Winter's Shadow (17 page)

‘Take your time.’

‘I’m not in your way?’

‘Not at all.’ As far as she was concerned he could stay as long as he liked.

Blake nodded and bent over the engine again. While Winter watched him work, she tried to relax and enjoy the moment. There he was, his sleeves rolled up, working up a sweat, slaving away for her. It was the stuff of fantasies – yet Winter didn’t feel excited. Her mind kept returning to the change rooms, and those three ominous figures lurking in the misted glass. Winter shivered, feeling her arms break out in goose bumps.

Blake glanced up at her, frowning slightly. ‘Are you okay?’

Winter forced a smile. ‘Sure.’

His eyebrows jumped sceptically.

‘It’s nothing really. I just think I might be losing my mind,’ she confessed with an awkward smile, making light of what was becoming a very real concern.

‘What happened?’

Winter sighed, unsure where to begin. ‘Ever since you . . . um . . . that whole thing happened in the church, I’ve been having these weird panic attacks. I keep seeing shadows that look like people, reflections in mirrors when there’s no one there.’ The words sounded silly as they came out of her mouth.

‘Shadows?’

She laughed nervously. ‘Yeah – pretty crazy, huh?’

His brow furrowed, Blake bent to adjust a screw. ‘Some cultures believe seeing dark figures is an evil omen. A sign that danger is coming.’

Now it was Winter’s turn to raise her eyebrows. ‘Thanks for making me feel better.’

‘I’m just saying that perhaps you should heed them. Take a bit of extra care. Don’t put yourself in any potentially dangerous situations.’

‘Like walking around a condemned church?’

Blake smiled, though not as broadly as she would have liked. ‘Exactly. Can you pass me the flathead screwdriver?’

Winter was grateful for the shift in conversation. She rummaged in his toolbox. ‘Which one? There’s, like, five in here.’

‘The one with the flat head.’

Feeling foolish, Winter found the screwdriver and handed it to him. Her arm accidentally brushed her schoolbag sitting next to the toolbox, tipping it onto the floor. Some of her books spilled out, among them her diary. Blake stopped what he was doing and helped
her pick them up. As he handed her the diary, the photograph hidden in the back slipped to the floor.

‘What’s this?’ he said, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

‘Oh.’ Winter was reluctant to identify the picture and remind Blake of the embarrassing circumstances surrounding it. ‘That’s one of the pictures I took up at the church. It’s . . .’

‘It’s of me, right? You took it just before . . .’ He looked at her for confirmation.

Winter nodded, her pulse quickening at the memory. ‘Yeah, but something happened to it when it was developed. Weird, huh?’

Blake’s frown deepened as he examined the shadow tarnishing the photograph. After a few seconds of silent study, he asked, ‘Have you shown this to anyone else?’

‘No – only the guy at the photo store. And my editor, Harry. He thinks it’s a ghost. Then again, he’s an idiot.’

Winter expected Blake to laugh at the ghost reference, but instead his expression tightened slightly. After another moment of sombre evaluation, Blake relaxed, and she was finally rewarded with the amused grin she’d been hoping for.

‘No wonder you’re seeing dark figures everywhere. This would spook anyone.’ He handed the picture to her. ‘It’s not a ghost. I’ve seen something like this before. It’s called the Grimaldi Effect and happens when there’s too much silver nitrate in the film developer. I hate to disappoint your editor, but there’s nothing supernatural about it.’

‘The Grimaldi Effect?’ Winter felt relieved that the mysterious flaw had a name, indicating a scientific explanation.

Blake started working on Jessie’s engine again, apparently not interested in discussing the photograph further. Winter stuffed the picture back into her diary, glad to hide it from sight. Grimaldi Effect or not, the black smudge still unnerved her.

‘Okay,’ Blake said, putting down the screwdriver. A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. ‘Don’t suppose you know what a socket wrench looks like?’

He was teasing her!

‘Socket wrench. No problem,’ she answered confidently. She ignored his doubtful expression and stared into the toolbox again, trying to figure out which of the metal things it might be. After a few seconds, Blake offered helpfully, ‘It’s the one with the hole in it.’

‘I know!’ Winter snapped in mock indignation. Blake shook his head and started wiping up the excess grease around the edges of the open panel.

Bob Dylan’s ‘Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door’ had been playing for the last couple of minutes, and, barely realising she was doing it, Winter started to hum along to the chorus under her breath. She eventually found the wrench, turned to hand it to Blake, and was surprised to see that he too was humming softly along with Dylan.

Blake blushed (
he blushed!
) when he saw that Winter had caught him. They both stood over Jessie’s exposed engine, smiling, while Dylan sang in the background.
As Blake’s gaze sought hers, Winter felt a delicious tingling all over her body, as though invisible fingers were lightly stroking her skin. Keeping his eyes trained on her, Blake took a step closer. He’d been standing in the shadow of the garage but now, with the afternoon light spilling in through the open garage, his olive skin was suffused with a golden glow. Winter imagined she might disappear completely in the brilliance of such beauty. He wouldn’t let her disappear though. His gaze held her as firmly as a strong embrace. Drawing closer, Blake’s lips parted slightly –
he was going to kiss her!

Suddenly the delicate intimacy of the moment was ruined by the sound of a car engine revving on the driveway outside. The twin headlights of Lucy’s station wagon spilled in through the open garage door, pinning Winter and Blake like a couple of jailbreakers.

Seeing that the space for her car was presently occupied, Lucy pulled on the handbrake and stepped out. ‘Hello.’ Her gaze flitted between Winter and Blake, as though waiting for one of them to explain what was going on.

