Read Online Bitter Nothings by Vicki Tyley - Free Book Online

floor apartments. What was Sophie doing there? At that time of the morning? With a suitcase?
    Only one way to find out. Before Dervla could open her car door, a man emerged from the shadows of a neighboring brick wall and accosted Sophie. A burly man with a bandaged forearm. Martin. He caught his ex-wife’s elbow, wheeling her around. She yanked herself free and stumbled backward. He advanced. She yelled something at him, her arms held out in front of her.
    Dervla fumbled with the door handle, dropping her keys in her haste to get out. She scrambled between her feet for them, cursing her ineptitude. Once upright again, her focus went straight back to the couple warring on the footpath. Except they’d both disappeared.
    She heard a vehicle door slam. A white van took off from the curb and sped past her. She recognized the driver’s crew cut and breathed a sigh of relief. But what’d happened to Sophie?
    Dervla jumped out of her car, shielding her eyes against the sun as she scanned the area. In the same instant she spotted Sophie’s sporty red Volkswagen Eos parked across the street from Emmet’s place, her friend’s car pulled out and roared off in the opposite direction.
    Within seconds, Dervla had snatched her handbag from inside the car, found her mobile phone and called Sophie. It went straight to voicemail. She hung up without leaving a message and dropped the phone back in her bag.
    Pressing the lock button on her car remote, she waited for a gap in the traffic then darted across the street.
    A lemon-scented gum the height of the two-storey brick residence, its canopy overhanging the footpath, stood sentry at the entrance to number 16. She cut across under the tree, her feet kicking up leaves and flakes of bark. Any other day and she would’ve slowed for the fragrance alone.
    She took the concrete steps leading up to Emmet’s apartment two at a time and rapped on his door. From inside, she heard the faint strains of music and approaching footsteps. The door opened, her brother peering at her through slitted eyes.
    “God, Em, some clothes would be nice.”
    He looked down at his bare, almost hairless chest to his Australian-flag boxer shorts and shrugged. “What do you expect when you drag me out of bed? Come in if you’re coming in.” He threw the door open and padded off in the direction of his bedroom.
    Out of bed? Sophie had just left. Dervla only hoped it didn’t mean what she thought it meant. She stepped into the stark white entrance, shutting the door behind her.
    Her brother’s bedroom door closed, cutting off Keith Urban’s love laments mid lyric.
    While she waited for Emmet to reappear, she prowled the rented apartment. With the exception of the mushroom-pink plush carpet, the all-white theme carried right through, from the walls and ceilings to the kitchen bench and cupboards. Cheap oriental rice-paper light shades clashed with molded art deco ceilings. What had the landlord been thinking?
    An empty wine bottle sat next to the kitchen’s pedal bin. She checked for wine glasses. Two in the sink, one with lipstick. Her heart sank.
    “Want one?”
    She whirled around.
    “Juice. Do you want one?” Emmet, now in jeans and a blue Foster’s T-shirt, stood at the open refrigerator door, holding aloft a carton of orange juice.
    She shook her head.
    “Good.” He swigged straight from the carton. “More for me.”
    “I saw Sophie.”
    He took another swig and smacked his lips. “Good for you.”
    “Leaving here.”
    “So?”
    “So, why was she here?”
    Sighing, he set the juice carton on the bench. “After what happened with her ex, she didn’t want to be alone. I suggested she stay here. Simple.”
    “She could’ve stayed at my place.”
    “And if her jerk of an ex turned up again?” He puffed out his chest. Sophie’s hero.
    Dervla dragged her fingers down her face, sucking in a breath. If her brother believed he could protect Sophie – and himself – against her deranged