by Jennie Jones
‘Are you all right?’ Mrs Arnold asked, her voice holding genuine concern.
Rachel stared at her hands, surprised to see them shaking. She’d gone into her mind again—in front of people. Her visitors. Important women in town who were questioning her very existence, let alone her reasons for being in Mt Maria.
‘Are you all right?’ Mrs Arnold asked again.
‘I think I’m—’ Lonely. Desperately alone. ‘I’m a quiet person, Mrs Arnold. I’m not used to being—’ Wanted. ‘Not used to being needed.’
‘You’re needed now, dear,’ Mary said.
‘Looks to me like you need to be needed,’ Mrs Arnold added with what might have been warmth in her voice.
‘Plant pot preparation,’ Mrs Frith said, slapping the benchtop. ‘Rachel can help with that. It’s got to be monitored from now until August—unless we have to use those horrible plastic plants Wiseman is insisting we buy. They wouldn’t look real, even in the photos.’
‘They would, actually,’ Mary said. ‘Have you seen the catalogue he’s brandishing? Stunning creations, considering they’re fake. You should see the fuchsias …’
‘And you, Mrs Arnold?’ Rachel asked. ‘What is it you want from me?’
‘I think I like you,’ Mrs Arnold said steadily, meeting Rachel’s eye. Was that a smile, or the merest hint of one?
‘So long as you do as she commands,’ Mrs Frith added and Rachel saw a definite but fleeting smile cross Mrs Arnold’s face. Then Mrs Arnold got up, advised her friends to take a seat, and started organising more iced tea.
Rachel ran her hands over the top of her head, trying to wake herself up from the memories.
‘I don’t know about that catalogue,’ Mrs Frith said. ‘I added it all up and if you ask me, the cost of purchasing and transporting plastic flora is not as high as the figure Mr Have-You-Seen-My-Porsche says it is. He’s up to no good.’
‘We’ll bring those costs up at the Tidy Town committee meeting tonight,’ Mary said. ‘Well spotted, Freda—under the circumstances.’ She tapped a fingernail on Mrs Frith’s hipflask.
‘If he’s doctoring the shire’s Tourist Strategy financial budgets,’ Mrs Arnold said, ‘we shall pull him into the open and into the arms of the law in the most beneficial way possible. So let’s say nothing until we’ve delved deeper.’
‘So there’s a meeting tonight?’ Rachel asked, taking a fresh glass of iced tea from Mary as Mrs Frith slugged another shot from her hipflask.
‘Seven thirty, sharp. At the Youth Centre.’
Rachel wrapped her hand around her glass. She’d got so confused with what she wanted, which was to stay, and with what she knew she ought to do. Leave. Tonight she’d planned on packing, in case she needed to leave quickly. She’d place her running-away clothes on a dresser in the bedroom: jeans, a T-shirt, a lightweight nylon jacket. Hiking boots and socks. She didn’t have any weapons but maybe she ought to get one now. She no longer carried a Swiss Army knife. Not after the alley.
Up until two days ago she’d forgotten the need to be vigilant. That was an odd feeling. A month in Mt Maria and she’d forgotten that she might need to be.
‘—we expect quite a turn out,’ Mary was saying. ‘All the business owners have been summoned. Luke’s coming too, because we sometimes need police protection when planning for Tidy Town.’
‘Why?’ Rachel asked, making an effort to concentrate on the conversation going on around her.
‘Amelia’s been challenged a few times in the past,’ Mrs Frith said. ‘One business owner pulled a knife on her.’
‘And another poured a bottle of acid on the roof of her car. While she was in it!’ Mary exclaimed.
‘Which we no longer worry about,’ Mrs Arnold said. ‘Since we now have a full police presence.’
‘So why keep the car-jack in your bag?’ Freda asked.
‘Habit,’ Mrs Arnold said swiftly. ‘And it’s only the handle. So will you come to the meeting, Miss Meade?’
