man the news of his brother’s death, and the atmosphere inside the Inn felt stuffy to me, even with the front doors left wide open. I like to keep them that way in the summertime even though Kevin has lectured me about how the world is a dangerous place and doors were meant to be closed, if not locked. I like them open.

  Main Street is a long row of houses and shops. At the near end of town is Pastor Albright’s church and for some reason my feet take me in that direction. Assuming they know best, I follow along. It’s Thursday, and church services are on Sunday, so things should be quiet there. I haven’t been to services for a bit. I’ve promised Jonas Albright that I would be there for weeks now, but I’ve always found a reason not to go. I can’t keep doing that to Jonas. I might have a different outlook on God and the immortal soul than most, but Jonas is a friend. I hate to keep disappointing him.

  Besides, with Sunday being New Year’s Eve, it might be the perfect time to make it up to him by ending the year on a good note listening to one of his sermons. Long before you come to the church, just up past Mrs. Havernathy’s house with her homemade jam for sale in her front room, is the town’s fountain. Sitting right in the middle of the street, rising up three tiers, cars going through town have to slow down to drive around it. When there’s no traffic to speak of—which is nearly every day—you can walk right up to it. Tourists like to make wishes standing beside the wide lip of the lowest section. There’s coins from different parts of the world laying there, in the few bare inches of water the town manages to pump through it.

  The fountain, made of solid cement and covered in peeling layers of white paint, hasn’t worked right since no one knows when. There’s just a trickle of water that comes out of the spout, cascading down into the top basin, and then into the slightly wider middle, and then down to the bottom. Been that way since for a good many years, even before I was born, as I understand it. Strange how in all this time, no one has ever thought to look into why the fountain doesn’t work the way it should. The water should be spraying out of the top, two or three feet into the air, splashing over the sides in a noisy babble.

  Maybe there’s a clogged pipe underneath, where it draws from the town’s water supply. Maybe all those coins that tourists have tossed into it have clogged up the works. Maybe someone should have replaced the batteries years ago. I really have no idea.

  Then again, it’s in the middle of the street… maybe it’s this way by design.

  As I stand here now, staring into the shallow layer of water, I search for my reflection. All I can see is a blurry shadow looking back. At least, I think that’s me. I mean, who else could it be?

  “Hello, Miss Powers.”

  Spinning around wildly, I must look like a complete imbecile, but Malik Brewster startled me. I didn’t even hear him walking up behind me. I have no idea where he came from. Light on his feet, this one is.

  “Er, g’day, Mister Brewster. I didn’t expect to see you out walking.”

  “No,” he says with a lopsided smirk. “I suppose you didn’t. And please, call me Malik. You did ask me for my first name. It seems a shame not to use it now.”

  “That’s true, I suppose.” With my next breath I relax, telling myself that me being startled was just because I’d been lost in my own thoughts. I’ve known him for years. He’s never done anything threatening to me. “Well. Then you should call me Dell, don’t you think?”

  A look passes over his eyes and then is gone, just like that. “If that’s what you’d like, then Dell it is. Just remember that names have power. Knowing what to call something, or someone, defines the relationship you have with that thing. Or, with that person in this case.”

  It occurs to me suddenly how very close together we’re standing. When did he get this close? Taking a step back from him I feel the rounded edge of the fountain pressing against my legs. “Er, were you looking for me, Malik? Quite the coincidence that we both ended up here at the fountain.”

  “Not really,” he says. “It’s a small town. Walk from one end to the other and
you’re sure to see everyone you know. However, now that you mention it, there is something I wanted to talk to you about. I was going to do it at the Inn, but your son was there and before that your… tenant was being a nuisance.”

  I nod. “Yeah, Lachlan can be like that…”

  Lachlan. My tenant, as Malik called him, because he’s a resident of the Pine Lake Inn.

  A ghostly resident.

  Suddenly, the thing I wanted to talk to Kevin about came back to me. I wanted him to help me find out exactly who Malik Brewster is.

  Because now I’d like very much to know that myself.

  “You did see Lachlan, didn’t you? I knew it! How is that possible? How can you see ghosts?”

