And it seemed this meant he always wanted what was bad for him. What he couldn’t have.
Which was why he had to leave.
‘We keep the body parts in the garage freezer.’
Jett almost smacked his head on the open freezer door at the sound of Max’s voice. ‘Shit.’ He let it shut with a feeble squelch against the rubber lining. ‘Sorry.’
Max’s upper lip curled as she walked into the kitchen (how had he not heard her arrive home?) and re-opened the freezer. She took out the packet of Magnums and rattled them at him. He shook his head.
‘Grey wouldn’t have given you a key if he didn’t want these unexpected midnight visits. Why are your keys in here? Are you hiding evidence from your roadside rendezvous with La Marca? Do I need to make room in the garage freezer?’
‘It’s a preventative measure.’ He shouldn’t be surprised that Max already knew what had happened.
‘MoreMagnums? Is the freezer producing them?’ Grey wandered in, shoving off his jacket and immediately hanging it on the coat rack (Max had flung hers across the couch). Her messiness and sugar obsession were slowly creating more personality in Greyson’s cottage, which Jett had always thought felt like a hotel or a photoshoot for a home design magazine. The change made Jett’s heart swell but constrict at the same time, like there was an elastic band pulled taut around it.
‘Jett bought these,’ Max said as Grey took one warily from the box.
‘Jett’s allergic to nuts,’ Grey said.
Max glared at Jett. ‘Thanks a lot.’
He managed a weak smile as Max violently crunched the layer of chocolate around the ice cream.
‘Something stronger?’ Grey asked.
Jett braced himself, ready to refuse – he should go – but the memory of Nella standing in the middle of the road, the floodlights illuminating her shaking body, and the flash of something dark and awful crossing La Marca’s face when she’d turned away, made him nod.
Grey pulled three glasses from his cupboard and poured a finger of honey-coloured whiskey into two of them and filled the third with ice and half a can of Coke. Jett gulped the Coke in one burning sip, the prickling tension behind his eyes easing as the sugar scorched through him.
Grey spoke as he refilled Jett’s glass. ‘So Nella’s agreed to take the case?’
Jett responded by gulping half of the second glass.
‘You don’t approve?’ Max asked through a mouthful of vanilla cream and almonds.
‘Why on earth would Nella need my approval to do anything?’ Jett said. ‘But no, as it happens. I think it’s dangerous.’
‘So you agree with her?’ Grey said. ‘You think La Marca had Clarkson murdered because he found something that would prove the Barbaranis have a legitimate claim to the wine recipe?’
Jett swirled the remaining Coke into a whirlpool, watching the bubbles collide in the crystal glass. ‘It’s a theory,’ he said eventually. ‘But I feel like ... I don’t know. Something feels off about the whole thing.’
‘You think he did kill himself?’ Max asked.
Jett took a sip, restraining himself from finishing the second glass yet. ‘I do. Nella doesn’t.’
‘She say why?’ Grey looked at the box of Magnums, frowned, and took another. Jett didn’t miss Max’s conniving smirk as she sipped her whiskey.
Jett scratched the back of his head. ‘She reckons she knows him, and he wouldn’t do something like that. But I think she can’t see anything except the La Marcas. Also, apparently he wasn’t wearing a belt, but they found him with one, so she thinks that unequivocally proves it was murder.’
‘Humour her for a minute,’ Max, the reigning Queen of Conspiracy Theories said. ‘How does that play out?’
‘Don’t know. Skinner’s in jail now the evidence that he framed Libby Johnston has come to light. Kudos to you for that,’ Jett said.
Max sighed. ‘Doesn’t mean much now that she’s dead. But yeah, Skinner’s out, so no more La Marca personal hitman, but it’s plausible they hired an independent contractor to get rid of Clarkson.’
‘But why kill him in Nella’s office?’ Jett interjected. ‘Why not wait until he was walking to his car or in the back alley?’
‘You think it was some sort of message to the Barbaranis?’ Grey looked sceptical.
