Southern Sunset: Book One of 44 South Read online

  They hesitated, but I guess the call of Monster High fashion demands was too strong. They lowered their tawny heads and returned their attention to dressing up their dolls.

  I let out a slow breath of air and watched as Sergeant Blackmore parked the car behind Justin’s Ranger. The ticking of the cop car’s engine sounded loud as the twins played in utter silence. Even the swing didn’t squeak.

  Maggie Blackmore climbed out of her ute and squinted into the sunlight, shielding her eyes with a raised arm. She spotted me and smiled. From this distance, it was hard to tell if it was the fake one. My gut told me it probably was. I didn’t smile back.

  “Mr Drake,” she said as she approached. Dressed in uniform at last. Crisp blue pants that hugged her very fine legs and a stab vest over her police issue jersey. She’d freeze her arse off if she had to go back country.

  “I thought we’d settled on a first name basis?” I drawled.

  Her smile tightened.

  “I think not,” she replied steadily.

  “Well then, Sergeant. What can I do for you?”

  She arched her pale brow, an unamused look to her features. She had an expressive face, but only when she wanted it to be. I bet she was good at poker. She certainly threw me off my game.

  “Now’s not the best of times, Sergeant Blackmore,” I said crisply.

  “The wedding doesn’t start ’til four, I believe,” she advised, not surprising me in the slightest that she’d figured that out. “And you’re just standing out here doing nothing, so…”

  “Not nothing. Baby sitting.”

  She frowned slightly and then spotted the girls. For a split second she looked chagrined. And then perturbed. In the next, her face was wiped clean of emotions altogether.

  “Hello,” she said brightly to the twins.

  They blinked owlishly back at her.

  “What’re your names?”

  It’s such a simple thing. Engaging the kids when you first meet them. Within minutes, seconds really, they’ll be all but forgotten. Pushed aside as too hard.

  “Ah,” Blackmore said sagely. “The silent types. I get it. Keep ‘em keen, girls. Don’t give too much away.” She winked and turned back to me.

  There must have been something on my face; I’m not sure what I was thinking other than a kernel of hope, I guess. Hope that Maggie Blackmore would be different. Would have already figured it out without me having to say anything. And that she’d not dismiss the twins anti-social behaviour, but accept it.

  Her eyes darted back to the kids. They watched her silently. She watched them back. Something shifted on her face. It was hard to tell. She was good at this. This non-emotional reaction. A true cop. Matt could do it. Hell, he’d been doing it really fucking well for six months.

  “My name’s Maggie,” she said. “I have a brother just like you.”

  The girls’ mouths dropped open.

  “Just saying,” she said, and shrugged her shoulder. “Is there somewhere we could go to talk, Mr Drake?” she said then to me.

  I turned my head away from the twins, who were watching Maggie as if she was the most interesting thing to enter their lives, and just stared.

  “Or we could just chat here,” she offered, her tone understanding.

  “They’re Matt’s,” I suddenly said. Fuck knows why.

  Maggie smiled at the girls. “I work with your daddy.” If she was surprised to realise Matt had mute twins, she didn’t show it. Maybe she already knew. She struck me as the kind of cop who would do her homework. Drill the locals, if need be. Hell, she was here to drill me.

  I shifted on my feet and checked the girls out. They were as about as engaged as they’d ever be.

  “Just gonna be over here, ‘K?” I said to them, indicating the other end of the porch.

  They nodded. I stilled.

  Fuck, my aching chest. I rubbed at it absently and led the way toward the matching swing seat on the opposite side of the front doors. I tipped my head toward the seat for Maggie to take and leaned back against the railing. She was looking back toward the twins, who still hadn’t stopped looking at her. Something haunted flashed across her face. I was getting better at catching the minute reactions. Micro reactions, really.

  When she looked up at me, they were gone.

  “I’ll stand,” she said, taking the railing to the side of me and staring out over the front pastures.

  “Can’t place yourself in a weaker position, Sergeant?”

