Ember Flowers (3 page)

Her black wrap
around glasses went into her breast pocket. The rookie stood
nervously beside her as Jo made their introductions. To her relief,
the dark haired woman made no mention of their prior dealings.
Instead she motioned them toward the broken glass.

“Thought you
were going to send someone out?” A glance over Jean’s shoulder as
the blonde stepped cleanly over the shattered window of her
reception.

Grey eyes
flicked to her as she made a quick note on her clipboard. “Good
opportunity to show one of our newer Officers how to attend a crime
scene.” Curt and to the point, policing was a business and she was
efficient. Her competitive nature had served her well, often at the
expense of being labelled aloof. It wasn’t the worst gossip to be
bandied about in the locker room. Already a lot on her mind, she
blocked it out and focused on the job at hand. She looked at the
shorter woman.

“So who got
here first?”

“I did.”

Scott nested
his hands in his denim pockets, he sported a tan version of the
polo Jean was wearing. It sat well over his broad shoulders,
needing to be comfortable enough to work in.

“OK, so this is
how it looked when you got here?” Her voice hinting at an expensive
education.

Another crunch
as her weight shifted, moving around the overturned chair as Scott
showed her around the office. Jean watched the rookie shadow them
firstly to the door, still locked, then to the trailing cords where
equipment used to sit. All the while she could hear the policewoman
ask questions and take notes. Creating a thorough inventory of what
was taken.

A momentary
interruption as the Officer’s cell phone went off. Clear polished
nails pulled out the device, before it was ignored and put back in
her pocket.

Jean cast a
silhouette against the natural light flooding into the room. “You
can take that if you want to? Won’t be offended.”

A shake of the
blonde pony tail and pursing of curvy lips, occupied by her work.
“No, they can call back.”


The gardener
nodded to herself over crossed arms. She looked around the dirty
rain soaked floor. The broken window had let it all trickle in,
along with the mud from the garden bed outside. Joanne scribbled a
last few notes as she approached. Handing her another card, with a
reference number written on the back.

“Did they leave
any prints, anything you can use?” The brunette looked at the card,
then dark almond eyes settled back on Joanne. They walked together
back out into the car park

The Sergeant
did feel sorry for her, any kind of invasion like this always left
people feeling battered. “Unlikely, it looks as though they used
gloves. I’d say it was a ‘smash and grab’.”

“Right.” She
sighed quietly with acceptance.

The blonde
pulled out her glasses and settled them on the crown of her hair,
she would put them back on when they got back in the car. Her
rookie adjusted his footing, already keen to leave.

“Right. Well.
If I hear anything I’ll keep you informed.” The dark glasses
slipped back over her eyes, combating the glare from the concrete
outside.

Another shake
of their hands, a brief thanks, long legs bending as she stepped
back into her car. She reached for the radio, calling through and
logging the report. Informing the station that they would be
returning shortly. She could overhear Jean and her colleague
talking outside.

The one called
Scott was looking over at her, but trying not to let her notice. He
lowered his voice.

“I didn’t know
they put models through the academy, I can see why people break the
law..”

“C’mon Scottie,
leave her alone, she’s just doing her job. You’re married,
remember?”

“I know, but I
still have eyes Jean. Jesus. Don’t tell me you didn’t want her to
frisk you?” A cheeky grin split the blonde stubble.

“You’re such a
dirty bastard Scott. She can probably hear you.” She hushed her
voice, looking over at the blonde still sitting in her car.

The Officer
smiled at her with the faintest curl of her lip.
Oh yeah, she
could hear everything.

She watched the
brunette smack Scott’s arm as they got smaller in the rear view
mirror.

Chapter 5

Her day was
filled with organising quotes, trips to local garden centres and
placating the annoyed client from earlier in the week. The
afternoon came quickly.

She’d talked
Scott into hanging around the office waiting for the glazier to
arrive. More rain predicted, they’d have to fix that glass sooner
rather than later. Hopefully their new laptops wouldn’t be far away
either.

