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“Excuse me, dear. Are you Abby?”
An older woman, clearly fighting the signs of ageing with botox and plastic surgery, stood beside her. She was dressed in an elegant pantsuit and her hair was platinum blonde. It was hard to tell if she was in her late sixties, or if she’d lived a particularly hard life.
“Yes, I'm Abby.” She didn't recognise the woman. “Are you a friend of my mother?”
“Yes, I happened to be in town and I heard the awful news. I just wanted to come by and extend my condolences.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind.”
“I don’t suppose I could use your bathroom?”
Abby could see Jenny and Holly about to descend upon her again. She put her glass of wine on the bench top. “Let me show you the way.”
She steered the woman through some guests heading towards the platters of food, and down the hallway. Abby knocked on the door, and when no one replied she opened it.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
The woman’s face split into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “My name is Stella. Stella Isobel.”
Chapter 30
There were too many people in the house for Zep’s liking. He got that people loved Rachel, that they were in shock and needed to grieve. But did it have to be here? Abby was wandering around like a lost sheep. He wanted to talk to her, but he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if she would even talk to him. Rachel’s little dog sat on the deck, looking out to sea. Occasionally he’d trot over to Zep, hang around until he got a scratch behind the ears, then go back to the deck.
The two uniformed cops out the front looked like rabbits caught in headlights. Zep wasn't sure how anyone expected them to stop a mob boss intent on getting in, other than shooting him dead on sight. It would save him or Dodge pulling the trigger in front of a dozen witnesses. At least they were spared the presence of Ricochet.
Dodge ended a phone call and joined Zep on the deck. “Isobel’s got a heavy guard around his place in Brunswick. Tosh reckons they’re all hired guns that will disappear when there’s no one paying their fee.”
Zep grunted. Turning his back on the ocean he scanned the house where the guests looked to have settled in for the long haul. “Is Mick in position?”
“Yeah, he found a sweet spot at the neighbour’s place. They must have converted the attic into a home office. Got some fancy windows in the roof that open up. Perfect for a sniper’s nest.”
“Where are the neighbours?” Zep could see Scott talking with a man and a woman, while his mother was making someone else a cup of tea. Henry was speaking with an older lady who was crying.
“Away. Mick’s got eyes on Peter, but no sign of Stella.”
“She’s probably out getting her hair done.” Zep’s eyes roamed the living area and kitchen again. He couldn’t see Abby.
Dodge snorted. “We should have got a place like this at Broulee.”
“We did get a place like this at Broulee.”
“It’s not as flash. The views aren’t as good.”
“Nowhere in Broulee is this flash,” said Zep. “Have you seen Abby?”
“She hasn’t come out here.”
Zep straightened up from the support post he was leaning on. “I can’t see her inside.”
Dodge shrugged. “Bathroom? Bedroom? I wouldn’t want to be stuck with all those fucking people.”
He had a point. Abby didn't look as if she’d been enjoying all this company. Still, he’d feel better when he laid eyes on her. Maybe Scott knew where she was.
The dog, who’d been sitting not far from he and Dodge, began to growl. His ears standing straight up as he stared out towards the foreshore.
“What’s his problem?” asked Dodge, straining to see what the dog was growling at.
Zep surveyed the house and saw nothing unusual. The dog stood up, his growl rising in volume. Zep stepped out onto the grass, Dodge followed. A couple of seagulls soared above the water. Further down the coast at the rock pools, a couple of figures stood with fishing rods.
