Page 5

ōhope Beach, Bay of Plenty, New Zealand

“Here she is. What a treat,” Dad said weakly from his hospital bed.

Wrinkles were etched into his sunken cheeks, and his skin was ashen. We only met up once a year, but usually, his moon-shaped face was happily flushed. My heart wrenched to see him lying deep within a jittery web of tubes and beeping machines displaying inexplicable numbers.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when this happened.” Hugging him was out of the question because of the tubes, but I clutched at his hand.

What’s so bad that it’s kept me from my parents?

How could I have left it so long? Seeing him shrunken, aged, and vulnerable unwound a painful guilt.

A burning sensation crawled up my throat.

Do something, make the calls, fix this. But I felt utterly helpless.

I almost wished he’d been angry I wasn’t here for him. His joy at seeing me was worse somehow.

“He’s just happy you’re home.” Mum looked bleak in one of her beige frocks, her auburn hair scraped back.

A neat stack of paperwork lay on his dinner tray, and freshly ironed pajamas were draped over a chair in the corner, little artifacts of my parents’ roles in their marriage.

Dad paid the bills—he must have insisted Mum bring them in for him to deal with—while Mum cooked and cleaned and dealt with his clothes.

She even laid out a pressed outfit for him on the bed every morning.

“I missed you guys.” Swallowing hard, I took Mum’s hand too.

“Your old dad hasn’t gone yet.” His lips stretched into a heartbreakingly crooked smile. “This is just a wake-up call. No more of your mum’s shortbread, though.”

I heard a shuffle behind me. “Stuff that for a joke, mate. What’ll you have for morning smoko? Life’s not worth living—may as well cark it after all.”

My brain reeled at the voice. Oh God, no. Please—not him . I froze. If I didn’t turn around, he wouldn’t be real.

Oblivious, Mum and Dad burst out laughing, Dad with a wheeze, Mum with relief. “I’ll have to treat myself to your electric pūhā instead,” Dad joked, clearly referring to weed.

It was him. I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t. I spun around.

No wonder I hadn’t seen him when I walked in. He’d been standing almost behind the door. Waiting for me.

I tried to breathe.

There was no breath to find.

I tried to speak.

There were no words.

He smiled at me. A big, beautiful, skin-crawling smile.

As a journalist, I’d dealt with men who were like Darth Vader—black holes who sucked all the life out of the room.

But this man was the opposite. He filled every corner with his chilling blue eyes and teeth-baring grin.

He shook his damp blond hair, frighteningly alive against the drab walls and the bitter smell of bleach.

After sauntering across the room, he slid behind Mum, his orange board shorts faded by the sun, his tanned surfer arms rippling from his tank top.

His feet squeaked on the shiny floor, calling my attention to them.

Scrunching his toes, he clicked his jandal against his heel as though summoning me to speak.

“What are you doing here?” My words came out rough and barbed with history. “Outside, the sign says, ‘Family visitors only.’”

I was focused on Snow, but I heard Mum gasp.

“Snow”—Dad turned to me with a crease in his forehead—“ is family.” Mum looked away, mortified.

Snow flashed me a triumphant grin. “I’m below Fred in the family hierarchy,” he said, referring to Mum and Dad’s dog. “But that’s still bloody high up.”

“Snow, you’re such a jolly dag. Don’t make me laugh again.” Dad chuckled. “I’ll pop out all my tubes.”

Mum’s face edged back to us with a cautious smile, like it was safe to join the conversation again.

“You won’t get your money back from me if you kick the bucket, old man.” Snow folded his hands over his head, his hips thrusting in a slow, slightly obscene swoop, practicing a surfing move.

“What does he mean?” My head slowly tipped toward Dad. “About the money?”

Snow curved his hands into the shape of a sun visor and glared at me. So Mum and Dad couldn’t see the menace in his bottom-of-the-ocean blue eyes?

“Your olds have been excited about you finally coming home.” He made expansive arm gestures toward me, grinning back at Mum and Dad, his body language and expression seeming to show what a great guy he was, how gracious. Mum and Dad bobbed their heads and smiled at him .

How is this possible? This guy had tortured me at school.

Even after he left school, he’d made sure the bullying carried on for three more years.

