The Problem with Perfect Page 12

  “I’m sorry you have to go through that. But I’m sure you’ll do what’s right.”

  He gave her a grateful smile. Between the coffee, the medication and resting, the pressure in his temple was slowly alleviating like air being let out of a tyre.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked.

  Finn’s stomach rumbled almost on cue.

  She grinned. “I’ll make something. Do you have any trigger foods?”

  What were trigger foods? “I don’t think so,” he offered cautiously, so as to not appear an idiot. Trigger foods?

  “Leave it with me,” she said and disappeared into the kitchen.

  He rested his head back down and looked around the room. It was a beautiful room, with armchairs, a soft-looking rug under the marble coffee table, and a chandelier hanging from the roof. But it wasn’t the most comfortable room. It was hard to imagine relaxing in here. He crossed his arms and rolled his neck back. Despite his hunger, he found himself dozing off.

  “Finn?”

  He pulled his eyes open. How long had he slept for? Had he snored? Zara used to complain of his snoring.

  “Are you still hungry?”

  “Yes, thanks.” He clambered to his feet, embarrassed by being caught napping on her sofa. Unprofessional to say the least, but this damned migraine. They were the bane of his existence at the moment.

  He followed her through to the dining room where she had set up two places at the table complete with cutlery and linen napkins.

  She sat down, and he followed her lead.

  He looked down at the plate. It looked like a meal you would find served on huge white plates in one of those expensive, glamorous restaurants. The sort of thing that was a something, resting on a bed of something else, drizzled with some other thing. Far too over-the-top for him – he preferred a burger or a good pub steak and chips.

  A small piece of salmon had been pan-fried and it was surrounded by baby spinach leaves, slices of avocado, red capsicum and crunched-up nuts. The whole thing was dusted with herbs and looked as if it had been ‘plated up’ on one of those reality television cooking programmes that Zara used to be addicted to.

  “You made this?” he asked.

  She poised her fork over it and looked at him. “Where do you think I got it from?”

  “This looks like fine dining. I was expecting an egg on toast.”

  “Eggs are a trigger food for many people with migraines.” She speared a piece of avocado and brought it to her mouth. “You would be best to avoid them.”

  He picked up his fork and started prodding at the salmon. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Might be worth checking out.” She gave a little nod. “It’s important to look after yourself.” She looked back down at her meal and he wondered if she was thinking about Julian and his heart attack.

  Finn continued to eat. Julian’s heart attack didn’t sit right with him. He’d read the reports, and there was no sign of anything suspicious. There’d been no drugs in his system, and no known heart defects. He’d always seemed fit.

  Stress? Perhaps. He had a busy job and perhaps any secrets he had were weighing on him. He’d always suspected stress as a leading factor in his own father’s death.

  But still, with Julian, something didn’t quite add up.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Marigold

  “Hi!” Rose practically bounced through the door of the café. “Dad’s running late so I thought I’d come down and say hi!”

  Was she being babysat? Her dad had wanted to meet for coffee and had suggested someplace near D-Line, but not D-Line. Was he so keen to keep her from the building that he’d send Rose down to watch her, in case she was going to try to sneak in?

  With Kendall still away and Rose clearly enjoying her hot desk, Marigold would find out what she could.

  “Have you heard about my corporate dancing project at Fox & Grey?” Rose asked, putting her bag on the table and looking at Marigold with shining eyes.

  “Corporate dancing?”

  “Yes! It’s for team-building and it unleashes creative power!” She sounded like one of those loud, excitable hucksters who presented marketing seminars and used lots of trendy, powerful-sounding words that meant very little.

  Marigold rolled her eyes. “It sounds ridiculous. Who’s dancing? The staff?”

  “It’s not ridiculous.” Rose looked serious. “Everyone does different dancing styles together to find cohesion and team rhythm. It helps for team-work and breaking down barriers in the workplace.”

  Yes, buzz-words. Rose spoke fluent corporate-nonsense-speak.

  “How does Frederick feel about this?” Marigold was surprised her brother was allowing his employees to be herded into a conference room to learn how to do the Twist. Things were a tad casual at Fox & Grey for Marigold’s liking, but this seemed a bridge too far.

  “He asked me to send him a video of it. Said he’s sad he’s not there to do it too.”

  Rose was so serious that Marigold actually couldn’t bear to break it to her that Frederick was clearly having a laugh at the whole thing from the safety of Bowral where he wouldn’t need to participate in the team tango. “I bet he is.”

  “You should try it at D-Line.”

  Marigold bristled. Not only was she banned from her job, but she had Rose (of all people) now suggesting ideas for D-Line. She cleared her throat. “Now, Rose. I don’t think—”

  “You know, your employees sit at their desks or in their trucks a lot,” Rose interrupted, thoughtfully. “It would be good for them to move around a bit more.” She waved her arms around as if to demonstrate what moving looked like.

  Yes, truck drivers in their fifties dancing, that’d go down well. Knowing her luck, she’d probably end up with someone slipping a disc and have an Occupational Health and Safety claim against them. And where would Rose be when HR was dealing with that drama? Probably onto her next thing of corporate sewing or corporate scuba diving or whatever other hare-brained scheme she’d come up with.