‘Please call me Rachel.’ She didn’t go into town in the evenings or at weekends unless she’d forgotten something for her meals, or needed to get something for the garden. But she was wanted here. She was needed, even. Could she stay? If Luke had run a check on her, what had he found? She’d already told him she was changing her name but would he also find an association from Rebecca back to Mrs Rosalind Fletcher? By not going to the police after that night in the alley, she might have put others in danger. The thought broke her heart. And she hadn’t believed there was much of it left to break.
Could she address that guilt now, here, in this town? Would people accept the new Rachel—a person she hardly knew herself? Could she talk to Luke about what had happened to her? And would he hate her? She’d never told any of the few men she’d dated about her past. She didn’t want to chance seeing disgust in their eyes, or to stand by as they walked away from her. Too much trouble at your back, they’d say. Too much to take on. And anyway, you’re tarnished with a criminal brush.
The fluster of panic rose in her chest, pounding against her ribs. This was the heartbeat she recognised, the one that would never leave her completely. But unless she took her first step, she’d never know if this was the last place she’d run to, or simply one of many. ‘Yes, of course I’ll come to the meeting tonight.’
‘Excellent. We thank you. Come along, ladies.’ Mrs Arnold stood. She was tall and had no need to slip off the stool like Mary had to—or slide off, like Mrs Frith was doing.
‘Freda, hand me the car keys.’
‘I’ve only had two sips.’
‘Two sips since we’ve been in the house, but how many flagons beforehand?’
‘Freda,’ Mary said in an outraged tone. ‘You didn’t drive under the influence, did you?’
‘I’ll drive,’ Mrs Arnold stated, holding her hand out.
‘You’re a busy-body nuisance, Amelia,’ Mrs Frith said. ‘Catch.’ She lobbed her keys so hard that even Rachel, who wasn’t standing anywhere near, ducked. Mary skipped backwards—but Mrs Arnold didn’t flinch. She caught the keys one-handed and proceeded out the door.
Once they’d driven off, Rachel stayed by the window, staring out. Dusk was falling now and she glanced at her reflection, hoping to discover what it really was that made her heart beat. There were many personas in her reflection from the glass in the window. She hadn’t worried about them before, but now they plagued her. Who was she, really? Not Rosalind, she’d never be that person again. Was she Rachel in her heart? She’d thought so—but here she was, considering going through the rituals of packing and leaving, and it felt like Rachel had abandoned her. In which case, who would she be next?
She discarded the need to cover her emotions with the neat clothing and the standoffish manner when she was at home. She’d thought she let herself be herself when alone. But maybe she’d been wrong—maybe she was all neat cover and no pulse.
People rarely saw her in anything except her work clothes. She’d have to be casual tonight and wear smart shorts and a summery top and show people the vulnerable woman instead of the reserved woman. She wouldn’t be wearing her armour.
Turning from the window and the reflection she’d thought she’d known so well, she went to her bedroom, pulled her small suitcase out of the wardrobe and flung it onto the bed, getting it ready in case things turned out badly and she had to leave. The more she embroiled herself in the townspeople’s lives, the more hurt she’d be by their dismissal and disgust when they found out about her. She wasn’t ready to be completely open with anyone—not after years of running—she was just taking this small step by going to the meeting tonight in order to gauge what their responses might be. And to discover if Luke had run a check.
Ten
Luke looked up from lines one, two and three flashing on the telephone in front of him to the empty doorway to his office. The printer was working hard out the front.
‘Hang on,’ Luke told Jack, and took his mobile from his ear. ‘Jimmy?’
‘Last time I do any overtime!’ Jimmy shouted. ‘Bloody phones don’t stop. Don’t they realise some things shut down in the evenings?’ Jimmy was pulling overtime a couple of nights this week, getting their filing system updated.
‘Give me a minute, Jimmy. I’m on my mobile.’
One of the flashing lights on the landline stopped blinking and Luke went back to his conversation. ‘I’ve been looking through past records,’ he said to Jack. ‘Anything with an assault using a Swiss Army knife—like the one Fletcher used in the attack on Rachel and the guy she was having dinner with. Do you remember that police sergeant in east Melbourne who got stabbed? About three months ago. He was off duty, stabbed in his house, while he was asleep and it was a Swiss Army knife. See if there’s a connection.’
