‘What about your piece on Tony?’
‘It’s all background. Have you finished the piece on Les and Sal?’
‘You keep interrupting me.’
***
Mia continued packing her father’s clothes into plastic bin bags after Arlo left. Glenda’s parents had taken all her personal things along with photographs of her children and anything that came from her childhood and her life before she met Tony. They left photos with him in them, including the wedding album. They left anything tainted by his existence.
When Glenda’s stern-faced father, Paul, had approached her at the funeral to tell her they’d be clearing the house of her possessions as soon as they were allowed, Mia hadn’t objected. She wanted nothing, yet here she was surrounded by the contents of a house she now owned. The house was in his name, and a car which she’d sold as soon as she was legally allowed. The money went to a charity.
Paul had patted her arm awkwardly and told her that his family held her no grudge and he was sorry she’d lost her father. But he also said they wanted no more contact with her. No more reminders. ‘Glenda’s mother couldn’t cope,’ he said. ‘You understand.’ And she’d nodded. She did understand.
The clothes she was bundling smelled musty and some had moth holes. The whole lot should go to the dump. She’d already contacted a charity to collect the furniture and the crockery and cutlery but they’d been vague about the pick-up. There were two boxed sets of wine glasses and six champagne flutes which she’d probably keep as a memento along with the photographs.
She was lugging the full bags to the laundry, ready to pack into her car when someone knocked on the door. She peeped through the front window and caught a glimpse of a green sleeve and blue jeans. Arlo. Why so soon? Her breath quickened then slowed to normal.
‘Hello again,’ he said when she opened the door.
‘Hello.’ A black umbrella was propped against the wall under the porch.
‘Are you up to answering a few more questions? It won’t take long, I promise.’
In answer she stepped back and he came in dripping water.
He took the coat off. ‘Sorry. I’ll leave it outside.’
She held out her hand. ‘I’ll hang it in the bathroom.’
‘Thanks.’ When she came back he’d taken off his shoes and stood waiting in black socks, phone in hand.
‘You didn’t need to do that.’
‘My shoes were muddy. You don’t want my footprints across your floor.’
‘I’m going to have this place renovated. Rip the kitchen out. Some of it.’
He nodded at that. ‘I see. Oh well.’
‘Don’t you have a car?’ she asked with the merest hint of a smile.
‘Seems silly to drive two blocks.’
Sillier than walking in the pouring rain? ‘What did you want to ask me?’
‘Linda Karas. Can you point her out in these photos?’ He held out a phone which showed photos from the funeral.
‘Who took these? Did you? You were supposed to be there as a mourner not as a member of the press.’
‘Georgia, my assistant, did. She’s my photographer and new to town so she didn’t know either of them very well but she did interview Tony once for a piece we did. She liked him.’
Mia studied him for a moment then looked at the photo carefully. The woman pictured was the wife of an old friend of her father’s.
‘Not her,’ she said and scrolled to the next. ‘Or her. I don’t know who that is.’
Linda was in the next one. Round and comfortable, her blonde hair piled on her head and her make-up flawless as usual. She’d worn bright red, unlike most of the other mourners who’d chosen subdued colours.
‘That’s Linda.’ She handed the phone back.
‘The lady in red,’ he said. ‘I remember her.’
‘She said Dad liked her in red, said it suited her personality.’
‘Dangerous?’ He cocked an eyebrow and again, she almost smiled.
‘Flamboyant. Why are you interested in Linda?’
‘Because Rupe, the local policeman, said she insisted at the time that Tony hadn’t done it, that they’d both been murdered.’
‘I know. She said it to me too.’
‘What did you think? What do you think?’ He wasn’t laughing or scoffing.
This was it. Now was her chance. He was interested and he was a reporter with a nose for getting at the truth.
‘Sit down, please.’ She gestured to the sitting room on their left and he went in without hesitation, and sat on the couch. She sat in the chair she’d occupied earlier.
