A Light in the Dark (Taylor's Bend, #3)

by Elisabeth Rose

  The rain was just as heavy in Willoughby, streaming down in miserable grey sheets, the only benefit being people weren’t out and about and the streets were relatively empty. Arlo parked right outside the real estate agency but still managed wet hair and shoes in the few steps to shelter.

  Carl was discussing something with the receptionist when Arlo came through the door, sodden and dripping.

  ‘Sorry,’ Arlo said as a puddle expanded around him.

  ‘No worries, Arlo. Kelly will take care of it.’

  Blank-faced, Kelly got up and went through a door.

  ‘What brings you out on this horrible day?’ Carl said with a beaming smile. Trying too hard? Guilty conscience perhaps?

  Kelly reappeared with a mop and a handful of paper towels. She gave Arlo the paper towels and began wiping the floor with the expression of someone cleaning up the mess left by a puppy that wasn’t housetrained.

  Arlo gave his hair a few rubs and dried his face.

  ‘I’m interested in those Bindubi lots.’

  Carl’s smile gave way. ‘Come into my office.’

  Kelly took the damp bundle of paper and dropped it on the floor to finish her work.

  Arlo closed the door behind him and sat down opposite Carl.

  ‘In what way are you interested in that land?’

  ‘As a buyer.’

  Carl studied him for a moment, self-interest tussling with suspicion.

  Arlo leaned forward slightly with his earnest face on. ‘Having Riley come to live and renting Mia’s house temporarily, made me think I should perhaps be looking to buy into something myself.’

  ‘Mia might be willing to sell,’ Carl said.

  ‘She is but her neighbours have already expressed interest and she’s promised them first refusal. No. I’m thinking of a new house. It would be an investment if nothing else.’

  He sat back. Carl’s expression had returned to normal. Arlo as prospective buyer would override any suspicions he may have of Arlo, journalist and snoop.

  ‘I have the plans and the different options here,’ said Carl. He opened a glossy brochure and began outlining the three choices of house plan on the five-acre blocks.

  ‘Are they selling well?’

  ‘A little slow at the moment but there’s been some interest.’

  So not selling at all.

  ‘When will work begin?’

  ‘The infrastructure will go in soon—access roads and so on. The blocks are marked out. Have you been to look at the site?’

  ‘No, but I know the area. Do you have a completion date in mind?’

  ‘We expect that from signing the contract until you receive the keys would be a year at most. Six months at best. There are a lot of variables, of course, supplies, weather. You know the sort of thing. Being in the country doesn’t help.’ He laughed expansively.

  ‘And what sort of price are we looking at?’

  ‘The blocks go from $450,000 for a two bedroom, one bathroom house up to $600,000 for four bedrooms two ensuites and a guest bathroom.’

  ‘And a three bedroom?’

  ‘One ensuite, one guest bathroom. $525,000.’

  Arlo nodded. ‘All inclusive?’ Sounded expensive for a rural estate.

  ‘There are standard fittings in a choice of two colours—tiles and carpets etcetera but if you prefer something different of course you pay the difference.’ He flipped through the brochure to the colour choices. An insipid pale green or the pale grey of a foggy morning.

  Arlo stood up. ‘Thanks, Carl. I’ll need to think about it but it’s a tempting prospect.’

  ‘Take your time, Arlo, but remember, if you get in early you get first pick of the blocks.’

  ‘Something to keep in mind.’

  ‘Let me know when you want to go out there.’ Carl handed him the brochure and shook hands. ‘I must say I’m a bit surprised by your interest.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I thought you had other things on your mind.’

  ‘The paper, do you mean?’

  ‘That and a certain young lady, perhaps?’

  ‘Mia? We have seen a bit of each other recently. To do with the house,’ he added. Had match making always been such a feature of this area or was it just because he was the object of interest? Everyone seemed to be at it.

  ‘She’s getting herself in a tangle about Tony’s death, poor girl. I thought she’d have accepted the suicide by now but she seems to think …’

  ‘To think?’ prompted Arlo when Carl stopped short.