Now she was
back home, the hum of the evening news barely audible over the
crackly orange embers in the fireplace. There was something
soothing about naked flame. Something primitively comforting about
its warmth and undulating dance. Dressed in an old long sleeve
shirt and worn denim, after attending to the horses, she found
herself quite drowsy. It didn’t take much to nod off.

A calm ocean
greeted her, her bare feet felt the tactile smoothness of the oiled
timber deck. The soft white sails pillowed by mild winds. The mast
creaked against the ropes that bound it. The sky blue, like the
gemstones from the north. A brush of a hand at her hip.
Jean
smiled in her sleep.

A clap of
thunder overhead startled her awake. The rain came pouring down
like a sheet of marbles hitting the roof. The TV fuzzed over
momentarily, the weather playing havoc with the reception. She
reclined further into the leather chair, the footrest already fully
extended under her weary frame. Her eyes drifted closed again.

More noise
outside, not the rain or the wind. A thudding against heavy timber.
A braying of fear from the stable. The structure a little down the
hill from the house. A groan and she was pulling back on her shoes,
throwing the door open, her face battered by the wind. Eyes
narrowing as the storm pushed the hair away from her brow with a
smattering of cold rain.

The heavy door
was harder to unlatch with the elements heaving against it. She was
already soaked to the bone by the time she entered. The smell of
sodden hay assaulted her nose.

She checked
each stall, concrete wet under her feet. Both animals were agitated
and pacing. The thunder unsettling them. She stood in front of the
bay mare, urging her closer with a hushed voice. The hand clasped a
treat from the nearby bag. A whicker and the animal moved closer.
Eyes still wild and scared.

“That’s it
‘Kenzie, settle down, settle down honey.” Her voice soothing and
gentle.

She rubbed down
the animal’s long narrow face. Mackenzie was an unusual name for an
unusual horse. Named after the breeder’s departed dog of all
things, her temperament was usually unwavering. The later of her
years having gentled her.

A dun snout
protruded over the next stall, and Jean moved along and patted that
too. A nervous whinny and that animal also received a calming rub.
She wasn’t an equestrian by nature, she’d just always loved their
grace. Now she had room to move, and the animals seemed quite at
home with her as their keeper.

A quick jog
back up the hill, clutching her arms to herself in the wet, eyes
bleary from the rain. A drenched mess. She scraped her wet shoes
over the bristly doormat. Finally giving up and taking them off,
leaving them to dry under the eaves outside.

Jean padded
upstairs in wet clothes and squelching socks. A dramatic sigh as
she saw herself in the full length bedroom mirror. Her pale shirt
transparent over dark nipples, hugging her compact frame. Pixie
hair plastered down over her head. Her pants hadn’t fared much
better, thick fabric that unshucked stubbornly from her thighs and
was thrown onto the bathroom floor. She stood naked for a moment,
shivering, until she darted into the hot relief of the shower.

She scraped the
soap over herself, just happy to be warm after that onslaught. The
more delicate plants in her garden outside would likely be broken
and ruined by morning. Pale pansies by the deck, blood red tea
roses by the door, the vivid greens of herbs by the kitchen. Their
zesty aroma by the window would be more potent with this
destruction.

Her thoughts
drifted back to the day’s events. It hadn’t been a pleasant
surprise pulling up to see the gleaming shards of glass bright
against the darkness of the ransacked room. The losses would set
her back a couple days, fortunately, most of her designs were
detailed sketches in her head. No loss there. Just client
information that she’d have to dig up.

The soap passed
over her lean stomach. She was a distance runner in high school,
that was a lifetime ago. She’d given it up after the rumours
started. Of course, the rumours were true, but that didn’t make it
any easier. Since then, work had kept her active and she found her
body more willing to stay fit as she aged.

She chuckled.
Her smile quirked at remembering Scott’s embarrassment. She shook
her head, and reflected on the second meeting with the tall
woman.

The blonde
seemed more alert this time around. Though she still projected
unease. It was visible in the slight crinkling of her brow, the
tiredness in her eyes, despite her otherwise confident
demeanour.

