Until Death - Sandy Curtis

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sandals. If Conor had a needle and thread, she decided, she would sew them up so they looked neater.

      Conor was already in the kitchen when Libby walked in. He finished cutting mango into two bowls, then turned towards her. The serious look on his face warned her that her hopes were soon to be dashed.

      'I'm sorry, Libby,' he said gently, 'but the news isn't good. I phoned the previous owners this morning, and ... your grandfather is dead.'

      CHAPTER SIX

      Despair rocked Libby. Her grandfather had been her one hope, her lifeline in a sea of turmoil. She slumped onto a kitchen chair. Conor waited patiently as she tried to come to terms with the news.

      'What happened?' she finally asked.

      'Apparently he had a heart attack and was left with permanent damage. He arranged to sell this house so he could go and live with his son - your father, I presume. Two days after he signed the contract he had another heart attack, a fatal one this time.'

      'Like my father.' Libby felt an acute sense of loss. Until now she thought she still had family, someone she could trust, someone to help her make sense of her nightmares. Now she was truly alone.

      'What do you want to do now, Libby?'

      She looked up at Conor, and suddenly realised she had nowhere and no-one else she could turn to. Unless ...

      'Would you mind if I make a phone call?'

      'Phone's in the lounge room. Help yourself. I'll finish making breakfast.'

      Thomas uncurled from the brown leather lounge as Libby approached. He stretched, slowly and gracefully, large yellow eyes watching her with feigned disinterest. She looked around for the telephone, only partly registering the functional furniture, two almost over-filled bookcases, and lack of personal items that usually revealed something about their owner. The phone sat on a small table in the corner, notepad and pen beside it. She dialled directory information, and asked for the number of her mother's friend, Glenna McCabe, a fellow American who lived on the coast, several hours' drive north of Sydney.

      Libby's finger shook as she dialled the number. Was it only on Friday that Vanessa had left Sydney to visit Glenna? It already felt like a lifetime ago. And in that time her mother's life had probably been lost. The voice that answered had lost little of its Boston accent, and Libby suddenly realised she didn't have a clue how to ask about her mother without arousing suspicion.

      'Glenna, it's Libby here -'

      'Darling, how lovely to hear from you. How's Vanessa? I feel so bad about cutting her visit short, but with Mandy going into hospital so suddenly there was no choice, I had to look after the other children.'

      Her mother must have returned home early, Libby thought, which meant it was her body lying at the bottom of the stairs. Her stomach heaved and she gulped down the threatening nausea.

      'The baby is beautiful,' Glenna continued, 'but grandmothers are allowed to say that, aren't they, dear?'

      'Oh. Yes, Glenna, I'm sure they are. Please give Mandy my congratulations.'

      'I'll do that, dear. Is Vanessa there?'

      'No,' Libby heard the squeak of panic in her voice, 'she's shopping in the city. I just phoned to ... ask about the baby.'

      Libby barely heard Glenna's next remark. She quickly said goodbye and severed the connection. It was true. Vanessa was dead. Until now Libby had vacillated between hoping that what she had seen was only a terrible dream, and sheer terror that it had been reality, but now she had to face the fact that she may have killed her own mother.

      Sleek fur rubbed against her hand as Thomas curled up beside her. She stroked his head, grateful for the contact. She had never felt so alone. Or so desperate.

      She had to get help. But who from? She'd been too busy in her short time back in Australia to make friends. Except for Wesley, her father's right-hand man who was keeping the company going while she learned the extent of her inheritance. She knew Wesley wanted more than friendship, but he had respected her wishes to keep their relationship on a 'friends only' basis. He was good-looking, charming, well liked by all the employees, and patient with her lack of business acumen. He was such a likeable guy that some days she wished she could feel more for him, but it just wasn't there.

      Although afraid of putting herself in reach of the men who wanted to kill her, Libby knew now that there was no choice, she would have to go to the police. Perhaps Wesley could arrange a good lawyer for her.

      Once more she rang directory information and once more her hand shook as she put the handset to her ear and dialled the number. An answering machine clicked in after the fourth ring. As she listened to Wesley's voice requesting her to leave a message, horror engulfed her. The tone was different, but the inflection was the same, and she trembled as the confusion in her mind began to clear.

      It was his voice.

      The voice of the man who had said she'd killed her mother.

      Rashod punched numbers into his mobile phone as he moved to a quieter part of a dim, smoky bar several blocks from Sydney's Central Station. He was paying well for information that could lead him to his prey, and he wasn't pleased with the delay in receiving the telephone transcripts.

      When he'd found out about the existence of Pascual Recio, he was sure this was the clue he needed. Moving his operation to Australia wasn't a problem. Since the anti-gun laws were enacted, the demand for black market arms had escalated, and Rashod had a reliable reputation, even though he now operated under another name.

      He wasn't surprised at hearing that the doctor had received a call to which he had responded in Spanish, he knew Recio had several Spanish patients, but he was angry at having to wait because the translator was away until tomorrow.

      He spoke rapidly, offering more money, saying that if the security guard could not find out more about the circumspect Doctor Recio, he would have to hire someone more competent. The listener quickly acquiesced, but Rashod resolved to give him only one more day. After so many years, he was sure his prey was almost within his reach, and his need for revenge could no longer be suppressed.

      The thunder of an afternoon storm rumbled in through the doors. He rubbed at his chin, annoyed at the need to be clean-shaven in order to suit his new identity, but perversely pleased at how different it made him look.

      Mal glanced up and down the corridor before slipping a key into the lock and letting himself into Wesley's apartment. As usual, he had made sure no-one had seen him enter the building. He shrugged his jacket from his beefy shoulders, relishing the coolness of air-conditioning on his sweat-damp shirt.

      Wesley walked out from the kitchen, started in surprise at seeing Mal and slopped coffee over the side of his mug. 'I wish you'd let me know when you come in,' he grumbled, and walked back into the kitchen. He came out with a cloth, and mopped the coffee from the floor. 'That better not leave a stain,' he muttered, frowning at Mal.

      Mal followed him back to the kitchen. 'You're twitchy,' he said. He took a stubby from the fridge, opened it, and flicked the top onto the bench. He watched as Wesley picked up the top, wiped beer spots off the brilliant white of the bench, and put the top into the bin.

      'Of course I'm twitchy. All our plans have gone wrong and we can't find Libby.' Wesley began to pace the slate floor. 'Where the hell could she have gone? She doesn't know anyone in Australia. She can't leave the country. So where is she?'

      'Brisbane.'

      'What?'

      'My contact just let me know she caught the last plane to Brisbane on Sunday night.' Mal tilted the stubby at Wesley. 'So who does she know in Brisbane? Friend? Relative?'

      'I have no idea.'

      'Then you'd better think about it.' He wandered out into the living room and looked at the harbour twinkling in the sunlight. 'We have to find her before she goes to the police. Did her old man have any relatives in Brisbane?'

      'No-one

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