  “Would sitting while you stand make me look weak?” she queried.

  I looked away from those probing blue eyes.

  “Not many cops can handle looking up to a man the size of me.”

  “Don’t get too cocky, Drake. You’re not that big.”

  I smiled. “Sometimes it’s not just about the size.”

  She glanced away. I watched her profile. She had soft looking skin. A long, slender neck. A thundering pulse that called to me.

  Maggie cleared her throat. “When did you meet with Mr Whiting?” she asked.

  “Two days ago.” She still wasn’t looking at me. I wanted to reach out and grip her chin, tug her face towards me. Wrap my hand around her neck, feel her heartbeat beneath my fingertips.

  “What was the meeting about?” she asked, staring at a notepad she’d pulled from her front pocket.

  “Are you wearing your gun today?” I countered.

  She blinked and lifted her eyes to mine. Finally.

  “Do I need it?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Would it make you feel safe?”

  “I’m not scared.”

  “Your heart’s beating a mile a minute.”

  She stepped back. Maggie steps back when she’s taken by surprise, I realised. It’s her only obvious tell.

  “And why would you be studying my pulse rate, Mr Drake?”

  “Can’t miss it,” I said with a shrug. “You have a very alluring neck.”

  She blinked.

  “I’m not sure what signals you think you’ve received from me,” she said, “but I’m here on official business only.”

  “And if we were to meet again? Unofficially?”

  She shook her head.

  “Answer the question, Mr Drake.”

  I’d play it her way. For now.

  “He wanted my business. All of my business.”

  “That would be a lot of business,” she hedged.

  “We’ve got over 30,000 merinos on our land at any given time. Yeah, it’s a lot of business.”

  “And did you come to an agreement?”

  “You could say that.”

  “And what was that agreement?”

  I smiled. I was sure it showed a lot of teeth.

  “That I was happy with my current service provider.”

  “How did Mr Whiting take it?”

  I shrugged. “I think he was used to rejection.”

  Her eyes sharpened.

  “And what makes you say that?”

  “His fees are too high.”

  She studied me for a moment and then closed her notebook. For a while, she just stared out over the land. I wondered what a city girl like her saw. To me it was freedom. Open air and wide plains. Big blue skies to get lost in.

  Home.

  Could she call this part of the country home?

  Would she?

  “What aren’t you telling me?” she finally whispered.

  I studied her profile. Knew I was about to make a shit storm for myself. But being honest with this woman seemed intuitive.

  Or she was just damn good at her job.

  “I had a run in with him at the pub the next day.”

  Chapter 7

  Thought You’d Never Ask

  Maggie

  “Yesterday?” I asked, reaching for my notebook again.

  “Yes.” His voice was clipped. His eyes were not. They studied me. Looked into me. Almost as though he was willing me to see something that just wasn’t there.

  “Th
e name of the pub?”

  “Smokey’s.”

  “Smokey’s?” I queried. “I haven’t heard of that one.”

  “Tourists call it The Smoking Salmon. Locals, Smokey’s.”

  “Ah,” I said. “Guess I’m still a tourist.”

  “Three weeks.” He knew how long I’d been here. For a moment, it threw me. But then I reminded myself this was small-town New Zealand. My arrival would have been noted, talked about, and dissected. Completely.

  “Yes, three weeks,” I agreed. “What did you argue about?”

  “I didn’t say we argued.”

  I lifted my eyes to his. Was he playing with me? Yes. But not about this. I had the distinct impression Luke Drake had me in his sights.

  “Are you a hunter, Mr Drake?”

  He blinked. “I’m a farmer. Of course I can hunt.”

  “I didn’t say can you hunt,” I countered, using his turn of phrase back on him. “Are you a hunter?”

  “I prefer to fish. The prey is more of a challenge.”

  Just what was he trying to hook me with?

  “And the run in?” I pressed. “What was it about?”

  “He was spreading rumours.”

