I followed but then stopped in the hallway and called Fabulon back. I crouched down and scratched behind his velvet ears, giving Uncle Pike and Devon some alone time. I was glad to be away from the awkward atmosphere. ‘Don’t worry,’ I whispered to Fabulon, ‘they’ll sort it out.’ He pushed his wet nose into the back of my hand. They have to.
No one said anything as Devon drove us back to the stinky Airbnb. I twisted in the back seat and watched Fabulon out the window, tied on to the back. He leaned out, wind in his open mouth, sniffing the breeze. On the stereo The Corrs sang ‘Dreams’.
‘I didn’t know they did a Fleetwood Mac cover,’ Uncle Pike said to Devon.
Devon ignored him, gripping the steering wheel tighter and tighter until his knuckles turned white. I tried to think of something to say to make everything okay, to at least get them to laugh, but I was blank. Outside the overcast sky had darkened to a nasty slate colour. We pulled up in front of our gross holiday cottage and Devon yanked on the handbrake.
He turned in his seat to my uncle. ‘Jack. Fucking … Jack Pepper.’ Uncle Pike let out a loud ‘Argh!’ He pulled off his beanie and rubbed his wild hair. ‘I’m not fucking Jack Pepper. What are you on about? Why do you have to be so jealous all the time? It’s fucking draining.’ He got out and slammed the door.
I froze in my seat, not knowing what to do.
Devon shook his head like he’d just woken up. He sprang out.
My tummy churned as I hopped out, too. Uncle Pike opened the Airbnb’s front door as Devon caught up behind him.
‘What did you say?’ Devon said.
My uncle glared at him. ‘You heard me, it’s fucking draining. You are fucking draining.’
Devon stood with a shocked expression on his face. ‘Is that how you really feel?’ He leaned slowly back against the wall. ‘Oh my God.’
Uncle Pike shook his head with a disgusted look and went inside.
This couldn’t be happening. I wanted to stop it but I didn’t know how. I put my arm around Devon and led him inside. ‘Come on, guys,’ I said, shutting the door behind me.
‘Tippy, you need to stay out of this one, honey,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘Can you please leave us alone? Just for a little while.’
My insides went cold. ‘Okay,’ I said in a small voice, heading to my bedroom.
‘If anyone’s leaving it should be me,’ Devon said. ‘I think you’ve made that quite clear. Especially since I’m a gold digger.’
‘What?’ Uncle Pike said. ‘I never called you that.’
‘Please stop,’ I begged.
‘Tippy, please. Give us some space,’ Uncle Pike said.
‘Don’t yell at her,’ Devon said.
‘I wasn’t yelling!’ he yelled.
‘You are now.’ I held up my hands. ‘Don’t worry, I’m going. Please sort it out. I need you guys.’ I went to my room and listened at the door. Devon’s voice, muffled, but nothing from my uncle. I opened it a crack and saw that they’d gone into their bedroom. I crept out and went towards their door to listen, but Uncle Pike emerged, carrying an armload of clothes. He nearly tripped over me.
‘Shit, Tippy,’ he said, regaining his balance. ‘I’m off to your Mum’s, come on.’
I followed him to the front door. Outside it was freezing. From the porch the grey storm clouds seemed even lower, like they were going to suffocate us. Fabulon let out a low bark from the back of the ute. Uncle Pike would have the dog and Mum, but Devon wouldn’t have anyone. I couldn’t leave him. And after Mr Dalrymple … I didn’t know how suicide clusters worked but I wasn’t going to risk finding out.
‘I’ll stay with Devon,’ I said. ‘He’s alone and I’m his P.A.’
My uncle looked at me for a long second then nodded. ‘Fine. Thank you.’
Hailstones bounced off the concrete path. The sound of them hitting the roof reminded me of the night of the explosion.
‘Everything works until it doesn’t,’ Uncle Pike muttered, pulling up his jacket’s collar. He ran to the truck, ducking, trying to avoid the hailstones pelting down. He chucked in his clothes, untied Fabulon then ran around to the driver’s side, giving me a quick wave before pulling away.
Back inside, Devon stood in the middle of the living room. He looked up at me as I closed the door. He frowned and cocked his head. ‘Isn’t he coming in? It’s hailing.’