  “You don’t work at D-Line,” she reminded Rose, through clenched teeth. “You said you didn’t want to work there, that it was boring.”

  “It is a bit. The winery is more fun,” Rose agreed.

  “My favourite girls.” Their father sat down next to them.

  “I’m hearing about the corporate dancing happening at Fox & Grey,” Marigold informed him. “Rose has just suggested it for D-Line. Glad to see you’re focusing on the important parts of the business in my absence.”

  Peter shot Marigold a look that she recognised as being ‘Be nice to your sister’. “No plans at the moment.”

  “Maybe I can look into it when I get back.” Marigold raised her eyebrows. “When I’m allowed back.”

  Rose looked brightly around the table. “Are we looking forward to the Gala?” she asked, in one of the least subtle attempts that Marigold had ever seen to change the subject.

  “Always.” Peter smiled at Rose and looked over to Marigold. “You both should stay at Mulberry for a few days for it. We’d love to have you there.”

  “That’d be so much fun. I think Mum is trying to set me up with some doctor whose mother she knows from some opera committee.” Rose scrunched up her face. “Can you ask her to stop trying to set me up with people, please, Dad?”

  He nodded as Rose fussed around with her handbag and said she had to be back at the office for a conference call, disappearing from the café after hugging both of them. They watched as she left. It was almost like a force field of energy around her, leaving the café seeming somewhat flat once she’d gone. It was something special. Marigold knew that she didn’t make people feel that way. And certainly not at the moment, when her presence was so unacceptable at D-Line.

  “How are you?” Her father looked at her.

  “I’m better, Dad. I’m ready to come back to work.”

  “It hasn’t been very long.”

  It felt like an eternity. “It’s been weeks and week
s.”

  Peter crossed his arms. “The day after Julian died.”

  “Yes?” Marigold looked at her father. Was that a question or a statement?

  “That was a tough day,” he said. His voice was cautious. Julian might have said he was leading the witness.

  “It was. I didn’t sleep at all after the police arrived and there was so much to do.”

  “To do, yes.” Peter’s voice was low. “What did you do that day?”

  Why was he asking about this? The day after had been awful. She’d not slept, and the whole day was simply dealing with arrangements and telling people what had happened and having police in her house. Hardly pleasant.

  “I spoke to the police, I rang Julian’s parents in Canada, I rang the funeral director… I’m not sure what this has to do with anything though. When can I come back to work?

  His eyes drilled into hers. “Soon.”

  “Is Jonathan looking after the Adelaide deal? He’s good and everything, but you know, I can still brief him. Ray is so prickly at times but we go way back.”

  Peter shook his head. “Jonathan isn’t working it. I’m personally overseeing the Adelaide deal myself.”

  She tilted her head. “You are? I thought you hired a management consultant?”

  “Marigold, it’s fine. It’s all under control. Now, when do you want to arrive at Mulberry before the Gala? I’ll tell your mother so she can have your old room ready. Do you want to drive or should we send a car?”

  ***

  It was so frustrating. She thought she’d have been able to convince him that she was ready, but he was being so stubborn. She curled up on the sofa – it was already 1 am and sleep was once again looking unlikely.

  Her phone beeped and she wondered if it was Finn with some news. But it was Frederick.

  What colour coffee machine, do you reckon?

  She looked up at the screen. She’d not even noticed but the infomercials had switched from cleaning products to a coffee machine.

  I have a coffee machine. And an excellent one at that – she didn’t need one from the home shopping network.

  I do too, but if you were going to get one, which colour? Play along!

  I like the black. It would go with her kitchen well.

  Boring! Red looks good. Do you think I would be good at selling stuff on this channel? Maybe I could flog wine that way?

  At least you could do the overnight shift. You’re up anyway.

  True. I think I’d be really good at it.

  An inflated sense of importance hadn’t abandoned him. I don’t think you are tanned enough. These people are all really tanned. Heard about your corporate dancing. She added a laughing emoji.

  Crap idea isn’t it? I’m glad I’m not there for that. But have Renee making a video for the Christmas party. I’d better plan a visit soon before my employees revolt, hadn’t I? Smooth things over a bit. Take them out for some nice lunch or buy them new cars or something to stop them from killing Rose?

  I would. He needed to sort this mess out quickly, she agreed. She gave a wistful sigh, and added, I wish I could go to work.

  Still banned?

  Still banned. Unfortunately.

  How are you coping?

  I miss work. She let out another sigh, added a sad-face emoji and pressed Send. She really, truly did miss work. She felt so lost at the moment, with each day so pointless other than this search for why Julian had the apartment.

  Her phone beeped again. Yeah… but I meant how are you coping?

  She looked up. He meant Julian, didn’t he? Frederick had often teased her that D-Line was the love of her life. She’d always just thought he was being a bit of a smart-arse, but perhaps he was right.

  A pang of guilt hit her. Was that why Julian had sought refuge at the apartment? Had he felt tired of coming second to a transport and logistics company?

