Desert Flame

by Janine Grey

  But he didn’t have to know.

  At least, not yet. It wouldn’t hurt anyone to make some initial enquiries. Mairi McLeod would have attempted to trace Logan for her divorce, and Ernest Weaver had also tried to find him. Both had failed. Eliza knew it wouldn’t be easy. She had to consider the possibility he’d changed his name and whether she could access those records. But she had to try, for Fin and for herself. For them.

  It was well past lunchtime but she didn’t feel hungry, except for information. She sat back down at the table and opened up her laptop again. If Logan McLeod was out there, she would do everything in her power to find him.

  *

  When his phone chirped, Fin grinned, betting it was a call from Eliza. Instead it was Jerry Bragg, and his smile fell away. Fin felt uneasy. The guy never phoned him because of the cost of a call to a satellite phone. It would have to be something serious.

  ‘Jerry, is she all right?’ he asked urgently.

  ‘Never better, boy. In fact, you’ll be delighted at our news. Your mother and I plan to marry.’

  Fin felt as though he’d taken a blow to the solar plexus. He stumbled into a canvas chair, nearly dropping the phone.

  ‘Jerry, that’s not – I don’t believe you can be serious,’ he managed.

  ‘Why not?’ Jerry spoke with the defensive tone of someone expecting the response he’d received and ready to combat it. ‘Love isn’t just for young people.’

  ‘But, Ma is . . . You know how she is. Did she tell you she wanted to get married?’ As she’d barely spoken in months, he was already pretty sure of the answer.

  ‘We’d been talking about it for some time before she became sick. I’m sure she spoke to you of it,’ Jerry snapped.

  ‘Well, no, she didn’t. In fact, she told me more than ten years ago that she would never remarry.’

  ‘Things change! People change!’

  Fin could imagine Jerry waving his hand in the air, the way he did when he believed other people’s opinions weren’t worthy of discussion. ‘The fact is, your mother and I have a special relationship, one that we would like to formalise.’

  ‘Jerry . . .’ Fin reined in his impatience with difficulty. ‘I know Ma has always valued your friendship. But love is something else. I don’t think that’s what she feels for you.’

  ‘Well, I beg to differ,’ Jerry sniffed. ‘You young people think you have a mortgage on that sort of thing but what Mairi and I have is something rare and enduring.’

  Fin felt some sympathy. The poor guy had probably spent decades waiting for the day when Mairi would see what had been right next to her all along – the day when he wouldn’t play second fiddle to Logan McLeod.

  ‘You’ve always stuck by her, Jerry. I’m not disputing that. What I’m saying is that Ma may not feel the way you do, and right now she’s not able to express her feelings. Unless she gives her consent, there’s no way you can marry her.’

  ‘She already has,’ Jerry barked. ‘Months ago. I have proof. You’ll need a judge to declare her incompetent if you wish to stop it. Do you really want to do that to your own mother?’

  ‘Of course not!’ Fin sighed. ‘Jerry, look, there’s no rush, is there? Perhaps it’s better if we talk about this face to face. I’ll be by to see Ma in a couple of weeks. Let’s discuss it then.’

  ‘I would have thought something like this might take priority in your diary.’

  Fin had explained countless times about the seasonal limitations of working up at Ruin Flat and didn’t want to go there again.

  ‘Jerry, I just want what my mother wants.’

  ‘Well, I suggest you support our marriage then.’

  There was no point arguing with Jerry. Increasingly, they’d been at odds in recent months, with Jerry seemingly determined to dig his heels in every time they disagreed.

  ‘Give her my love, Jerry,’ Fin said. ‘I’ll see you both soon and we’ll talk it through.’

  He sat in the darkness, his head buzzing with thoughts. What the hell was Jerry thinking? No right-minded person would want to marry in the circumstances. It was an insane notion.

  Whatever was going on, Fin needed to see Mairi. And he needed to speak to Jerry and the nursing home in order to plot a path forward. It couldn’t have come at a worse time, but it looked like he was going to have to take a break from the mine sooner rather than later.