How would he react? She plunged on.
‘I thought she was in denial, like me, but a few days, maybe a week, afterwards, I had a dream. I was walking up to the door of their house looking forward to having dinner and a glass of wine because I’d driven all day to get there. It was raining, not hard but drizzly, and coloured light from the stained glass in the door fell across the porch.’ A frown flitted across his face and she knew why. The door of this house had no stained glass in it and it hadn’t been raining that night. ‘I raised my hand to ring the bell but before I could I heard a gunshot then another and another. I turned and ran to the street and the gunshots went on and on. I was petrified. I hid behind a car and called triple 0 but I saw something moving by the side of the house, in the driveway. A figure. Then the operator answered and I woke up.’
Arlo rubbed a hand across his chin. ‘Do you think Linda put that idea in your head?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Do you think it means anything? Your dream?’
‘I don’t know … but I have the same dream, exactly the same dream, about three times a week.’
‘Since the funeral?’ His forehead creased in surprise as his eyebrows rose.
‘Yes.’
‘That must be …’
‘I think I’m going crazy.’ To her annoyance her voice shook. If she started crying he’d think she was a hysterical nut job. She had to convince him this was way out of her normal mode of existence. ‘I’m not psychic and I don’t believe in ghosts or visions or séances or any of that stuff,’ she said firmly.
‘Neither do I,’ he said. ‘But you can’t explain this, can you?’
‘No.’ Again her voice betrayed her and she had to curl her fingers into tight fists to prevent herself breaking down. ‘I’ve never had anything remotely like this happen to me before.’
‘You’ve never lost your father before either,’ he said gently.
‘No.’
‘Have you spoken to anyone about it? A doctor? A counsellor?’
She shook her head unable to risk speaking. His voice was unbearably kind and understanding. He must have dealt with shocked people in the wake of terrible tragedies in his line of work. He’d know how to empathise. How to extract information.
‘I’ll make tea,’ he said. ‘Stay there.’
***
Arlo filled the electric jug, switched it on and opened cupboards, all empty, until he found the teabags and two lonely mugs. As he waited it dawned on him this was the scene of the crime. He looked around carefully but it was a perfectly normal kitchen, a bit dated but functional. Glenda had been slumped against the fridge, Tony on the floor in the doorway as if he’d walked in and shot her as she went about cleaning up after dinner, and then taken his own life where he stood. The dishwasher had been on, the kitchen sponge still damp from wiping down the benches, Shannon had told him. She’d arrived minutes after Rupe.
Contrary to the dream only two shots were fired with no more bullets left in the gun. And where was that stained glass panelled door? Her childhood home? The Balmain house? But she’d recognise that as being her own home.
Mia appeared in the doorway. He wanted to put his arms around her and tell her everything would be all right. He even took a step towards her but the jug clicked off and he turned his back and finished making the tea with hands that trembled.
‘Do you t
hink I’m mad?’ she asked.
‘No, of course not.’
She opened the fridge and took out milk.
‘It isn’t this house in the dream, is it?’
‘Not the door, no, but I know it’s where my parents live, and I’m always looking forward to going in.’ She poured milk into her tea. He shook his head when she offered.
‘Could it be another house you’ve lived in?’
‘It’s not the house I’m in now. I don’t remember our Melbourne house or much about where we lived when we first moved to Sydney. I was too young. Does it matter?’
‘Probably not. Dreams are full of odd details, aren’t they? Mixed up, random things you can’t identify.’
She nodded. ‘I have a really strong feeling of familiarity though, in the dream. The light is welcoming and I know it’s home. And the window is familiar even though I don’t remember the pattern properly. Just the colours and that it has flowers.’
‘Did you regard Glenda as a parent?’
She shook her head. ‘I liked her but no … she wasn’t a substitute mother. I didn’t know her well enough and I’m too old to need a mother.’