‘Um.’ It seemed a strange question to ask; I wondered if Devon was all right. I shook my head.
The sound of the hail was louder now on the tin roof. It got dark quickly. I went around turning on the lights. Devon hadn’t moved. I went and hugged him. He tried to say something then broke down sobbing. I’d never seen him cry before. I held him, trying not to cry myself, trying to be brave. After a while he pulled out of my hug and wiped his eyes.
He spied a pair of Uncle Pike’s fundies, the underwear Devon had designed for my uncle, on the floor, which he must’ve dropped on the way out. Devon grabbed them. I waited for him to start crying again, but instead he walked over to the empty log burner and chucked the fundies in.
‘But you made them for him,’ I said.
‘Burn them.’ Devon went to his bedroom and shut the door.
I sat on the couch, not knowing what to do, how to fix this. The echoes of what had just happened were all around me. I listened to the sound of the storm outside, gusts of wind rattling the windows and the groaning of the house. I sighed and saw my misty breath, and realised how cold it was in here. I leaned my head back. My cigarette break with Devon seemed like a lifetime ago.
It was up to me to get us warm now. I pulled myself up and grabbed a stinky blanket from my room. I wrapped it around myself, then hunted in the kitchen cupboards for matches. I found them and a CD player. I pulled it out and carried it over to the metal roadrunner CD tower and plugged it in. I was about to try the radio when I pushed open the top. Inside was a black CD with white writing: Alanis Morrisette, Jagged Little Pill. I’d never heard of it.
The storm wasn’t easing up, and the scratching on the roof was so loud I thought the roofing iron must be coming off. I pressed play and turned the volume up to full, listening to ‘Hand in Pocket’ while I fished out Uncle Pike’s fundies with a pair of barbecue tongs. I’d put them in the wash next time we went to Mum’s.
I scrunched up an old copy of the Bully and made a fire like I’d seen Uncle Pike do. I was glad at least that the bombing hadn’t ruined the cosiness of having a fire and watching the flames. Even more so with the weather outside. They have to be fine. They have to get back together.
I got the TimTams Uncle Pike had given me from my room then I cooked us dinner; well, I made toast from the stale loaf in the welcome basket, not that I’d ever seen Devon eat bread. Beside the toast I put two of the biscuits on Devon’s plate. I ate one from the packet; they were chocolate deliciousness. I stuffed another in my mouth, chewing it quickly on the way to their bedroom door. I knocked. ‘Dinner’s ready,’ I called out, the words muffled through the TimTam.
I waited but he didn’t answer. I opened the door and tiptoed in. Devon was curled up in the foetal position on their bed, his back to me. He didn’t move. I switched on the little lamp on his bedside table and put the plate down. ‘It’s just here, okay?’ I pulled a blanket over him then went back out.
In the kitchen, I filled a coffee mug with water and carried it in, placing it beside the food. I waited around in case he wanted to talk, but he stayed still. ‘I’m out here if you need anything,’ I said and leaned over to give him an awkward hug. Back at the doorway, I stopped. ‘I love you.’
Again he didn’t move. As I closed the door I thought I heard him croak something.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The next morning I woke up early. I went to the living room and peeked out to the balcony. The horrible, decaying garden was now beautiful and clean, covered in fresh snow. My chest felt lighter. Despite everything that had happened, waking up to find snow outside still made me excited and happy. It remind
ed me of when I was little. Dad and I would go outside and make snow monsters, using milk bottle caps, cardboard rolls and whatever else was lying around. Thinking about it, it was mainly rubbish. He would let me use the red food colouring, which Mum never allowed, and I would put blood around their mouths and sometime eyes, neck or wherever else I could until it ran out. We then attacked them with snowballs until I would surprise-splat Dad in the head. Weird thing is, in my mind, I can see the snow monsters clearly but not his face. Love you forever, Dad. I hugged myself and tiptoed to the bathroom, trying to let Devon sleep for as long as possible.
After a hot shower, I got dressed, putting on a pair of my favourite red shorts. Mum never let me wear shorts when it was cold, but I liked them and she wasn’t here. I ate my breakfast, and even after all that Devon still hadn’t stirred. I went to check on him.