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Finn

  Thanks to a bit of digging, and some luck, Finn had been able to trace the transfers into Julian’s streamline account from another account. It wasn’t dissimilar to the keys in the storage cage from a few days before. A two-step processes. The key that revealed the keys. The account that hid another account.

  By why go to so much trouble?

  He was making inroads with Julian’s phone too. It was a tedious process, given how many calls he made, but at least he was able to tick off the legitimate ones. He’d requested the phone records too. They would be good to check against Julian’s phone. It was easy to delete text messages and call history on a phone, but impossible to do it on a phone bill.

  He turned back to Julian’s accounts he’d dug up. There was something off here. Amounts of $5,000 being withdrawn. He tallied up the cash withdrawals and was checking them again to see if his calculations were right when his phone rang. He glanced at the screen. Tamsyn.

  He exhaled. He knew what she wanted, and he didn’t blame her. He answered and they exchanged some general pleasantries before the topic turned somewhere he didn’t expect.

  “I spoke to Zara,” she said with some caution in her voice.

  “How is she?” he asked. There was a slight discomfort in his stomach. Did he still love Zara? No, he shook it off. It was more likely guilt over what had happened with her.

  “She’s good. She loves her job.”

  Zara was a nurse, and a good one. She was one of those caring, nurturing people for whom the work was a vocation, not a career. It didn’t matter about the poor pay or the unsocial hours or the pain she endured seeing truly awful things, she lived to serve other people. It was one of the reasons she’d been so beautiful. Love made her light up a room. He wasn’t sure what to say. He hated the fact that he’d hurt her.

  “Is she still in London?” He figured that was a good question to ask.

  “Yes. Finn, she’s getting married. She said she wanted to call you but I said it might be better if I tell you.”

  He swallowed. “I’m happy for her.”

  “Are you?” Tamsyn sounded uncertain.

  “I ended things. She’s better off without me.”

  “Oh Finn,” Tamsyn sounded wary. “It wasn’t that simple.”

  “Look, I’ve got to go, Tamsyn, but if you speak to Zara, tell her congratulations from me. She deserves every happiness.”

  “And so do you, Finn. And Finn, please think about the inquest.”

  “It’s all I can think of,” he said. “Bye Tamsyn,” he added before hanging up the phone. He stood up. He had to get out. That wasn’t a great conversation to listen to. His ex was getting married. Not that he wasn’t happy for her, but it brought back too many painful memories. He needed a distraction. It was time to ask Marigold about these strange transactions.

  ***

  “But so much? What was it for?” Marigold stared in disbelief as he outlined the chain of bank accounts and the clear cash withdrawals. $5,000 at a time, ten times. She looked up at Finn. “Why this cash? Drugs? Women? What happened to it?”

  “There was no evidence of either at the apartment.”

  “What about stuff for the apartment? We couldn’t figure out how he paid for the sofa or the television.”

  “This adds up far beyond a few pieces of furniture. Besides, there are other transactions on here for utilities and things like that. This money was in cash for a reason.”

  Marigold nodded. “I’m totally confused. I don’t understand these payments.”

  “Could he have been helping someone out, perhaps?” Finn suggested. This seemed generous, and surely he would have told his wife?

  Marigold seemed to consider this. “He was very caring. He took pity on clients – I don’t know, maybe there was one who was on hard times and this was his way of helping. But I don’t understand why he would hide it from me. Anything we donate to charity comes from our normal accounts. He’d never hidden anything like that from me before.”

  “It’s a lot of money.” Or was it for them? Probably not, based on thei
r incomes.

  “Oh Finn. This is all just so confusing.” Her face crumpled.

  He was sorry he had to bring her this news, but it was like a jigsaw puzzle – they needed to collect the individual pieces, no matter how painful, until they had a clear picture. That picture might end up being completely innocent – Julian helping a friend or a client – or it could be more sinister.

  Was he being blackmailed? Maybe by a jilted lover he’d been having an affair with? There was no evidence of an affair, but perhaps a one-night stand could have occurred that had landed him in hot water? Bribery, perhaps? Could he have been bribing judges to achieve the outcome he wanted? But was that common? Would a judge risk their entire career and reputation for a few grand here and there? That seemed unlikely. A million interesting possibilities swirled around Finn’s mind. But his thoughts were interrupted by Marigold’s inquisitive voice.

  “Finn?” Marigold asked, pushing the papers aside and straightening them into a neat pile. “People often say that police are married to the job. Is that true?”

  What a strange question. “Some. Like any job, I guess?”

  “Were you?”

  “I wouldn’t say I was married to it, but I was committed. I did like it.” He liked the routine, the comradery, the feeling that he was making a difference. They had all been positive aspects. But he didn’t live for it. Simon had – he was one who couldn’t imagine doing anything else – whereas for Finn, it had felt more like a job.

  She cocked her head. “Until the siege?”

  “Didn’t help.”

  “When you left, did it feel like you were in mourning?” She ran a fingernail over her bench, her brow furrowed as she was clearly thinking of something other than his career.

  “I was mourning Simon, and I missed it, but no. I needed to start another chapter.”

  “I’m mourning my husband but also my job. I feel like I’ve lost two husbands.”