  He raises an eyebrow at me and my questions. “I suppose I could ask you the same thing, Dell. How is it that you can see ghosts?”

  “I… I don’t know. I just can. I see them, and they talk to me, and I talk to them, and sometimes I wonder if I’m going crazy and other times I’m glad for it. Er, sorry.” I cross my arms over my chest, and make myself slow down. “There’s not too many people I can talk to about this. Guess I’m rambling on a bit.”

  “Not at all,” he assures me. “I know the attraction of being able to talk to people like yourself. I’m sure you’ve noticed, there isn’t anyone like me around town, either.”

  I shift my weight from foot to foot and dare to meet the gaze from his impassive eyes. “You mean, there aren’t many people in town as humble as you are?”

  He actually laughs. I wasn’t expecting that. Can’t remember the last time I heard Malik Brewster laugh.

  I wasn’t trying to make a joke, either.

  “Ah, Dell. You really are one of a kind, aren’t you? I knew I chose the right place to hang my hat, as they say. Your Inn has been of great interest to me for a very, very long time. You always seem to get into the very best trouble.”

  “Thanks, I guess. Malik, there was trouble with one of the guests this morning and I really can’t get into it but I’m sort of pressed for time. I just wanted to take a short walk around town and sort of decompress, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yes. The man falling to his death from Hartz Peak. A true shame.”

  “Well, yes. Actually it is. So, er, I should really head back. Rosie’s there handling everything by herself with the staff and right now, well… yeah. Not a great situation, that. Was there something you wanted to talk with me about?”

  With a slow breath, he folds his hands at his waist. “Quite.”

  He doesn’t look happy about being rushed. I sort of got the feeling that he was used to telling people what he wanted, and getting it immediately. If not immediately, then sooner.

  For all of that, he takes his time getting around to his point.

  “I wanted to talk to you, Dell, because I believe you’re exactly the sort of person who can help me. I’ve seen you put yourself in danger time and time again, for your friends and for strangers, and it almost always involves some mystery that needs solving. It’s like you’re attracted to trouble. You look for the answer to every riddle that gets thrown your way, don’t you?”

  “If I can,” I admit, but he’s got me dead to rights. When a mystery presents itself, I want to know the answer. I’m the sort who needs to untangle a coiled rope, just because I can. I even love sudoku puzzles.

  Well, it’s a love-hate sort of thing, but still.

  Malik comes over to the edge of the fountain now, and takes a seat next to me, splaying out his long legs in their dress slacks in front of him. He motions for me to sit with him. He waits to say anything else until I take him up on the invitation.

  “I need your help, Dell.”

  “My help? Me? What can I possibly help you with?”

  He clears his throat, and I can tell whatever he has to say is sort of sticking in his craw. “I had something stolen from me. I’d like you to help me find it.”

  Well. And I thought I was confused before.

  Chapter 3

  “Me? You want me… to help you find something?”

  “Yes,” he says, shrugging both shoulders. “I need to find this item. Quickly.”

  “And you’re asking me?”

  “I believe that’s what I said, yes.”

  His silvery eyes flash with something that’s not quite humor. Sitting here with him like this, even out in the open spaces of Main Street, I’m beginning to feel trapped. Mister Brewster always set me on edge when he was around. It was sort of like seeing a tiger snake off in the bush. As long as you stayed out of its way, and didn’t antagonize it, then it wouldn’t strike.

  But you knew it could if it wanted to.

  It’s not that I’m afraid of him, I tell myself. I’m just a little confused. Lots of people in town come to me for advice, or for help, or what have you. I have a habit of sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong, just like he said. Still… of the people I would’ve ever expected to come looking for my help, his name would’ve been down at the very bottom. Somewhere below the Pope.

  “Mister Brewster… Malik… I’m not a private investigator. I know there’s a couple of them over in Hobart. My Kevin might be able to put you in touch with someone through his police contacts, maybe? If you like, I’ll ask him for you.”

  The muscles in his jaw flex, tensing up his face. “If I wanted to hire a private investigator, I would. If I wanted to spread my business to all sorts of people I don’t know, then I would. My business is private, Dell. I wish to keep it that way. I know you. I trust you. It’s you who I’m coming to.”

