‘We finally convinced her to go to the hospital. They’re both admitted now—Janelle is in the mental health unit. The doctor thinks she has what’s referred to as Munchausen by proxy syndrome. That’s when mothers deliberately hurt their babies to gain attention.’ She sighed. ‘She’s struggled ever since the baby was born, although there were glimmers when I thought, despite being young and not having any help, she was going to be okay. Clearly she wasn’t. Apparently she’s been going around telling anyone who would listen that Maddie wouldn’t feed. I spoke to Ruth at the Mug and she told me that Janelle and Maddie were in there every day. Janelle would tell complete strangers how difficult Maddie was. Sometimes she got the sympathy she was looking for. Other times, when people ignored her, she’d get a little louder. Once, she was asked to leave.’
‘Where’s the father?’ Dave asked.
‘I don’t think Janelle knows.’
‘And the mother? Has she realised her daughter needs her?’
Melinda looked sad. ‘Nope. When I went to see her this afternoon, she refused to come to the hospital. Said exactly what Janelle had been telling me: her problem, she needed to deal with it.’
‘What the hell?’ Dave said angrily. ‘Who does that to their children? Their grandchildren? I hope she rots.’
‘In a way, I’m cross with myself because Janelle was telling me exactly what was going on, except for the feeding side of things. That was her way of trying to make me notice.’
‘What happens now? Has Maddie had any long-term damage done to her?’
‘The doctor doesn’t seem to think so. He was running liver function and full blood tests, just to check. She just needs to put on a little weight.’
‘And Janelle?’
‘I think she’ll be on medication for a while. The hospital will call in welfare, get her set up in a small unit somewhere and watch her closely. Now she’s getting the help she needs, she should be okay. Or at least be able to heal.’
Dave squeezed her hand. ‘You need to be congratulated, you know. It was you who picked that up. Patti didn’t, no one else in the health centre did. You’re incredible. Do you realise you’ve saved two lives?’
Melinda gave a wan smile. ‘I know. It’s pretty cool, isn’t it? I’m glad I took the job.’ She took another sip of wine and closed her eyes, her head flopping back against the couch. ‘So am I. How about I get dinner?’ he said, looking at her and realising she could fall asleep quite easily. ‘But first, I really need a shower.’
Melinda opened her eyes and looked at him. ‘Yeah, you’re filthy! Do you need company?’
‘Are you up to it?’
‘Always.’
The next afternoon at two o’clock they stood outside the Exotic Club and waited for the madam to open the door.
There were eight other couples, older than Dave and Melinda, and they all glanced at one another nervously.
‘Ever done this before? Can’t believe I’m on a brothel tour!’ one man said to Dave.
‘Never,’ he answered with a grin.
One of the women giggled nervously. ‘God, I wonder what we’ll see.’
The door cracked open and a plain-looking middle-aged woman looked out at them. Dave stared, then glanced at Melinda and gave her a nudge with his hip. This was not the Narla he’d met the night they’d been called to the brothel. That evening she’d been dressed in a short skirt and low-cut top, with heavy eye makeup. Today she wore grey slacks and a conservative white blouse. Her shoes were black sneakers and there was not one iota of sexiness about her.
‘Please, come in,’ she said in a honey tone. ‘Welcome to the Exotic Club.’ She waved them inside into a waiting room with seats lining the walls, and gestured for them to sit down.
The lights were dim and everywhere there were props: feather boas draped over the chairs, lingerie displayed on mannequins, and framed pictures of hand-drawn figures in many different sexual positions.
Dave grabbed hold of Melinda’s hand and pulled her close, remembering their lovemaking the night before. A thrill of desire ran through him.
Once everyone was settled, the madam stood in front of them, her hands clasped. She gave off a calm, self-confident authority. It was clear she wasn’t embarrassed by her profession one bit.
‘Welcome to the Exotic Club, the oldest working brothel in Barrabine,’ she began. ‘My name is Narla and I am the madam here. I pride myself on running a good establishment, one which caters for a wide variety of needs and wants.’ Her voice was like warm caramel flowing over ice cream—enough to make anyone melt, Dave decided. ‘We get many men into this house—two are never the same. Some are quiet and shy, others are loud and flashy. Some arrive with bundles of cash, others with credit cards. But they all come here to have a need met. Today I will be showing you around my brothel. We have one bondage room and two standard rooms. So…the bondage room first. Follow me, please.’
They all filed in, single file, and Dave heard the gasps of the people in front of him.
‘Oh my goodness,’ Melinda said, stopping so suddenly he ran into the back of her. She was staring at the bed, which was covered in all sorts of toys and equipment.
‘Check out those shoes,’ she turned and whispered. ‘How can spikes that long be classed as pleasurable?’
‘Who knows? And check out the Bundy Bear—he’s handcuffed to the bed!’
Melinda turned with a cheeky grin and looked up at him under her lashes. ‘Did you bring your cuffs home from work, Mr Detective?’
Dave laughed out loud, then quickly stopped as everyone else fell silent.
‘Many people ask to use this room,’ Narla began in her smooth voice. ‘The clients want to be whipped or chained to the bed. As you can see, there are chains on each corner of the bed and,’ indicating the roof, ‘clients may also be
