by Evans, Ilsa
Subject: Update
Dear Nell,
Hope you enjoyed the meeting. What a surprise re the competition – I didn’t know the council were planning that. So let’s win it! Lew is making headway on the research. We have Petar’s death certificate but that doesn’t help much. Unmarried, no issue, date of death: 1/4/1867, cause of death: subdural haematoma following fall from horse on 29 March The only interesting part is that he died three days after the fall, and that the informant was James Sheridan, who is listed as his business partner.
Regards,
Deb
Debra Taylor
Arts & Entertainment Officer
Majic City Council
From: [email protected]
Date: Friday 10 August 2012 9.52PM
To: Nell
Subject: headwear
I like your hat.
Ashley.
From: Petra
Date: Friday 10 August 2012 10.15PM
To: Nell
Subject: me
Forgot to tell you that I’m away this weekend. I’ve got an auction in Fitzroy tomorrow and then I’m staying with friends over that way until Monday. So I’ll miss the family dinner Sunday night! Sorry.
Cheers,
Petra
PS Have you looked at those townhouses?
PPS: Fascinating re Mate & Kata. But what does that mean? She couldn’t have come out here with him because he and Petar were working on that ship when they shot through and headed to the goldfields. So when did she emigrate? Why?
PPPS: Did you realise my name is almost the same as Petar’s? Petra, Petar. Uncanny. Maybe I’m a long-lost descendant.
From: Ali Cornish
Date: Saturday 11 August 2012 9.28AM
To: Nell Forrest
Subject: re: updated publicity photo
Dear Nell,
Delighted that you’re so pleased about becoming a hat person. However we can’t schedule a photo shoot until next month so I’m afraid you shall have to put up with being hat-less in the column for a few more weeks. Now I hear there has been some criminal activity up your way recently? Anything that would feed into a feature article???
Best,
Ali
Ali Cornish
Features Editor
From: [email protected]
Date: Saturday 11 August 10.12AM
To: Nell [email protected]; Petra
Subject: re: re: update
Oh my god, you are so right! I am standing in front of the display boards right now and yes, the resemblance is strong. I wonder if this was the photo that Sam was referring to. And what does this mean?? She has three children in the photo, which suggests that she and James had offspring, but these are not mentioned anywhere. Perhaps they all died young. How awful. I’m heading home soon and I’ll ask Lew to look into it. Also I meant to say that I loved the hat you had on last night! Suave and stylish, with a dash of mystery. Think I’ll get one myself!
Deb
From: [email protected]
Date: Saturday 11 August 2012 10.56AM
To: Nell
Subject: Missing book
I am assuming that you wish to keep the Abracadabra book so I’ve made a note on your timesheet. Naturally, you’ll get a staff discount. Did you want me to bring anything on Sunday?
Lillian Forrest
Manager
Renaissance
Main Street, Majic
www.renaissanceinmajic.com.au
From: Patricia Thatcher
Date: Saturday 11 August 2012 10.45AM
To: [email protected]
Subject: Sale of house
Good morning Nell,
I am just following up on the valuation I delivered last week on your house. I hope that you were pleased with the result and we look forward to listing your home should you decide to go down that path. You also mentioned that you were considering downsizing, in which case we have several suitable homes on our books that I would be happy to show you if interested. For starters, we are handling some beautiful townhouses on the new estate just two blocks from the centre of Majic (see www.fletchersestate.com.au). Please do not hesitate to contact me for any further details.
Regards,
Patricia
Patricia Thatcher
Senior Sales Manager
Thatcher Real Estate
www.thatcherrealestate.com.au
From: Petra
Date: Saturday 11 August 2012 2.35PM
To: Nell
Subject: re: re: me
Yes, of course I realise that you’re older, so you’d be the heir. But maybe I’m adopted? Hmm?
Cheers,
Petra
PS No, of course I didn’t tell Yen about Sunday dinner. It was probably one of your girls.
PPS Had a great buy this morning at the auction. Price low due to termite damage but totally repairable. Score!
From: Lucy
Date: Saturday 11 August 2012 3.30PM
To: Nell
Subject: re: are you sick???
No, Mum, I’m fine. Must have been something I ate. Hey, what’s this thing on Sunday about? Your not going to make some grand announcement, are you? Like, your moving overseas, or your getting married, or you’ve recently realised your a woman trapped in a man’s body and must be true to yourself? Give me a hint!
Love,
Lucy
xxxxooxxx
From: [email protected]
Date: Saturday 11 August 2012 3.52PM
To: Nell
Subject: headwear
Sorry, Nell, but I still don’t have access to the database of Majic inhabitants, otherwise I’d have been happy for you to take a look. Even though it’s still not quite finished. Very frustrating! The police seem to think we can have the office back mid next week. Can I ask what you’re looking for? Maybe I can help?
