YOUNG NICK TOZZI’S BEDROOM hit me hard psychically – like a piece of furniture dropped on my head from a great height. It wasn’t the first time I’d been affected by someone’s intimate possessions. There’s always residual energy from loved things. Compared to their personal aura, though, it’s more like a dull background radiation; how I imagine the Hubble telescope views the backdrop of the universe.
To me, Nick’s room was more like a theme park at night. Certain objects glowed brightly. This told me two things: either Nick Tozzi was spending a lot of time in his childhood bedroom, or I’d developed an unnaturally strong connection to him.
I glanced down at my chest. The cord from yesterday had disappeared but there seemed to be a slight distortion in my vision right at the spot where it had joined the top of my rib cage.
‘See what he did to my Nick’s room?’ Eireen waved her hands in despair. ‘I’d kill him with my bare hands if I could.’
I surveyed the emptied carton and overturned chest. ‘Well, don’t say that to the police, Eireen,’ I said. ‘They don’t take those comments lightly.’
She turned on me, a miniature schnauzer in pink fluffies. ‘You think I’m joking?’ Her eyes blinked fiercely and her aura swelled and brightened, just like her son’s. I’m glad I’d never been in the room when the pair of them were having an argument.
‘Hi, Tara.’
Damn!
Nick leaned against the door frame, wearing shorts and a t-shirt. His legs were like massive, sculptured pylons. I dragged my eyes from his thighs to his face and his warm, caramel aura.
But not before he’d noticed me looking.
And so, unfortunately, had his wife, who tottered around the expanse of his wide body holding a glass of champagne with a strawberry bobbing in it.
She gave Nick a sharp look in the suspicious manner of wives who were used to women admiring their husbands; or perhaps more than admiring. Jenelle’s comments had made me wary of Nick Tozzi.
‘Shouldn’t you be at work?’ I snapped.
‘We’re staying here at the moment – in the guest room – until our new house is ready. Didn’t I tell you?’
Staying here? Well, that explained the packing carton.
‘What’s the cleaner speaking to you like that for, Nicky?’
‘Tara isn’t the cleaner, Toni. She’s here to help Mum and I sift through this mess. She does this kind of thing for a living.’
‘Maid hire?’ she asked, innocently.
My hackles rose. ‘Actually, no. I’m not a maid or a cleaner. I’m a businesswoman, specialising in communication analysis and kinesic investigation. Kind of like a private detective. Graduated from Harvard.’
‘Harvard? I didn’t know they had degrees in such things.’
‘Yeah. Three years. It runs complementary to their law degree.’
Nick frowned at my preposterous lie but I didn’t care. His wife was a snobby bitch.
‘What is all this talk about,’ piped in Eireen. ‘I didn’t hire Tara – she’s a family friend. Her great-grandfather was lord mayor.’
Toni peered at me closely. ‘You do look familiar. Where did you go to school?’
‘Toni!’ said Nick in a warning tone.
‘Shotske State High in Bunka,’ I lied again. Was there even a place anywhere called Shotske?
‘Oh . . .’ Her interest faded again, and she looked like she’d tasted something bitter.
Nick spoke up to forestall any further interrogation. ‘Pleasant and all as it is chatting, we have a lot on today. Remember, Toni? Could you excuse us while Tara and I get this done?’ He bent over and righted a chair. ‘Mum, would you like to sit?’
Eireen’s eyes glinted with sudden mischief. ‘Seeing as you’re already acquainted with Tara, I’ll leave you both to do this tedious and painful job. Antonia, come with me.’
Toni wavered, not wanting to leave us alone, yet knowing that she couldn’t refuse her mother-in-law’s imperative. Duty and fear of Eireen won out, and she followed Eireen from the room.
Nick sagged a little with tension release. ‘I’m sorry, Tara. Toni can be a bit rude.’
I nodded. ‘Oh well. Your problem, not mine,’ I said cheerfully.
His mouth pursed. ‘Yes.’
‘Let’s get to it then. Can I touch things? Or do I have to wear gloves or something.’
‘The police have finished here. They’ve taken their pictures. I thought we could start with the chest and then move on to the carton.’
‘No need for system,’ I said, standing in the centre of the room and letting my eyes defocus. There were several bright objects. I walked from one to the other. First was a tangle of ribbons and pennants proclaiming various season wins, then came an autographed basketball. I couldn’t read the name on it.
A pair of huge size-sixteen boots stood in the foot of the open closet. I bent over to them. They had the faint smell of mould and an eyelet had pulled out.
‘Haven’t worn them since I left the States,’ he said.
I smiled. I could understand that. Wearing them again would somehow dilute the memory.
Each thing was significant enough to Nick to glow with his energy, but none were the thing I was looking for.
Then I noticed something next to the overturned carton, covered by some clothes. The energy around it was bright but disturbed.
I lifted the clothes off it. ‘What’s that?’
‘It’s an antique writing desk; a portable one. My grandfather left it to me. He fancied himself as a poet.’
‘What do you keep in it?’
He thought about it. ‘Some special things. Odds and sods.’
‘Do you mind if I have a look through it?’
‘Sure. I guess.’
