by Jennie Jones
Jax was raking hay and whatever else was on the floor of one of the pens. ‘Well, hello.’ She straightened, leaning her hand on the rake handle. ‘What brings you into town?’
‘Just came to say hi. And maybe offer my help.’ Rachel walked up to one of the large caged pens and peered through the metal links. The cage had been built around the gum-tree trunk. Up among the eucalypt leaves a dark shadow sat on a limb. ‘You have a koala!’
‘Freddie. He’s well, but tame—he was brought up in someone’s house from when he was a baby, then abandoned when they moved. I’m waiting on some wildlife sanctuary in Perth saying they’ll take him. Can’t put him out in the wild—we don’t have koalas around here.’
‘The poor little man.’
‘He’ll be good. Once I get him his forever sanctuary.’
‘What else are you able to keep here?’ Rachel asked. There were other shelters and cages, but they looked empty.
‘I had eleven chickens out here until this morning. They’d been stolen and then dumped. But Will found the owner. She came over this morning to pick them up. That’s why I’m out the back now, tidying up while I’ve got the chance.’
‘Let me help. I know how to sweep, at least.’ Rachel walked out to the concrete area in front of the pens and picked up the large garden broom from where it had been dropped on the floor.
‘Cheers,’ Jax said. She nodded behind Rachel. ‘Grab yourself some gloves.’
Rachel picked up thick work gloves from the rim of an open plastic wheelie bin that was half full of straw and grain and whatever else. ‘Have you seen Luke?’ she asked, shoving her hands into the gloves.
Jax pulled a thoughtful face. ‘Saw him earlier. Can’t say I’ve seen him since—there’s been a road train mess over east around the Roper farm though, so he’s likely gone to attend to that.’
‘Nobody hurt, I hope.’
‘Not yet,’ Jax said with a laugh, her dark blue eyes sparkling and her lips glistening with the rosy pink lipstick she wore. ‘But I’m not sure what state anybody will be in once old Roper starts ranting.’
So Luke might not be back for hours. Rachel swept the ground, gathering dust and bits of straw and grain, wondering if she had the courage to come into town that evening and search him out again.
‘Understand you and our top cop have a date over a pistol and a burger tomorrow,’ Jax said.
‘How on earth do you know that?’
Jax laughed. ‘He had to book you both in. Word gets out pretty quickly.’
Rachel felt the blush. ‘It’s not a date. He’s just showing me what’s on offer in town, that’s all.’
‘Rachel—he’s on offer. To you at least.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ Rachel said, going back to her sweeping.
‘Someone saw you with him last night in the carpark,’ Jax said. ‘Apparently looking very friendly.’
She threw Jax a glance. ‘How far do people’s imaginations go around here?’
Jax leaned on her rake handle. ‘We’ve got as far as the engagement party.’
Rachel couldn’t hold onto her smile but it weakened as a thought struck her. Their relationship might not go further than tomorrow. ‘Mrs Arnold visited me last night with Mary and Mrs Frith.’
‘Oh no,’ Jax said with a mock look of fright. ‘I hope she hasn’t put you off us.’
‘Quite the opposite. I like her forthrightness. I wish I could be the same in some ways. She wanted to know my intentions for helping with the Tidy Town competition, and my intentions with your police force.’
‘All of them?’
‘I think she only had one in mind—but it’s possible she thinks I could go through all thirteen—including the females.’
Jax smiled. ‘Strangely enough—and I know you won’t believe this—she’s got a decent heart. Underneath that concrete exterior.’
‘I do believe you. She’s astute, and I guess the other ladies wouldn’t follow her if they thought she was a bad person.’
‘Hey, Jaxie!’ Rosita bounced out the kitchen door and stopped short when she saw Rachel.
Rachel waited through Rosita Brown’s long hard stare.
‘Looking forward to your burger with our hot cop?’ Rosita asked in a tone that suggested she didn’t care about the answer.
‘I am, thanks,’ Rachel said, not losing eye contact with her rival for the hot cop.