Leisl Akermann
Treasurer
Majic Historical Society
From: [email protected]
Date: Saturday 11 August 7.40PM
To: Nell
Subject: re: re: re: re: update
Yes, they were siblings. Mate’s death certificate shows Kata Dragovic (sister) as next of kin. We’ve also found the record of her marriage to James I – on 23 July 1867 (only six months after his first wife Mary Frost dies in childbirth and nearly four months after Petar dies). Sadly, Kata herself died in 1872 of typhoid fever, along with an infant son named George (born 1869). Her death certificate lists her as Kate Sheridan. Lew trying to discover who the children in the photo are.
Cheers,
Deb
From: [email protected]
Date: Saturday 11 August 10.26PM
To: Mum
Subject: Goodnight!
Goodnight! Having a great time at Lucy n Ruby’s. We had pizza for tea. Hope you enjoy having the house all to yourself but don’t get too used to it! Hahaha.
Love,
Quinn
From: Petra
Date: Sunday 12 August 2012 10.17AM
To: Nell
Subject: re: re: re: me
Help! I need you to ring me on my mobile and pretend something’s wrong so that I can leave this place before I die of BOREDOM! Why is it some perfectly nice women let their personalities get swallowed up when they find a new partner? Aargh! Ring now! I’ll owe you one!
Cheers,
Petra (who will be forever in your debt! RING NOW!)
From: Patricia Thatcher
Date: Sunday 12 August 2012 10.32AM
To: [email protected]
Subject: re: re: Sale
of house
Thank you for your query, Nell, and yes we do have several properties other than the estate townhouses. For example there is a lovely unit available in Sheridan Close, as well as two smaller period townhouses and a Californian bungalow not far from main street. I believe there are also two shops that have been rezoned to residential and are currently being renovated, both just off the main street, as well as a house further out in Small Dairy Lane, all of which are coming on the market fairly soon. I could make inquiries on your behalf if you like. Please do not hesitate to contact me for any further details.
Regards,
Patricia
Patricia Thatcher
Senior Sales Manager
Thatcher Real Estate
www.thatcherrealestate.com.au
From: [email protected]
Date: Sunday 12 August 11.15AM
To: Nell
Subject: re: re: re: re: re: re: Siblings!
Yes, I agree. The little boy would have to be the motherless James Sheridan II, and it would be natural for him to be included with his stepmother and siblings. He looks about the same age as the little girl, and they both look about two years older than the baby George (would you say that George looks about twelve months old?). All of which mean she was most probably born around 1867, but if she was the first child of the union of Kata and James, then why no record of her birth??? Who is she?
Deb
From: Petra
Date: Sunday 12 August 2012 2.12PM
To: Nell
Subject: re: re: re: me
Back safe and (relatively) sane. What’s for dinner?
Cheers,
Petra
Chapter Thirteen
Ever since I read your column on the dearth of middle-aged women on TV, I’ve found myself counting them – much to my family’s irritation! But you’re right, and I don’t know why I never noticed it. So where do all the female hosts and actors and newsreaders go when they get older? I’m serious! Where the bloody hell are they?
The plaque had been replaced, covering Beloved’s inscription once more. The crack was now just a serrated vein of darker grey. Even the crypt had been spruced up, the gravel raked and the wrought-iron fencing spray-painted a gleaming shoe-polish black. I took some photos with my camera and then retreated to the stone bench, where only a week before I had sat, minding my own business, while Quinn performed her little act of vandalism that started it all.
Gusto zigzagged along the path further away, his lead trailing as he sniffed the asphalt. A magpie on the kerb watched him beadily, but the dog continued past without even raising his head. Despite it being a frigid day, and the cemetery part of the great outdoors, I had decided on the spur of the moment to pay another visit because it seemed that Deb and her husband were the ones doing all the investigative work. And my discovery regarding the siblings had given me a taste of success that I would rather enjoy being able to repeat. Local stalwart provides key to everything. People cheer. Police require mouth to mouth.
I slid the camera into my pocket and drew out a slip of paper. On it I had written Kata Dragovic, Mate Dragovic, James Sheridan I and II, George Sheridan, Mystery girl (approx. dob 1867). These were the occupants of the graves that I hoped to find, and with them, some extra information. However I had been washed with a desire to sit here for a while first, beside Petar, because in an odd way I was now associating him with Sam Emerson and I wanted to make them both a promise – that we’d find out the truth. This was all a little spiritual for my taste, and rather embarrassing, but I also felt like it was something I should do, while I was here.
I was deep in my reverie, eyes closed, and having what really amounted to a conversation with myself, when I heard the noise. It was a sharp crack, followed by a crunchier sound that seemed to echo. Like someone eating cereal. I opened my eyes with a start, just as Gusto froze in the centre of the path with his ears pricked. He barked once, twice, before being distracted by a dragonfly that swooped across the path. Excellent guard dog.
