Tressi stood on Mrs. Lepoci's porch staring at her house opposite the road. It'd begun to rain, which would make finding a cab that much more difficult.

"I have it here."

Tressi followed Mrs. Lepoci's voice to the living room.

"Andrew's notes," she explained, flipping open a small notebook, "I'd asked Dax to put it all up in the loft last year when he was here. Took me a while to get the right one."

"How is Dax?"

"Daxton's great. He's a photographer for the Lapec Daily," she said, with unmistakable pride.

"That's great! Where does he live?"

"He's got an apartment at Lakay Gardens near the old library. It's pretty close to the office."

"Is he married?"

At that, Mrs. Lepoci's smile turned melancholy. "He was. She died about a year ago. Car accident. She was such a beautiful lovely girl, and she was pregnant too, at the time. Dax was so cut up about it. I couldn't stand to see him so depressed, so I asked him to take a sabbatical and come live with me. I was pretty lonely here myself so it was good for the both of us." Mrs. Lepoci stared unseeing, lost in her son's pain.

"That's horrible. I can't imagine how terrible it must've been. Is he okay now?" Tressi asked, horrified.

"Yes, things are better now. He went back to work two months ago," she smiled. "He helped clear out a bunch of things when he lived here. But I couldn't throw away some of Andrew's stuff. Which is a good thing, maybe it'll help you."

Mrs. Lepoci held out the leather bound notebook which Tressi accepted. As she was about to open it, her phone rang. It was Des. She sucked in a sharp breath. Excusing herself, she stepped out to the porch.

"Hey."

His voice. She hadn't noticed how much she missed it until she heard it. She wanted to see him right that moment.

"Hi," she breathed back.

"Why haven't you called me back?" There was a slight note of anxiety in his voice.

"I'm so sorry. I haven't been checking my phone"—which was true—"and I've had the most terrible headache." Also true.

"How are you feeling now? Did you take some aspirin? That always helps. You don't eat regularly. Did you skip breakfast? You know that gives you a migraine around the afternoon. Maybe you should have some tea. Chamomile. It'll calm you down. Have you been sleeping properly?" He fired off, not giving her a chance to answer.

When he paused for breath, she grabbed the opportunity. "I've had quite a lot of tea," she smiled wryly, "I did take some aspirin. I could do with some sleep, maybe a little bit more food. But most importantly, I miss you. I wish you were here."

"Oh I'll be there soon. I'm catching the five forty-five. The ten o' clock flight'd be too late, and the conference is over. So I'll see you soon."

Tressi glanced at her watch. It was already past noon. She was supposed to be at the airport in an hour. And she still had to check out. She said her goodbye as hurriedly as possible, without raising suspicion and disconnected the call.

"Mrs. Lepoci, I totally lost track of time. I've to get going. I've to get to the airport in an hour." She looked down at the notebook in Mrs. Lepoci's hand with a torn expression. She desperately needed to know what was inside.

"You can keep that with you, dear. It'll be of more use to you than simply collecting dust here. Just get it back to me when you're done with it."

"Thank you! Thank you so much!" She hugged Mrs. Lepoci goodbye, and rushed out into the rain.

*
The plane soared past the thick veil-like clouds surrounding Lapec, and sunlight poured through the plexiglass window pane. Tressi could feel it warm her forearm as she rested her hand on the armrest and propped Mr. Lepoci's notebook open. She skipped through her own interview which came first.

She remembered how she'd ran to Mr. Lepoci at seven in the morning, panicked and hardly able to get the words out. She'd never hated her mother more. If only she'd been there that night. If only she hadn't been shacking up with her boyfriend, that pathetic excuse of a human. If only she'd cared more about her daughters.

If only. If only. If only.

If there was a person she hated as much as her mother, it would be her mother's boyfriend at the time, Vil Coronzo.

Vil Coronzo was a businessman—by a loose definition. He was whatever you needed him to be.

