Page 39 of Bay of Plenty

“It’s the same with CeeCee. He wants to give her the world,” she said. “He wanted to set her up with the boutique. But Snow did so well so quickly with the winery that he was able to fund her. Clarebear finds it hard to accept, because sometimes Sarge spends more time with CeeCee than their two boys. I mean, they’re grown men now, but, you know.” She swished a hand through her bucket of pipis. “Did you know Sarge was the one who asked your parents if they could take in Snow?”

What?Shaking my head, I threw a handful of pipis into the bucket with athwack. Sarge was limping faster towards the water, as though he knew we were talking about him. But he couldn’t.

“He started all thisafterJaney died… that’s interesting.” Slowly, I rinsed my hands in the sea. “What was it about Janey’s death that suddenly motivated him to look out for kids he hadn’t shown an interest in before?”

Her eyes clouded. “Maybe after Janey’s death, he realizedhow fragile and vulnerable our kids were. And because he was in a position of power, he could help them.”

For the first time today, I felt I was getting somewhere. I’d thrown a stone into still water, and it didn’t just ripple; it was flaring into pounding ocean waves.

“I’m wondering if it’s more specific,” I said, picking my words carefully. “It’s almost as if Sarge felt responsible for Janey’s death in some way, and he was trying to make up for it.”

She pursed her lips. “You’re an investigative journalist, and in your profession, you have to be skeptical about Sarge’s behavior. I get that. But linking him to Janey’s death? I think that’s going too far.”

Sarge was wading through the water towards us, stony-faced.

But this wasn’t about speculating and considering all possibilities, which journalists also had to do. This was a logical step. Sarge seemed to be making up for something. And, like Snow, he was popular when he should have been shrouded in suspicion. Seagulls swooped sharp and close, scoping out our bucket. I ducked and warded them off with a free hand.

He was in front of us. I had to appear to consider her reasoning.

“Hmm,” I said. “Just a thought.”

“What thought?” Sarge thrust himself between us and snatched the bucket. “Kui, this is way too heavy for that back of yours.”

There was no point in staying any longer.

When I got back to the house, Mum was holding a chocolate cake, straight from the oven. “You were out getting pipis with Kui.” Her forehead crumpled, disappointed, and her obvious hurt seared my conscience. “I would have come.”

I took my cue from what she was holding. “Oh, sorry, Mum. I thought you wanted to bake a cake.”

Normally, I would have mentally high-fived my quick save, but instead, a pressure mounted behind my eyes. I’d spent most of my time fobbing her off. I shrugged away the constant creep of regret. We couldn’t let her in. I told her about the invitation to the marae tonight. Mum grinned with pleasure, but as I hurried toward the bedroom to tell Declan, I caught her giving me a suspicious glance.

Chapter Twenty-Five

After visiting Dad,Declan and I spent a couple of hours under the umbrella on the beach. I was still trying to figure out how to persuade Declan to be more proactive.

The sort of surveillance he wanted to do involved long, boring hours. We pretended to read, but because we had to look up to watch Snow in the surf, we talked most of the time. Spending every hour together for days, we were becoming close. I wanted to know who he was.

I tapped his arm playfully. “Without naming names, who’s the worst person you’ve ever dealt with?”

He sat up and leaned back on his hands. “Well. There’s a lot of competition for that title. But the scariest has to be a knife-throwing drug lord who thought it would be amusing to practice on me one night.”

I yelped and clapped my hands. “Brilliant. More details, please.”

“I wish I could.” His voice was husky, a glimmer in his eyes. He seemed to be warming under my attention, his shoulder and chest muscles stirring and stiffening, and I wondered what they would feel like under my fingers.

“Okay, you definitely win the ‘most dangerous’ prize,” I said. “But I think I win ‘most douchiest.’ One of my sourceswas a financial adviser who I spent weeks and months with. He modeled himself on Ricky Gervais inThe Office, repeated the lines incessantly. But, sadly, omitted being funny.”

That, of course, led to a long discussion about the US version of the show, which we both liked more than the British one. With the help of Pam and Jim, he turned the conversation to love.

He was watching the surf and turned back to me with a serious expression. His head rested on his shoulder. “What your parents have seems really special. I’m a romantic. I love the whole idea of marriage, sharing my life, my family, and my home.”

“And yet you’ve chosen a profession where it’s hard to have a partner and a family, and you can’t talk about your job.” I clapped a hand over my mouth. “Sorry, that might be too personal.”

“Not at all. Yeah, this job does make it tough.” He fixed me with his green gaze. “You don’t want to get married?”

“I don’t know.” I was tempted to do my usual—pull up my walls, say something flippant. But that accepting half-smile of his lulled me into a sense of safety. “My friends are well on their way into their futures. Shay and Bato are having a sprog. And they’reeven moving outside the Number 28 bus route. Fuck.”

He chuckled. “Nightmare.”

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