‘Huh,’ Rosita said as she crossed her arms over her canary-yellow singlet emblazoned with red diamante lips.
‘Back off, Rosie-girl,’ Jax said. ‘You’re messing with my best friend.’
‘Oh, shut up, Jax. And stop calling me that. I’m Ro-seeta—’ She said it with a thick Spanish accent, so unlike either of the sisters’ soft Australian drawl. ‘Roseeta, she eez sexy girl.’ Rosita wiggled her hips. ‘Rosie,’ she said in her own voice, ‘makes a guy think of his grandma. Anyway,’ she said, brightening, ‘I got myself a date.’
‘Oh?’ Jax stopped raking once more and raised her eyebrows. ‘Who?’
‘Big guy, really pleasant.’ She waved her hands in the air. ‘I met a nice fella at last—who’d have thought!’ She let her hands fall. ‘Normal. Helpful—you know—family man—although he’s not married. At least, I don’t think he is.’
‘You might want to make sure of that,’ Jax said.
Rosita scowled. ‘Of course I will. I might do short term, but I like the guy to be wholly mine during that time.’
Jax pulled her phone out of her back pocket. ‘What’s his number?’
‘You have got to be joking!’
‘Never been more serious, Rosie-girl. What’s his number?’
‘I don’t have it. He’s passing through. He likes me though. A lot. His name is Peter.’
Rachel’s nerves took a hit. A big guy. Likeable. Family man. That’s what Peter had once been like. When he’d conned her into marriage. ‘What’s his surname?’ she asked, unable to keep the edge out of her voice.
‘Morrison,’ Rosita said, barely flicking a glance Rachel’s way. ‘Not that it’s got anything to do with you.’
‘Give over,’ Jax said, then turned to Rachel. ‘Have you got your number? Might as well do swapsies now while we’re all at it. Rosie,’ she said, throwing Rosita a big-sister look. ‘You take Rachel’s number too.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I said so. We girls should stick together and always have a good friend’s number to hand.’
‘I don’t need another friend.’
‘Take the number,’ Jax stated, then looked at Rachel.
Rachel pulled her phone out of the back pocket of her shorts. She entered their mobile numbers and they both took Rachel’s.
‘So when’s your date?’ she asked Rosita, trying to keep the worry off her face. This was ridiculous. It was just a name. There were thousands of Peters in Australia, but the mention of his name sent icicles down her spine.
‘Monday,’ Rosita said, and wiggled her hips again. ‘He said he was busy this weekend. Probably got some business in Kalgirri or something, but he’s coming back just to see me. He told me to make sure I didn’t let the other guy chat me up.’
‘What other guy? And you mean your date is taking place after you’ve found out whether or not this Peter is married,’ Jax reminded her.
‘Yeah, yeah.’
‘So he’s a nice man?’ Rachel asked. ‘Nice looking?’
‘Hot—and I mean on fire. He’s got a broken nose—but I reckon it just makes him look smouldering.’
It couldn’t be Peter. He’d looked wasted and abused three months ago—with his broken nose, his chest injury and his disgusting unwashed, un-cared-for smell. Impossible that he could have turned himself around in such a short time.
‘What does he do?’ Rachel asked.
‘I told you—he’s passing through. I might go with him when he leaves.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Jax said sternly.
‘You’ll like him, Jaxie. And he could
be my ticket out of here.’
‘Maybe,’ Jax said.
Rosita turned for the door.
‘Have a good date,’ Rachel called. ‘And be careful, eh?’
‘You sound like my sister,’ Rosita said, sneering. She went back to the kitchen and Rachel picked up the broom again. She tried to halt the anxiety still rushing through her, as though it had been let loose after being choked in a stranglehold. It couldn’t be Peter.
After another twenty minutes they’d finished the cleaning and Rachel pulled her work gloves off. ‘I’d best head on home.’
‘Thanks for your help. If I see our top cop I’ll tell him you were looking for him.’
‘Please don’t. There’s nothing going on, Jax, or likely to.’
