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  “Anything, really.” Paige was reluctant to mention their first case had been to locate a missing cat. She eyed Hazel. “Why, do you need—?”

  “Perhaps, yes. I may need to hire you. I’ll get back to you,” she said mysteriously.

  Paige grinned. A potential new case, just like that.

  WHEN SOPHIE ENDED THE call she paused for a moment, resisting the urge to clap her hands with excitement. Wanting to find Paige to tell her the good news, she stood quickly and clumsily, hitting the edge of the desk with her hip and knocking her phone to the floor. It clattered noisily as it slid under the desk.

  “Dammit.” She crouched down and tentatively groped along the dusty floor under the desk, hoping her hand wouldn’t land on anything other than a metal oblong object.

  “Sophie?”

  She jerked upright, smacking the back of head on the underside of the desk.

  “Ow!”

  “Christ, are you alright?”

  Sophie straightened slowly, blinking to clear the spots in front of her eyes as she continued to rub the back of her head. But when she saw who was there, she jerked completely upright. “Roman!”

  Roman Leconte, a respected detective in the Auckland city police department, had come to be known to S & S Investigations when he had also been involved the case of the missing Polly Dixon. Since then, Sophie had tried and failed to come up with both a reason and the nerve to contact Roman, but here he was, right in front of her.

  He smiled, that crooked half-smile of his, with one side of his mouth tugging up, eventually pulling a seemingly reluctant other side up too.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Oh, yes. Fine.” Sophie blushed and raised her hand to her cheek, then dropped it down and, just for something to do, picked up the cup of coffee in front of her. Forgetting it’d gone cold she took a large mouthful and immediately grimaced, holding the unpleasant liquid in her mouth indecisively until her eyes started to water. Finally, she made the inexplicable decision to raise the cup to her mouth again and eject the coffee slowly back into the cup.

  Roman watched her, his eyebrows creased together as his smile threatened to erupt into laughter. Sophie set down the cup and waved her hand, as if to say she was fine, and tried to tuck her hair behind her ear, before remembering it was pulled up in a high ponytail.

  “How are you?” she said finally, meeting his eyes. In that moment of connection time seemed to suspend—for just a second—and then Sophie smiled, a spontaneous and completely genuine grin that she didn’t seem to have control over.

  Why did she feel like she’d been inhaling adhesives whenever he was around?

  “I’m good, thanks,” Roman replied.

  A pinkish hue was spreading across his neck. Sophie, noticing this, felt her own cheeks warm. She’d been a little dumbstruck from the moment she’d met Roman, but it wasn’t that he was incredibly good-looking or anything—although he was attractive, with olive skin, brown button eyes, and close-cropped brown hair. It was his solid, reassuring presence, his kindness, and the way he was so calmly masterful. He seemed to be a real man, capable of doing actual stuff, and made everyone else she’d ever dated suddenly seem like immature boys. In fact, they mostly were. Sophie tended to make poor choices in this department—her intelligence and her behavioural analysis skills did not seem to extend to her romantic life—so her crush on Roman was somewhat of an exception.

  Roman cleared his throat. “I, uh,” he paused, looking around the office. “Is Paige out?”

  “She’s just across the hall,” Sophie said, trying to ignore the flip-flopping of her stomach. Roman wanted to see her alone?

  “Ah.” Roman dropped his voice. “I wanted to talk to you about her father.”

  Sophie nodded, letting the flames of her desire abate at the mention of the death of Paige’s dad. Terry Garnet had died during a fishing trip four years ago, and while it was considered a cut and dried accident, during the wrap-up of the Polly Dixon case Roman had told Sophie he wasn’t altogether convinced of this. But Paige and her father had been very close, and even now she was still grieving for him, so mentioning this suspicion to Paige and potentially opening up the wound of his death was not something Sophie would do without good reason.

  Roman’s phone rang. He glanced at it then sent the call to voicemail. “Maybe we could grab a coffee some time? I’m going to have a look at the old case files and see what I can find. We can go over things once I’ve done that? Just you and me... obviously.”

  Sophie’s stomach flipped again. “Okay.”

  Roman nodded. “So... you’re interested in, uh, helping me figure this out?” He lifted his left hand and scratched his head.

  Sophie noticed, again, the slight indent where a wedding ring used to be. He clearly had been married—recently enough to have a mark—but how long ago?

  Was Roman bouncing around in rebound city?

  “Yes, I am.” Sophie nodded firmly. Of this she was completely certain. “Text me?” she added, handing him one of the business cards she had on her desk.

  Roman took it and smiled. “Great. I’ll be in touch.”

  Sophie watched as he turned to leave, noting the way his jacket bunched a little around the tops of his arms and upper back, and his trousers seemed a little snug around his backside. Once she was sure he had gone, Sophie closed the office door and returned to her computer. Then, unable to contain the surge of happiness pushing up through her chest, put on CeCe Peniston’s classic nineties song Finally and turned it up as loud as it could go. Sophie twirled and gyrated and shimmied with abandon until she tripped on her laptop cord, staggered across the room and knocked over the pot plant.

  Paige opened the door. “Sophie, what are you doing?”

