Leave Her Hanging: A Noir Thriller

Chapter Eighteen

Megan lived in Remuera, and that meant her family had money. Her house wasn’t that much bigger than mine, but it was nicer—all the paint was still in place on the roof, the garden was neat and trimmed, a perfect miniature example of man’s conquest of nature. The cars parked in the driveway were only a couple of years old, maximum. I opened the gate—it didn’t even squeak—and walked along the stepping stone path among the purple flowers with names I didn’t know. I stepped onto the doorstep and rang the bell.

Megan opened the door wearing jeans and a loose-fitting top, her mousy hair not in a ponytail for what must’ve been the first time in her life. She looked better with it down. She smiled, tucked a hair behind her ear, and beckoned me in.

“Good timing,” she said. “The pizza just got here.”

“I can smell it. Where are your folks?”

She led me down the hallway. “At the movies. Friday’s normally their date night, but Mum had to work late yesterday so they went out tonight instead.”

“Why are they dating if they’re married?” I asked.

“It’s supposed to keep their love strong.”

“Yeah? How about that.” I was halfway down the hallway before I realised I should probably take my shoes off so I didn’t tread dirt all through their nice white carpet. I retreated as inconspicuously as I could and kicked off my grubby shoes by the front door.

She led me to the back living room—they had two, though I could never figure out why the hell anyone could need more than one—where she’d already set up a couple of plates and paper napkins and a bottle of L&P on the coffee table next to the pizza box. The couch tried to bounce me off like a trampoline as I sat down.

Megan was being polite and I was hungry so I took the first piece of pizza. It was a chicken and cranberry one, not my usual type, but it was pretty good. We sat in silence for a few minutes, munching on pizza and sipping fizzy drink and listening to the classical music being piped in through some hidden speakers. The house had a thing for varnished wood; wooden skirting boards, exposed wooden beams crossing the ceiling like the skeleton of an old sailing ship’s hull.

It was weird being back here. It was even weirder without Ella to shatter all the awkwardness. I wondered when Megan was going to try to make me talk. Then I looked at her and saw that her eyes had gone wet and red-rimmed, and I realised I’d completely misjudged her reason for asking me here.

“Sorry,” she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her arm. “I told myself I wasn’t going to cry like a little girl.”

“It’s okay,” I said lamely, putting the uneaten crust of my slice of pizza back on my plate.

“I was going through the stuff her mum gave me, and it hit me. I didn’t want to upset my parents, I didn’t want them to cancel their date. But then I was alone, and….” She tried to smile, but her lips didn’t work right. “Ella was always the leader. She was the one with the plans and the ideas. Now she's gone, and I feel like I’m trying to fill her place, organising that memorial and everything, but it just doesn't feel right.”

I couldn't argue with her there. It was the same with me. Ella had changed me, for better or for worse, made me into a guy who was willing to stir up trouble to find her murderer.

“I really didn’t mean to bring you here just to do this. I just…. I’m sorry”

I didn’t know what to do, but sitting on the other side of the couch from her while she cried didn’t seem to be the gentlemanly thing. I edged closer and awkwardly laid a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. I get it.”