‘Sure thing.’ Jax grinned. ‘Like I really believe that. I bet he’s out on that lonely road surrounded by goats and a jack-knifed road train longing to hear that you’ve been looking for him. But no problem. I won’t say anything.’
‘Thank you.’ Rachel smiled through a sudden pain in her chest. She wasn’t sure what Luke might be thinking.
* * *
Luke handed the B-double truck driver official paperwork asking him to submit the accident report online, but without advising him further of his stupidity for trying to back a 36-metre-long truck with two articulated trailers into a farm track, getting it all but jack-knifed, and just for good measure, knocking down the fence and letting two hundred of Roper’s goats loose. The long-distance driver had taken a call from his wife who’d gone into labour—false alarm as it turned out. One that had created a lot of bother for Mt Maria’s police force.
Luke held onto his already stretched patience when the truckie snatched the paperwork off him.
He turned his focus to the goats scattered across the highway and the paddocks. The area was too arid to support agriculture, but low-density grazing of sheep, cattle and goats—feral or otherwise—was feasible, and farmers worked what they could on what they had. He had officers cordoning off either end of a kilometre-long block on the highway—loosely packed gravel or not, it was a major thoroughfare out here—and another two running around chasing goats. Motorists were getting fractious, the sun was getting hotter and Luke was getting pissed off.
‘And what are you going to do about those tyre tracks while you’re here?’ Roper demanded from behind him.
Luke sighed. ‘Mr Roper, Sergeant Bennett and First Constable Louie Lee took a look and they couldn’t distinguish any tyre tracks on your driveway except those of your own vehicle and your tractor.’
‘You haven’t done a damn thing, have you? There was an intruder on my property two nights running.’
Luke held up his hand. ‘We’re still on the case, Mr Roper. You haven’t been forgotten or snubbed. If we find anything suspicious or something that might add substance to your claim, we’ll be straight out here, lights flashing and siren deafening people in our rush.’
‘Substance?’ Roper asked. ‘You think I’m making it up? There was a dark green station wagon with its headlights on full beam aimed directly at my front living room. And I’m not the only one who’s reported it sniffing around either.’
‘I know, and I believe you. But it was most likely joyriders. And we’ll find them. Whoever it was, they were disturbing your peace and they were on private property when they shouldn’t have been—’ He glanced at the sign on the entrance to the Roper farm: Keep Out. No Hawkers.—and back to the old sod who’d written it in blood-red twenty-centimetre-high letters. ‘We’ll catch them. We always catch them, Mr Roper.’
‘It’s those mine workers. You should be giving them a move on order.’
‘They’ve been reasonably quiet the last forty-eight hours.’ It was the builders who were suddenly creating the trouble. ‘They’ll move on shortly.’ And while they were in town, the hotel, the motel, the supermarket and the pub were taking good revenue. ‘Now can I please ask you to use your expertise and assist my officers in rounding up the goats?’
It took an hour. It took another half an hour for the road train to ease out of the track to Roper’s farm and continue east. Finally, Luke was able to radio the officers at either end of the cordoned-off section of highway. ‘Let ’em roll, boys. All clear.’
‘Thank Christ!’ Davidson said. ‘I’ve been butted by goats and laughed at by tourists for the last three hours!’
‘All in the line of duty, mate,’ Luke told him.
He fired the troop wagon and eased his way back towards Mt Maria—and the museum. Time to check it out himself.
Twenty minutes out of town he pulled into an area of land with many dirt tracks leading off it and nothing but scrubland beyond that had once been used by the mine. There was a circular flower garden in front of the weatherboard house that was now used as the museum office. He surveyed his surroundings as he drove the circle. The small carpark held three vehicles and a caravan. There was tarpaulin up on the front of the museum office, and a fracas by the verandah steps.
‘What’s the issue, Donna?’ he asked, getting out of the wagon and heading over to his senior constable. She was off duty and in civvies. Her husband was standing further back by his work truck, which was loaded with plastic chairs.
