The Secrets that Lie Within (Taylor's Bend, #1)

by Elisabeth Rose

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘Fifteen, twenty minutes ago. Anything wrong?’

  ‘No, it could have been someone looking for me and I was in town, that’s all.’ It sounded innocent. Was it?

  ‘Oh, right. Sometimes people come up here because they see the vineyard sign down on the road and think we have a cellar door. Or they were lost and trying to get a signal for their phone. More likely they were interested in the national park.’

  ‘That’s probably it. Thanks, Tim.’

  ‘See you later.’

  Abbie hung up and turned to face Rupe.

  ‘He thought it went up into the national park first then he saw it parked near the rise, but he was on the tractor in the vines and didn’t get much of a look. He said people sometimes follow that sign thinking they have a cellar door.’

  She stared at him, daring him to agree with Tim’s suggestion.

  ‘Unlikely, you think?’

  ‘Don’t you?’ That reassuring calmness of his could be downright annoying. Was it really that he wasn’t calm, just dense? Thick?

  ‘I’d say it was pretty unlikely given what we know.’

  ‘Well, thank you for that!’ She spread her hands wide in frustration. ‘Of course, it’s not some lost wine drinker looking for a tasting. Some stranger wouldn’t come in here and put my shopping away. This is clearly not a cellar door, for god’s sake!’

  ‘So who was it, Abbie?’ All of a sudden his tone hardened, still quiet but with a core of stone.

  ‘I don’t know. Don’t you think I’d say if I knew?’ Her voice, by contrast, resembled a seagull circling a dead fish.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said slowly. ‘Would you?’

  Rupe definitely wasn’t thick but what an infuriating man he was to argue with. Too calm, too clever. She brought her escalating volume under control. ‘Rupe, if that’s the best you can do there’s not much point your being here, is there?’

  ‘Abbie, no crime has been committed. Did you get the numberplates?’

  She shook her head. ‘Too dirty.’ Deliberately so?

  ‘I can’t identify the car let alone the driver and you won’t help me at all. What can I do?’ He stood up. ‘Thanks for the tea and biscuits. If you want to talk, or you’re frightened again, call me. Any time.’ He pulled a card from his pocket and dropped it on the table. ‘I’m here for you and I do believe you, but at the moment my hands are tied. Legally speaking.’

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ she said tightly.

  ‘You’re welcome. Lock your house. Is there a lock for the gate?’

  ‘I can get one. Don’t worry about it.’

  He studied her for a long moment then nodded. ‘I’ll be on my way. Goodbye.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  Abbie followed him to the front door and stood on the verandah as he strode across to the patrol car.

  ‘Rupe?’ He turned. ‘Thanks.’

  His hand lifted in response. ‘Call if you need me.’

  She stayed motionless on the verandah, watching the car until it disappeared between the trees. He was a good man. A decent, honest man she’d treated shamefully when he was being kind and patient and doing his job.

  Lock the gate, he’d said. She’d never even closed it but now she would. There was a new padlock somewhere in the garage. She’d bought it when she moved in, thinking she might need one for something, but hadn’t. There might be some chain, too. Pretty much everything else was in those sheds from an anvil to mousetraps and an old leather halter for a horse.

  In the garage she poked amongst the dusty junk stacked on the shelves along the back wall and opened the drawers in the workbench. Most of the stuff she’d inherited from the previous owner would have been there since the house was built in the fifties. She found a length of chain which she figured would be long enough to go round the post and secure the gate and eventually came up with her new padlock, still in its tamper-proof plastic packaging, which required strong scissors to open.

  A walk to the gate to fix the chain and lock would clear her head and give her some exercise. This afternoon she needed to work. Louise wanted six large oils to display at a mixed exhibition with two other artists in her stable. Three were finished and safely dispatched to the gallery. She had four months to complete the final three and ideas for two.

