Part 13 (1/2)
Chase unfolded his body, a knowing glint in his eye. ”We'll see,” he murmured, sauntering off in the direction of the tearoom.
Riley watched him go and grimaced. The gall of the man! Where did he get off speaking to him like that?
So what if he found Kate attractive? It wasn't like he'd fallen in love with her. The fact she was beautiful enough to have modeled for a fas.h.i.+on magazine meant squat. He'd never been the kind of guy to fall for someone because of their looks. Iris had been testament to that.
Granted, Iris had been attractive, in a cla.s.sical kind of way, but it was her sharp mind and quick wit that had drawn him. It was only later he'd discovered she had no softness to her at all. To Iris, it was all about winning-at what, it didn't matter-and any means justified the end, no matter who got hurt along the way.
In the end, she'd just plain worn him out. He couldn't keep up with the frenetic pace such an att.i.tude demanded. And he hadn't wanted to.
His laid-back outlook on life had driven her mad. It had been one of the reasons they'd split. At least, that's what she'd yelled at him as she'd stormed around their apartment packing her belongings. It was only later that he discovered she'd already lined up his replacement.
The thought no longer wounded him like it used to. He could only imagine it was the entry into his life of a certain exotic-looking art dealer who had made the difference.
Kate.
It was as if she'd invaded every corner of his life. As much as he wanted to deny it, he thought about her all the time and not just in the context of her mother's disappearance. If only things weren't so complicated. If only he knew how she felt. If only he had the confidence to find out. If only...
Riley swallowed a groan. Leaning forward with his elbows on his desk, he ran his fingers through his hair and wished he could scrub away the alluring images of Kate just as easily. He could still recall the moment in her motel room when her body had melted against him. It had felt like his soul had melded with hers; that if he'd had the courage to tilt her chin upward and kiss her like he'd wanted to, the world would have disappeared. Changed forever...
Which was plain stupid, really. His sisters teased him mercilessly about his romantic streak and he'd always denied it. Real men didn't wax lyrical about their love life. He'd be howled out of town if any of the boys got wind of it.
But he'd meant it when he'd told Kate he believed she wasn't involved in the disappearance of her mother. The more he got to know her, the more impossible it became to think of her as a cold-blooded murderer and as much as he'd argued Darryl didn't have a motive, Kate didn't have one, either.
So far, the only a.s.set he'd found in Rosemary's name was a bank account into which her disability pension was paid every fortnight, with a grand balance of two thousand, four hundred and thirty-nine dollars. Not exactly a sum worth killing for.
So, what had happened to Kate's mother?
The last person to have seen her was her husband, when he dropped her off at the wharf at Circular Quay. Or so he said.
Riley picked up his pen and notebook from his desk and slipped them into his s.h.i.+rt pocket. He stood and walked over to Hannaford's office. ”I'm heading out for an hour or so,” he called through the open doorway. ”Got a few leads to chase up.”
Hannaford squinted at him. ”This about that missing cow of Sampson's?”
Riley averted his eyes. ”Um, yeah. I have a couple of more people to talk to.” Without giving him a chance to reply, Riley turned and strode toward the stairwell.
”Elaine Spencer, is it? I think we spoke on the phone last week. I'm Detective Munro.” Riley extended his hand to the woman behind the counter of the Thames Travel Agency. She smiled and shook his hand with fingers that were considerably lengthened by bright red nails. Her jet-black hair and well-preserved features were in stark contrast to the wrinkles that criss-crossed her neck and the deep lines embedded around her mouth.
”Yes, Detective. I believe we did. You were calling about Rosemary Watson?”
Riley nodded and surveyed the small but tidy booking office. Glossy posters picturing exuberant holidaymakers in exotic locations lined three of the beige-colored walls. The fourth one was comprised of floor-to-ceiling gla.s.s and contained the double electronic sliding doors he'd entered through.
An office junior sat to one side at a crowded desk, pamphlets and tour brochures piled high near her elbow. She spoke softly into a phone and took notes on a yellow legal pad.
”So, Detective, what can I do for you?”
Riley returned his attention to the woman in front of him and flashed her a smile, keeping his voice casual. ”I'm making a few enquiries about Mrs Watson. A member of her family is trying to contact her. She was meant to embark on a cruise about five weeks ago, departing from Sydney. Her husband told me he dropped her off at the wharf on the day of her scheduled departure, but she never boarded. He hasn't heard from her since. Some family members are becoming concerned.”