Scottie was right about her looks. Though Jean had
refrained from more lecherous remarks, it hadn’t stopped her
subconscious mind.

She could see
Joanne was firmly straight, her gaydar didn’t even register a blip.
She could just tell, the signs weren’t there.
Whomever she went
home to at night was a lucky guy, as long as he could stand the
grumpy look on her face.

Chapter 6

The rain
pattered against the tiled roof as her key turned in the lock. Back
from her mother’s house after her shift. The woman wasn’t warm,
even sometimes over critical, but she could always be counted on. A
quick visit to check on things, and now Jo was home.

Her blonde head
poked through the door. The lights were off.

A soft sigh,
pleased she could sink into a warm aromatic bath, listen to some
music and let her mind go to blank sludge.

The Officer’s
keys and handbag hit the false granite kitchen bench top with a
clunk.

As she moved
through the kitchen she could hear the TV was on. She scowled.

A silhouette
emerged in the doorway, bathed in the blues and oranges of the
screen. “You lose your phone Jo? I’ve been calling you all
day?”

She leant
against the counter top and crossed her arms defensively. The long
toned limbs a pale contrast to her dark shirt.

She gathered
all her strength but it still came out barely above a whisper. “I
need space Owen, time away from you, didn’t you hear that when I
was shouting at you?” It was funny, she could be steel with anyone
but him, and her colleagues never knew.

His tall frame
stood by the door. “We should talk.”

“I don’t want
to.” Grey eyes lifted to meet his.

“I thought I’d
given you long enough to think things over Jo?”

“Nothing to
think about.”

The words
sounded more confident than she felt, and he knew it. The quiver in
her voice gave it away. He smirked at her, his blue eyes that she
once found so attractive were now piercing and cold. They were
amongst his most distinctive features, his freshly shaven face was
appealing even now. Even after the things he’d said in anger were
still fresh in her mind.

He skirted
around her and went to the fridge, pulling out a beer with a soft
clink, a hiss as he opened the cap with a hand on his shirt.

He stood there
and looked at her, raising the bottle again to his lips. She
stepped away, feeling insecure about having her back to him.

“I need to be
alone, Owen, I’ve had a really shitty couple of days.”

A shrug of his
shoulders. “I heard you were quite the hero Jo, pulled a desperate
man off a rooftop this morning?” His eyes twinkled as he took a
long swig, resting the cold bottle against his stomach.

She glared as
an angry flush coloured her cheek. “Where did you hear that?”

He reached
behind her and pawed through the fruit bowl, discarding an apple
that had begun to decay. “Around the place. We share a lot of
friends Jo. People talk.”

A sigh. She’d
put Roy in his place later. It didn’t help that Owen was a cop too.
It had been how they’d met, how they’d fallen for each other. Both
competitive. That’s where the similarities ended. He’d been
reassigned to another posting due to policy and red tape. She was
thankful for it then and now. They were opposites in all the wrong
ways, things got heated quickly.

His latest
excuse was his determination for much sought after promotion.
Detective. High stress and long hours, he would explain away his
behaviour as a frustration of the job, a means of making her
question her feelings, her sympathy. Excuses hadn’t lasted
forever.

She stiffened.
The Sergeant looked for a way out, though the last thing she wanted
was to go back to her mother’s with her tail between her legs.
Again.

“Please leave.”
It was a whimper.

He put the beer
down, standing in front of her and brushing her crossed arm with
his fingertips. “Babe? C’mon? I don’t wanna fight with you.”

She rolled her
eyes, knowing he’d probably make her regret it later. “How many
times do I have to say it’s over?”

He squeezed her
bicep roughly, he’d seen it. “When you start to believe it.” He
pulled her hand away from her chest, examining the still bare
finger. She’d thrown the ring at him. Sometimes he still wore
his.

Tugging the
appendage away. Meeting the cold blue gaze. She’d found the
strength to tell him to go before, it was boiling in her gut, even
though he didn’t seem to be listening.