The first thing I did once alone was search for my name online. Hits populated the screen…but they were all from back home. Nothing local.
“Ackerson,” I muttered, certain that she was the reason for Tim’s sudden change in behavior. It didn’t matter. I had what I needed.
I called Richard.
Answering on the first ring, the other man told me to come to a place called Sulphur Point. “It’s just around the way from my jobsite at the Government Gardens. I’ll take a break so we can talk. Been working nonstop since it happened,” he said. “Helps to keep my mind busy. Otherwise I start spiraling, thinking of how it could happen to anyone. Partying one day, gone the next.”
It didn’t take me long to drive to Sulphur Point—per my phone’s GPS, it was only five minutes from the hospital. I’d been here before, I remembered when I parked in the small empty lot beside the wooden walkway that led people on a path that passed mud pools, native birdlife, and smoking craters in the earth.
The thick smell of sulfur filled the air as I stepped onto the walkway. A large red sign to my left listed the dangers in the area,including hydrogen sulfide gas and fumaroles—holes in the earth that emitted dangerously hot steam—but when I walked further along the path, I found myself gazing out at the edge of Lake Rotorua, this part a thick, misty blue that looked unreal: white paint stained by a droplet of blue.
Steam curled up from it, betraying the heat in the water.
Birds sat on the water much further out, where the temperatures were no doubt more normal.
Diya had brought me here, eager to show me her city. “Sorry about the smell, but this place is incredible!” she’d said, holding her nose before she released it with a laugh. “I swear you go nose blind after a little while, barely even smell the sulfur. Still, I’m glad Mum and Dad built over by Lake Tarawera even if it is a little bit of a drive!”
I’d chuckled at the idea of that scenic roughly thirty-minute drive being considered anything but a pleasure cruise. “Babe, you’re talking to someone from LA, the land of freeways and gridlock.”
Her eyes had sparkled at me as she reminded me of a drive we’d taken in LA—she’d wanted to go to one of the big outlets. That part had been fun. The return trip, however, had ended up with us sitting in traffic for three hours…while Diya pulled snacks out of her purse like some magician.
Never before had I enjoyed gridlock.
Hearing the crunch of gravel, I turned back and reached the little parking area just as Richard was getting out of his work van. His hair was matted down as if he’d been wearing a hard hat, and dust coated his upper arms and the part of his legs visible between the end of his work shorts and the thick socks he wore with steel-toed boots.
“I took a minute to grab us a couple of cold Cokes, and pies since it’s time for morning tea anyway.”
“I’ll take the Coke, but I haven’t quite gotten into meat pies, so I’ll leave that to you.”
A sharp grin as he handed me the soda. “You’re missing out. A good meat pie is a real treat.” He grabbed his own drink and one of the pies before nudging the door shut and locking up the van. “Lot of expensive gear in there, can’t be too careful.”
“I can hold your drink while you eat,” I offered, but he shook his head.
“Nah, let’s walk to that bit with the view of the lake.” Opening up the Coke, he took a long swig, then held it in one hand while—having folded down the brown paper bag halfway—he ate the pie with the other.
“Sorry I haven’t been to see Diya,” he said as we walked past the warning sign. “I wasn’t sure they’d let me in.”
“They wouldn’t. She’s still in the ICU.”
An easing of those big shoulders.
“I’m trying to put things together for the funerals in advance, help Diya. But I only really met people at the engagement party…”
“Oh, no worries. I can help you with that. Bobby and I still play the odd game of rugby with a social team, and I can round them up to help with whatever you need. I might also have a few contacts for his parents’ friends—met some of them when Bobby and I hung out as kids.”
“Thanks.”
We stopped at the spot with the view to the lake, arms braced on the wooden railing. “Look, Richard.” I held his gaze. “Thing is, the police are investigating, and they’re saying some stuff.”
His jaw tightened. “About the Prasads? That’s bullshit. They’re a good family!”
A good family.
For whom reputation was everything.
“I know. But they’re insinuating things about Bobby. About him being violent.” I didn’t imagine it—that slight flicker in Richard’s eyes.
He knew something.