  He leant back, releasing the tension from his neck and staring up at the sky. Four months ago he’d come to Ruin Flat looking for, among other things, an escape from the complications. Instead, life had become more complicated.

  Thinking of Eliza, he let go of a pent-up breath with the realisation that she was no longer a complication, but a rock in stormy waters. No, that wasn’t right. A rock was too hard, too unyielding. She was a tree, bending and flexing as circumstances changed, yet rooted more deeply than he’d ever thought. He’d given her every reason to jump ship, but she’d stuck it out despite everything, and she deserved a man who showed the same resolve.

  His urge was to drive to Coffs Harbour and deal with Jerry right away, but he was in a relationship now. Couples discussed and shared. They negotiated. Something in him resisted the loss of his right to just make a decision and act; another bigger part was relieved. Confiding in her would take a weight off his mind, and she’d probably have some smart ideas about the best way to handle the Jerry problem.

  Later, he would phone her and ask her what she made of Jerry’s marriage plans. But now he’d already lost enough of the day. If the mine was about to shut for the summer, he needed to make the most of whatever hours he had left.

  *

  Heltonians were notoriously lax about their home security, unless they’d had a decent opal find. Eliza Mayberry, however, was a Sydneysider, and it appeared that old habits died hard. When she’d left home five minutes earlier with what looked like a lengthy shopping list, Leonard Twomey had taken the opportunity to have a look around Treloars Cottage. Front and rear were locked up tight but she’d left the key on the inside of the old-fashioned back door lock. It was a simple matter for a man as experienced as Twomey to dislodge it so that it fell to the kitchen floor. The gap beneath the ill-fitting door was sufficient to allow him to retrieve it. Seconds later, it was in his hand.

  Twomey didn’t have a clear plan, except to poke around and hope that an idea would take root. She was an orderly woman; that much was clear. Folders were stacked tidily on a bench near the kitchen table. He flicked idly through the first two but they were just client case files. They seemed to align with what he knew of her – former trust-fund baby trying to make a silk purse from the sow’s ear of a family business her hopeless father had left behind.

  Eliza Mayberry’s professional pursuits weren’t relevant so he ignored the rest of her case files and continued through the house, noting the elegant vases and oversized cushions, the faded rug on the scuffed floorboards. Either she’d had an interior designer through here or the woman had serious style. She also had a taste for literature if the open paperback edition of My Brother Jack was any indication. A pair of black-rimmed reading glasses lay on top of the book.

  In her bedroom, another pile of books sat on the bedside table but he ignored those and went straight to the drawers. When he opened the top one, he smiled. This was the sensuous woman who’d made blistering, open-air love by firelight. The drawer was filled with the kind of lacy, silky, expensive underthings designed to make men want to peel them off to get to the body beneath.

  He had some sympathy for Fingal McLeod. The guy wouldn’t have stood a chance against this kind of ammunition.

  Tunnelling his fingers through the silk, he thought about his options. He looked through the other drawers and then flicked through the contents of her wardrobe. Even the shirts and jeans were good quality, and neatly folded and hung. The woman was always perfectly outfitted and groomed; she liked fine clothes and she cared for them. This was where he should strike.

  Glancing at his watch, h
e saw he’d taken twelve minutes already. Glancing around the bedroom, he saw his opportunity and seized it.

  He did what he’d come to do.

  On his way back through the lounge room, he spotted a small pile of bills and paperwork near the front door. Out of interest, he flicked through. One document made his brows rise. Bannister had never mentioned this. Quickly, he lifted it, sliding it inside his jacket. Then he relocked the kitchen door from the inside and left by the front.

  *

  Eliza felt her heart lift as she unlocked the door of Treloars Cottage. Fin would be arriving this afternoon so they could have the rest of the weekend to themselves, and she was finding it hard to think of much else.

