Derailed (43 page)

“What?”

“Too soon, Scarlett,” he says. “I need more time before I can take things in that direction.” He points upwards.

Bradley’s fucking dead, why the hell is he worrying about him?

I smile sweetly and press my hips against his, raking my acrylics over his broad back. “Of course. I totally understand.” I can’t afford to scare him away, because I want him. Granted, he isn’t as ambitious and successful as Bradley, but he is sexy in a rough, Neanderthal way. And a little goofy – always laughing with twinkling eyes that tell you he’s up to something. Not to mention, he’s big and strong and has that alpha male kind of protective instinct towards women. Noticed how he took on the reporters? No other man has done something like that for me before.

“Thanks for understanding,” he says and rewards me with a big hug. So sweet.

I’m excited about the future. I do believe Ritchie and I are going to get it on. It’s going to be so much fun stealing him away from Rival. 

SCARLETT

I’ve called in Copper Thomas, a top-notch real estate agent who works for a prestigious company in the area. Cooper’s tall, with piercing green eyes, wavy black hair, broad shoulders and looks great on billboards around town. He’s immaculately dressed in a navy suite, crisp white shirt, and a navy- and pink-striped tie. After all the gore and the ugliness of coffins, graveyards, and out-of-shape detectives bombarding me with questions, I need someone easy on the eyes like him.

Today, I’m dressed in a black Anthony Vaccarello tube dress with black YSL sling backs. Even though the dress is fairly demure and appropriate for someone in mourning, its simplicity allows for
me
to shine. Often a dress/gown overshadows, and all you see is the dress, not the person. This dress is made out of a fabric similar to the one used in Spankx, so it enhances my shape, lifting and flattering my butt and breasts.
She wore black
, Cooper will tell the bogans back at the office.
But she looked incredibly sexy in it.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Murdoch,” Cooper says.

“Thank you,” I say, clasping his warm hand and holding onto it longer than necessary. “Please call me Scarlett.”

Even though he fights to appear professional, his appreciative eyes constantly stray to my breasts. I have to wonder what he’s like in the sack. Bet he’s a great first fuck. The thing about men is that they are great at first fucks. But once routine sets in, once they think they can take you for granted, all men are pretty average. Like Bradley; he turned out to be pretty run-of-the-mill after I moved in with him, which was a huge disappointment for me.  

Cooper wanders around, notebook in hand, scribbles furiously, then joins me in the lounge where we sit across each other. Wringing my hands, and in a husky voice I say, “I can’t bear to live here anymore. So many memories.” I sniff and pretend to fight back tears. 

“I understand,” Cooper says in a sympathetic voice.

(Playing the damsel in distress can be a lot of fun. Just don’t overdo it, or it gets tedious.) Business bores me right now, but I need my two and a half million dollars as soon as possible. 

“The problem we anticipate is that someone has died in the property,” Cooper says after straightening his tie. “That can impact the price, lessen the value.”

“Well, Cooper,” I say in an irritated voice, “someone was
shot
, in the property. Someone
important
, who died in
hospital
, not here.”

“Really?” He frowns at me. “The papers say –”

“He was declared dead in the
hospital
, not here. You can quote me on that. I was there.”

“Okay…” With his brows knitted, he writes on his clipboard.

“And Cooper, we were asleep in the
spare
room when the shooting occurred. Not the main bedroom. That should make a difference, right? It’s not like they will be sleeping in a room a person was shot in.”

“That’s a good point.” Again he scribbles away.

“You have to point out that this is Bradley Murdoch’s house, Cooper. He was an icon, set to become prime minister of Australia. You really ought to hammer home that point, because it will appeal to the egotistical buyer. He was courted by the likes of Nicole Kidman, Russell Crowe, Kylie Minogue…to mention but a few. All of whom visited often and spent enormous amounts of time in this very room. In fact, the gladiator sat in that very chair you’re sitting in right now when he told us about that phone-throwing incident a while ago.”

Cooper’s eyes pop. “Really?”