The woman frowned. ”Oh, I see. That sounds a bit strange. Just give me a moment and I'll pull up her booking for you. It ought to give us a little more information.”
Elaine moved to the desktop computer and began tapping keys. A few moments later, she spoke again. ”Yes, here we go. Rosemary Watson. She was booked on the Sun Princess. An around-the-world tour.” She scrolled down the page. ”It departed on July tenth.”
”I know when it departed, but the thing is, Mrs Watson didn't board the s.h.i.+p. I spoke to the s.h.i.+p's purser. She's not on the cruise.”
”Oh, yes, that's right. Now I remember. I gave you the phone number.” A frown added years to her face as creases found their grooves and deepened. ”So, she's not on the s.h.i.+p? That's odd. I wonder where she is?”
”Exactly. That's why I'm here. I was hoping you could tell me more about the booking-when it was made, who made it...that sort of thing.”
”Of course, Detective. I'm sure Mr Watson wouldn't mind. He must be crazy with worry. It's very strange, isn't it? Very strange.”
Riley chose not to comment. The man he'd met last week had appeared far from overwrought. That was one of the things that disquieted Riley most. He waited as Elaine pulled up the information he'd requested.
”Ah, here it is.” Her gaze drifted over the entries on the computer screen. ”It looks like it was paid in full by way of check on July eighth, a couple of days after the booking was made. Take a look.”
She swung the monitor toward him. Riley leaned across the counter and skimmed over the data. ”Do you keep a record of whose check it is?”
”No, but the receipt is generally made out to the drawer of the check unless there is a specific request otherwise.”
She opened a drawer and riffled through it, pulling out an old-fas.h.i.+oned receipt book. Flipping it open, she ran her finger down the various entries for July.
Riley stepped away and gazed around the office. The young girl was now off the phone and tapping on her keyboard, her honey-blond ponytail bobbing every time she turned her head.
”Ah, here it is. It's made out to Darryl Watson.” Her finger traced down to the signature at the bottom of the receipt and tapped it with one of her elongated nails. ”That's Isobel's signature. She might be able to tell you a bit more about it.”
Riley returned to the counter and looked at the page Elaine indicated. The girl with the ponytail swung around on her chair, her eyes bright with curiosity.
”Is something the matter, Mrs Spencer?”
”Isobel, this is Detective Munro. He's here about Rosemary Watson. She was booked to go on the Sun Princess, but apparently, she didn't show. No one's seen or heard from her for a while. Her family's getting worried.”
Clear blue eyes clouded with concern. ”Rosemary Watson. She's the lady in the wheelchair, isn't she?”
”Yes, she is,” Riley said. He turned and walked closer to the girl. ”So, you remember her?”
She scrunched up her nose and crinkled her forehead in the way young women do who haven't yet learned to worry about wrinkles. ”Not her; I never met her, but I remember her husband.”
A tingle of premonition-the kind he often got just before a case broke-skipped down his spine. ”Really? What do you remember about him?”
Isobel's lips widened into a smile, showing a neat set of colored braces. A blush stained her cheeks. She turned her gaze up to his. ”He was just so romantic. Planning a secret holiday getaway for his wife. It cost him a fortune, but he said she hadn't been on a real holiday for years and that she was worth every penny. He couldn't wait to surprise her with it.”
Riley frowned, recalling Watson's explanation about why Rosemary hadn't taken her cell phone. The cost of those calls seemed miniscule when compared to what he'd already spent.
Riley tugged out his notebook and pen and addressed Isobel again. ”When did you first meet Mr Watson?”
The girl repeated the scrunched-up-face look and bit her lip. ”Mm, I'm guessing it was July sixth. I'm sure he came in a couple of days before he paid. He came in to enquire about our holiday packages, when the next one was available-that sort of thing.”
”Did he tell you she was in a wheelchair?”
A dreamy expression crossed the young girl's face. ”Yes,” she smiled. ”That's what made it even more romantic. He paid for the very best stateroom on the s.h.i.+p. It cost a fortune, but it was the one most able to accommodate her disability.” Her eyes widened in delight. ”Isn't that about the most romantic thing you've ever heard?”