Page 22 of Last Breath (Blood Wine Dynasty #2)

Nella dropped her shoes and walked out, ankle deep, into the turquoise shallows, her hair tugged gently by the wind.

Jett figured she’d stop there – he’d seen how much those pants cost when he’d been forced to focus resolutely on the price tag dangling near her hip as she tried them on in front of him and Eliza.

But she edged in further, the fortnightly salary of the average Australian worker rolled up to the bottom of her thighs.

Oliver joined her. Jett followed them only to ankle depth but close enough that he could hear what they were saying.

‘You drove all the way down here from the city?’ she asked.

‘I offered to bring his old man to the police station to do the identification,’ Oliver said, his lips against the lid of his matte black reusable coffee cup. Jett recognised the logo as some wanky, expensive brand. ‘Didn’t think it would be as hard as it was.’

His voice cracked on the last word and Jett expected Nella to offer a hand on the shoulder or verbal reassurance. But instead she took a deep sip of coffee, her gaze firmly on the blaring horizon.

‘How is he – Mr Lieu? The last memory I have of him is when he drove Clarkson and me up from Bindi Bindi with all of our shit in his charter bus. He stayed the whole day and helped me put my bed together in the flat.’

Oliver nodded. ‘He’s ... Nella, I can’t explain it. It’s unnatural, you know? A parent shouldn’t have to bury their child. And Yuze wasn’t doing well anyway – he’s sick, MS. He didn’t want people to know, but it’s getting worse, and now the business ...’

‘Did the cops give Yuze a green notebook?’

Jett resisted the urge to kick water onto the back of Nella’s pants. Surely even she wasn’t this insensitive?

‘His Boogie Board – the electronic notepad? Looks just like a paper one? No, I haven’t seen it since Clarkson left to come here.’

‘He wrote all his notes down in it – with a pen.’

‘Stylus.’

Wanker.

‘We don’t use notepads,’ Oliver graciously explained for their uninitiated ears.

‘Terrible for the environment, too easy to misplace, get burned in fires, things like that. All our case notes are put in the Boogie Board. Clarkson likes to use the handwriting-to-text function because he’s old-school.

Was old school. It’s all encrypted, keeps our clients’ information private, no other copies. ’

‘Don’t all those fancy notepads upload to the Cloud anyway?’ Nella asked.

Oliver chuckled. ‘Not ours. Clarkson was hacked, really badly in our second year in business and he’s never trusted any tech the same way since.

I tried to explain there are ways to secure everything but he wouldn’t budge.

If he had it his way, we’d be sending carrier pigeons around the office with staff memos. It goes to an encrypted app.’

Nella’s shoulders visibly slumped. ‘So you have no back-up?’

‘Of course we have back-up.’ Oliver didn’t move the cup from his lips. ‘I programmed his notes to upload to an app on an external iPad. It’s in a safe in his office. Mine is in an undisclosed location.’ He tapped his nose.

‘You have the code?’

‘No.’ Oliver sighed. ‘Why?’

‘His notebook is missing. Or the cops have it and won’t hand it over. Either way, I’ve got no way of knowing where he was at with the case against Barbarani Wines or what, if anything, he discovered the day he died.’

Jett’s whole body tightened like his muscles were made of individual little rope knots. Did Nella not realise how she sounded? Was she deliberately trying to appear as cold as possible to this guy? Or was this just how all lawyers communicated in the wild?

‘You are an intriguing one, Nella Barbarani.’

Oh, right. Jett had momentarily forgotten Oliver was a human, heterosexual male with eyes. What Nella was saying or how she was saying it was of lesser consequence to him than how her breasts were straining against the buttons of her shirt.

Don’t think about her breasts.

‘Well, Clarkson certainly thought there was something intriguing enough about this case to justify him high-tailing it down here at short notice.’

Yes Nella, it was your family’s very, very intriguingly deep pockets.

‘ Was Clarkson alone?’ Oliver asked.

‘When he died? I don’t know.’

He scratched his jaw. ‘No, I mean, did he come here on his own? I wondered ... I think he was seeing someone. He didn’t say much about it but ... Well, has anyone told her what ...? Someone should tell her what happened.’

‘Who?’ Nella’s voice was sharp. ‘Who was he seeing?’

Was that jealousy in Nella’s voice?

‘I don’t know.’ Oliver shook his head. ‘She was blonde, tallish, that’s all I know. Saw her in his office once. Christ. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe she was a client. I just ... got the feeling they didn’t want to be disturbed, if you know what I mean.’

‘He didn’t come with anyone.’

Oliver looked dejected. ‘What are you doing Saturday night?’ he asked suddenly.

Nella’s whole body seemed to lock up. Jett scanned the water for any sign of a shark or a missing limb. What was going on with her?

‘I’ll be working,’ she said.

‘You’ve forgotten Saturday’s the Sharks for Squids Fundraiser Ball that Clarkson organised?’

You’ve both forgotten your mutual friend is dead.

‘He was still going on with Sharks for Squids? I thought that was a one-off.’ Nella turned to Jett, who wished they’d just pretend he was a human-shaped piece of driftwood.

‘It’s a fundraiser ball for underprivileged kids.

Clarkson organised the inaugural one first year out.

’ She turned back to Oliver. ‘You’re still going ahead with it? ’

‘It’s his.’ Oliver’s eyes shone. ‘I tried to cancel it,’ he said, swallowing hard, ‘but Yuze insisted – said Clarkson would kill me if we didn’t go through with it. It’s his legacy. Your invite should have got to you months ago, Nel.’

‘Must have missed it while I was in Perth.’

‘They send it digitally.’

‘Right. Well, I wasn’t planning on going. Like I said, I’ll be working.’ Jett noticed her tell-tale signs of wanting to leave – she tugged at her hair and kept picking at her clothes, even though Concetta would never have left an extra atom that wasn’t supposed to be there.

‘They’re holding it in our building.’

Nella’s leave signals evaporated. Jett stepped forward. A baby wave lapped at his ankles, but she stood him down with a quick flick of her wrist.

‘We’re donating scholarships to South Perth Senior High School in Clarkson’s name,’ Oliver continued.

That was quick. Almost like these people had known Clarkson was going to die. Like one of those daytime cooking shows: ‘Here’s a posthumous donation I prepared earlier!’

‘At your office?’ Nella repeated. ‘This Saturday?’

‘I’ve convinced you, haven’t I? C’mon Nellie, we’ve got the funeral a few days before, but you know how Clarkson felt about those. The fundraiser will be a way to remember him properly – who he really was, not in a homily read by some priest from a religion he didn’t even believe in.’

She was seriously considering it. Jett could read her micro movements even though he’d never had any formal training; he’d learnt Nella on the job. Some things still surprised him though. Like this. Guess you really couldn’t take the party out of a girl like Nella Barbarani.

‘It’s too late to RSVP ...’

‘Nonsense.’ He dragged out the word to make it sound less twentieth-century British aristocracy. ‘You’ll come with me.’ He dragged her into a half-hug. ‘Bring your taxi man too.’ He looked over his shoulder and gave Jett a generous wink. ‘He’s a good lookin’ fellow, he’ll fit right in.’

Ha ha. Ugly face joke. Always original.

‘Bring whoever you want, it’s my territory anyway. I’ll have the final say.’ He released Nella, who’d kept her arms straight by her sides the whole time, and shook the rest of his coffee into the ocean. ‘Sorry it happened like this, Nel, really. I’m sorry he died in your office.’

‘I’m just sorry he died.’ She turned without another look at the lawyer and sloshed out of the ocean.