I nod. “To be in the very house Bradley Murdoch once lived in is nothing short of an honor.” I point at his clipboard. “Mention that. Bradley Murdoch will
never
ever be forgotten by the people of Australia.”

“True.” Cooper nods and writes again.  

It irks me to know that real estate agents can be so dumb that I have to do their job for them. That I am forced to obtrude and showcase this home in a way buyers will do battle for. Cooper’s lack of enthusiasm makes me wonder if I have chosen the right real estate agent after all.  

“Who designed this house?” he asks as he writes.

I shrug and in a dismissive voice say, “Bradley’s ex-wife.”

His head jerks to look at me. “Rival Murdoch? The author?
She
designed this?”

“Eh, ye…ah.”

“Wow!” He puts down his pen. “Wait till I tell the girls at the office. They love her book. Wait till I tell my
wife
. She is such a fan. She bought
both
books.” He chuckles.

A tidal wave of fury envelopes me.
Those are my fucking books! Not hers, you dumbass!

I am so furious with him, I feel like throwing him out of my house. But I take a deep breath and finish the consultation. I need this house sold pronto because it costs a packet to maintain. The electricity bills for the unnecessary lighting are astronomical, not to mention the running of the pool costs and the fortnightly garden maintenance bills. I’ll be damned if I have to pay all of that. In the meantime, I have to dip into Bradley’s life insurance policy to pay for the upkeep of the house.

Oh, and talking about insurance money, all you fellow gold diggers take note: always take out a policy
immediately
after you get married. You never know how things are going to turn out and you always want to be prepared. Just before we went to Paris for our honeymoon, I insisted on getting our affairs in order and took out insurance policies on both of us. I even updated our wills. “I get a little paranoid when I fly, so I like to have things in place,” I bullshitted Bradley as I handed him a pen. “We have two children, so we can’t afford to leave them without anything in the event, God forbid, something happens to us.” (Feel free to use that line. When you drag the children in, your ulterior motive is hidden.)

Bradley chuckled, kissed my nose and said, “Nothing’s gonna happen, baby. We’re going to Paris, not to Iraq you know.” Then he went on to sign the insurance policy documents as well as his will. Now I get it all.

Of course, at that time I genuinely had no intention of having Bradley whacked, but me being me, I guess I was sharp enough to think ahead. I shudder to think what would have happened to me had I not taken out a life policy on him and updated his will at the
onset
of our relationship. Now, all I have to do is get my lawyer daddy to contact my broker and claim my money.  This way it doesn’t seem like I’m a money-hungry, greedy bitch. Which I am. I own it, but if you don’t mind, please make that money-hungry, greedy,
smart
bitch. 

Random Seduction Tip

Just as you tire of using that beautiful Prada purse that you scoured the internet for, men tire of a beautiful woman. In the end, they seek a woman who can keep them amused – someone who offers them release from the limitations of their situation, the monotonous churn of their lives. 

Beautiful women are often insecure, demand constant re-assurance and expect total devotion without feeling the need to offer anything in return. As the bloom of their youth and beauty fades, they are often left with few skills and find themselves clinging pathetically to what once was. Beauty is not sufficient for seduction. In fact, it can be a hindrance, as beautiful people are often lazy and expect things to fall into their laps. While they wait for that to happen, another woman, less attractive but with an energetic air and a charged physical presence, waltzes in and lassos her mark. Therefore, should you get overlooked for a woman who is screen-saver beautiful, do not despair. Instead, lurk around, for soon your mark will tire of her and you will have your chance to impress him.     

SCARLETT

My daddy suggests we wait until Rival is arrested before we lodge the insurance claim.

I take his advice, but I’m furious. Why hasn’t Rival been arrested? I
need
her to be arrested so I can get my money. Why the hell are the authorities dragging their feet? Haven’t I given them enough evidence? Haven’t I given them motive, opportunity? Hell, I even gave them witnesses for crying out loud!

I eye the results of a poll taken over Bradley’s death. Eighty percent of the voters believe that Rival is responsible for Bradley’s death, ten percent believe she is innocent, and ten percent are on the fence. Eighty percent? Not good enough.