I’d hid, raw-nerved and trembling in the shadows, but his minions had always found me.

Called me names. Made those horrid noises.

Nowhere had been safe. Anger and shame had fueled me to try to help others.

But had warped every achievement since. And somehow, not only had he replaced me in the family, but he’d also taken Mum and Dad’s money?

“Are you saying you borrowed money from Mum and Dad?” I clenched my fists at my side, forcing the loathing from my voice.

“Snow wanted to buy the winery, and we loaned him the deposit.” Dad lifted his head from his pillow, agitated. “We were happy to do it.”

Is this what Declan was talking about? My pulse pumped like a bullet train. Was Snow using the winery as a front for the drugs? Could I make that leap?

“And Snowy’s doing so well,” Mum said, trying to ease Dad back down. “He’s even exporting.” Snow gave a modest nod. Dad sank into his pillow with a smile.

“Wait.” I turned to Mum, desperately pulling at her gaze. “This is the same winery that Bevan’s parents started? Didn’t you say it was a money pit?”

Mum’s eyes widened in panic. “That… doesn’t sound like me.”

Her face was a reminder that she and Dad didn’t like hard questions or even outright questions or anything that could be construed as “making a fuss.” Which basically described my career. And they definitely didn’t like to be quoted.

“How much did you loan to Snow?” I asked Mum and Dad. Both of them pressed their lips together and looked down. I turned to Snow. “How do you plan to turn this winery into a profitable business?”

Snow scowled.

Dad groaned, and the monitor beeped his distress.

“Hey, Isla, I’m lying here with tubes sticking out of me. I thought you’d come back to make me feel better. Can we talk about this another time?”

The silence was brittle, and my gaze dropped to the floor. They were embarrassed. Take a deep breath, that’s enough . For now. My gut hollowed out. My parents were unknowingly involved in a drug ring. They could be arrested, go to prison, lose everything.

I was about to apologize to Dad when Snow flicked a dismissive hand in my direction, as though I were a pesky seagull, and he couldn’t be mad at me. “All good.”

I asked Mum and Dad about the doctor’s diagnosis.

Dad was scheduled for a triple bypass in three days.

Apparently, his condition had to be stabilized for the operation, but he was still going into surgery early.

Snow had paid for him to go private—same hospital, same doctor, but bumped up the list. I was surprised Snow did that—where did he get the funds? Drug money?

“And don’t worry,” Snow said. He sidled over to me and laid a hand on my shoulder, lightly but with insistent nudges—like a fond, annoying older brother, though each prod felt like a drill. “You have to get back to London. I’ll take good care of them.”

“No,” I said too loudly. I paused to adjust my tone and raised my chin. “I’m not leaving until Dad is home and recovered.” Crossing my arms, I shook off Snow’s hand and stepped in front of him. “I’m taking over from here.”

“Oh, true?” Mum clapped her hands together. “How wonderful. Did you hear that, boys? Isla’s staying.” Why was Mum including Snow here? Like he was my brother or something. A mix of revulsion and confusion wrapped around my spine.

They asked about my flight, and for the next hour, the three of them talked about friends, followed by the school kids who’d taken Snow’s surf class that morning.

I sat in silence, trying to think of something to add, but mostly consumed by whether I should ask my parents about what they were accused of.

Or would that bring on another heart attack?

I’d always been so certain of my judgment, but I was flailing here, like a disoriented deep-sea diver thrashing through dense seaweed, not knowing which way was up.

Ring, ring. I checked my phone. Declan. I’d had to run for the plane and hadn’t signed the contract yet. I made my excuses and stepped out into the hallway.

*

“I can sign now,” I told Declan.

“I need to fly out so we can investigate together. I can be there in about thirty-five hours.”

“You? Fly here ? How would that work? Would you pretend to be my friend? A friend I’ve never mentioned? Flying twenty-six hours at such short notice?”

“Agreed. The best way is for me to pretend I’m your boyfriend.”

“My boyfriend ?” That was the last thing I expected him to say. Panic punched inside my chest. How would that work? I couldn’t picture it. Do I have any hope of convincing my parents?

“Yes, we’ve done it before, and it works well.”