  ***

  Far from being upset by Abbie’s display of vinegar, Rupe was pleased by the return of the woman he thought she was. The vulnerable, frightened person would be incapable of surviving out there on her own but the Abbie he’d left was ready to take action. He hadn’t suggested she move into town and neither had she.

  In all honesty, he doubted that was necessary but the whole situation was a bit weird, he had to admit. When he reached the road, he swung right in case the silver car was still lurking about near where Tim had seen it. Nothing. He reached the vineyard sign but kept on, not ever having explored beyond that point.

  He drove for another five kilometres on an increasingly rough road, which began to climb up into thick natural bushland. A wooden sign appeared announcing the national park boundary. Occasionally, narrow fire trails branched off, but he didn’t venture into those. Then the road ended at another fire trail. Rupe manoeuvred the patrol car into a turn in the narrow space and headed back. He doubted anyone had come along here recently. There were no tyre marks and no dust on the leaves close to the road although on the return journey his own dust still hovered in the still air.

  Abbie was struggling with that old gate when he passed. He stopped and reversed level with her. She looked up and wiped a hand across her brow, pushing back strands of hair. The sunlight brought out dark red highlights in the copper he’d never realised were there. Nice.

  She smiled. That was a relief after the frosty goodbye. He got out.

  ‘Need some help?’

  ‘Yes, please. The damn thing’s stuck. It probably hasn’t been closed for about fifty years.’

  He examined the situation. The gate hung lopsided on its hinges and the bottom edge had sunk into a morass of weeds and earth and looked as if it was growing there.

  ‘I should have brought a shovel,’ she said.

  ‘The posts are still okay,’ he said. ‘But this top hinge has come loose. It’ll need fixing so the gate swings level.’

  ‘I’ll have to get someone to do that for me. I could have a go but I don’t think I could manage it properly. I’ll ask Tim if one of his workers can help.’

  ‘If you wait till this evening I can do it. Won’t take me long.’

  ‘Rupe, you’ve done enough for me.’

  He shrugged. ‘I like doing that sort of thing, especially after sitting in the car or answering the phone and doing paperwork all day.’

  She frowned, considered, decided. ‘If you really want to, of course, it’d be great. I’ll feed you dinner in return.’

  ‘Deal!’

  She laughed. ‘That was quick. You don’t know if I can cook.’

  A smile appeared. ‘That’s right, but I’m tired of my own cooking.’

  ‘Anything you can’t eat?’

  ‘Fish.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yep. Never eat it. I have a bad reaction to it.’

  ‘No fish for you. Chicken paprika?’

  ‘Perfect.’

  ‘Okay. See you later.’ She picked up the chain and the padlock.

  ‘Put those in the car,’ he said. ‘I’ll bring what I need with me and fix it on the way in. Need anything extra from the shop?’

  ‘Something for dessert? Ice cream, if you like. Thank you very much.’

  ‘My pleasure.’

  He slid behind the wheel and drove back to Taylor’s Bend, whistling. With any luck there wouldn’t be any car accidents or incidents of local stupidity to interfere with the pleasant evening ahead. Despite what he’d told Abbie about the quiet life here, this job really was full-time and he’d made several statements to that effect to his superiors. Two officers on duty woul
d be even better but whether anyone upstairs would find funding was another matter.

  Hannah had a nice selection of dessert type pies and tarts in the cafe, which would brighten up the ice cream, and he’d pick up a bottle of wine from the pub. Would chocolates be going too far?

  ***

  Abbie locked her front door when she went inside, an act which was natural in the city but felt unpleasantly untrustworthy out here. For god’s sake! She pulled herself up short. Someone had been in her home, someone had walked through her house and touched things. Her things.

  Her painting! She hadn’t checked the studio properly. Rupe had distracted her with tea and kindness and his presence. He filled the room with a blanket of calmness, and now he was gone his absence let the uneasiness filter back in. She hurried down the hallway, through the kitchen and to the partly covered canvas on the easel. She stood perfectly still and scanned the work for contamination, then turned slowly, taking in her paints, completed works stacked against the wall, unused equipment, books, magazines, and the myriad other items that made up her professional life.