‘Has he called?’ Devon asked, as soon as I opened his door. The food beside him from last night was untouched.
I checked my phone but already knew the answer. I tried to give him a reassuring smile, yet had no doubt I failed. ‘No,’ I said.
Devon looked sad, then rubbed the sides of his head. ‘He will.’
‘Of course,’ I said, but I wasn’t so sure. Uncle Pike was the most stubborn person on the planet, besides Mum. ‘You going to get up?’ I asked. ‘I can make pancakes.’ I couldn’t but I hoped the temptation might be enough.
‘It’s too quiet without him,’ Devon said. I agreed and he groaned and rolled away from me. I stayed for a while on the edge of the bed with my hand on his shoulder, then when he didn’t speak I left him, letting him know I was there if he needed me.
As I shut his door I wished I could talk to my best friend but even if I knew how to get hold of Sam he would never want to talk to me again after I had his parents arrested and put in jail for life. I sighed and my shoulders slumped. Without Uncle Pike and Devon, was our investigation over? It was looking hopeless. Nancy Drew never had to do this alone, did she? I tried to think of an adventure where she didn’t have a friend and drew a blank. Plus she had her boyfriend, Ned Nickerson. A boyfriend? Eeew. I burst out laughing. As if. I hugged myself and smiled. It felt good to laugh, even if it was by myself. No matter what, I still had Todd, and he would always be my friend.
We now only had three days left until the bomb threat. As much as it would be awkward, and she wouldn’t want to see me, Lorraine was going to be my best bet to keep the case going until Devon and Uncle Pike got back on board. I texted her and asked if we could meet. I waited, and after a minute three dots appeared to show Lorraine was replying, then they disappeared. Shit. She still hates me.
I chucked my phone on the sofa and stared out at the snow garden, wondering what to do. I had to get Uncle Pike and Devon back together and the case back on track. I needed to check on my uncle. I grabbed my phone and froze.
Lorraine had texted back: Skinny Genies in 15
I replied with a smiley face and a thumbs-up emoji, surprised she’d chosen the same place where we had met that last time and surprised it had opened again so soon after the bombing. I let out a big breath. It wasn’t far away on Main Street, but I needed to get ready.
In his room, Devon was perched on the side of the bed. His eyes were red from crying and I’d never seen his hair all springy, curly and puffy. But I was glad he was sitting up. He grabbed the phone book from the bedside table and flicked through it.
‘You want to call someone?’ I asked.
Devon suddenly gripped the book and ripped it in half, his biceps bulging. He rubbed his thumb along the tear. ‘Feel this,’ he said, handing me half.
I held it, running my fingertips over its feathery rough edges.
‘This is how I feel inside.’ He lay back on the bed, clutching his half phone book, tears on his cheeks.
I stood there wishing I knew how to help him. When I get back. Otherwise, I was going to be late. I left him and quickly brushed my teeth, then stopped at his room on my way to the front door.
‘Going to the shops,’ I said. ‘I’ll be back soon.’
He didn’t reply.
Outside the air was frosty and the fresh snow crunched under my gumboots. I hunched my shoulders and pulled my beanie down over my ears. Ever since I’d had my pixie cut, the back of my neck was frozen; I kept forgetting to grab my scarf from Mum’s. Snow began to fall again as I scurried along the footpath to Main Street, hands stuffed in my red shorts pockets. I opened my mouth like a groper, trying to catch snowflakes.
Riverstone was dead—there were no people around at all. I supposed it was Saturday and still so soon after the bombing and with the snow falling. I arrived two minutes early and deliberately chose a different table to last time. The cafe’s windows facing Main Street were fogged up, so people-watching was limited, even if there had been any to watch. Across from me a little girl sat with her parents. She brushed a grubby toy Siamese cat with her fingers, then hugged it close to her face and whispered to it. I wondered what the secret was.
It was toasty inside the cafe. I took off my beanie and twirled it around my hand.
The bell over the door rang. Lorraine did a quick scan, then barged in and sat down across from me. ‘Stalker,’ she said and pointed to her head.
‘What?’ I said. It took me a second to realise what she was talking about. ‘Yuck. I didn’t copy you.’ I went red. That was a bit rude.