I sat down cross-legged and gently turned the writing desk up the right way. It was like a small drawer with a lid, shaped for writing on your lap. The wood was scarred and inexpertly restored, but the leather insert was in quite good condition. I ran my hands over it and felt a little charge. This piece had been owned and cherished by many people and somehow their lives were all still evident in the energy. Mr Hara called it ‘living memory’. Natural materials were like that – wood, especially. I couldn’t tell who or what, just that it was there.
Some of the contents had been tipped out and spread around; some were still inside. A tingle spread across my body. This was significant, I was sure. Something in this little desk was important. I scooped it all into one pile. ‘Nick, can you come over here please?’
He came over and knelt down next to me. ‘What is it?’
I passed him the papers. As I did, the thread between us reappeared; from his chest to mine.
‘Could something here be important?’
He looked at the first item, an envelope with an old stamp on it. He didn’t need to look inside to know what was in it. I noticed a slight flush rise up his neck.
‘Love letter?’ I joked.
‘Jenny Baracas. She races Super cars now.’
‘Lucky her,’ I muttered with genuine envy.
He set it aside and picked up the next piece. ‘Ticket stubs to my first game.’
I shrugged. ‘Can’t see much importance in that . . . err . . . other than to you, I mean.’
He discarded them and picked up the next thing: a glossy brochure with a windsurfer on the front. ‘The place we went to on our honeymoon.’ Instead of putting it on top of the letter and the stubs, he threw it towards the bin.
The next thing was a manila envelope, slightly crumpled. He drew the papers out of it.
‘These are lease documents,’ he said.
I raised an eyebrow.
‘Toni’s father gave me a Pilbara mining exploration lease for my birthday a while back.’
‘Novel present.’
‘He’s a Falk,’ he said, by way of explanation.
I sort of got what he meant. The Falks had been involved in the West Australian mining industry for a lot longer than I’d been around. They reputedly owned great chunks of land throughout the Pilbara and Kimberley, and goldmines near Kalgoorlie.
‘Why is the document in here?’ We were sitting facing each other, our knees almost touching.
‘This carton had all my private documents that I keep at home. But the lease is worth nothing. The assay report said there isn’t enough of any particular mineral to make it worthwhile mining it. Fifty acres next to a national park and not a damn speck of anything to get excited about. I can’t understand why he leased it in the first place. Guess he made a mistake, and thought he might offload it on his beloved son-in-law.’
I heard the sarcasm. ‘You don’t get on?’
Nick shrugged. ‘No one was ever going to be good enough for his little girl, especially someone who works in sport. It’s not a real man’s job, you know.’ He gave a bitter smile.
‘Why didn’t you tell me that you were living here?’ I asked, suddenly.
‘Does it matter?’
‘Of course it matters. It makes the connection between Barbaro and Johnny Vogue even stronger.’
He looked me straight in the eye. ‘What exactly are you hoping to find? I mean, nothing’s been stolen, thanks to Mum interrupting him. How can you possibly tell what the burglar was after?’
‘It’s hard to explain. Sometimes I n-notice things that other people don’t.’
He frowned. ‘What sort of things? Are you saying you’re a clairvoyant?’
‘No,’ I said, shaking my head emphatically. ‘I don’t believe in that crap.’
His tone had been so disparaging there was no way I could tell him about the energy disturbance around the writing desk. He’d think I was crazy. I had to find some tangible connection to one of the items first.
I leaned back, palms on the floor. ‘Look, maybe you’re right. There’s probably nothing to find.’ I uncrossed my legs and went to get up.
One giant paw shot out and grabbed hold of my hand, pulling me back down. ‘Whoa! You can’t just bail like that.’
The cord between us thickened and began to pulse. Where our hands touched, our auras mingled and turned into the colour of fire. I jerked back from it.
‘There!’ he said. ‘You did the same thing in my office.’
‘What?’
‘Jumped. Like you’d been stung or –’ ‘Burned?’ I offered.
‘Yeah.’
I felt the heat rush into my face. ‘I can’t explain that either, without sounding weird, so I’m not going to.’
‘Have I offended you?’
I saw the confusion on his face and sighed. I touched his arm. ‘No Nick, it’s just –’
‘Tozzi, darling? What are you doing?’ Toni’s voice cut between us like a diamond drill.
I dropped my hand and turned to face her. ‘Finishing is what we’re doing.’
‘But the mess?’ She frowned, and not just at the mess. Toni had sharp antennae for a messed-up coke addict.
‘Nick said that he’d tidy it up.’ I glanced back at him. ‘Right?’
Nick opened his mouth and shut it again, then nodded mutely.
I went to walk out past Toni but she planted her feet astride and blocked the doorway. ‘Harvard doesn’t run courses in communication analysis and investigation. I just checked on the internet.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I meant Cambridge. Harvard’s where I did my undergraduate.’ I barrelled on out the door, knocking into her shoulder as I went.
She tottered backwards.
The words, ‘how rude’ followed me to the front door.
I didn’t care. Nor did I stop to say goodbye to Eireen. Truth is I couldn’t bear to be in the house with Toni or Nick Tozzi a second longer.