  ‘She has some crazy notion that he and Glenda were murdered. Didn’t she mention it to you?’

  ‘Yes, she did, but the evidence seems conclusive, doesn’t it? Anyway, she’s leaving soon so it hardly matters what she thinks, does it?’

  ‘No, I suppose not but it is upsetting for some people.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Oh, Glenda’s family, her friends,’ he said.

  ‘She has had some nasty comments directed her way,’ Arlo said.

  ‘Has she?’

  ‘Not by Paul or Lorraine,’ Arlo said hastily. ‘It makes me wonder what people are afraid of, though.’ He smiled. ‘Thanks, Carl. I’ll be in touch.’

  ***

  The movie was exactly what Mia needed—a light, entertaining laugh. She sat in the large theatre along with about a dozen elderly matinee goers and ate her way through a small bucket of popcorn. The rain still poured down when she emerged into the dim late afternoon light so she drove slowly, lights on full beam when she reached the outskirts of town. Too dangerous and no need to go fast on this road. She’d driven it a few times but with the fading light limiting visibility, shrouding trees, puddles and slippery, winding surface it was a tension-filled experience.

  Twenty kilometres along the road the flashing lights of emergency vehicles cut through the gloom. A car slanted at an odd angle, nose down into the fence, its front wheels embedded in the thick grass having left a trail of churned mud on the steeply sloping verge. The rear lights gleamed red and the headlights illuminated the soggy ground. Ambulance officers were leaning over the driver in the car while a policeman held an umbrella over them.

  Safely back in her room at the hotel she called Arlo.

  ‘It’s me,’ she said. She swallowed. Her throat felt odd. The last thing she needed was to get sick, dammit.

  ‘Hi. What’s up?’

  ‘On my back from Willoughby I passed an accident,’ she said. ‘Someone ran off the road.’

  ‘Was it bad?’

  ‘I don’t think so but the ambulance was there.’

  ‘I’ll follow it up. Could be worth using. Thanks.’

  ‘It was an awful drive home and you’re right about the road. It’s bad. I think I’m getting a cold. My throat’s raspy.’

  ‘Riley came home with a sore throat and a headache. You should stay in bed and get them to bring dinner up for you.’

  ‘I think I will. Poor Riley. Give him my best wishes.’

  Mia put the phone down. Why had she phoned Arlo? Superficially she could tell herself it was because he was a reporter and this was a local incident on a road that he was interested in.

  Was this what having a significant other was about? Someone you called to tell things or to talk things over, trivial or significant? She wasn’t used to doing that, why do it now? Was it to do with his obvious attraction to her? Kissing her? Kissing him? Why couldn’t she let that go, that memory? She was usually very good at preventing herself becoming entangled in a romantic situation that was ultimately going to be unproductive. Much better to stop before it was too late.

  Shouldn’t have called him, shouldn’t encourage him. He didn’t seem to think a short-term fling was a problem, he’d probably had them all over the world. What was one more?

  Chapter 17

  Arlo left Riley bundled up on the couch in front of the TV, the heating on full blast and a mug of lemon and honey tea in his hand, and went back to the office. Mia rang while he was completi
ng the layout for Wednesday’s issue of the paper.

  A car in the ditch was hardly a newsworthy story but it could be slotted in near the article on the road. If it was the corner he suspected it was, the scene of a number of similar incidents, the road there was narrow and badly signposted for such a hazardous stretch.

  Riley was asleep on the couch, the empty mug on the floor. Arlo turned off the TV and went to the office to write up the accident. If he placed the snippet strategically the implication would flow on that the council was responsible here as well, which it was. That done, he outlined his article on depression. Doc’s information gave him a starting point and he filled it out with some general research and links to organisations offering assistance. The counsellor would provide the rest of the story.

  He scanned the rest of the layout. The ads were in place, Georgia’s sporting photos and footy report filled a page, Banjo and The Grange stallion came next, the social column was in with photos, Georgia’s bit on the nude calendar, Krista’s fashion advice and Hannah’s history. The puzzles and horoscope. All looking good.

