“Meeting up with old friends.”
“Who?”
“She never said,” she admits, raising a hand in her defense. “Yes, I should have asked. I doubt she would’ve told me, though.”
“Did you believe her? That she was just meeting up with friends?”
“I wanted to.”
Silence. The bedroom window is framed with a lace curtain, sheer as a nightgown. Golden elm leaves flutter past as the sky darkens.
I nod at the bed. “Mind if I sit down?”
She shrugs, reaches for the sage pillow again, holds it against her chest. I sit down, spine straight, hands flat on my knees. “There’s something odd about Rachel’s attack.”
She says nothing, but I watch her clutch the pillow tighter.
“Why was she swimming at night? And alone?”
“For someone else it would’ve been strange, yes,” Deb admits. “But like I said, she was different. She wasn’t afraid of doing things like that—swimming at night.”
“She wasn’t just swimming.”
She pauses, eyes narrowing. “Yes she was. Eyewitnesses said so.”
“I know what they said, but it’s not true.”
“How do you know?”
“BecauseIwas there. I was one of the eyewitnesses,” I tell her, looking up. “And I know what she was really doing.”
Chapter 22
The summer storm’s coming. The wind bends the rosebushes and petals flicker past as the first raindrops fall.
“You were there that night?”
“I wanted to tell you in person.”
She stares grimly out the window. “Was it fast, at least?”
No.
“Yes.”
“Then you know what she was doing.”
“I do now.”
What was she doing for money?
Something bad.
In the ocean shallows are huge snails that live near rocky reefs and areas with plenty of seaweed. When cooked, they’re buttery and salty, chewy like calamari. And they’re worth an absolute shit-ton. Greenlip abalone. Diving for them is illegal in almost every state in Australia, including Victoria.
“She was diving illegally for abalone.” I look up. “Wasn’t she?”
She slumps a little. “Yes, she was.”