  “Nothing, whatever.” Sophie gave Paige a sheepish smile as she dusted the soil from her hands. “Guess what? That phone call I took might be a new client.”

  2

  Paige and Sophie took seats at one of the empty tables on the far side of Galbraith’s, the pub across the road. This mid-week catch-up—the Wednesday Wine & Whine—had begun during their PhD studies, and even though they had less to complain about now that they were their own bosses and didn’t have supervisors on their backs and deadlines stressing them out, they’d recently decided to resurrect the ritual.

  Galbraith’s looked like a traditional English pub but served gastro-pub type food and drinks at Auckland prices—patrons of local pubs in the UK would have been horrified at what people paid for a pint—and though it wasn’t really Paige or Sophie’s normal style, it was convenient, and their triple-cooked fries were virtually irresistible.

  “Okay,” Paige said, returning to their table in the corner with a glass of red wine for each of them. “Tell me about the new client.”

  “The call was from this guy Josh Spencer, and it’s a corporate job. They want psychometric testing.”

  This was one of the services they’d listed on the S & S website, along with everything else short of changing lightbulbs—neither Sophie nor Paige were willing to put their hand up for such a practical task. They weren’t specialists in this area, but Paige thought that between the two of them they were certainly capable of conducting a few tests.

  Sophie gave Paige a rundown of her conversation as Paige nodded enthusiastically. Working in a corporate environment was a different kind of gig, but it was worth a lot of money, and while their bank account was looking healthy at the moment, it wouldn’t last long.

  “So,” Paige said once Sophie had finished. “What is it, exactly.”

  Sophie looked at Paige in alarm.

  “I mean, I know what psychometric testing is in general, but do you know what actual tests we would administer?”

  “Working on it,” Sophie said. “I already downloaded some stuff. I had to buy a programme... software... but it wasn’t very expensive,” she paused, checking that Paige wasn’t reacting badly, “and if this goes well, this could become, like, our bread and butter. Our Ca
sh Cow, so to speak.”

  Sophie had taken a couple of marketing papers early in her undergraduate degree and she’d hated them with a passion, but for some reason she’d been unable to shake such key marketing terms from her long-term memory.

  “I am one hundred percent on board,” Paige said. “We can use jobs like this to pay all our bills, and then we have the financial freedom to investigate more exciting cases when they come up.”

  Paige had watched almost every detective or private investigator movie and TV show ever made and the agency she’d envisaged was definitely less corporate and more detective noir.

  “When’s the meeting?” Paige asked.

  “Friday, three o’clock. It’s in the S & S calendar.” Sophie hadn’t needed to check with Paige before setting this up. Not only did they have a shared Google calendar, they currently had zero other clients or commitments. After the successful completion of their first two cases, they hadn’t been as inundated with work as they had hoped.

  “And you said you might have a lead as well?” Sophie said.

  Paige told Sophie about Hazel, their new neighbour, then added, “It’s only a maybe—she was reluctant to talk about it—but she said she’d come and chat to us when she was certain she wanted to go down that route. Her words.”

  Sophie nodded. “But still exciting to possibly have two new clients at the same time. We might finally be able to pay Leo to do something.”

  Leo was their IT consultant (AKA hacker for hire), an arrangement that had been set up after he was revealed by Paige to be the Remuera Pet Napper. Paige had let him off the hook because she’d immediately recognised the potential value of his computer skills for investigations. Especially if he was prepared to engage in some less-than-totally-legal activities. Leo, swinging in the breeze a bit and having already taken a real shine to both Paige and Sophie, had jumped at the opportunity to work with them.

  “I can’t imagine we’re going to need him on a corporate job,” Paige said. “But maybe for whatever Hazel wants us to do.”

  “Yeah. I feel bad we still can’t offer him any paid work.”

  “He’s still working at the DVD rental store, so that will pay his rent, right?”

  For the past six years Leo had worked part time at an indie DVD and video rental store in Dominion Road. That such a rental store was still in business was somewhat incredible, but there seemed to be enough people around who liked that sort of thing to support its continued existence.

  Sophie shrugged. “How much could that possibly pay?”

  LEO, IN FACT, WAS TOTALLY skint, and as a last resort—short of asking his parents for another ‘bridging loan’—was currently in the process of asking his high school friend Barrett to help him out.

  Barrett was doing pretty well for himself, at least, compared to Leo. He was making good coin in his job as a junior analyst and had virtually no expenses to speak of because Barrett was the stereotypical gamer nerd, living off the spoils of his parents in their basement while indulging in an unhealthy obsession with the female characters (and a couple of the male ones, Leo had noticed), in World of Warcraft.

  “What do you say, Bar?” Leo said, aware his voice sounded weird. He was trying for a blokey tone but he didn’t seem entirely in control of his voice-box. “You’ve got some spare cash, don’t you?”

  “Affirmative,” Barrett said, keeping his eyes fixed on the computer screen.

  Leo waited, watching Barrett’s thumbs move on the controller with incredible agility. Even in the absence of any outward indication, such as a facial expression or even a gesture, Leo could tell Barrett was enjoying this.

  “I do, in fact, have some extra cash-ola,” Barrett intoned, his eyes still on the screen.