It was going to be hard enough doing the investigation with him because I always worked alone. Now we had to pretend to be a couple in love. My pulse spiked and my breathing went shallow. He would be at my side every second. Did I have any choice?

I voiced my first concern. “Are you single?” I asked. “Otherwise, it’s too uncomfortable.”

“Yes, extremely single, as my mother will tell you within a second of meeting you.”

“Ha,” I puffed out, my throat dry from the stress and tension.

Snow leaned out of Dad’s room, made a face, and called back to Mum and Dad, “She’s still on the phone.”

That’s it. “I’ll do it,” I said.

“Good. I know fake dating sounds awkward, but I’ll work hard to make you feel as comfortable as possible. I’m sending you the NDA and contract electronically now, if you can sign them.”

I slid down the wall, squatting, dropping my handbag to free my hands for the signing.

My bag fell open, showing my constant—a reporter’s notebook.

My mind had been consumed with Mum and Dad.

But now I realized I could get a story from this.

“Wait. I need a clause in the contract that allows me to write a story and get it published before anyone else, an exclusive. And I need you to call the editor before I pitch her, to confirm we’re working together. ”

“Mmm. That second part worries me. We don’t ever do that, but… okay. Send me the editor’s details. I’ll make the amendments.”

I did. His rapid-fire typing filled the air.

Snow poked his head out again, curled his lip, and ducked back inside.

I scanned the documents quickly and signed them online.

I was worried about Snow hearing me, since he was nearby and kept looking out the door.

I grabbed my stuff and hurried farther down the hallway before I spoke again.

“My parents told me they’d loaned money to this surfer called Snow to buy a winery. Is this part of it?”

“I’ll give you the details that I can when I arrive,” he said firmly.

What? I want to start building evidence now.

“We’ll have time then to discuss the whole fake-dating setup too.”

I returned to Dad’s hospital room and apologized for being called away. Snow glanced at the clock on the wall and bolted upright. “Sorry, got to leave early. Helicopter tour up the bush.”

If he owns a winery, how does he have time to fly helicopter tours?

With Snow gone, I talked to the staff about Dad’s care, taking copious notes, making certain they saw me as the new point person, and entering my name above Snow’s on the emergency call list. How was he even on this list?

After another hour, the head nurse called time. My heart twisted at the thought of leaving Dad. He had almost left us. “Please, could we stay longer?”

“I know this is hard, but rules are rules. You can phone in before lights-out. Ten o’clock?”

There was one practical thing I could do for Dad. Clear their names so they had a future.

Walking Mum to her car, I stopped her with a hand on her arm.

Now that I knew Declan was on his way, I wanted to start thinking about a plan, find out who might be useful, be able to say to him, Here’s the story .

“Could you invite Kui and Bevan to dinner?” Old friends.

Bevan was editor of the local newspaper, and her parents had apparently sold the winery to Snow. Kui was the town librarian.

“Yes, of course. Text them.” Shame slunk through me that I didn’t have phone numbers for my closest friends in this town.

She took in my flushed face. “Ah, I see. Sure, I’ll contact them.

” She tapped on her phone. The sound of two pings.

“Yep, they’d love to see you.” A good start. So why was I nervous?

*

Back in my parked rental car, I frantically searched Snow’s winery on my phone.

A real estate website listed the winery’s sale over a year ago.

Bevan’s parents had sold to a company called Big Wave Holdings—$2 million for thirty acres of land, half-planted in grapes.

I searched Companies House. Big Wave was incorporated in the Cayman Islands.

Ha. Not quite a gotcha, but often a red flag.

It meant the company couldn’t be searched for directors or any of its dealings.

I took satisfaction in that, quickly replaced by frustration that I was blocked from getting more information.

Even if I could show Mum and Dad were innocent, they’d still given Snow the deposit, which was likely twenty percent of the purchase price: $400,000.

Argh. The weight of that number drove into my head like a drill.

They didn’t have that sort of money. Dad had worked shifts as a fitter and turner at the paper mill.

Mum had been the receptionist at the town council chambers.

The biggest threat was them going to prison. I pressed the heel of my hand to my breastbone. But if Snow defaulted on this loan, Mum and Dad would be penniless in their old age.