Frustrated, I decide to accelerate Rival’s arrest by starting a Facebook petition. Sitting down in front of my computer, I start an
Arrest Bradley Murdoch’s Killer
petition. In point form I list all the reasons as to why Rival Murdoch should be arrested – I document motive, opportunity, quotes from witnesses, quotes from the Australian newspapers, and even provide links to internet sites that believe that Rival Murdoch is, judging from her books, a sociopath and a psychopath. I go one step further and quote damning passages from her book. (After all, isn’t every book an autobiography?) I end with photos of me and Bradley’s girls at his funeral.

When I’m done, I smile to myself. If I got such a persuasive and carefully crafted petition in my mailbox, every doubt in my mind as to whether Rival was responsible for Bradley’s murder would be instantly obliterated. I would be convinced beyond a reasonable doubt. Not only would I sign the petition, I would share it on Facebook. This is one petition our premier will not be able to ignore – of that I am convinced.

Of course, it isn’t smart to be known as the one who is promoting the petition, so I email it to my father with instruction for him to hire a powerful public relations company to promote it.

As predicted, my daddy has the petition up and running within hours. I smile as I type my Facebook message.

Scarlett:
Bless their hearts for demanding justice for my poor darling husband. Bradley will be so happy to know you signed and shared. My heartfelt thanks for all your support. 

I’m happy to report that three hours later, the petition has garnered just under four thousand signatures!

My added measure is to post every four hours photos of Bradley and me on Facebook, Twitter, Tumbler, Pinterest, and Instagram. I even post photos of us with the kids. Loving photos of us depicting a happy couple. Then I also blast photos taken at the party the night of Bradley’s murder, and finally, a short video clip of Bradley and me dancing to my favorite song. After this, I anticipate that at least ninety-five percent of voters will believe that Rival is responsible for Bradley’s death. Knowing that Rival’s arrest is now imminent, I relax.

Please, hold your applause. Wait until Rival is arrested. In the meantime, it’s time for a Side Car or two. Shaken, not stirred, remember? I do believe I deserve them.

Chapter Thirty

RITCHIE

Armed with a bottle of Bundaberg Rum, a carton of cigarettes, two bags of crisps, and two take-away containers with honey soy prawns, I walk over to Mabel’s house and slip in through the side gate.

When Mabel sees me, she jerks back. “Holy dooly, you scared me!” 

“Sorry,” I say proffering the gifts.

Her eyes light up. “For me?”

“Yes.”

“Rival told me you like honey soy prawns, so…” I gesture toward the container. “We’re gonna breakfast together.”

She claps her hands.

“I need to ask you a favor, though.”

“A favor? From me?”

I nod. 

“As long as you don’t ask to borrow money –”

“No, no, no.”

“– or have sex with me.”

“NO!” I laugh and take a seat across from her. “I want to install a surveillance camera on your property. To watch the house across.”

She blinks rapidly. “Why?”

I drop my voice and lean in. “Between you and me, Mabel –”

“Maybelline!”

“Maybelline…I think Scarlett is behind Bradley’s murder, but I can’t prove it.”

She pulls back, a frown on her face. “Dunno, Ritchie. My girls tell me they were thick. He used to post loving messages to her on Facebook, they say. Me…” She lifts and drops her shoulders. “All that glitters…”

“Yeah, maybe, but something’s not right, here, Maybelline. I care about Rival and her two girls and, I’m really fighting to save her from going to prison. You know what I’m saying?”

Her face clouds. “Pour us a drink, will you?” 

With a nod, I walk into the kitchen, fetch glasses, ice, and two forks. It’s 9:55 a.m., but I’m having a shot of rum with her. At this rate, I reckon I’m heading for rehab soon.

My bribes pay off – within an hour, I have three motion-detecting surveillance cameras with wide-angle lenses installed and running on Maybelline’s property, all facing Scarlett’s house. I go one step further and hook up two television sets in Mabel’s bedroom.

“Now, when you lie in bed, on this TV, you can continue to spy on your neighbors via these wide-angle camera lenses –”

“Yeah?”