‘Really?’ Lorraine smirked. ‘Looks like you did. I’m flattered, Chan, but it’s a bit creepy.’
I was going to kill my uncle. I swallowed a deep breath then blurted, ‘I’m sorry, Lor—’
‘Stop.’ She bowed her head and roughly brushed snow off her shoulders, avoiding eye contact. ‘I never want to talk about it again. Ever.’ Lorraine put her hands on the table, covering her finger where her ring used to be. ‘Never. Got it?’ She glanced at me. I couldn’t read her small black eyes, but I was sure there was pain in them.
I nodded and took her order, still a mugachino. At the counter, this time I chose a chocolate milkshake for myself. I sat back down and jumped in. ‘Any reports on Will Jansen for the days leading up to the explosion?’
Lorraine crossed her arms. ‘Reports? Like what?’
‘Acting weird, or seen with someone?’
She smacked the table. ‘Come on, Chan, seriously?’
The waitress came over with our drinks.
Lorraine waited until she left. She wrapped her hands around the mug, ignoring the handle, then stared out the window and took a gulp of her coffee, leaving her with a milk moustache.
I pointed to her top lip. Lorraine licked it, missing most of the milk.
‘Seriously, what?’ I said. My chocolate milkshake was delicious.
Lorraine put down her mug and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘I’ve already told you, Jansen did it alone.’
‘But how did he do it?’ I stirred the bottom of my milkshake, bursting the milky bubbles. ‘How did he make a bomb?’
She put her mugachino down. ‘You’re wasting my time.’
I tilted my drink and sucked hard, deliberately making that annoying slurpy-sucky noise at the bottom of my cup. I pushed the milkshake away. ‘Don’t you want to know why I’m asking?’
Lorraine raised her eyebrows and checked her phone. She waggled it at me. ‘Gotta go.’ I hadn’t seen a text pop up on it.
‘Wait. Who owns Riverstone Security?’
She stared at me. ‘What’s with all the questions, Chan? My advice, get another hobby.’
I didn’t ask for your advice.
She sighed. ‘The Mayor’s wife owns the security company. She’s clean—she and the Mayor were out of town when it happened. I’ve got to go.’
‘Thanks Lorraine,’ I said. ‘I’ve missed … this.’
She scraped her chair back then paused, staring at me. I couldn’t quite make out her expression, maybe pity? Muscles clenched in her jaw. ‘I trust you, Chan. You were honest with me when no one else was.’ I went to sp
eak but she held up her hand. ‘Tell me, Chan, how did your dad die?’
I sat back and frowned. Why is she asking that? ‘Car accident.’
Lorraine rubbed her lips with her finger then pushed her shoulders back. ‘Thought so. In that case I want to return the favour.’
Something had just changed between us. The mood. I couldn’t explain the change, but it did not feel good. ‘What favour?’ I asked.
Lorraine rustled around in her bag and pulled out a thick white A4 envelope. She stood. ‘You and I are veracious.’ She noticed my blank look. ‘Truth tellers, Chan. But we see only what we want to see, that’s our problem.’ She leaned over and whispered in my ear. ‘Doesn’t mean we’re friends.’ Her coffee breath was hot. ‘Friends wouldn’t do this.’ She pushed the envelope across the table to me and walked out of the cafe. I watched her foggy shadow disappear past the window.
I opened the envelope and took out a file. My insides turned cold and I dropped it on the table. I turned and bent, hugging myself. A groan escaped before I knew I had made it. Beside me, the little girl’s parents asked if I was okay. I nodded and twisted back around.
On the table in front of me was the official report of Dad’s accident.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I lost track of time. No signs of struggle. No scuff marks outside the vehicle. No additional tyre marks. No items found outside of car. Car wasn’t ransacked. No useable prints on door panels. Smudges inside car. Blunt force trauma to head. Still breathing. No blood, other than the driver’s. Blood alcohol zero. Toxicology clear. Truck driver reported the crash unknown to driver’s family. No eyewitnesses. No evidence a crime had occurred.
Uncle Pike and Devon came in arguing and found me, sitting at the same table. I couldn’t speak. The report was open to a black-and-white police photo of the inside of my dad’s car. A creepily ordinary dashboard with a shattered windscreen. At least Lorraine had not included photos with Dad himself in them.
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