He absorbed that information. Could she be remembering that first home in Melbourne where she lived with both her real parents? Was it possible to track down the address? ‘A lot of old houses have stained glass panels.’
‘I know. Mine does but in the wall across the top of the door not in it.’
‘What about the symbol?’
‘On this front door? I don’t know where that came from. It wasn’t here before.’
‘I think it was done recently by our local …’
‘Local what?’
‘Eccentric. Don’t worry she’s harmless. Can you tell who the person is? The figure you see?’
‘No, it’s dark and wet. I almost stand up and call out for help but my legs are too weak.’
‘So in the dream you don’t associate that person with the crime, as the murderer?’
‘No. It’s odd, isn’t it? But who else could it be?’
‘Very odd and it wasn’t raining that night.’
‘I know.’
Arlo leaned against the bench and sipped the tea. She was clearly deeply disturbed, holding herself together with an effort of will. For someone who spent her days devising and analysing complex financial strategies, making logical calculations, this would be as foreign as her world was to him.
‘I’m no psychologist,’ he said. ‘But it sounds as though your brain is trying to make sense of the tragedy.’
‘By shifting the blame from my father to another person? I know. I’m not an idiot.’
‘But …’ He paused. Rupe wouldn’t be happy with what he was about to say, quite the reverse. And did he really want to get involved in this? It would stir up trouble, that was for sure, and some people would be furious and hurt. That had never stopped him before, in his previous life, but then he wasn’t at home, he’d been in foreign countries surrounded by people he had no ties to. He had to live here and ride out the aftermath.
He’d come to Taylor’s Bend with the express purpose of becoming a small-town journo covering local doings. To change his life. To forget.
‘But what?’
‘It wouldn’t hurt to explore all the possibilities.’ He looked her straight in the eye as he spoke and was rewarded by the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. It was as though a light had been turned on making her glow from within. She pressed fingers to her eyes and wiped away moisture but the smile never dimmed and he had to smile back despite the churning in his gut.
‘Thank you, Arlo,’ she said.
Chapter 3
‘What do you suggest we do first?’ Mia asked. He hadn’t laughed or looked at her as though she was insane. Apart from the one comment he hadn’t fobbed her off with platitudes about grief. He was interested and he was ready for action. The relief was palpable as though she’d been carrying a heavy load and he’d taken half of it from her.
‘Do you have a contact for Linda Karas?’
‘Yes, she gave me her phone number. Excuse me.’ She almost ran to the bedroom for her phone.
‘Here.’ She held it out and he copied the number into his own phone. ‘What’s your number?’
He picked up her phone and entered his details then pulled a business card from his pocket and left it on the table. ‘That has the office address, email and number as well.’
‘Thanks.’ She looked at it.
‘I thought I was going around the bend,’ she said and glanced up to find him watching her with a half-smile on his face.
‘I’m not surprised.’
‘What’s it like living here?’
‘Quiet.’
‘Too quiet?’
‘We have our exciting moments.’
‘Such as? Apart from the obvious, I mean.’
‘The occasional bushfire, the Music and Drama Society annual musical presentation, the show, the Taylor’s Bend midwinter ball, the primary school fete, the harvest festival. I could go on.’
‘Enough to fill a newspaper?’
‘So far so good. Georgia takes lots of photos and we have our advertisers. I have an enthusiastic team of local contributors.’
She nodded.
‘I like it here,’ he said. ‘The locals are generally very welcoming. I’m sure your father said that.’
‘He did. He was surprised how much he liked it and how much was happening, particularly on the Arts scene. He said there was a well-known artist living out here.’
‘Abbie Forrest. She paints landscapes and she’s married to Rupe. Tell me about the gun club thing.’
‘I don’t know anything about it.’
‘Why do you think he took that up?’
‘Curiosity. Maybe someone took him along and he enjoyed it.’
Arlo nodded. ‘Alan Brown according to Rupe.’
