Dance with the Devil. Sandy Curtis
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pin-point a likely suspect. Not one of his clients, convicted or acquitted, had been anywhere near the physical size of the devil.
There had to be a reason the devil wanted to kill him, but he was no closer to identifying him than he'd been as he lay in that stinking shed and tried to figure it all out.
Emma hammered the last nail into the boards crossing the broken window in the spare bedroom. Drew had offered to help clear away the debris caused by the cyclone but she had refused. She needed time to think, to work out what she was going to do with the property.
Two months ago, her father had slapped his Will down on the table where she'd been going through the mail, sorting the bills into what was possible to pay and what would need a phone call asking for more time.
'You'd better keep this, Emma,' he'd muttered. 'Or I might lose it like I've lost everything else.'
She'd felt a surge of pity for him then, an aching sense of loss for the man who would never again be her father. She'd stood up and gone to hug him, only to see his expression change.
'I want steak tonight, Patricia,' he'd growled at Emma. 'Why aren't you cooking it? Always playing with those damn paintings.' He'd walked away, shaking his head. 'Can't eat paintings. Can't eat paintings.'
It had been the last time her father had said anything rational to her, even if he had confused her with her mother.
When she'd felt emotionally capable of doing so, she'd read the Will, and learned her father had left everything to her.
She'd felt like a noose had tightened around her throat.
Emma made sandwiches for lunch. Drew made the coffee. She started to tell him to leave it to her, but recognised his need to do something.
She felt vaguely guilty that she hadn't offered him some counselling about the ordeal he had been through. After all, it was something she had done before with trauma victims while she had been treating their physical wounds. But something in her shied away from becoming too involved with Drew. A deep-seated instinct warned her that the empathy she usually shared with her patients could very easily turn into something far deeper with this man.
Drew cradled his mug in both hands. 'How long had your father had Alzheimer's?'
'A long time, I think. It had come on so gradually no-one realised. He'd never been an easygoing man and he just seemed to get more cantankerous. I hadn't seen him for about eighteen months when I got a letter from J.D. saying he'd taken Dad in to see a doctor. Apparently he'd deteriorated quite quickly after a bout of flu.'
'You and J.D. - you're good friends.'
It was a question. Emma looked at him, surprised at the intensity of the look on his face.
'J.D. and my brother were friends. After Matthew died, J.D. took on the role of big brother. My parents divorced when I was seventeen - I was away at university. J.D. kept in touch - letters, phone calls. I always relied on him to keep me up to date on Dad.' Sorrow showed briefly on her face. 'Dad was a lousy correspondent.'
'Did he leave a Will?' At her startled look he quickly apologised. 'Sorry. Professional curiosity.'
'He left everything to me. The house, the property, what little stock is left - and enough debts,' she finished bitterly, 'that I'll have to sell everything to pay them. I never wanted anything from him. I don't care about the money. But I grew up here. This is home.' She stood up, gestured to Drew to follow. 'I want to show you something.'
In the living room, Emma waved her hands at the photographs lining the walls. Drew had noticed them that morning but hadn't paid them much attention. They were all of horses - beautiful, sleek horses. He knew enough about horses to know these would never work a property or be bought as pets.
'Once, we owned one of the most successful thoroughbred breeding studs in the country. We weren't big, but Dad's expertise was respected. He knew all there was to know about horses. Unfortunately he knew very little about people.'
'Your mother included?'
'Very perceptive, Counsellor.'
Drew shrugged. 'It's easy to be perceptive about other people. Harder about yourself.'
It was an observation Emma agreed with. She'd always found it hard to analyse and come to terms with her feelings about her father. She suspected she could have the same problem where Drew was concerned.
The dogs, Jess and Ned, had relinquished their guard over Emma's father's grave and moved onto the front veranda. Drew discovered this when he pushed open the front door that afternoon and was greeted by low growls and a warning bark. It didn't take him long to get Jess to accept him, but Ned wouldn't allow him within patting distance.
The steady rain drummed onto the tin roof in a never-ceasing cadence. Drew looked out at the debris from the cyclone still littering the water-soaked yard. He's out there! Somewhere out there in the valley, or perhaps further away. Someone who'd decided that I had to die.
The door banged behind him. Emma propped her father's rifle against the wall, took her Driza-bone off the hook and pulled it on. 'I have to check the horses,' she explained.
Drew reached for the other coat. 'I'll go with you.' He saw she was about to protest. 'I don't think you should go alone.'
The meaning of his words hung in the air.
Finally she nodded.
Emma blinked to adjust her vision as they walked into the stables. The odour of newly turned earth mingled with hay and dampness.
She glanced down at her father's grave. Tears stung her eyes but she resolutely walked past. A welcoming whinny greeted her as they reached the two horses J.D. had returned. She placed the rifle against a wall, hung her hat on a peg.
'Hello, Quest.' She rubbed her hand against the forehead of a chestnut-coloured mare. The horse snickered, her soft lips searching Emma's other hand for the treat she knew would be there.
The black horse in the end stall reached its head around, its large brown eyes hopeful. Emma moved along, murmured a greeting, proffered the treat. She smiled as the horse nuzzled her coat, searching for more. 'Don't be greedy, Solomon,' she chided.
She turned back to Drew.
Her heartbeat froze in her chest as he lifted the rifle towards her head.
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