is a hangnail,” Melissa replied, examining it with renewed alarm.
Ally heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Never mind that. Have you updated your résumé recently? I’ll make copies at work for you.”
“I’ll get it.” Melissa went down the hall to her bedroom and came back with a couple sheets of paper. She borrowed Ally’s pen and inked in corrections. “I’ll have to type it up first.”
“Leave it with me,” her sister insisted. “It’ll take me five minutes and then it will be done.”
And done right was the implication.
Melissa felt terrible. Ally managed a busy cottage-rental agency, Mother owned and ran a successful art gallery, Tony—well, no one in his right mind would want his checkered track record. Still, he’d started up half-a-dozen businesses in his life and not all of the failures were his fault. In fact, the olive grove was still going strong. What had Melissa ever done that was noteworthy?
“When I stopped for the eggs, the farmer was looking for a nanny for his four-year-old daughter,” she said. At the time she’d dismissed the idea but after this discussion, being a nanny didn’t seem so bad.
“What do you know about kids?” Ally said doubtfully.
“I was one once myself.” Melissa popped another olive in her mouth. “I could be a nanny. If I wanted to.”
The oven timer beeped. “Dinner’s ready,” Cheryl said. “Melissa, can you help set the table?”
“Sure.” She pushed back her chair to get up. Then froze. The footy game had been interrupted by a news bulletin. Diane’s face flashed up on the TV screen, flanked by pictures of Josh and Callie. Melissa grabbed the remote and stabbed at the volume.
“…Diane Chalmers and her two young children disappeared yesterday from their home in an exclusive district of Ballarat,” the female reporter was saying. “Mrs. Chalmers’s car was found abandoned half a mile from the bus station. Judge James Chalmers is appealing to the public for any information leading to the recovery of his wife and children. Foul play has not been ruled out.”
A florid-faced man with silver hair told the reporter in a quiet, tightly controlled voice the details of his missing family. Then, his gray eyes intense and glistening, he turned to the camera and begged Diane to come home.
“That poor man,” Cheryl said, clucking softly.
“I—” Melissa stopped. Was he who Diane was running from? Melissa couldn’t say anything. Her family would insist she go to the police. But they hadn’t seen Diane’s desperation.
“I hope the police find them, poor things,” Cheryl added, “and that they haven’t come to any harm.”
Now Judge Chalmers was saying that his wife had gone through a depression and wasn’t emotionally stable. Melissa bit at her hangnail. Had she done the wrong thing in protecting Diane? She’d seemed balanced, aside from her anxiety. But was Melissa qualified to judge? What if Diane’s children were in danger?
“Maybe his wife wasn’t abducted,” Melissa suggested. “Maybe she ran away from him.”
“Why would she do that?” Tony asked.
“He might have abused her. Or the children,” she added, recalling the bruises on Callie’s face and arm.
“He’s a judge,” Cheryl said firmly. “Judges don’t do things like that.”
“How do you know?” Melissa asked.
“It’s against the law.”
“Lots of people break the law.” Melissa gave Tony a pointed look. “Some of them get away with it.”
“You can see how upset he is that they’re gone,” Ally objected.
“It could be an act.”
“Why are you against him?” her sister inquired. “You don’t even know the man.”
“Why are you defending him?” Melissa countered.
“Girls!” Cheryl interrupted. “Dinner’s ready.”
The roast lamb their mother put on the table seemed like a feast when Melissa thought about Diane, Josh and Callie in the cold, dark cottage. The farmer obviously didn’t know about them, which meant they probably didn’t have electricity or heat. Even if they did, Diane wouldn’t risk cooking for fear of being detected. God knows what they’d eat—probably tinned beans. Cold beans, at that.
She had to go back, Melissa decided. She couldn’t just abandon them without knowing if they were all right. She barely listened to the others chatting about the olive harvest, the new glass artist, whose work Cheryl was displaying in her gallery, and the town’s worryingly low water supply.
As soon as they were finished eating, Melissa jumped up. “I hate to eat and run, but I’ve got to get going.”
“You didn’t mention you were going out tonight,” Cheryl said. “Where to?”
This was exactly why she couldn’t stand living at home. Her mother was asking politely, out of curiosity, and Melissa owed her a courteous reply, but wasn’t used to accounting for her every action. “I’m going to visit some friends.”
Cheryl followed her. “Have you got your key?”
“Yes, Mother.” Spying the platter of leftover lamb, Melissa paused. “Can I take some of this meat?”
Cheryl’s eyebrows rose under her platinum-blond coif. “I suppose so. Is it for your friends? Can’t they cook for themselves?”
“They don’t have the use of a kitchen at the moment,” Melissa said. Technically speaking, it was probably true. “They’re living on cold tinned food.”
“Renovating,” Ally deduced with a shudder. “I know what that’s like. Don’t they have a microwave?”
“The electricity’s out.” Melissa rummaged in a drawer for a large freezer bag.
“Let me, darling,” Cheryl said, as if, goodness knows, Melissa couldn’t manage on her own, and began placing slices of meat inside the bag, one at a time.
Melissa watched impatiently for a moment, then took the bag out of her mother’s hands and, grasping the leg of lamb by the frilled bone, shoved the whole thing in. “May I take the potatoes, too?”
“If you like,” Cheryl said, astonished.
“Gravy?” Tony offered, holding up the gravy boat.
“Too messy.” Melissa zipped up the bag and upended the pan of roast potatoes into another one. Then she lifted a hand in farewell to her wide-eyed, speechless family. “See you all later. Thanks for doing my résumé, Ally. Say hi to Ben and Danny.”
“Will do,” Ally murmured.
“Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to take?” Tony