  Nothing had been touched. Looked at, most likely, but as far as she could tell nothing was sullied by the intruder. She drew a deep breath. Okay. She had choices.

  One: pack up and move out.

  Two: stay and increase her security with alarms, sensor lights, dogs and so on.

  Three: stay, with locks on the doors and more care taken.

  Four: make no changes and carry on as usual.

  Option one amounted to running away. Extreme, Rupe would say. And it was.

  Same for option two. Three seemed most sensible. Four … didn’t. Her gut feeling said more was to come.

  ‘You won’t scare me out of my home, you cowardly bastard.’

  Her voice sounded small, feebly defiant in the open space of the studio. A dog was a very appealing thought. She’d call Tim later and see if they had any pups left and if they didn’t, Laurie was sure to know where she could get one. A big one with a loud bark.

  Decision made, she had to get to work. She’d lost several hours of morning light, which was annoying. A sandwich and work.

  At four-fifteen she stopped to make a cup of tea and stretch her arms and shoulders. She could do another hour before the light changed too much and then begin preparing dinner. Would Rupe drink wine or beer? She had both. Red would go best with the Italian-style chicken dish, but she moved a couple of cans of beer from the pantry to the fridge just in case.

  The phone rang, startling her with the sudden burst of sound. Marlene from the book group, changing the venue for the meeting on Thursday. ‘Colleen’s kids are sick,’ she said. ‘We’ll meet here at my place.’

  ‘Okay. Marlene, do you know anyone who has a pup for sale? I’ve decided to get a dog.’

  ‘Not that I can think of but I’ll ask around.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Everything all right, Abbie?’ That was Marlene’s grandmotherly nature rather than any suspicion something was wrong.

  ‘Yes, fine.’

  ‘Righto. See you on Thursday.’

  Normal, normal, normal. The morning’s fright seemed ages ago. She eyed the stack of library books, firming her mouth against the memory of that panic. Rupe thought she knew more than she was saying. She didn’t, not that that was relevant to this—Callum, for instance. It wasn’t him; she knew that for a fact.

  She wasn’t giving the local cop her life history no matter how attractive chatting to a good-looking man was. And the short-lived liaison with Greg wasn’t worth mentioning. He wasn’t the type to sneak about, he’d barge straight in as if he owned the place and why would he come here? They had nothing to say to each other and he knew it. She didn’t even know where he was.

  Her mail. Where had she put the bundle of letters Laurie had given her? It had gone into the empty library bag at the shop and then she’d added the books later.

  Where was it? Fallen out in the car?

  She rummaged in her handbag for the keys and raced out the back door to the garage. A search of the front and back seats, the floor and the boot, even though she knew she hadn’t put anything in there, produced nothing. She walked across to the front steps where she’d left the bags while she fled. Nothing. Crouching down to peer between the wooden treads revealed nothing except weeds.

  That bastard had stolen her mail. Rupe couldn’t pass this off as not being a crime.

  Chapter 3

  Abbie strode round to the rear of the house and in the back door, breath coming tight and hard as she pulled the bolt across. How could she secure the windows? None of them had security locks and all any determined attacker need do was break the glass. One whole wall of the studio was floor-to-ceiling windows. That’s what made the room so appealing.

  Who would do this to her?

  Any hope of continuing to work had fled. It was close to five now but too early to start dinner. She went out to water the vegetables, forcing herself to concentrate on the task she usually enjoyed. The newly planted tomato seedlings were doing well, as were the lettuces, capsicums, zucchini and herbs. Growing her own vegetables was exciting and something she’d never attempted before. Tim had helped with advice and spent a couple of hours one afternoon preparing the bed and fixing up a compost bin. Start small, he said, just plant a few basics then expand as you get the hang of it. A chook pen would be her next project. After the dog.