On the legal side of things, he owned a repair shop and fixed anything from cars to toilets. He employed a handful of young eighteen year old boys—who didn't have a prayer of getting into college—and taught them the trade. He was always flush with cash, his businesses boomed and he paid them well. It was a win-win for everyone involved.

On the illegal side of things, however, he was shady. A mini brothel in the bad part of town, minor league gambling, small scale drug deals, were all linked to him but never enough to pin it on him completely. He was as slippery as an eel and always walked a careful line, never becoming too much of a problem to draw serious legal attention. He was just irksome to the police, who knew he was definitely the wrong sort, but not a big enough threat to warrant dedicated efforts.

Not a pleasant guy to be associated with.

But Dala of course, had been swept away by his dramatic pronouncements and superficial signs of affluence. With his slicked back hair that dripped hair gel, crooked smirk, exotic olive skin, and carefully worded flattery, he'd captured Dala's fantasies while making Tressi sick to the stomach.

Not that he'd ever been anything but polite to her.

But even as a kid, she could sense his indifference and lack of warmth. Why her mother couldn't, had always remained a mystery to Tressi.

Dala had had a number of boyfriends since Tressi's father died when she was five. But when she'd brought Vil home to meet her daughters, Tressi had hated him immediately. Her refusal to accept him had gotten her shipped off to the boarding school and since then, she'd never acknowledged his existence. She vowed never to speak to her mother about it.

Dala had lost any lingering respect Tressi had had for her.

Dala and Vil continued to date on and off throughout the years, never becoming too serious nor moving on from each other—a constant pain for Tressi whenever she came home.

But looking through Mr. Lepoci's notes, she could see that she wasn't alone in her dislike. Mr. Lepoci had referred to Vil Coronzo as a spineless weasel on more than one occasion. She remembered him flying into a rage when he learnt that Daxton had been working for Vil during the summer, and had dragged him home right from the shop. He'd also threatened Vil with a full on police investigation into his affairs, if he didn't stay away from young boys fresh out of high school.

After that, Vil had pretty much steered clear from the Lepocis till he was interviewed following Edda's murder.

There wasn't much to gain from Vil's interview—he'd spent the night with Dala and had no idea who could've done it. On being asked about his relationship with Edda, he'd said that it couldn't be better and that he considered Dala's kids to be his own. After which, he'd vowed not to rest until he had killed his 'daughter's' murderer with his own bare hands.

Tressi flipped the page in disgust and wished she'd run into him while in Lapec just to punch him in his face.

*

When Tressi landed in Minty, it was bright and blazing. She welcomed the sweltering heat that lit the back of her neck on fire as she twisted her body away from the glare, waiting for a cab. She breathed in deeply; the exhaust from the vehicles filled up her lungs. She'd take this over wet moss any day.

She'd moved in with Des when they got married five months ago. They'd known each other for a month before that. It was a whirlwind romance that hadn't let up. He just made her so... happy. Happier than she'd ever been. Happier than what she thought was possible.

She quickly removed her note that she'd stuck on the fridge before leaving, and tore it up. She unpacked, cleaned the house, and got started on the dinner. She knew she should tell Des, but it was hard. Maybe because the whole thing caused her to feel so... ashamed.

Ashamed of her mother for being so irresponsible, ashamed of her mother's boyfriend for just being the kind of human that he was, ashamed of her family for not sharing true bonds, but most importantly, ashamed of herself for not preventing her sister's murder, for letting her killer roam free, and for never figuring out what happened.

All she wanted to do was shield her husband and her new life in Minty from the dark and gory details of her past.

The smell of burning onions stopped her train of thoughts and she quickly poured water in the pot to bring down the temperature.

After that, she pretty much concentrated on not letting the dinner burn, and tried not to pay attention to the vanilla and citrus scent that seemed to linger in the air.

She felt a familiar smile tug at the corners of her lips when she heard the key turn in the lock.