  “About?” He was closing down. Making me drag the information out of him now. Most interviewees start off at a rapid pace, if they’ve nothing much to hide. They tend to lose momentum, though, when the topic shifts to something a bit closer to home. Even innocent suspects fall into that category.

  Just because Luke Drake was starting to hedge, didn’t mean he was guilty of killing a man.

  But causing a fight?

  “He was telling anyone who’d listen that we had dirty wool.”

  “Your wool is dirty? Doesn’t it just get washed when it’s been sheared?”

  He burst out laughing. A sudden throaty explosion of mirth. His head tipped back, his cheeks stretched wide in a grin, and he chuckled deep inside. A full body shake. The sound almost sinful in its ability to make me blush.

  “Showing my ‘tourist’ again?” I asked, trying not to let the ground open up and swallow me.

  “A bit. But it’s cute.” He shook his head, flicked his eyes over to the silent girls, and then looked back down at me. “Dirty wool is poached wool. Stolen sheep. We fence most of our rangeland. All of it, if we can. But that’s a fair bit of fencing on 50,000 hectares. Some of our land butts up against national parks. Some of it our neighbours’ stations. And then there’s the mountains. Any number of ways for stock to intermingle.”

  “So, you’re saying you do have sheep on your land that is not your own.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Then why don’t we cut to the chase, Mr Drake. Did Mr Whiting hit a nerve?”

  “Yes, he hit a nerve. He hit several. Not just mine.” He looked out towards the pastures in front of the homestead. His eyes distant, his face hard. “Do you know how long my family have owned Red Tussock?”

  I looked down at my notebook. “One hundred and twenty years.”

  He didn’t seem surprised that I’d check up on him. Them. That I’d checked up on them.

  “One hundred and twenty years,” he confirmed. “The McIntyres to the west have been here about as long. The Fallons, eighty or so. We don’t poach. But we do keep track. If stock wanders onto our land and gets mixed up with ours, we look after them. And we sort out the difference at the end of the season.”

  He looked back down at me, his face solemn.

  “We help each other out here in Mackenzie Country, Sergeant. In this part of the world, you can’t go it alone.”

  “So, what happened? At Smokey’s.”

  “We had words. He backed down. I left.”

  I stared at him for a moment. I didn’t get the impression he was lying, but I’m also not a probationary constable. Haven’t been for years.

  “And that’s it? The extent of your run in?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. It was a fluid, relaxed movement. I wasn’t sure whether to trust it. Trust him.

  “I can’t say what might have happened after I left.”

  “Who was there? In the pub?”

  “Couldn’t tell you, for sure. It was packed. Friday night happy hour.” He didn’t look like a happy hour kind of bloke. Too rugged. Too uninterested in the price of his beer. Luke Drake had bigger things on his mind.

  Like a 50,000 hectare station to run. Or a reputation to keep.

  “He annoyed you. Spread rumours about your business. And you just left?”

  His jaw flexed. His eyes hardened.

  “Yes, I just left.”

  This man was so controlled. Every action tightly contained. I couldn’t imagine him losing his temper in a bar fight. Besides, James Whiting didn’t have any obvious bruises on his torso or face. I glanced down at Drake’s knuckles as they wrapped around the porch railing. No scrapes. No marks.

  I didn’t peg this man for killing Whiting.

  Then why did he make my heart race?

  “Anything else you can tell me, Mr Drake?”

  He flicked a glance toward me and smiled.

  “You’re like a pit bull. Tenacious.”

  “I was a detective in Auckland,” I suddenly said. As if his words needed to be addressed. My actions justified.

  “That makes sense.”

  “It does?”

  “Matt wouldn’t have hired you otherwise.”

  “The position wasn’t for a detective,” I pointed out.

  “Who says he still doesn’t need one?”

  Strange reply. I think I needed to do a bit more research on Senior Sergeant Matt Drake. The fact he had two mute daughters was a complete surprise. Sheila had kept that one close to her well endowed chest.