  Moving slowly about with the hose was soothing. A magpie was warbling away somewhere nearby. They’d be nesting and hatching young soon. Swooping? Marlene and the women at the book group had related lurid tales of magpie swoops. One persistent bird had cut a gash in Di’s son’s head as he rode his bike to school a few years back. That didn’t happen in the city. Watch out for snakes too, they said, as the weather warms up. And bushfires were always a possibility in summer. Redback spiders as well. They like piles of wood and rock, or low crevices in buildings and outdoor furniture. Check your boots before you put them on if they’ve been left on the verandah.

  She’d thought they were joking at first but Laurie said they weren’t. Rural living was fraught with dangers, but natural events like those she could cope with. She’d already had to fence the vegetable garden to stop the possums having regular dinner parties on the parsley.

  Back inside, Abbie cleaned and packed away her paints and brushes. She’d made slow progress today despite the hours spent. The background wash wasn’t quite right for the sky. So difficult to get the translucent effect she wanted, the one nature managed effortlessly.

  As far as she could tell, the intruder hadn’t messed with her paintings, which was something at least. In fact, the intruder hadn’t damaged or taken anything. All they’d done was put her shopping away. And taken her mail.

  She put the last paintbrush away, frowning. Had they really stolen it and if so why? Her mail wouldn’t be of any interest to anyone. She’d flipped through the small bundle in the library when she put her books in the bag.

  On top was a flyer from the local state member of parliament who was coming to town and inviting constituents to come along for a cup of tea and to air any grievances, then the glossy members’ newsletter from the National Gallery of Canberra, a catalogue from her art supply store, an electricity bill, something from the NSW government that was probably the car registration renewal, and a few other things she’d forgotten but was sure weren’t important. Who’d want that? No-one.

  A car engine sounded in the driveway. She ran to the living room and peered out from behind the curtains, careful not to make any movement visible from outside. Rupe’s own old black Subaru slowed to a halt, not the police car because he was off duty. She’d seen him turn up to the cricket in it. Relief washed through her, but he was early. She’d better get cracking on dinner.

  By the time she opened the front door, he was coming across the grass with a shopping bag dangling from one hand, looking quite different in snug-fitting jeans and a khaki work shirt as opposed to his uniform
.

  ‘Hello, finished already?’ she asked.

  ‘Haven’t started yet. I brought ice cream, which should go in the freezer.’

  ‘Right, of course.’

  She went down to meet him at the verandah steps. He handed her the bag.

  ‘What sort of ice cream?’ She forced a smile.

  ‘Plain vanilla, because I also went to Hannah’s for a tart.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ She’d discovered very early on how good a baker Hannah was.

  ‘I’ll get to work on that gate.’ He turned to go, then stopped. ‘Everything okay?’ It wasn’t a light enquiry like Marlene’s.

  She bit at her lower lip lightly. How did he know? Had her face given her away, or her manner?

  ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘I collected my mail from Laurie and it was in the bag with the books. I forgot about it earlier but when I remembered a while ago, I couldn’t find it.’ She met his gaze. ‘That’s theft, isn’t it?’

  He nodded slowly. ‘Tampering with mail can be a serious offence but that’s usually before it’s been delivered or collected by the intended recipient. You collected it.’

  ‘Yes but …’

  ‘I know. Have you looked in the house?’

  ‘Not thoroughly. I checked the car and under these steps in case it just fell out of the bag.’

  ‘Have a good look round inside while I fix the gate. See you soon.’ He strode to the car.

  Abbie went inside to start cooking. Then she’d search her house.

  ***

  Rupe enjoyed fixing the gate. It was good to be flexing his muscles with the late afternoon sun warm on his skin and the maggies carolling above his head in the treetops. Gave him time to ponder Abbie’s weird intruder. It was obviously intended to frighten rather than harm at this stage, and that had worked a treat this morning. He’d never seen her so shaken and emotional, not that he knew her very well, but whenever their paths had crossed she’d been relaxed and friendly, unruffled. She’d recovered though, and now she was angry, not just about the intrusion on her home but also his lack of action.