Page 70 of Sinful Promises

“Jesus. You make it all sound so clinical. Can’t we just have a nice chat? Why don’t you tell me about your job?”

“I told you. I had to quit my job to come here.”

She glared at me. “I meant before that. Daisy, please?”

“Just a few more questions. Why did we have to keep moving all the time?”

She frowned at me, maybe trying to work out what I was getting at. “We went where the jobs were.”

“But that doesn’t make sense, Mother. I heard you complaining many times about having to quit a job. Not the other way around.”

“What would you know?” She huffed. “You were a kid.”

I pulled out another photo—a random one of a guy without a shirt on, holding up a beer. “Who’s this?”

She frowned at the photo and shook her head. “I don’t know.”

I believed her, which was a miracle, and plucked out another photo. “What about him?”

A smile lit up her face. “Oh, he was the caretaker at the trailer park at Rockhampton. He was so nice. He used to let you ride on his mower. Do you remember?”

“No.” I produced another photo. And another. Each time she’d either say she didn’t know or gave some random story about who the man was.

“What about this, Mom?” Speaking as nicely as possible, I opened the newspaper on her tray.

“I don’t know.” She shook her head, but her eyes gave away her deceit.

I plucked the box from the floor. “You had it in here with all these photos. You kept it for a reason. Why?”

“Hmmm.” She shook her head again, acting all innocent. “I have no idea. It must’ve got caught up in a few things.”

“Really? Okay, what about this?” I grabbed the velvet pouch, and before she could move, I tipped the diamond necklace onto the newspaper.

“Shit.” She snatched it in her hand and shoved it beneath the bedsheet. “What the—” She clenched her teeth. Her eyes were seething.

“You need to tell me about these. Right now!”

“Fucking hell, Daisy,” she hissed.

Now there’s the mother I know.

“Yes?” Despite the volcano of acid erupting in my stomach, I remained as calm as I could. “You have one minute to start talking?—”

“Or what?” Her words snapped off her tongue, proving the brittle-voice act she’d been doing was exactly that—an act.

“Or I’m going to the police.”

“You know nothing.”

“I know that Rob or possibly both of you robbed a jewelry store in Toowoomba and that necklace is from the robbery.”

“Oh please.” She flipped her hand, trying to act aloof, but the fury in her eyes exposed her true emotion.

“Is that why Rob stayed? Because you blackmailed him somehow. Was that why?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, her hand strangled the sheet.

“Is that why we had to keep moving? Because we were on the run from the police? Is it?”

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