Donna pulled herself up when she heard Luke. ‘We’re here getting chairs for the pistol club barbecue,’ she told him. ‘And this testosterone-fuelled oaf is giving me attitude. At least I presume it’s only testosterone. See this guy?’ she asked the man who looked like he had every intention of taking whatever argument they were having further. ‘He’s my boss.’ She pulled out her ID and flashed it at him. ‘I’m a cop, you idiot.’
‘All right,’ Luke said. Four other guys, builders, were standing a little distance off. ‘What’s the problem?’ he asked the man in front of Donna. He didn’t need to ask Donna—if she thought there was a problem, there’d be one.
‘She’s in our way,’ the man said. ‘We’ve got a deadline to meet and she’s taking her time getting her gear out of the building. She’s held us up long enough.’
‘So he used some descriptive language to indicate I needed to move my arse,’ Donna said through gritted teeth.
‘And that idiot—’ the man interrupted, pointing to Donna’s husband, Rob. ‘Didn’t like me saying so.’
Luke turned as Rob stepped away from the truck. Luke held up a hand and gave him a quick smile. The man was already unhappy about his wife working as a cop. Rob had been complaining that she was wearing the pants too much. She wasn’t, of course; she held down a full-time job as a police officer, and also ran her household and took care of their nine-year-old daughter. But being a cop meant she’d seen things her husband hadn’t. It had given her assertiveness. Necessary, but not necessarily understood by wives and husbands. ‘It’s okay, Rob. We’ve got it—I’ve got it,’ he added, although he knew it would infuriate Donna.
‘Apologise to the officer,’ Luke said to the builder.
‘What?’ he asked, outrage obvious with the tightening of a hard jawline.
‘Now,’ Luke told him.
He grunted, and threw a disdainful look at Donna, who still looked almost as fierce as the guy she was fronting. He tipped his chin.
‘With words.’
‘Christ,’ the man said in scornful exasperation. ‘Sorry, all right, Mrs Cop? Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.’
‘Nicely,’ Luke said.
The guy held Luke’s gaze, challenging him.
Luke curled one corner of his mouth, keeping his eyes hard. ‘Senior Constable Murray, with ten years’ experience in dealing with your sort, might let this one go—if we ask her nicely. Get the picture, tough guy?’
‘Do it!’ one of the builders called.
‘I apologise, madam police officer.’
‘If that’s your nice voice,’ Donna said, ‘you need to go back to kindergarten and sit in the naughty corner for an hour.’
‘Make your way back to your colleagues,’ Luke told the man. ‘I’ll be with yo
u all in a minute.’
The man took a few paces back, but didn’t turn. His eyes were still on Donna. Nasty-looking piece of work.
‘Off you trot,’ Luke told him. ‘Before my senior constable and I forget to be accommodating.’
‘I’m okay,’ Donna said, shifting her shoulders when the man headed to his mates. ‘I’m just irritable. This is my day off.’
‘I know.’ He’d like to put an arm around her shoulder, but knew he’d hate it if Donna tried to do the same to him. And he certainly wouldn’t do it in front of the general public. ‘So forget it. Take the chairs out to the pistol club then go get a meal with Rob or something.’
‘Jesus, Luke—’ She threw a glance at her husband. ‘I hate it when he sees me working. He just doesn’t get it. It was different in the city, he didn’t see me on the street, but out here I’m on full show. Anyway … whatever. But it was my day off,’ she reiterated as she turned to go.
‘Hey, Donna.’
‘What?’
Luke smiled. ‘We don’t get days off. Remember?’ They were on duty all the time—even in civvies. They were bound to carry ID and to stop and attend any problem that might be dealt with by a police officer.
Donna hauled in a breath. ‘Yeah.’
‘Tell Rob if he wants to take it out on anyone, to come and see me,’ Luke said. ‘I’ll try to let him know what this job means to us. It might be better coming from your boss. Especially if he knows how much you mean to me and the team.’
Donna grinned. ‘Thanks, boss. Underhand compliment though it was. Oh, by the way—you and Rachel Meade—are you, you know …’ She wiggled her hand. ‘A thing?’