there had been an accident.” The memory that I’d managed to keep buried for the past few months tore through my mind, and I curled myself up into a tight ball, huddling into Weston as I broke apart all over again.
I sat, numb, as the police officer told me that there had been a “catastrophic gas leak,” which had caused my entire home to explode, with my dad inside. The fire service was going to investigate, but it was thought to be a freak accident. I couldn’t care less about the fact the house was gone. Never mind that it had been my home for the past thirteen years and everything from my childhood was blown to smithereens. My dad was gone.
“Miss Huntington? Are you okay? Is there anyone I can call?” The female detective placed a gentle hand on my arm, her soft brown eyes full of concern.
I swallowed hard, darting my tongue out to moisten my dry lips. “N-no. Thank you.”
She remained unconvinced but let out a heavy sigh and rose to her feet. “Here’s my card. Please don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything at all.” She flicked her eyes to the male officer with her, and he gave a tiny nod. As one, they headed towards the door. She paused, turning back to me. “I mean that. Anything at all. We’re here to help.”
“Thanks.” My voice came out as a hoarse whisper.
Then they were gone, and I was alone. I felt the bile rise in my throat, and I stumbled over to my wastepaper basket, retching until my throat was so raw from stomach acid that I was coughing up blood and tears were streaming down my face.
Curling into a ball on my bed, I succumbed to the sorrow that was pulling me under, sobbing until there were no tears left to cry, and the darkness swallowed me whole.
“A few weeks later, after they’d officially ruled that his death was an accident, I received a box, addressed to me. The return address was the university my dad worked at. I opened it to find a note on the top from one of my dad’s colleagues, saying he’d packed up the stuff from his work office, and all his personal effects were in the box. He thought I might like to have them.” My voice broke again as fresh tears streaked down my face, remembering opening the items, carefully packaged in bubble wrap. The first thing I’d unwrapped had been a framed photo of the two of us, taken one summer when I was around ten years old, sitting on the beach eating ice cream. It was his favourite photo of us. There had been other things that had sentimental value to him—his crystal ball with a 3D model of the solar system suspended inside, that I’d given him for Christmas, his favourite heat changing mug, and a bunch of star charts and diagrams of constellations he’d had on his walls.
I cleared my throat, swiping the tears away. “Sorry. Um…underneath the other stuff, there was a manila file, that just said ‘Personal’ on the front. I opened it up, and there was a load of scribbled notes, most of which don’t make any sense to me, some printouts about Alstone Holdings, and a photo of my mother.”
“Do you have the file?” Cassius interrupted before I could continue.
“Not here. It’s in a safe place.”
“What do the notes say?”
“They’re mostly just words or really short sentences and dates. I realised that the first dated note corresponded with that first day my dad went to Alstone and started acting all weird, and all the dates match with the times he went to Alstone. I’ll get the file to show you when I can, but it set off alarm bells, and from what I can make out, he thinks my mother is…planning something that’s quite possibly illegal, and dangerous, and worth a lot of money. And somehow Alstone Holdings is mixed up in it, maybe even behind it.”
“Babe, you need to get that file to us. With our knowledge, we might be able to work it out.” Cassius stared at me, his gaze serious.
“I know, and I will. Thanks, Cass. I’ve been feeling so alone,” I whimpered, my voice hoarse and my throat raw from crying. “I want to get justice for my dad, but I didn’t even know where to start. And then last night I find out that you think I’ve been working with my mother, the