by Clare Kauter
“Sure!”
“Fine,” I said, sounding a lot less angry than I felt. I wasn’t so much angry with her as with myself. I’d invited her to live with me. Quite apart from the fact that she could potentially end up killing me, I barely even knew her! I was practically inviting a murderous stranger to come share a room with me. And Murderous Stranger had accepted. “I’ll just call my mum. Can I use your phone? I don’t have one.” I know, I know, but I’d only lose or break it if I did.
“Oh, we don’t have a landline and I’ve lost my mobile, sorry,” she said.
“Oh.” Well. What was Plan B? “Well, um, while you finish packing I might head home then, make sure we have a room ready for you, then I’ll come back in, say, an hour?”
“That’s great. Look Charlie, I really appreciate this.” I could see in her face that she was telling the truth.
“Don’t worry about it. You better check you’ve got everything packed. I’ll be back soon.”
I went out and looked at the Nissan. It was really kind of pointless having a four-wheel drive in Gerongate. I guess the Nissan had personality. But that personality didn’t like me, and I felt the same way about it.
I jumped into the silver Patrol, inserted the key, held my breath and turned it. It started first go and I didn’t stall it once going home. I didn’t want to ask my parents about Lea staying, so of course the car wouldn’t stuff up, would it?
I pulled into my parent’s driveway and jumped out of the car. I turned to it and narrowed my eyes.
“I hate you,” I hissed. I hope it heard.
“Me? What did I do?” came my mother’s voice from behind me. She was standing there, garden-gloved hands on hips, with her big, floppy straw hat resting gently on her head and her skin greased up with sunscreen. She had obviously been gardening. “Is that why you tried to run me over?”
She thought I’d been talking to her.
“I didn’t even know you were there, Mum.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I didn’t! I was talking to the car!” As soon as I said it I realised it was a mistake. Now she was looking at me as though I was mental. Yes, Miss Outback Mario Kart thought I was crazy.
“I think I preferred it when you hated me,” she admitted. “Maybe you should meet up with some friends tomorrow. Can’t be good for you to spend so much time alone. It’s probably better if you have some other, well, people to talk to.”
OK, it was official. She thought I was crazy. Probably with good reason. But maybe I could work this to my advantage…
“Actually Mum, I ran into a friend of mine today who’s out of a home at the moment. She just separated from her husband and it was his house. Since she’s got nowhere else to stay, I was wondering if it was OK for her to live here for a while...”
Mum smiled. I knew what she was thinking. “I’d pay her to live here if she would get my lump of a daughter out of the house occasionally.”
“That’s great! Someone you can hang out and go to nightclubs with. Drink alcohol. Find a man. Or a lady. ” (Meaningful pause). “The kind of things that normal people your age do.”
When you hear the way she speaks to me, it’s no wonder I’ve got issues.
“So,” I responded, “Should I go pick her up now? Since we’re both looking for a house, we could probably find one together. Sooner the better, I reckon.”
My mother was beaming. I could just imagine what she was thinking. “Finally, the little bitch is leaving. About bloody time! No, you can’t say that. Make it sound like you’re happy for her. Ha, ha, ha – she’ll never know!”
“Of course! How nice? Living with your friend, meeting new people.” Freeing up another room, paying for your own food.
I smiled at her.
“So which friend is this? Joanna hasn’t split up with Oswald, I hope?”
Joanna Riley became my best friend when we swapped our lunches on the second day of kindergarten. We agreed on most things, but unfortunately she had developed a crush on James McKenzie in high school (as had just about all of my other friends), which led to many arguments. Stacey, Penelope, Nancy, Joy, Naomi and Rose all had Level One crushes on James. This involved writing their first name with his last name all over their schoolbooks, cutting pictures of him out of the sport section of the school newsletter and making posters of him to hang up in their bedrooms, attending every sports match where he was playing, and a couple of times they even went to referee training days just to spend more time around him. As a result of this, they all had Level Two certificates in refereeing soccer and touch football games (all except Penny, that is – she never understood offside).
That was a Level One crush. Jo was on about Level Six, which meant that she was practically a stalker. Luckily when she began dating her now-husband, she fell in love with him and is almost totally over McKenzie. The other girls are also trying to move on, with the help of experienced counsellors and self-medication.
I never thought that I would like Ozzie when Jo first told me about him. I mean, you have to admit ‘Oswald Park, the accountant’ does sound a bit boring. Firstly, I hate numbers, and since that’s what accountants deal with, it stands to reason that I would hate the accountant as well. When you think about it, anyone who spends a lot of time around numbers tends to be a bit a cuckoo. Take maths teachers for example. I’m yet to meet a normal one. They’re obsessed with maths. They talk about algebra as though it is the meaning of life, they discuss pi like it’s part of the food pyramid and they worship Pythagoras like he’s a god.
Secondly (and I’m aware it might seem kind of shallow), what sort of a name is Oswald Park? Did his parent’s have something against him? It sounds like he is council property. It’s no wonder his parents weren’t invited to his wedding when they gave him a name like that. I wouldn’t forgive them either. I know you shouldn’t hold a person’s name against them (don’t judge a book by its cover, blah, blah, blah) but I think that in this case you can make an exception.