I stood for a better view and then, still not seeing anyone, climbed atop the bench. The cemetery was deserted. With excellent timing, the wind picked up, blustering noisily through the trees and sending icy gusts among the gravestones. I shivered, from both the cold and a sudden sense of isolation. A person could be stalked here, attacked, even murdered, and no-one would be the wiser. I pushed the thought from my mind but remained still for a while, until I was sure I was alone. Then I climbed down, feeling edgy but determined to get on with the task at hand. The sooner it was done, the sooner I could go home.
The original cemetery ran in a thin rectangle from the entry gates to just past Petar’s crypt. Accordingly I started by searching the area around the bench and it wasn’t long before I struck pay dirt. Sheridan graves, four of them side by side with a large stone Madonna perched in the centre, arms outstretched to embrace all. The first grave housed the remains of Mary Frost, along with three baby boys who predeceased her. I felt a shaft of sadness. She had finally delivered a healthy son, only to perish herself shortly after. The grave also contained her grandson James III, who was killed in World War I.
I stepped towards the centre grave, beneath the Madonna, and was immediately flushed with gratification when I read Kate Sheridan 1835–1872 Beloved Wife and Mother Sorely Missed. There she was, along with James I, who died thirty-six years later. He must have really loved her, I realised, to have remained a widower and then instruct that he be buried with her and not Mary. Sharing the grave was their son George, but there was no mention of a daughter.
A dog began barking over towards the highway, a frenetic sound that continued as I moved to the third grave. This one belonged to James II and his wife Victoria. The headstone was simple, with minimal information; although Victoria had outlived her husband, she left no words of endearment here. The final grave appeared to be a communal one, with Mary May, her husband, both her sons and a daughter-in-law. I hoped they had all got on well in life, because eternity was looking pretty cramped.
The barking finally slowed to the occasional burst of sound. I took photos and began to investigate the surrounding graves. If I was hoping for Mystery Girl to reveal herself, figuratively speaking, then I was soon disappointed. Apart from James I, there was nobody who was born in 1867 at all, and nobody who even loosely fitted the bill. However I did find Mate, situated to the side of the Majic crypt and perpetually shadowed by his friend’s success. Beloved friend and brother. Sleep well.
A few more photos and then I called Gusto over. He came reluctantly, having discovered a concussed bee that he deemed a threat to national security. I took his lead and walked rapidly through the cemetery as the wind swirled, creating a whispering effect that was quite disconcerting. I recalled the odd sound from earlier and my back prickled. I thought of the barking dog, and a recent argument with Quinn about whether or not werewolves were real. Did you get a discount if you actually died in the cemetery itself?
Gusto broke into a trot as I sped up, until our rapid footsteps were almost as loud as the wind. I fancied that I saw the other dog in the distance, loping along the far end of the cemetery, but then it was gone. Now jogging, I brushed past the hedge at the entry and the woody stems were like fingernails clawing at my clothes, not wanting me to leave. I unlocked the car and swept Gusto up as I slid in, pushing him over to the passenger side even as I locked the doors again. My heart hammered. Graveyard mystery: woman’s corpse found in locked car. No visible signs of injury. Dog useless.
I took a deep breath, feeling ridiculous, and forced my mind to move to the mundane. I was cooking chicken strudels that night, a rather complicated dish that called for a lot of fine dicing and fiddly filo pastry and at least two hours’ preparation time. What had seemed a wonderful idea while Nigella Lawson shimmied around her kitchen, and adventurous when I perused the supermarket shelves, now just f
elt like a pain in the arse. Besides, Nigella was only making dinner for two while I was serving eight. But it was too late to change things now, which meant I had better get home and get started.
I pulled out of the car park, the soft dirt tugging at my tyres, turning onto the main road where the wind swept furiously across the car. Gusto sat to attention beside me, his tongue lolling as he stared at the darkening sky. I wondered if this wind was the harbinger of a storm, because it certainly seemed a little more intense than usual. And I wondered whether jacket potatoes would be a good accompaniment for the strudels, and whether I had sour cream. I also wondered how the girls would take the news about the house. Most of them might no longer live there, but I knew they still thought of it as home. How would they feel about their father?
I braked lightly as my turnoff approached and was surprised to feel an unfamiliar sponginess. The car slowed with some reluctance so I pressed again, frowning, and this time my foot sunk to the floor with just the merest resistance. After a split-second of numb disbelief, I leapt straight from complacency to panic and started pumping my foot on the pedal. But now it simply slapped flaccidly against the floor. The car began to build up speed again.
I swallowed the panic as best I could, leaving it to batter fitfully in my chest. My road was nearing rapidly and I had to make a decision. Taking my turn risked rolling the car but the alternative meant continuing on to the gentle slope that wound down the hill towards Majic. Speed would build quickly and I would no doubt either rear-end another car or simply fly off the side. Even if by some miracle I made it down the hill, I would then hit the town, literally, at about two hundred kilometres an hour. Commemorate that, fellow citizens.