  I looked back down at my notes. At this stage, the case wasn’t even classified as a homicide. Just a misplaced dead body. Someone knew something. But I was thinking Luke Drake didn’t.

  “Where were you this morning, Mr Drake?”

  “Ah, now we’re getting to it. The alibi.”

  “Well?” I said, looking him in the eyes. He stared right back at me.

  “In bed until five.”

  I didn’t have a time of death yet, but I’d hazard a guess five was doable.

  “Anyone able to corroborate that?”

  “Are you asking me if I’m seeing someone, Sergeant Blackmore?”

  “Of course not!”

  He smiled.

  “My mother was in the kitchen when I came down the stairs. My father was in the guest bedroom beside mine and is a light sleeper. Both should have heard me showering; my mother spoke to me and served me a cooked breakfast. She’s excited,” he explained. “The wedding.”

  “I see.”

  “I left the house at six and checked on the section four flock with Charlie Davis, my head foreman. We went our separate ways at around seven. Sam, my cousin who also works for Red Tussock, approached me as I returned to the house. Informing me he’d seen unauthorised movement in section three, down by the state highway.

  “That was you, by the way,” he said drily. “I went straight there to investigate.”

  He was clean. The relief was astounding. I’d have to check the alibis, but my gut told me he wouldn’t bother misdirecting at this late stage. Luke Drake had been nowhere near James Whiting this morning. The body hadn’t been there for hours. No rigor mortis. The window of opportunity was too narrow.

  He was clean.

  “Good,” I said. He chuckled. Nice of him to find this all amusing. Or was it me that amused? “May I speak with your parents?” I said steadily.

  “Thought you’d never ask,” he quipped. “Mum will be so ecstatic.”

  I frowned at his back as he moved toward the girls’ side of the porch.

  He looked over his shoulder and winked. “Haven’t brought a woman home to meet the olds in years.”

  “This is an investigation, Mr Drake,” I said on a sigh.

  “Tell yourself that, Maggie,” he shot ba
ck, using my first name, no doubt, to throw me off balance. “But we both know otherwise.”

  Infuriating man.

  Chapter 8

  Bloody Hell, Shoot Me Now

  Luke

  The girls ran pell-mell into the kitchen, knocking over a vase overfull of brightly coloured blooms as they passed. Momo’s at a guess. I reached out to grab the thing before it hit the hardwood floor and shattered, my hand smacking against Maggie’s as she leaned forward with lightning fast reflexes to do the same.

  We both settled the flowers, a little worse for wear, back on the sideboard. She wouldn’t meet my eyes, a delightful blush creeping up her cheeks. The pulse at the base of her neck fluttering.

  “Do I make you nervous, Sergeant?” I whispered in her ear. “Does touching me send tingles down your arm?”

  “Directly to my service weapon,” she ground out and stepped into the kitchen before me.

  I threw my head back and laughed. I hadn’t had this much fun in years.

  The clatter and low hum of conversation in the room quietened, several pairs of surprised eyes turning to stare incredulously at me. I couldn’t suppress the smile on my lips if I tried.

  Mum was at the stove, the oven door hanging open, a tray of biscuits half in and half out in her suspended hand. Dad was sitting at the table beside Momo and Finn, and Momo’s parents, folding napkins. Justin was taking photographs of the proceedings, his camera lens still to his eye. He lifted it, and aimed it at me.

  The shutter clicked in rapid fire succession. My smile died.

  “For posterity,” he quipped, turning his gaze to Maggie. “Well, hello there,” he drawled exaggeratedly into the ensuing silence. “I can see why my grumpy brother is finally happy.” He offered Maggie his signature sinful smile; the one that made all the girls hang off him down at the local.

  My teeth ground together, my jaw clenched tight.

  “Hello,” Maggie replied, a soft smile gracing her own lips. “I’m Sergeant Blackmore. I work with Matt.”

  “That’s gotta be a challenge,” Justin said, still flirting. “One I’m sure you are more than capable of rising to, Sergeant.”