  He went back to the living room. Riley was still asleep but would need dinner. He began peeling potatoes. When they were done and the heat was under the pan he checked on Riley again. Arlo touched his forehead. Hot, feverish. He should be in bed. Guilt whipped through his body. He should have put him to bed earlier instead of spending hours in the office. He wasn’t used to this parenting thing.

  He went to Riley’s room, pulled the covers down and had his pyjamas ready. There were painkillers in the bathroom which would help bring the fever down. He went to wake his son and undertake the difficult process of putting a sleepy, ill teenager to bed.

  ***

  The following morning Riley wasn’t as hot but his throat was still sore. After being a nurse and with his patient confined to bed, which didn’t make much difference because being Saturday he would have slept in late anyway, Arlo phoned the hospital and was informed that the accident victim brought in the previous night had been released with only minor injuries.

  Next on the to-do list was checking how much profit Greenhill stood to make from the Bindubi sales. The total for the farming land bought came to five hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Arlo blinked. That was nothing when the ten blocks were selling for between four hundred and fifty thousand and six hundred thousand each. Subtract the cost of building and they had a profit of roughly three million depending how many of each size they sold.

  If his suspicions regarding the real driving force behind that company were correct, this could be a money laundering venture. The basic premise was take out a loan for the initial purchases and pay it back with dirty money when the sales come in, keeping the profits in a separate off shore account. The golf course resort would be run on similar lines. It would be more profitable and the money would help muddy the trail to the source.

  What if Tony suspected as much and began asking questions?

  A couple of hours later Arlo had a pretty clear idea of what might be going on. A few murky areas remained. Was Carl involved beyond being the agent? Was Barry just an unsuspecting front? He couldn’t see either of them condoning murder but what about now? Did they have their suspicions as well but were too frightened to speak up? How close was their relationship and would they confide in each other if they were concerned?

  And what about Mia? Would they be worried about her? On the surface she was finalising her father’s affairs and would then leave town never to return. Would her involvement with him by reaching out for help inadvertently put her in their focus?

  With that unsettling thought churning in his mind he went to check on Riley and make coffee.

  ***

  By Monday the rain had eased off but even though patches of blue appeared and the sun put in a brief guest appearance, showers hovered about waiting to add their bit to the waterlogged town and surroundings. As had Riley, Mia spent the weekend in bed nursing a sore throat. Luckily it hadn’t turned into anything more than a mild cold but even by Sunday when she felt better, the weather kept her indoors and she’d refused to allow Arlo to visit saying he should care for Riley.

  After two days of enforced inaction, desperate for distraction, Mia contacted her boss on Monday morning to check in on their project but he almost begged her to go to Canberra on Wednesday for a meeting with some people at Treasury. Overnight in Canberra would be a welcome break even if it did mean a three-hour drive, but she didn’t tell him that, instead, agreeing to an extension of her leave in compensation.

  On her way out to drop the house keys into Arlo she told the receptionist her plans.

  ‘Are you checking out?’

  ‘No, I’ll only be away overnight on Tuesday so I’d like to leave some things here.’

  Georgia was alone in the office when she pushed the door open. She looked up, smiled.

  ‘Hi. Arlo’s out doing an interview.’

  ‘I just came by to drop in the keys to the house.’

  ‘Okay thanks. Leave them on his desk.’

  Mia did as instructed. ‘How’s Riley?’

  ‘Over the worst. He’s out of bed but he’s having the day off school today. It sounded like the real flu to me. Aches and a temperature and so on.’ She pulled a face. ‘I sure don’t want it.’

  ‘I had a version of it but not so bad. Anyway, tell Arlo I’ll be away in Canberra till late Wednesday. I hope it’s a bit warmer there.’

  ‘Winter is a bit grim here.’ Georgia laughed. ‘Autumn’s a beautiful season.’

  ‘That’s what Arlo said. I told him to send me a photo.’