You can see why I didn’t want to meet Oswald at first. As it turned out, he was OK looking, if a little bit geeky, and although he was kind of shy to start with, after a couple of drinks he opened right up. I discovered he had great sense of humour. And jeez was he a massive improvement on James McKenzie.
Still, I was kind of glad that Joanna kept her maiden name. I don’t know if I could be best friends with someone whose name sounded like a picnic location.
“No,” I answered. “Jo’s still going strong with Os. It’s another friend of mine.”
Mum eyed me suspiciously. “Jo’s your only friend who’s married,” she said accusingly.
“Oh, this girl wasn’t in our group at school. She’s a bit older than me.”
“What’s her name?”
A simple question, with all the potential of an atomic bomb. I contemplated lying, but then decided to go for the truth. She’d have to find out one way or another.
“Lea.”
“Lea who?”
“I don’t know.”
Well, sort of the truth, anyway.
“Not Lea Martin!”
“No.” Not technically. Technically she’d readopted her maiden name, and since I’d forgotten what that was, I was telling the truth.
Cough.
“Anyway,” I continued, “I’ll go pick her up. We might go out sometime this week, if that’s OK.”
“Of course! You’re an adult. Go out and have fun with your friend. Please. No, I insist. New job, new lifestyle – your life’s really looking up!” Yeah, my life’s looking up – for you, I thought.
“It sure is!” was, however, what came out of my mouth. “See ya!”
“Bye!”
I hopped into the driver’s seat of the Nissan, turned the key in the ignition and it started. It started. I backed it out of the driveway with no dramas. So far, so good. I made it a full two blocks without any problems. I was even beginning to think that maybe this car wasn’t so bad, when it started spluttering and st
alled. I tried to start it again, but it didn’t work. The car was stubborn. I kept trying to turn the engine over but I had no luck. This car hated me. By this time I was fuming, and so was the car (I’d been revving it pretty hard).
I heard another car drive up behind me. I hoped the driver wasn’t in a hurry, because it was a narrow street with cars parked either side and there was no way of getting past me. I had been driving in the centre of the road because the white lines were the only way I could line up the wheels in a monster like the Nissan. Thankfully the car behind me didn’t have sirens or a flashing light, because I’m pretty sure that was a ticketable offence.
Despite the fact that I hadn’t been pulled over by the police, I’d still screwed up and caused a traffic jam. OK, so it was only one other car, but all the street residents had come out on to their verandas to see what was happening.
So I did what any woman in my position would have done. Well, any woman with slight anger-management problems. I undid my seatbelt, opened the driver’s side door, hauled myself out, kicked the side of the vehicle, and screamed, “START YOU BASTARD!”
All the street’s residents retreated back into their lairs, not wanting to have anything to do with the crazy lady who was blocking traffic and attempting to start an argument with a Nissan Patrol.
Oh well. Now that the crazy lady had alleviated some of her anger and there were fewer spectators, she felt slightly better. Only slightly, because now she had a sore foot as well.
When foot vs. Nissan, foot comes off second best.
I heard a car door close and realised that the other driver had gotten out of their vehicle. I didn’t look at them – I was too embarrassed.
“Car troubles?” The voice belonged to a young male and sounded very casual considering he’d just seen me lay into a Nissan and call it names. If I’d seen someone do that, I’d be shit scared. I’d stay in my car. Unless it was someone I knew… Oh, please, god no, let him be a stranger.
“Pile of shit won’t start,” I told him. I still couldn’t quite bring myself to look at him.
“Mind if I have a go?” I looked past him to see what sort of car he was driving. I wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to make-off with mine, not that I would have cared a whole heap but I had to pick up Lea. Plus, Mum probably wouldn’t have been too happy if she were kicked out of the Outback Grand Prix because someone Grand Theft Auto’d her machine. When I saw the car he was driving, however, I realised that he wasn’t going to take the Nissan. By the look of what he had, he probably was a car thief, but if he had the skill to get cars like that, he wasn’t going to bother with a Patrol. I know I certainly wouldn’t if I had a Ferrari.
Jeez, I thought to myself, They’re pretty uncommon. I only knew of one person in the whole of Gerongate who had one…
I finally dragged my gaze up to his face. I had guessed right. Standing there in front of me, in faded jeans, a black rock T-shirt and worn-in Vans, was James McKenzie.
So that was why I’d cringed at the sound of his voice.
I finally answered his question. “Be my guest.”
He raised his eyebrows at me.
“What?” I snapped. “What’s your problem?”
“Just not the response I’d expect from you is all. I would have guessed something closer to, ‘No, piss off you moron. I don’t need you to help.’ Like that time when I found you trying to crawl along the pavement with your arm in a sling and it turned out later that you also had broken leg and three cracked ribs.”
“I’m sorry,” I said sarcastically. “Would you like me to try again? I didn’t mean to be polite.”
“Of course you didn’t.” Of course I didn’t? What the hell was that supposed to mean?
“What the hell was that supposed to mean?”
“Well, your behaviour towards me in the past sort of gives me the impression that I’m not one of your favourite people.”