  She and her handsome man were going out on a proper date. Third time lucky. Their first – if you could call their dinner in Sydney a date and, given their scarcity, she did – had been the scene of her public humiliation by Felicity Westland. Their second, the picnic, had been marked by tension. Their third surely could not be worse. It might even be better.

  Dumping her mail on the counter, she put the groceries away. She hadn’t bought much because they would be staying in the township of Drummond, which had a growing reputation for its local produce, arts and crafts. She had a yearning for a touch of sophistication, for the opportunity to dress up and enjoy some time off.

  He’d grumble about having to dress up, shave and mix in polite company but it would be good for him, for both of them. For the first time, she felt confident in her ability to gently prod Fin until he acquiesced to her plans. If compromise proved necessary, she’d let him keep the chin stubble.

  They’d wander the galleries like a city couple, and then sit opposite each other at a trendy little bistro and make clever conversation that had nothing to do with elusive opals or family tragedies. Finally they would retreat, hand in hand, to a charming B&B, where they would undress each other in a dark room lit only by the streetlamp outside the window and love each other all night long.

  Already she knew what she was going to wear to dinner. Half her wardrobe was still packed in boxes in a Sydney storage facility, but she had brought a few dressier outfits back after her last trip, in the hope rather than the expectation she’d have the opportunity to wear them. He’d seen the LBD but he hadn’t seen the turquoise silk dress that hung loose from a halter-neck nearly to her ankles. It wasn’t as obvious as the LBD yet somehow, because it suggested rather than clung to what lay beneath, it was the sexiest thing she’d ever worn.

  When she spotted the dress in a boutique in the Strand Building last year, she’d fallen in love on the spot. She had splashed out on high strappy silver sandals and a twenties-style silver hair clip to complement it.

  She had the perfect underwear for the dress, too. The lingerie set was one of sea-foam silk and lace, and —

  Eliza came up short outside her bedroom door.

  Something was amiss.

  She knew it immediately.

  ‘Fin?’ she said, wondering if he’d decided to start their weekend early. But the house was silent. ‘Hello? Is anyone here?’

  She retraced her steps through the living room and across the hallway to the kitchen, but everything was in order. She looked more closely at her work files. They didn’t look quite as she’d left them, lined up neatly in order of priority. Perhaps she’d knocked the pile askew without realising. Her personal paperwork was all there on the hall console, too, except . . .

  With a rising sense of disquiet, she rifled through the documents connected to her father’s estate. The contract was missing. The one between Logan McLeod, Ernest Weaver and her father. She’d looked at it yesterday, and thought she’d left it on top of the pile.

  It wasn’t in her bag, either. She sorted through her work files just in case, but she wouldn’t have mixed personal and professional.

  What was going on?

  A quick glance around the kitchen didn’t reveal anything untoward so she strode into her bedroom to check there. The room emanated with the faint acrid smell of smoke.

  The bodice of the turquoise dress she’d hung so carefully on the wardrobe door was just as she’d left it, but the skirt was darkly charred at the hem, the shimmering green fabric ruined by smoke stains.

  Stunned, she just stared at it. What in the hell could have caused it? There was no heat source nearby, and if there had been and the silk had caught fire, the fragile garment would have been destroyed within seconds. It looked like someone had held a flame to the hem just long enough to ruin it without risking a fire. But who?

  And why?

  Eliza sat down on the bed, feeling nauseous at the realisation that someone had been in her house, violated her privacy and wrecked the dress she’d fantasised about wearing. Of course, they would have known she had plans for it from the way it had been hung on the front of the wardrobe. It was the kind of dress a woman wore for a special occasion. Now those plans were tainted with something she wouldn’t easily be able to shake.

  The question returned. Who?

  In the township, she’d received nothing less than cheerful curiosity and, in most cases, outright friendship. Her mind spun back over recent weeks trying to identify a moment when she’d felt uneasy, but there was nothing. Perhaps they had offended someone the night Fin had hauled her out of the pub in his arms. It was true, she’d dressed for effect, but would anyone in this relaxed community have taken her behaviour seriously? Okay, there were weirdos everywhere but how would they have got in?