She said, ‘I was surprised he owned a gun. He’d never shown any interest before and he thought the gun buyback was brilliant.’ She frowned. ‘Are you thinking he joined for some other reason? That he thought he needed protection?’ Her voice rose with scepticism.
Arlo shook his head. ‘I don’t think anything. I’d like to know the reason. I’ll check out the gun club.’
He straightened and turned to rinse his mug in the sink. ‘Thanks for the tea. I’d better get back to work.’
‘When does the paper come out?’ She walked with him to the front door and he put his shoes back on.
‘Every second Wednesday. We’re just finalising the front page. I need to get it to the printer this afternoon for tomorrow’s edition.’
‘What’s your lead story?’
‘A sixty-fifth wedding anniversary.’
‘Nice. It’s encouraging to hear some people manage it.’
‘There are a few couples like that in the area. It is nice.’ He smiled and asked the question she’d been wanting to ask him but couldn’t find an opening. ‘Are you married?’
‘No. Not even a near miss although I’ve had a few longish relationships. They turned out to be duds. What about you?’
‘Divorced. My boy lives with his mother and her partner. Riley’s fourteen. Constant travelling is hard on a marriage. He’s visited me a couple of times in the holidays.’
‘I travel a lot in my job. To Asia mostly, as well as Canberra, Melbourne and Brisbane.’
‘Do you enjoy it?’
‘Yes, for the most part. I like Japan.’
‘Me too.’
‘Your coat, sorry.’ She hurried to retrieve his damp anorak.
‘Thanks.’ He pulled it on and zipped up. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
She opened the door. ‘Thanks, Arlo. I feel … I’m glad I told you about the dream. It’s a relief to share it.’
He held her gaze. ‘Thank you for telling me.’ He touched her arm briefly. ‘We’ll resolve this one way or another.’
She nodded. ‘Okay.’ His confidence flowed over her
like honey.
The door closed behind him and she turned to resume packing her father’s life into bin bags.
***
The next hour was spent putting the finishing touches to the front page. Georgia had filed the anniversary article before she went to collect little Charlotte from the minder, and all he had to do was adjust some spacing, do a last run through for typos and other errors which somehow always managed to creep in, and send the lot to the printer. Five was the deadline and he made it with two hours to spare. The main Wagga paper did the print run for him and delivered the papers when they did the area newsagent deliveries. A perfect setup which he was careful to maintain by not giving anyone cause to complain.
He sat back and stretched his arms over his head then rotated his shoulders. No exercise today beyond a couple of short, very wet walks. He needed to go for a run but mud walloping wasn’t his style. His stomach growled. He’d missed lunch. He walked through to the flat and investigated the food situation. He needed to shop but not in this weather. He hated supermarket visits at the best of times. Hannah’s café it was.
Fortunately Hannah’s was literally around the corner and more fortunately still had a couple of serves of her vegetarian lasagne left. He ordered from Renee then sat at his favourite table with a coffee while he waited for the food to arrive. Hannah came out from the kitchen and pulled out a chair. She tucked a flyaway strand of grey hair behind her ear. She had a strong face, tanned and narrow with a direct pair of hazel eyes that missed nothing.
‘Won’t be long,’ she said.
‘Quiet day?’
‘Rain keeps people indoors.’
Only one other table was occupied. Two women sat chatting over tea and cake. One was Krista, the vet’s gorgeous blonde wife and the other was Amy, not nearly so gorgeous but attractive in her own quiet way, owner of the stud farm on the Jindalee road. He nodded hello when Krista caught his eye and she gave him one of her dazzlingly lovely smiles. How had Ollie landed her? A girl like that could have her pick on the world stage. But there was one thing he’d learned— there was no accounting for taste. And that was one happy couple.
‘What are you smiling about?’ Hannah asked.
‘Happy couples,’ he said. ‘Lead story this week is Les and Sal’s anniversary.’
A Light in the Dark (Taylor's Bend, #3) Page 3