“You aren’t.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I know that. But I really have to thank you. If you weren’t such a bitch to me in high school, having the whole city think I was a murderer might have been hard. Compared to you it’s a walk in the park.”
“Well, I suppose being named and shamed is what you get for killing someone. And he was the only person who liked you. Then again, you always have been a bit of a dickhead.” Take that, McKenzie.
“Unfortunately, I’m not the killer, as much as you’d like to think so. The truth can be so inconvenient.”
“Yeah, especially for you.”
“I didn’t kill him.”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know, sweetie. I have confidence in the police force to find the killer.” Like I believed that for a second.
“That why you hired Sharps Carter, then? Because you have so much confidence in the police?”
He looked startled. “How did you find out about that?”
“I find out about everything.”
“Right. Who killed my uncle, then?”
“Haven’t found that out yet.”
“Exactly.”
“But I will.”
He gave a snort of laughter. “Yeah, after it’s printed in the newspapers.”
“I have a talent for finding things out for myself.” So there.
“Yeah. And when you solve Frank’s murder, I’ll give you twenty grand and a house.” I could tell he was just being an arsehole, but the idea was so tempting.
“You’re on.” We shook hands over the bet, with James wearing a massive smirk on his face.
“You know you’re gonna get beaten, don’t you? Take my advice and leave it,” he said.
I smiled. “Getting cold feet, James? That why you’re trying to talk me out of it?”
“No. I’m just being nice. It’s gonna hurt your pride when you lose.” Like I hadn’t had my pride hurt before. Um, hello, did he not remember the high-school wedgie incident? Did I even have any pride left?
“If I lose, which I won’t,” I corrected.
“We have much better resources.”
“‘We’ as in who – the police?”
“Yeah.”
“So you’re still accepted as being one of them, then? That’s strange. I would’ve thought they’d disown a murderer.”
“Well, we probably would, but seeing as I haven’t killed anyone, I’m pretty safe really, aren’t I?”
“So why did they fire you? And why can’t they find the officer who is supposedly your alibi? Wasn’t she gonna lie for you? Is that what happened to her?”
I could see the anger welling up inside him. I know that this is sad, but I was definitely enjoying it.
He spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m not fired, I’m on leave. And they can’t find Sarah because she’s holidaying in South America with her mobile turned off. When she comes back, she’s going to tell the truth and I’ll be off the hook. Sorry if that kind of puts you down. Gonna make things a lot harder, isn’t it?”
“You don’t think I can do this, do you?”
“No, no I don’t. You don’t have access to any information apart from what’s in the paper and the gossip going around your circle of friends.” Wouldn’t be so sure of that, mate. I’m the secretary/researcher for Baxter & Co. What’s the bet I’ll be able to find out information from Mr Carter? OK, so I had a bit of a head start. Oh well. I needed it.
“I can get background from your mother.”
“That’s low,” he said shaking his head. “Nearly as low as you smashing my car up with a wrecking bar.”
I didn’t know what he was complaining about. His uncle had replaced his old second-hand car with a brand new Ferrari. But I suppose, he had been saving up for months to buy the sound system for that car… Oh well. You can’t take back what you’ve done.
Not that I wanted to.
“And she’ll probably speak to me a lot more freely than she would to a policeman.”
“You’re still gonna lose.”
“Oh, come on, McK
enzie. Quite a large proportion of the police force can’t even tie their own shoelaces, let alone catch a murderer.”
“Which proportion would that be?”
“The male proportion.”
“That includes me.”
I glanced at his shoes. Elasticated.
“Yeah, it does.”
He gave a derisive laugh. “All this coming from someone who can’t even make it up a flight of stairs without falling over. Anyway,” he said, before I could cut in, “I wasn’t talking about the cops. I was talking about Tim Carter. Think you’re going to win against him?”
“Yeah. I’ve got some hidden talents.”
“He’s got experience, resources, contacts – he’s the best.” He looked smug.
“Better than Adam Baxter?” I asked, quoting the name I’d read on the Martin file yesterday. Not that I had any clue who he was. He sounded like he might be important, though, what with having the same name as the company and all.
The smug look fell off his face.
“How do you know all these guys?” he demanded.
“I find these things out.” So there.
“Mmm. Sure.” Before I could respond, he said, “Look, do you want me to start your car? Or should I just leave you to it? Maybe you can use your super detective skills to figure out what you’re doing wrong.”
“Start the car,” I said, eyes narrowed. He jumped into the driver’s seat and turned the key. It started. First go. I made a sound of disgust. Why me? Why did the car hate me? James hopped out and I could see he was trying to disguise his amusement.
“Son of a bitch,” I said. I don’t know where it came from – it just kind of popped out.
“Me or the car?” James asked, still trying not to laugh.
I shrugged. I didn’t know. I really didn’t.
I climbed back into the car, trying to look moderately co-ordinated (which, if you know anything about four-wheel drives, you would know is really quite difficult at my height) and I tried to take off. Ten points to whoever can guess what happened? You got it: the car stalled.
James opened the door and told me to move over. I did. Then he got in and started the car.