Three weeks later, Cherylyn had been reloading paper into the HP printer in the rear office, when she overheard an elderly guest asking Danny if they could speak to the young, slim receptionist. Partly out of habit and partly out of naivety, Danny had stupidly called Cherylyn through.

‘Hi, there can I help you?’ Cherylyn had smiled warmly at the elderly woman, who had frowned in mild irritation back at her.

‘No, not you, dear,’ she had said, as she shook her head. ‘I want to speak to that slim, pretty young thing who was working reception last night.’

That had been enough for Cherylyn, who realised she could magnanimously accept her role as the older, larger receptionist, and wear it like an ugly costume, or she could fight to retain her looks and status. She opted for the latter.

The first day on the bike had been easier than she anticipated. It had been her day off, so she rose early, and drove to the Joshua Tree Bicycle Shop where she collected her gleaming purchase. Then, she had returned home, where, after a lunch of Special K, Cherylyn moved in tentative circles around the backyard of her two-storey home. By 3:00 p.m. she had pulled on the glossy red fibre-glass helmet, and ventured out into the quieter roads. In the weeks that followed, cycling became part of her daily routine - a secret weapon in her war against ageing, and Lisa-Marie’s effortless pert little ass.

Cherylyn was three miles out of town, and pushing hard on the pedals, when a sudden noise rose behind her. She turned her head frantically around, and found herself faced with a shuddering wall of metal, as a speeding bus passed dangerously close her. For a scary moment, she felt her bike pulled towards the mass of the dull metal beast thundering past her. It seemed inevitable she would be drawn beneath the wheels of the bus, and crushed to dusty meat. The bike wobbled unsteadily between Cherylyn’s legs, but she managed to steady it, as the bus roared away from her.

‘Jesus!’ she yelled. ‘Watch where you’re going psycho!’ She would have flipped her middle finger to the departing bus, but she was partly unsure if such a defiant gesture would put her further off balance. Instead, she simply put her head down, and continued counting her downward strokes, muttering her annoyance.

It took a couple of minutes before she glanced up and realised the bus had stopped about fifty yards up ahead.

Even though she was already at the limit of her energy, Cherylyn’s rage provided her with enough strength to reach the silent vehicle. She glanced up at the dark windows as she moved along the flank of the bus. When she reached the door, she banged angrily on the dark glass.

The door hissed open.

‘Listen! I don’t know what the hell you thought you were doing back there, but I almost …’ Cherylyn fell silent as she found herself staring down the black barrel of a Ruger PC carbine rifle.

‘Climb aboard!’ the man in the Mickey Mouse hat said, with a fixed grin on his face.

Cherylyn glanced helplessly at the deserted road ahead. She then wept, as she stepped off the bike and into the darkness of the bus.

A moment later, a large man in a Hawaiian shirt climbed off the bus and opened the cover of the luggage compartment. He picked the bike up with one hand, and threw it in.

26

The warm mist of the shower filled the cubicle and swirled around Vicki’s head. She stood beneath the torrent with one palm pressed against the smooth, charcoal-coloured tiles. She had taken to the bathroom to escape her mother’s interrogation about the previous evening. Abigail Reiner was not so easily defeated.

Stepping out of the shower, Vicki wrapped a white towel around herself, turning to find her mother sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bath. In one hand, she held a smouldering menthol cigarette, in the other was crystal ashtray.

‘Wow, you gave me a fright.’ Vicki tried to sound nonchalant, as she twisted a second towel around her dripping hair.

Her mother sucked on the cigarette, and spoke as she blew the smoke out, ‘Who was the man I showed out of my house this morning?’

‘What?’

‘Don’t be obtuse, Victoria. Who was the man?’

‘A detective.’

‘He claimed you approached him.’

‘That’s true. Laurie has been missing for some time. I think something bad might have happened to her. I wanted help.’

Vicki, eager to avoid the confrontation, walked out of the bathroom and padded into her bedroom, but her mother merely followed her, hovering in the hallway.

‘Are you sleeping with him?’ Abigail asked, as she stood in the doorway.

‘What?’

‘You heard.’ Abigail crushed the stub of her cigarette into the ashtray. ‘Are you sleeping with that old man? He’d obviously spent the night, after your little party.’

Vicki sat on the edge of her bed, where various old photographs of her father remained, scattered like playing cards.

‘For god’s sake, your sense of timing is great. I’ve just lost my father.’

‘All the more likely it is, then, you would make irrational decisions. Can you imagine how I felt flying three thousand miles to collect your father’s insurance documents, and walking in on this?’

‘On, what?’

‘Your cheap date.’

‘I am not sleeping with him, not that it’s any of your business.’

‘Good, that keeps everything nice and simple, then.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Well, I have informed the police of his intrusion …’

‘His what?’

Abigail’s face did not even register her daughter had spoken. She carried on speaking, undaunted by the interruption.

‘-and that I would consider any repeat of his visit to represent a criminal act.’

‘My friend is missing, possibly abducted, and that kind man is helping.’

‘Missing? Don’t be so melodramatic.’

‘She is missing, and he’s helping.’

‘Oh, I’m sure he’s helping by filling you full of junk food and alcohol?’

‘It was me who bought the beer.’

‘Oh, jeez, he must have thought he won the state lottery, meeting you.’

‘You know, not everyone is a selfish as you!’

‘No, of course not. I’m flying back out this afternoon. I appreciate you may be vulnerable, and suitors haven’t exactly been thick on the ground, but in my absence, try to avoid inviting any other strangers into my house.’

Abigail turned victoriously out of the doorway, and strode back to the kitchen, leaving her daughter sobbing quietly on the bed. If nothing else, Abigail felt comforted by the fact her daughter would be very unlikely to see the elderly man again.

27

At 2:15 p.m., a couple of lawnmowers were droning sleepily on the opposite side of the street as Leighton sat beneath the yellow parasol at his patio table, with a tall glass of iced tea. He was scribbling methodically on his notepad when a white Punto pulled up in front of the single-storey condo.

‘Hi,’ Vicki called from the open window, as she leaned across, and smiled sheepishly. She had tortoiseshell sunglasses on her head, and was wearing that faded University of San Diego t-shirt again.

Leighton stepped off the patio, and crossed the shared lawn, dividing the properties from the road. He paused halfway.

‘Hey, is your mother waiting in the back-seat with a telephoto lens and a gun?’

‘I’m sorry you had to suffer an encounter with her.’ Vicki narrowed her eyes, and assumed the icy stare. ‘Bitch is as bitch does.’

‘Aren’t you taking a chance, talking like that?’ Leighton smiled. ‘She might have followed you?’

‘No, she’s already headed back to New York.’