‘I’ll get onto that now,’ Jack said. ‘Anything unusual happening around town?’
‘We’ve got the mine workers still swanning around. And there’s a team of builders who have suddenly become a bit active. I can’t get hold of their company though, so I’ve got Will looking into it. And the gastro epidemic is taking us one by one. The hospital’s full.’ And the hospital only had twelve beds and no regular doctor. ‘I’m down to nine officers if I don’t include myself.’
‘You haven’t told Will anything?’ Jack asked, lowering his voice.
‘No.’ Not yet.
‘Keep it that way.’
Luke didn’t answer. He ended the call and pocketed his phone just as Jimmy called out again.
‘It’s the Baxters, sarge. Old Hugh’s gone missing. They say he hasn’t got his car keys so he’ll be walking wherever he’s heading. And I’m leaving in an hour no matter what. Even if someone gets murdered—I’m going home.’
Luke radioed two officers out on their rounds and advised them to check the Baxter farm, and look for Hugh in all the usual places. He’d likely wandered down one of the old mining tracks but Luke didn’t want him starting a camp fire like he’d done last summer. He had enough on his plate without worrying about having to put the town’s Bushfire and Emergency Response plans into operation.
‘Mr Roper,’ Jimmy called. ‘Line two. Demanding to talk to an officer. Want me to tell him where to shove it?’
‘Do it nicely, Jimmy.’
‘Says he’s found tyre tracks you missed.’
‘Okay—hang on. Tell him I’ll send someone out.’
Luke called in to Will and Louie. ‘Roper just rang, says he’s found tyre tracks he thinks belong to the dark green station wagon that was hanging around his property. Where are you both?’
‘Not far from his place,’ Will said. ‘We’ll pay him a visit. You stay put, we uniforms have got it covered.’
Luke sat back in his chair when Will cut the call. He’d always appreciated his friendship with Will, but the tables had been turned on both of them—and he couldn’t tell Will why. He was playing detective, otherwise he’d have trusted his second OIC and good mate with the information on Rachel. But he couldn’t bring Will in, unless it was necessary, because he’d been told that what he was doing was currently unofficial. Operation Garland detectives were playing Luke as much as he was going to play them and Rachel. Only give the uniform as much info as is needed. Keep the ex-detective in the dark. He’s no longer one of us. That really pissed him off. What he didn’t want was those detectives coming up to Mt Maria and taking over. Not until he’d discovered for himself what Rachel was up to. It wasn’t as if he was currently playing things by the book anyway, given the directives he’d been given.
He was going to have to make this relationship with Rachel appear real—once he got her to go out with him. And it had to appear genuine to everybody, not just Rachel. She was smart, she’d see through him if he wasn’t careful. To a certain extent he’d have to think it was real himself, otherwise he’d let something slip. So what had she seen so far, and what would she expect? Humour, his attraction to her, and cop. He’d quizzed her enough to maybe have got her back up and her mind working. But she was playing him in some ways too. When he’d questioned her on the name change—a second after she’d told him—she’d turned the conversation around to the Sunday barbecue and the possible date she suddenly said she’d think about. That had been gameplay on her part.
He put his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose and pressed hard. They were going to be playing each other, assessing the other, suspicious of the other and all the time there’d be jokes and flirting as a cover.
The hard thing was, he didn’t want to pretend. He wanted to look after her, be with her, take care of her, kiss her a lot—like, a lot—and maybe make her happy. He supposed there was part of him that had wanted her to make him happy. Whatever happy meant. He hadn’t thought he wasn’t until he met her. He’d never considered he’d been living without it until now.
What a mess. His mind was taking a bashing, never mind his heart.
‘Sarge!’ Jimmy yelled. ‘Rachel Meade on line three. Want me to put her off?’
He straightened in his chair, stunned speechless.
‘Sarge?’
‘I’ll take it. Thanks, Jimmy.’
He punched line three. ‘Weston.’
‘Hello, it’s Rachel. Have you got a minute to talk?’
