by Perry, Kyle
With Madison’s help selling the product online, he’d needed them, too. Butch was becoming more successful by the day, struggling to keep up with demand for The Hungry Man’s Bush Bud.
He was sending a large percentage of his income to Murphy, so why did he still feel so guilty?
He’d been drinking since Murphy had sent that simple text around lunchtime:
She’s here. She’s alive.
Butch couldn’t handle the emotions. Did Jasmine want to see him? Were they going to talk about the fact he was her biological father? Were they going to talk about Sara . . .?
So he’d come out here to scout for another good location. He’d already had a few forays out into this part of the escarpment, hoping to find a good location for a new crop. Barely a kilometre from his house, he’d found an animal trail leading into dense bush that seemed utterly remote.
He came into a clearing in the white gums. A crag of rock loomed out of the trees ahead, one he was sure he’d never seen before. That was good. Rocky spires that big nearly always meant caves, which could be entrances to hidden groves.
He walked faster, but then his heart sank.
A piece of litter, nestled in a tangle of scrub. So, people had been here before.
He picked it up. It was insect-bitten paper, wrinkled from moisture, but it was covered in handwriting in blue pen.
The damage was such that most was illegible, but a few lines were not:
and it won’t matter anyway if he doesn’t. She said that if we don’t last the whole time, we can still
Butch let it fall. It was a letter of some sort, not just your average rubbish. He suspected someone had camped around here.
Disappointed, but curiosity piqued, he continued.
Another piece of paper. This one was entirely damaged – water had turned it to flaky pulp. It was under a mountain needlebush.
The next piece he found, a few metres further, was in better condition:
I hate that stupid bitch so much. She told him what I said. Now he won’t even look at me in Homegroup. I swear I’m gonna get her back. I don’t care how I do it
He stopped reading and let it fall. A fragment from a diary entry. A schoolgirl’s diary.
His heart beat faster.
The next piece of paper he found was only five metres away from the base of the crag of rock – the rock which, he realised now, was much bigger than he’d first thought.
The paper had been torn in half:
keep it with me so I could keep a record of the time, maybe they’ll turn it into a book, or a movie, or something. Imagine if it was a movie. Holy shit. Who would they cast to play me?
This one had a stain in the corner. A round drop. Dark brown.
And then he saw the dirty blue wig, kicked around to the other side of the same bush.
White noise buzzed through his head.
He looked back the way he’d come.
The thought came to him from a distance, like it was someone else’s: She was leaving a trail . . .
He walked slowly now, approaching the base of the rock. It was as though his ears were ringing, the pressure against his eardrums growing the closer he got. But the rock wasn’t even like the local dolomite. It was no rock he’d ever seen, massive and out of place, dropped out of the sky.
At its base was a dark hollow of stones.
The entrance to a cave.
Beside the cave were a pair of hiking shoes, laces neatly tied.
In the entrance of the cave, something else. He picked it up, feeling sick.
It was a rough stick figure, made from a twisting branch snapped into shape. Shards of rock were driven into where the eyes would be. Around its neck was a cord like a noose. It was made of deep red hair.
Butch dropped it like a hot iron.
Breathing heavily, he looked all around. And there, high up, pressed into a crack in the rock, protected from the rain by an overhang, was a folded piece of paper.
He had to stretch to his fullest height to pluck the page from the rock.
He didn’t want to touch it.
He didn’t want to read it.
But he unfolded it. It was stained with the same dark brown marks.
All it said was:
HELP ME GOD
HE IS REAL
I AM SORRY
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you to my personal trinity: Haylee, Ali and Jojo.
Haylee Nash, my agent. Feels like I’m well on my way to my dreams coming true, and it’s all because of you.
Ali Watts, my publisher. For being the James Bond, Mother Teresa, Danny Ocean and Oprah Winfrey behind this book. Thanks for the fairytale.
Johannes Jakob, my editor. Because of your craft, consolation, collaboration and coaching, you’ve made the editing journey incredible from start to finish.
To the Holy Trinity. As always, as onwards. JC, Big G, Holy G.
Dan Anstey, for giving me the advice that got my head back in the game: ‘Concentrate on pursuing the talent that got you there. That’s why people like you, and that’s what’ll keep you focused, successful and give you a sense of purpose. That’s what it’s about.’
Jack, my secret police contact, for your advice, experience, and teaching me about search and rescues in the Tiers.
Diana Cohen, for my first job with at-risk youth, for teaching me the effects and chaos of trauma, and for not firing me when that kid nearly cut his finger off with a chisel.
Shovel, my tattooist, for allegedly teaching me about bush cannabis and allegedly teaching me how to grow and sell it, during those long chats under the needle.
Constable Cooper, for answering my questions about Tasmania Police and detectives, and for helping me out when those women tried to break into my car ‘because they thought it was theirs’.
Kevin Young, owner of the local, for taking the time to read and give feedback on the manuscript, and then calling to let me know that you’d sent it through to Deb McGowan at PRH for her thoughts. I’ll never forgot that moment when I said, ‘I don’t know who Deb is,’ and you replied, ‘Yes you do, she was in your mother’s wedding’.
Deb McGowan, PRH’s Tasmanian sales rep, for being a champion for this book. Thanks for all the support and encouragement, even without the family connection (still spins me out that you were Mum’s bridesmaid).
Rebecca Thomson, my first ever proofreader, who went above and beyond as the perfect reader, reviewer, critic and encourager.
Jaime Collins, of the Nash Agency, who helped me crack the psychology of suspense and took this book to the next level.
All my proofreaders, great and small, I’m so grateful for all your support and time for The Bluffs. You are numerous and multifaceted, and I hope you know that there are little pieces of all of you in this novel.
The Penguin Random House Australia team, who privileged me with much support, above and beyond. I take none of you for granted and honour every one of you. It’s good to be alive and to be part of this PRH tribe.
And lastly, to my family. For the love and care that has allowed me to flourish, for never doubting I’d get here, and for not being surprised now that I have.
Kyle Perry is a counsellor and youth worker who has worked extensively in high schools, youth shelters and drug rehabs. Kyle’s mother grew up in the foothills of the Great Western Tiers, in Tasmania’s heartland, where his grandfather was called on for search-and-rescues in the mountains. Kyle himself has been lost in Tasmanian mountains twice, and once used pages ripped out of a journal to find his way back out. He has seen strange things in the bush that defy explanation and are best not spoken about. Kyle divides his time between his small country home town in North West Tasmania and Hobart. The Bluffs is his debut novel.
MICHAEL JOSEPH
UK | USA | Canada | Ireland | Australia
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Michael Joseph is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies, whose addresses can be found at gl
obal.penguinrandomhouse.com.
First published by Michael Joseph, 2020
Text copyright © Kyle Perry, 2020
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, published, performed in public or communicated to the public in any form or by any means without prior written permission from Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd or its authorised licensees.
Cover design by Adam Laszczuk © Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd
Cover image courtesy Getty Images
ISBN 9781760895686
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Table of Contents
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Contents
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Imprint
Read more at Penguin Books Australia