  ‘Not thinking of staying then?’

  ‘God no, why would I?’

  Georgia smiled with a little shrug and suggestively raised eyebrows.

  Mia groaned, shoulders slumped. ‘Not you too.’

  ‘Me too what?’

  ‘You all seem to think Arlo and I should be paired off.’

  ‘There’s not much else to do in town, in winter.’

  Mia shook her head in mock disgust. ‘I’m going now. See you later.’

  ‘Safe trip.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ***

  Canberra produced a couple of its spectacular chilly but sunny, clear and windless winter days. A table with coffee and cake in the afternoon sun at a Manuka café brightened Mia’s mood more than she could have imagined. Dinner with friends that evening rounded off an enjoyable day. It was like coming out of a cave into the light or being released from prison, so with reluctance, she took the highway south west after the Wednesday meeting.

  Fortunately the weather had improved in Taylor’s Bend while she’d been away. The roads were dry and the setting sun sank in a clear sky tinged with deepening pinks and purples. She went straight to her room at the hotel to wash and change before dinner at the Chinese restaurant. Karaoke would be revving up in the bar soon and she wasn’t up to it after the tiring day.

  At the restaurant Betty welcomed her warmly but something about her manner and the way a few customers glanced at her and glanced away again before muttering to their companions, made her ask what was going on.

  ‘Arlo’s article,’ said Betty. ‘About your father.’

  ‘I’ve haven’t seen it I’ve been in Canberra.’ The paper would have come out that morning. She’d forgotten, been in a different world. Her world.

  ‘Here.’ Betty took a copy of the paper from the magazine table and thrust it into her hand. ‘You sit here.’ She led her to a table. ‘I bring you white wine?’

  Mia nodded and sat down, heart racing. What on earth had Arlo written?

  A large photo dominated the front page. The potholes. Under that was a chunk of text which she skimmed. Nothing wrong there. She turned the page. More photos and the interviews he’d done with various people. Again, she skimmed. He wrote well and his points were clearly made. Willoughby council would not be pleased.

  Towards the end the word Greenhill caught her eye and she slowed to read p
roperly. He must have driven out to the estate site because he raised the question of why the little used minor road to the estate turn-off had recently been upgraded and resurfaced when the main road between Taylor’s Bend and Willoughby had been neglected to the point of causing accidents. Underneath a small photo of the latest crash, the fifth, at a black spot, the one she’d seen, he finished the piece with a promise to find out exactly what was going on in relation to the new developments and the council.

  Mia firmed her mouth. That was asking for trouble. He just couldn’t help himself.

  She turned the page and her father’s smiling face stared back at her. Tears sprang to her eyes but she sniffed and blinked before they fell. Arlo had written a sensitive and informative piece on depression which he’d placed above the photo and the article about her father.

  She read slowly and carefully. Once more he’d shown his skill with words, painting a picture of a man well-liked and happy in his new community, his new home and with his new wife. A loving man who gave Glenda little surprises of chocolates or flowers and kissed her when she got cross. A man whose wife was happier than she had been for a long time, with a man who treasured her, made her laugh and planned a trip to Greece for her to meet his relatives. A man who wasn’t stressed, depressed or violent, showed none of the markers of an abuser, and who wasn’t contemplating suicide, let alone murder. The implication was strong. Tony was as much a victim as Glenda so who had committed murder, and why?

  Betty brought her wine.

  ‘What are people saying?’ Mia asked softly.

  ‘Some people are very angry with Arlo. Other people already knew those things. Like Douglas and me. We knew Tony was a good man,’ she said firmly.

  ‘Thank you.’ The tears threatened again.

  ‘What you like to eat?’ Betty asked.

  ‘I’m not very hungry now.’ Mia folded the paper.

  ‘You stay. I bring food. You eat.’

  Betty bustled away before Mia could summon the energy to object. She picked up the wine and took a sip. A couple at the next table muttered together, heads close. Were they talking about her, her father? Was the whole town whispering and condemning? She sent Arlo a text.