He took a second to register the velvety sound of her voice. He’d never spoken to her on the phone before. But the sound shouldn’t be rumbling so pleasantly throughout his system. ‘Sure,’ he said, sounding convivial even to himself. ‘So long as the conversation has nothing to do with chickens, drunks, or the gastro epidemic. What can I do for you?’
‘I wanted to apologise for the text Mary sent you.’
‘What text?’
‘I think she got a little excited about her matchmaking.’
Luke frowned. ‘She sent me a text?’ He hadn’t received it. He got up and walked across the office to where the station mobile was kept.
‘So please don’t take any notice of it,’ Rachel continued while Luke input the security pin on the station mobile.
He read the text Mary had sent him. Good news. She likes you! She’ll go to the bbq with you.
He smiled as he put the phone in his pocket. ‘Mary can be over-enthusiastic sometimes. If it’s any help—I didn’t get the text. She sent it to the station mobile, not mine.’
‘It’s embarrassing. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m not used to rural life and everybody getting involved in your business.’
‘You’re not rude. Nobody could say that of you. So you haven’t lived rural before?’ he asked.
‘Not much.’
‘You don’t like being the focus of interest though, do you?’ Turn it around. Get the game back on his side. ‘And I think maybe I’ve put the microscope on you with my attention. I’m sorry.’
‘I like being alone. That’s all.’
‘Well—sometimes it’s good to be alone and sometimes it’s been forced on us, which perhaps isn’t the best.’ He left the statement open but she didn’t respond. ‘But if any of these mine boys or the builders at the museum worry you, pick up the phone and call me, okay? That’s what I’m here for. I saved a few numbers before I gave you that phone. You know the station number but my private number is listed under “Luke”.’
‘Thank you,’ she said at last. ‘I noticed.’
‘And the offer of attending the barbecue with me is definitely still open.’ She didn’t answer. ‘Rachel?’ he said when the pause went on too long. ‘Are you still there?’
‘I know this is not the right time,’ she said, ‘and I shouldn’t be calling while you’re working but I wanted to explain about yesterday. About the—about that kiss.’
Yesterday? It felt like a month ago. ‘Look, there’s no need. We both got drawn in, I guess.’ He closed his eyes and took a second to evaluate what he was doing, then inhaled and plunged in. ‘I’m sorry if I appeared a bit off with you,’ he said, softening his voice. ‘I’ve had a couple of long days—and nights. So I was kind o
f distracted when I—when I kissed you. Got something on my mind. Work stuff. It gets to you sometimes.’
‘I’ll let you go,’ she said. ‘Thanks again for understanding.’
‘Just like that?’ he asked. ‘You haven’t said yes to the barbecue yet.’
She gave a breathy laugh and he imagined her smiling. ‘There was something else I wanted to say—I had a visit tonight, from the Lavender Blue Dramatic Society ladies.’
‘And did Amelia Arnold cause trouble for you?’
‘No, I’m fine, but—I need to tell you something.’
‘Oh?’
‘It’s about my name change. They know. Donald Wiseman told them. I had to explain why I’m changing my name, and I thought I ought to tell you too.’
Wiseman? What was that interfering snot getting involved for? ‘Of course you can tell me. Is it something you’re worried about? I mean, are you telling the police officer or the man who wants to date you?’ He said the last part in a softer, more teasing tone.
‘Both, I suppose,’ she said and he didn’t miss the caution in her voice. ‘But I’d rather tell you in person. Maybe we could meet up for coffee or something.’
‘I’d like that.’
‘Not a date,’ she added. ‘Just coffee and maybe a chat.’
A chat? He had no words. He hadn’t expected this. ‘As soon as you’re ready, Rachel. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you soon, then.’
He replaced the receiver, his mind buzzing. She’d given them both an opening but who would move first? He was officially off-shift; he could drive out to her place, take a couple of beers and apologise again for the bad moods, and they could have their little chat. Not that she’d be telling him the truth, but she wanted to tell him something. Probably to get him off the scent. Or he could wait it out and see what her next move was going to be. If he went tonight, they’d be alone, and he wouldn’t be in uniform—but there was no such thing as off the record when you were answering questions posed by a police officer. So what did he do? Go to her, or wait for her to come to him?