  “Uh-huh?” Leo said hopefully, but Barrett did not speak for another couple of minutes until finally, he turned to face Leo.

  “I’ll hook you up,” he said, lifting his chin and squinting at Leo, trying to seem cool and nonchalant, or like some sort of gangster, Leo thought. He sometimes wondered why he and Barrett were still friends. He could be such a dork.

  “Great. Awesome, thanks.” Leo, his palms still sweaty from the tense exchange, stood up, wiping his hands on the legs of his jeans. “I’d better get going. So, can we meet up soon to sort it?”

  Barrett eyed Leo, holding the moment for longer than necessary, then nodded.

  Leo left with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Barrett had clearly loved wielding that power, even for a short amount of time, which didn’t bode well for his behaviour once Leo owed him money, but what choice did he have?

  AFTER SAYING GOODNIGHT to Sophie, Paige did not go directly home to the Mt Albert bungalow she shared with her partner Tim, she instead went to see her mother, with whom she was somewhat surprisingly enjoying a bit of a détente—a hiatus from their normally antagonistic relationship.

  “Mum?” Paige called.

  The house was quiet.

  Paige moved through the large villa, eventually finding her mother in the back garden, attacking what Paige could only assume were weeds. Alice was sweating, rather profusely, Paige noticed, something she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen her do before. Alice presented as a small, contained, and immaculately groomed package, and Paige could understand why Sophie had confessed—after a few wines—that she couldn’t imagine Paige’s mother ever producing any sort of bodily emission.

  “Oh, Hello. Did you need something?” Alice sat back on her heels and pulled off her gardening gloves. She glanced briefly at the darkening sky as she stood up. “It really is getting a little out of control,” she said, waving her hand at the garden. “I think I’m going to have to employ someone to help.”

  Paige followed her mother back into the kitchen and hovered at the counter while Alice washed her hands and retrieved a bag of fresh Homestyle Chicken soup from the fridge. “Oh,” Alice paused, “are you here for dinner? We could make this work for two with a bit of a bread and a salad.”

  But Paige remained silent, standing near the counter, struck by how solitary this scene was. She turned to take in the living room, suddenly acutely aware of the large emptiness of this house.

  Was her mother lonely?

  “What’s wrong?” Alice said.

  “Uh, nothing...” Despite their recent friendliness, Paige didn’t want to ask if her mother was suffering from loneliness. Good lord—what if she wanted to live with her and Tim?

  “You know... stuff,” Paige added, waving her hand dismissively. “S & S stuff.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Alice offered a tight-lipped smile.

  Paige’s mother hadn’t shown much interest in her doctoral studies, but now that she was pursuing the investigations business, Paige thought her mother was probably wishing she would return to the relative prestige of academia. And as much as S & S Investigations was a way for Paige to feel closer to her father, it was also a way to irritate her mother.

  “And what about that business with Richard?” Alice asked.

  “Oh, uh...”

  Paige’s relationship with her doctoral supervisor had been uncomplicated... until she graduated. Now, they seemed to be progressing toward becoming arch nemeses at a healthy clip.

  “He’s away. There’s a bunch of data I gathered that hasn’t been analysed yet and he wants to write a paper or two, but that will have to wait until he gets back.”

  “Can’t you do it without him?”

  “I think he wants to do it without me.”

  Richard had emailed to say he was off overseas, and the way he’d phrased his comments about the data had set off alarm bells for Paige. Even though she’d left academia and was firmly committed to S & S, there was no way she’d let him cut her out of the accolades she deserved. And any such accolades could be used to get traction for S & S. If she was a famous memory expert, people might start flocking to their doors, happy to pay handsomely for her expertise.

  “Well, then.” Alice held up the soup. “So that’s a no for dinner? You’re
sure?”

  Paige shook her head. “Sorry, I’ve got to dash, Tim’s already got dinner on.”

  “How nice for you.”

  As Paige waved goodbye and turned away she suppressed both an eye-roll and a little flicker of guilt.

  SOPHIE LET HERSELF into the airy and beach-handy Pt Chevalier cottage she shared with her flatmates Victoria and Myra and kicked off her shoes at the door. She moved past her bedroom down the hall to the living room.

  “Hey,” Victoria said, tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder and grabbing the TV remote, giving Sophie a small smile as she clutched it to her chest, as a three-year-old might do when they realise they could be forced to share their toys.

  Sophie managed a tight smile in return, hovering in the living room as she ran an internal check to see whether she was up to hanging out with her flatmates this evening.

  “So, the landlord is coming by next week,” Victoria announced into the silence. “The letter is on the table. She wanted to come on Friday, but I got her to switch it. I thought it was appropriate, being the lease-holder and all.” Victoria’s expression was both knowing and beneficent.

  Victoria held the lease to the flat and she liked to remind Sophie and Myra of this on a regular basis, as if it was such an arduous and onerous task of which only she was capable, and in carrying it out, she should be afforded many privileges and rights. Not to mention Victoria was of the opinion that she, at the ripe old age of thirty-one and a (self-described) PR maven, was the utmost authority on any subject you could throw at her.