Her Best Friend. Sarah Mayberry

before sending a quick e-mail to his assistant to let her know it was ready to be released to the client. Then he glanced down at the notes he’d made while talking to Amy.

      He still couldn’t believe she was in a position to buy the Grand, after all these years. And that he hadn’t known about it.

      She’d been obsessed with the place since they were kids. Used to drag him past it as they walked home from school every day, even though it was out of their way. It had been a clothing clearance store back then, the cinema having gone out of business years before. He used to wait beside the door while she made her way through the racks of seconds and the previous year’s fashions to stand with her head tilted back as she studied the elaborate plaster ceiling high above. He could still remember how she used to wrap her arms around her midsection as she drank it all in, as though she was scared her excitement would get away from her if she didn’t keep a grip on herself.

      It felt wrong that she’d reached such a significant milestone in her life and he’d known nothing about it. But then he’d been hanging on to some pretty big news of his own, hadn’t he? He could hardly fault her when he’d just failed to tell her that he was getting a divorce.

      He called up an online search engine. Given a choice, he’d rather work than contemplate his navel. Every time.

      An hour later he’d accessed the local council Web site and downloaded the relevant bylaws. He’d also tracked down some recent decisions on heritage protections in the Victorian Supreme Court. It was nearly eight and his stomach was hollow with hunger. He walked to the takeout Indian restaurant on the corner and bought a chicken curry he probably wouldn’t finish.

      It was cool out and he tugged the collar of his leather jacket higher on his neck as he walked back home. Two-storied Victorian terrace houses marched down either side of the street, their balconies decorated with elaborate wrought iron lacework. He stopped in front of his own terrace house, taking a moment to note the clean white paint and the glossy black trim. Wisteria climbed one of the balcony supports, and the front garden was a masterpiece of precise hedges and rounded topiary.

      He’d been so proud of this place when they’d signed the papers two years ago. A little scared, too, of the debt they’d been taking on. But Lisa had sold him on the risk, convinced him that they needed to live in the right suburb, drive the right kind of cars, have the right people over for dinner. She’d always been ambitious. Keen to kick the dust of small-town Australia off her heels. It was one of the things he’d always admired about her.

      He hadn’t realized that she’d outgrow him one day, too.

      He walked up the path to the front door and slid his key into the lock. He braced himself, then pushed the door open. And there it was—a wash of jasmine and spice. Lisa’s perfume, even though she’d been gone for nearly a year. He caught an echo of it every time he came home. Something he could definitely live without.

      He walked to the kitchen, dumping his dinner on the counter before crossing to the rear of the house and flinging the French doors wide open. The house needed airing out, that was the problem.

      He upended his curry into a bowl and grabbed a fork from the drawer. Once the divorce was finalized, this place would go on the market and he wouldn’t have to worry about her perfume anymore. Then he could move to an apartment, maybe some place in the city. A bachelor pad, full of high-tech gadgets and the kind of non-fussy furniture he preferred.

      Quinn stared down at the messy curry in his bowl. This was not how he’d imagined his life would look at thirty. Not by a long shot.

      He took his dinner to the study and immersed himself in the work he was doing for Amy. Another hour of research and digging and he had the information he needed to help her with her cause. He picked up the phone, then put it down again without dialing.

      There was something he needed to get straight with himself before he spoke to her again. He’d lied to her earlier when she’d asked if Lisa was there, leading her to believe that Lisa was out for the evening rather than long gone. Which went far beyond simply not telling her the marriage was over.

      Why hadn’t he told her, the way he’d told his parents and his colleagues at work and his and Lisa’s mutual friends here in Sydney?

      He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Leaned back in his chair.

      The truth was, he hadn’t wanted his oldest friend to know that his marriage was a failure. Which was a great gauge for where his head was at the moment, wasn’t it?

      Maybe he really did need this holiday.

      He hadn’t been lying when he told Amy that he’d been thinking about her, though. He’d been thinking about her a lot. About the conversations they used to have lying in the tall grass at the bottom of her parents’ yard. About the way she always used to call him on his bullshit. About the times all three of them, he and Amy and Lisa, had gone swimming in the lake after dark.

      All of it a far cry from the polished, finely honed world he occupied now. The corner office. The partnership in the prestigious law firm. The expensive European car. The soon-to-be expensive divorce.

      Quinn shook his head. He really needed to get his head out of his own ass. Too much time on his own these days and he started thinking things to death. This was why he worked late. And why he was reluctant to spend two weeks on an island somewhere pretending to read a spy novel.

      He palmed the phone and dialed Amy’s cell. She answered after one ring and he knew she’d probably been hovering by the damned thing, hoping he’d call back, even though he’d said it wouldn’t be until morning.

      “Quinn,” she said. She sounded breathless. Scared.

      “Good news. I’ve done some digging, and the Grand is listed on the town’s heritage register for both its interior and exterior architectural features. Which means that any development has to preserve the interior as well as the facade.”

      “Oh my God. Thank you. Oh, Quinn. Thank you.” Her voice was thick with emotion.

      “Don’t get too excited yet. Ulrich’s proposal shouldn’t have ever made it past first base. But it did, which means council are prepared to flout their own bylaws if given enough incentive.”

      There was a long silence from the other end of the phone.

      “But once I point out that they can’t do that, they’ll have to reject the offer, right?” Amy said.

      “Not if they think they can get away with it. If the money’s big enough, people will do just about anything, Amy. I’ve been doing some checking, and Ulrich Construction has the contract to build the extension on the school gym, the new wing on the library and the new medical center over near the day spa. I’d say Barry Ulrich and the council are very nicely tucked up in bed with each other, wouldn’t you?”

      “Oh.” She sounded nonplussed, and despite the seriousness of the situation, he had to smile. Amy had always been too busy thinking the best of people to see the worst.

      “The council was probably hoping that they could slip this under the radar while nobody was looking.”

      “Well, that’s not going to happen,” she said. “Not while I’m still living and breathing.”

      “I didn’t think so.”

      “So, what do I do? Go to the meeting, let them know that I know what they’re up to?” He could hear her taking notes.

      “For starters. Take people with you, make sure there are plenty of witnesses to keep the councillors on their toes.”

      “Dad can get his cronies from the Chamber of Commerce to come along. They can throw a bit of weight around when they want to. And Denise knows a guy at the local paper.”

      “Perfect. I’ll draft up a statement for you to read. Something with enough legalese in it to give them pause.”

      “Good. Pause is just what I want to give them. And then some.”

      “I’m