  As anger burnt away the shock, she walked to the front door and scrutinised the lock. It didn’t appear to have been tampered with and the door hadn’t been forced. She went to each window one by one. The ones in the bathroom and living room were open a fraction at the top to let fresh air in, but they were locked and no one would have been able to squeeze through the gap. The back door didn’t appear to have been forced, either, and the key was where she’d left it in the lock.

  None of it made sense but however it had happened, it had rattled her. Reaching for her mobile, she called up Fin’s number but hesitated before pressing ‘call’. What could he do out there? He wouldn’t get her message until he surfaced from the mine anyway, as there was no reception down there. And she didn’t want him rushing back early when he had so little time left before summer.

  While she thought, she put away the shopping, and checked her emails. There was nothing urgent so she decided to walk to the agent’s. Rae had just gone out for an appointment but her assistant confirmed they had an emergency key, which was where it should be and that no one had had any reason to use it since Eliza had moved in.

  On the spur of the moment, she decided to walk to Mick’s place. She knew where it was although she’d never visited before, and she felt justified in dropping by. After all, he felt no hesitation in knocking on her door.

  He opened it almost immediately, as though he’d been waiting for someone to arrive.

  ‘Is this a bad time?’ she asked.

  His face broke into a broad grin. ‘Not if you’ve come to tell me the engagement’s back on.’

  ‘Sorry.’ She mustered a smile but clearly it wasn’t convincing because he ushered her into a house that might have featured on Outback Hoarders if there was such a TV show. Although it was orderly, books, magazines and newspapers were piled in teetering stacks against every wall, and sometimes even when there wasn’t one. As she squeezed past one pile, she understood why he didn’t spend much time at home.

  ‘You like reading, Mick?’

  ‘The missus does.’

  He led her out to a bench in the backyard, then disappeared and returned with two icy beers. As a nerve-steadier, it would do the trick.

  ‘So, what’s up?’ he prompted.

  ‘While I was out this morning, someone got into my house,’ she told him baldly. ‘They – Well, it looks like they held a cigarette or a lighter along the hemline of a special dress I was planning to wear this weekend. Enough to destroy it. I don’t know quite what
to think or do.’

  ‘They broke in?’ Mick asked. ‘We should call the coppers.’

  ‘That’s the thing. There’s no sign of a break-in. None of the doors or windows have been forced or smashed. But the dress didn’t burn itself, and on top of that, some paperwork is missing.’

  ‘Anyone have a key?’

  Eliza shook her head. ‘Fin has my spare front door key. And Rae keeps an emergency set at the agency, but I’ve been by there already. No one has used it since I moved in.’

  ‘Fin’s not around, I take it?’

  ‘He’s up at Ruin Flat. I’m not expecting him until tomorrow and I don’t want him to feel he has to rush back. But this has ruffled me. If they got in while I’m out, they could get in while I’m home.’

  Mick nodded. ‘I reckon you should tell him.’

  ‘I don’t know. He might think —’

  ‘What’s to think?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. He’s got a lot on at the mine. And I don’t want to call him away for a minor drama that I can handle myself. He’s going to be here tomorrow, anyway.’

  ‘You wanna call the cops?’

  ‘Over a damaged dress?’

  ‘They broke in,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Except nothing’s broken.’

  ‘True.’ He sipped his beer. ‘I’d invite you to stay here tonight but people would talk. Maybe you should see if the pub has a room for tonight, just until your man gets here.’

  ‘I could do.’

  ‘Look, you came here for my take and I think you should speak with Fin. He won’t think you’re crazy. He had some conspiracy theory of his own going a while back, didn’t he?’

  ‘The MineCorp thing? That wasn’t a theory. It was fact.’

  Mick looked at her, surprised. ‘No, I meant about – shit, I might have just put my size elevens in it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Ah, hell.’ Mick put down his beer and scratched his head, nervously. ‘He probably didn’t want to worry you is all.’