CHAPTER THREE

      IT WAS minute. Two small rectangles of ankle-length grass on either side of a central path. There weren’t any garden beds or bushes, and most of the narrow front yard was taken up with the even wider cement driveway which dipped down to the double garages jammed hard against the left boundary of the block.

      The house itself, however, was not at all minute. It was two-storeyed, its flat cement-rendered façade covering the rest of the block from the garages to the right boundary. Brown and white striped awnings broke the expanse of stark white walls, and shaded the west-facing windows. Terracotta tiles covered the pitched roof.

      One only had to glance at all the other dark brick nineteen-twenties federation-style houses which lined the street to know that this particular residence was a recent and very modern renovation and addition.

      Nick could not believe for a moment that Dave’s sister owned this place. A new house this size in Balmain, down near the water, would cost the earth! Journalists, unless of the famous television variety, did not earn enormous salaries.

      Which turned his mind to the mysterious Madge. Was she a wealthy girlfriend with whom Linda lived? One of those sleekly groomed and glamorous women who believed you could never be too rich or too thin?

      Nick pressed the bell on the super-stylish recessed door and waited for Madge to show her wares. He kept a superbly straight face when a very plump elderly lady answered the door. She had short grey permed hair and was puffing with exertion, probably from hurrying down the steep staircase Nick could see behind her.

      When she looked him up and down with a hint of old-fashioned disapproval in her narrowed eyes, Nick was glad he’d left his leather jacket and gloves stuffed in his rucksack on the back of his bike. He didn’t think he looked too disreputable in jeans and a white T-shirt, though nothing could hide his unshaven state—which seemed to be capturing Madge’s critical attention.

      Nick was glad the Harley was out of sight as well. He’d left it on the other side of the high, cement-rendered wall which enclosed the block and hid the offending lawn from the street.

      ‘Nick, is it?’ she speculated at last.

      ‘That’s me.’ He smiled, having slotted her happily into the role of maiden aunt or pensioner boarder. Much better than lesbian lover. ‘And you must be Madge!’

      His easy smile seemed to do the trick. She smiled back, all her earlier wariness disappearing.

      ‘Yes, it is. My, but it’s hot out here, isn’t it?’

      ‘Sure is.’

      ‘Come inside. Would you like a cool drink before you start on the lawn? Or should I lead you straight through to the garage and the mower?’

      ‘I think I’d better mow first and drink afterwards. I wouldn’t be surprised if it storms later.’

      She peered past his shoulder up at the clear blue sky. ‘Really? Oh, I hope not. Linda will be so disappointed if it rains. She wants to serve dinner out on the back terrace tonight.’

      Maybe Madge is a cook, Nick reassessed.

      ‘Come through this way,’ she said, and bustled off to her right.

      Nick followed, closing the front door against the hot afternoon sun and quickly heading in Madge’s wide wake. The downstairs interior was pleasantly cool and had one of those open-plan designs, with polished parquet floors, high ceilings and no doors, only tall, wide archways.

      Nick glanced around as they moved into a huge rectangular living room which was divided into two distinct areas by three wide wooden steps. In the middle of the closest area, sitting on a multicoloured Persian rug, was a very expensive-looking black leather sofa with matching lounge chairs grouped around a glass-topped coffee table.

      Down the dividing steps, in the slightly smaller sunken area, rested a matching glass-topped dining table surrounded by six black leather chairs. A huge black stone figurine of a panther crouched in the centre of the table top. Even from a distance the big cat looked both original and priceless.

      Other than that one piece, however, there were no other objets d’art in the sparsely furnished area. No sculptures in the bare corners. No paintings on the stark white walls, which were only broken by a fireplace framed in black ironwork.

      Still, Nick liked the stark simplicity of the decor. He’d never been one for clutter.

      ‘Nice place,’ he murmured.

      ‘Linda hasn’t finished decorating the downstairs yet. But it’s going to be lovely.’

      Nick absorbed this information with a degree of surprise, for it certainly sounded as if Dave’s sister did own this house. You didn’t go to so much trouble decorating a rented establishment. Had she won the lottery? Or been a workaholic since the year dot and saved all her pennies?

      Perhaps she and Dave had inherited money, Nick speculated. He knew next to nothing of his friend’s finances. Just because Dave frequented a very ordinary hotel, that didn’t mean he and his sister weren’t wealthy.

      But money could never buy style, and that was what this place had—style. Nick hoped that ‘finishing decorating’ didn’t mean putting curtains up at the far wall, which was ninety per cent glass and gave a spectacular view of the highly original back yard and the harbour beyond.

      The block sloped very steeply at the back, the land covered by a series of flagged terraces. On the top level sat an eclectic but attractive selection of outdoor furniture flanked by huge pots full of flowering plants. Nick could imagine that sitting out there on a balmy spring evening would be very pleasant, provided it didn’t rain. But the dark clouds already gathering on the horizon did not herald well for Linda’s outdoor dinner-party plans.

      ‘This way,’ Madge said, opening a white door which had been well camouflaged in the white wall. It led down several steps into the double garage, which housed more crates and cardboard boxes than Nick had ever seen. No car, but there was room for one. Just. Either Linda didn’t have one or she’d driven it to work.

      ‘The mower’s in the corner over there,’ Madge pointed out. ‘Try not to be too noisy—I’ve just got the baby to sleep.’

      Nick looked up, startled. ‘Baby? What baby?’

      ‘Linda’s, of course.’ Madge frowned at him, while Nick tried not to look too taken aback. ‘I thought you were a friend of the family?’

      ‘Not really. I’m Dave’s friend. Linda and I have never met.’

      ‘Oh, Dave.’ Madge pulled a face. ‘He’s been absolutely