‘Lucy,’ Winter said, smiling through gritted teeth. As usual, her sister had displayed impeccable timing.

Lucy smiled civilly at Blake. ‘Blake, is it?’

‘That’s right.’

‘What are you guys up to?’ She gestured towards Jessie. ‘Problem with your scooter?’

‘Yeah, it’s been acting up. Blake offered to fix it.’

Lucy’s brow crinkled ever so slightly. ‘That’s very kind of you, Blake.’

‘It was no bother.’ Blake turned to Winter. ‘I guess I better be going.’ He moved away from the scooter and pulled his jacket on.

‘Why don’t you stay for dinner?’ Lucy asked abruptly.

Winter and Blake were equally surprised by the offer.

‘Um . . .’

Subjecting Blake to her sister’s interrogation, not to mention her lack of cooking skills, wasn’t Winter’s idea of spending quality time with him. She threw him a lifeline.

‘If you’ve already got plans . . .’

Blake shrugged. ‘No, dinner sounds great. Thank you for the invitation.’

Lucy beamed at Winter as if to say,
See how nice I can be?
Winter wasn’t buying it. She took a deep breath and prayed silently that Lucy wouldn’t embarrass her. This was going to be interesting.

Winter twirled a few soggy spaghetti strands around her fork and dipped it into the watery sauce pooled in her plate. This was supposed to be spaghetti bolognaise, and while there was plenty of over-cooked spaghetti, the brown liquid poured over it bore little resemblance to bolognaise sauce as Winter knew it. She wasn’t sure where Lucy had hidden the meat or onions in it, but so far she hadn’t been able to find signs of either.

She chanced a sideways look at Blake sitting at the end of the table, and saw that he was doing a much better job of pretending to enjoy the meal than she was. He forked a mouthful of pasta into his mouth with a contented sound.

‘Delicious.’

Lucy smiled at him hesitantly, as though even she couldn’t believe someone could appreciate her cooking. ‘I thought I might have added too much water to the bolognaise mix.’

Blake shook his head. ‘Not at all. This is actually very similar to the way they serve spaghetti in Italy.’

Winter assumed Blake was only being polite, as she couldn’t imagine Italians, or any other nationality for that matter, serving spaghetti like
this
.

Lucy tilted her head to one side. ‘You’ve been to Europe?’

Blake nodded, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. ‘I was born there. Just outside of Bologna.’

Winter wasn’t surprised to hear that he was from another country. Blake seemed considerably more cultured and refined than any other guy she’d met.

Lucy regarded him sceptically. ‘But you don’t have an accent.’

‘I’ve been here for a while.’

‘I’d love to go to Europe.’ Winter sighed wistfully. She was eager to travel and see the world before going to college, but couldn’t imagine having enough money to do so in the foreseeable future. Most of the money she’d inherited from her parents’ will had gone to paying her school fees for the remaining semester. Lucy had placed the small sum that was left over into a savings fund, which Winter couldn’t touch until she was twenty-one. Maybe if she got a job when she left school she might be able to save enough to go backpacking in Europe for a couple of months. There
was always a chance Lucy could get her a job at the pharmacy.

Then again, Winter wasn’t sure she’d be able to work there. She didn’t know how Lucy could do it. Winter had too many memories of visiting their father after school, watching him in his white coat filling prescriptions behind the counter, while she did her homework at his desk. She found it horribly ironic that both Adams girls could end up working in their father’s old pharmacy. They had shared a complete lack of interest in it while he was alive.

‘So, Blake, what brought you to Hagan’s Bluff?’

Lucy phrased the question innocently enough, but Winter could see by the narrowing of her eyes that his answer would go a long way to deciding her feelings about him. Blake paused in the act of forking some spaghetti into his mouth.

‘Well, I’ve always wanted to live near the sea, and I’ve been keeping my eye on property along this stretch of the coast. A house came onto the market that caught my interest, so I decided to make the move.’

Lucy seemed genuinely impressed. ‘You’re a homeowner? Wow, you seem so young. I thought you must be a student.’

Blake smiled modestly. ‘I’m older than I look.’

When Lucy continued to stare at him with a perplexed expression, Blake added jovially, ‘Carrot juice and lots of it.’

A small groove appeared between Lucy’s eyes. Winter had seen this expression before when they’d been watching a comedy on television and she’d laughed at a joke Lucy didn’t find amusing. Her sister’s sense of humour was limited before their parents’ death, and had now shrunk further still to the point that Winter wasn’t sure it even existed any more.

‘Forgive me if I’m a little curious,’ Lucy said, breaking a piece of dry garlic bread off the loaf in the centre of the table. ‘How could you possibly afford a house in today’s economic climate? What do you do for a living?’

‘Lucy,’ Winter cautioned her sister. She’d been prepared to endure her sister’s questioning of Blake, but Lucy’s tone had taken on a confrontational quality. She was treating Blake as if he was the suspect in a crime and she was trying to poke holes in his alibi. Winter glared at her sister as Lucy affected a look of blamelessness.

Luckily Blake didn’t seem offended. ‘It’s fine, Winter,’ he said, and turned to address Lucy. ‘Family money is the answer to your question. I’m lucky enough to be independently wealthy. What about yourself, Lucy?’ he asked, unexpectedly turning the tables on the interrogation. ‘What do you do for a living? Are you studying at the moment?’

Lucy’s back straightened, reacting to Blake’s question like it was an attack. ‘No, I work down at the pharmacy as a dispensary assistant. I was studying marketing but had to defer. Somebody had to come back here and look after Win.’ She glanced affectionately at Winter, who avoided
her gaze. She didn’t appreciate being made to feel like a charity case.