  “But I still don’t understand why.”

  Now his expression changes again, and if didn’t know the sun was shining in God’s Heaven above, then I’d’ve sworn the clouds had rolled in to cast their shadows over his face.

  “I trust you,” he tells me again, his rumbling voice becoming rougher. “That should be enough.”

  In a way, I had to agree with him. For someone as private as Mister Brewster, telling me his first name was probably a leap unto itself. That level of trust is always earned for someone like him. Needing to ask for help must be tearing him up inside.

  I wasn’t going to make it harder on him.

  “Malik, I’ll do whatever I can. Promise.”

  His entire body seemed to relax, his expression smoothing over, his hands coming out of his pockets. “Thank you, Dell. I won’t forget this.”

  “Friends help friends. It’s the only way to make the world work.”

  He laughs, as loud as before, only this time it sounds harshly out of place. “The world works in lots of different ways, Dell. Friendship very rarely makes a difference.”

  “That’s not true, Malik. Friends are always important. You came to me because we’re friends, right?”

  Of a sort, I nearly added. Friends of a sort.

  For a moment, he just watches me. Then he clears his throat, and tugs at the cuffs of his sleeves. “Where I come from, there’s more emphasis put on the truth, and on honor, than there is on friendship. I didn’t mean to upset you. I understand that for most people, friendship is the most important thing in their lives. The glue that holds the world together.”

  “For most people? You mean, for the rest of us, but not for you?”

  “I don’t need more friends.”

  “Everyone needs friends, Malik.”

  “I’d much rather have my stolen item back, thank you.”

  It takes all kinds to make the world go round, and I’m not one to say anyone can’t be true to themselves, but the more that Malik talks to me about himself the less I understand. “Where is it you’re from? This place where truth and honor are more important than friendship. Where would that be?”

  “In other words,” he says to me, “who am I?”

  “No, I didn’t mean it like that…” Although I suppose that’s exactly what I meant. That was the very question that had been nagging at me for a while now. Here was this man staying in my Inn, and I hardly know anythi
ng at all about him. Except his first name, and that he can somehow talk to ghosts like I can. That, and the fact that he’s asking for my help. “It’s okay, Malik. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “You have a friend in the United States, I believe?”

  “Er…” The change in conversation threw me a curve. “I do, actually. Her name’s Darcy Sweet. How’d you know about her?”

  “I remember her. From back when she stayed here at your Inn. If you’d like to know who I am, call Mrs. Sweet. Ask about a friend of hers. One Sergeant Sean Fitzwallis. I can write that down for you if you like.”

  “No, I can remember it, thanks much. Why’m I asking after this Fitzwallis bloke, exactly?”

  “Because we’re the same, me and him. Darcy can explain it more, I’m sure.”

  “Why can’t you explain it for me?”

  “We don’t like to talk about ourselves.” He looked away, into the distance, and I had the feeling that he was trying to see further than the Outback. Somewhere far, far away. “Now. What I would rather talk about, is my missing item.”

  “Right, sorry.” In other words, Dell, stop asking personal questions of someone who’s just looking for your help. “So. Tell me about this thing that you lost.”

  “Not lost,” he says between clenched teeth. “Stolen. This was stolen from me, and I want it back.”

  “Okay. I understand. So, tell me what it was. Let’s start there.”

  He nods, but then waits as a tourist couple go walking past, taking pictures of the town around them. They take their time about it. I don’t recognize them, so I expect they’re staying over in Geeveston or Hobart, maybe. Usually I like it when people come to visit our town. I like that even here at the bottom of the world we have something to offer. People come here from all over the globe, and usually, I like seeing new faces.

  This time, I just want them to hurry up and go away.

  “Killiecrankie diamonds,” Malik says.

  “Er, what was that?”

  The couple are far enough away from us, walking hand in hand, that they won’t hear anything we say. “I said, killiecrankie diamonds. One, in particular. The largest ever seen in Australia. That’s what was stolen from me. I had it hidden in a spot that should have kept it safe. No one should have found it there. At least, so I thought.”