by Sue Williams
‘No way. We’re not going down this path again. Remember what happened last time? You could have been killed. No, this is definitely a police matter. I’m not having you end up decapitated in a suitcase.’
He screwed up his mouth good and tight. Brad’s always more than ready to catastrophise, just like his father always was. Although on this occasion it was possible he had a point.
‘Best way to prevent that is to come and help, Brad.’
‘Stay out of it. Whoever wrote that note: they’re dangerous.’
Thanks for stating the bloody obvious.
‘Phone Dean.’
‘I can’t do that. Dean’s…well, I’m staying away from him.’
I never set out to raise Dean to be an irritable, prone-to-unnecessary-arrests kind of person. I don’t suppose any parent aims for that. But surely it was remediable; Dean and I probably just needed more quality time together. I’d make that a priority, I would. Once I got a moment.
‘I’m going to Muddy Soak to see a few people. Starting with this bastard Morris. Either he’s done this to Preston or he knows something about it. Are you in?’
‘This will end up with you dead. Or in jail.’
‘Look, no one else is going to do it, Brad. It’s like all your shark-rescuing efforts. Your climate change concerns. Your fake press release. Sometimes you have to make a stand.’
He sighed.
‘And bring Morris Temple’s phone with you. We might need it.’
We dropped Boofa off with Claire, who was minding Vern’s while he was in hospital. I warned her keep Boofa indoors. At all times. Made a quick phone call to Hustle Hospital to check on Vern. The night duty nurse sounded a little surprised to hear from a friend of Vern’s at 6am, but she reassured me he was fine.
At eight, Brad and I headed off to the Home.
‘Just here to pick up Ernie for his birthday, Taylah.’
‘You’re getting in an early start. Where you taking him?’
‘Nice day out in Muddy Soak. We’re gunna check out the Turning Leaf thing. The Spectacular. Get him a nice ice-cream. Might even take a look at some autumn leaves.’
Ernie seemed to have some sixth sense that something was happening. He was ready, waiting in his room in a carefully ironed khaki shirt and matching trousers. Dressed for some kind of pensioner’s commando raid.
‘Managed to free up the diary,’ Ernie brushed down his khakis. ‘And a trip will do you good, Cassandra Ariadne. Just need you to stay away from any fellas. Can’t trust ’em, not a single flaming one.’
I got Ernie settled in the passenger seat, his walking stick beside him in the foot well. Got into the drivers seat and looked around at our little group: Ernie, Brad, Madison, Timmy. We’d had an unscheduled stop to pick up Madison, since Brad remembered at the last moment that she had an appointment in Muddy Soak.
‘What kind of appointment?’ I said.
‘Vet. Tim’s got an injured leg. Margie bit him.’
‘No way I’m travelling with a ferret in the car.’
‘Well, I’m not going anywhere without Madison.’ Brad folded his arms.
Madison gently positioned Timmy, his front left foot bandaged, into his special seatbelt harness. She promised me there’d be no accidents.
I’m never entirely relaxed when there’s a ferret in the car, but I must admit I felt a little swell of pride as I looked around at our group. There we sat, the early-morning light stretching all golden across the gravel car park of the Garden of the Gods Extended Care Nursing Home. We’d become our own version of the Famous Five. Albeit our Timmy was a ferret, unfortunately. And we had a half-frozen dog head stowed inside my esky. Still double-bagged, of course.
37
‘First up, we’ll call in on Morris,’ I called over to the back seat. ‘Now, I know it’s your birthday, Ernie. We’ll do our best to find some time for ice-cream.’ I flicked an anxious look at him. Ernie’s birthday was a priority, course it was.
I needn’t have worried. Ernie’s eyes were bright and shining, his hands gripping tight to his khaki-trousered knees. ‘Ice-cream’s in the esky, is it?’
‘No, not exactly. No, we’ll buy you a nice fresh one at the gelato place in Muddy Soak.’
‘After we find my watch.’
‘Your watch?’
‘Wish you’d stop flaming repeating everything I say. I can hear, you know. And, unlike some people, I have no trouble retaining crucial information. My watch, the one I lost at the Bamfield place.’
‘Um. I’ll do my best, Ernie.’
‘Well, it’s clear you can’t be bothered. Still, it’s only the last wish of a dying war hero. On his final birthday.’ He sniffed.
‘You’re not dying, Ernie.’
‘You don’t know that. We’re all dying, ultimately. Still, it’ll be your guilt, not mine. Once I’m gone.’
I groaned.
‘What about you, Madison?’ I said. ‘Don’t want to make you late for the vet.’
‘Plenty of time, Cass. And, my God, we have to sort this out. I can’t believe someone would do something so awful to a defenceless animal.’ She reached over and stroked Timmy’s head.
‘Don’t you go letting that ferret off its flaming lead.’ Ernie’s voice had a touch of panic. ‘Had a nasty experience once with a ferret named Jimmy. Looked just like yours. Yellow hair, evil pink eyes. Vicious little bastard.’ He reached down and wrapped his hands around his ankles, sealing his trousers.
‘Timmy, Ernie. His name is Tim. And there’s nothing vicious about my darling.’ She released his seatbelt and hauled Tim onto her lap.
‘We’ll need to talk to Fitzgerald too, Mum.’
‘You’re not bringing Dean into this operation, I hope?’ Ernie glared at me.
‘No, Dean’s…busy.’ I’d have to call in on Dean later, with Preston’s head: I needed to make that a priority. I had a few too many priorities on my list today.
‘Brad, did you manage to find out who it was in Rusty Bore that Morris Temple phoned?’
He mumbled something.
‘Pardon?’
‘The phone book’s for the whole Mallee, Mum. Not just Rusty Bore. I haven’t got time to go through every single number.’
Christ. ‘Well, what was the number?’
‘Hold on.’ He tapped into the phone. ‘5093 2426.’
‘2426. Seems familiar. Ernie, Madison, you recognise it?’
Ernie grunted.
‘Try calling it, Brad. Faster than going through the phone book. Should have thought of that earlier.’
He dialled.
‘No answer,’ he said.
‘Actually, I’m glad we’ve got this opportunity to all be together,’ Madison spoke suddenly. ‘I know there’s at least one person in this vehicle in need of a good friend right now. And we’re all available to listen.’ She grunted, adjusting the ferret in her arms.
A silence, while I wondered what she was on about. Ah, yes. Brad and his fake press release slash possible jail situation. Another top priority I needed to get onto, when I got a moment. Not now, not in front of everyone: it’d just embarrass him.
‘Cass?’ she said. ‘How’s things with Leo?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Presumably you’re now…fully aware of the extent of your yearning?’
Bloody hell, Madison. ‘Let’s all just focus on the task in hand, shall we? So, everyone, we need to figure out how we’re going to handle Morris. Ernie, probably best if you’re the one that looks threatening. You might want to practise your menacing look before we get there.’
‘The thing is, Cass, it’s best to be fully self-aware. Otherwise you could miss out on what really matters to you.’
‘Madison.’ I brushed an imaginary ferret hair from my arm. ‘I appreciate the interest, but we’ve got a dead dog to deal with here.’
‘Of course. It’s just that…’
‘And I have a very bad feeling. I mean, that note. You know how you get those feelings?�
��
‘Oh yes, and you really have to let your feelings be your guide, Cass. Leo’s a lovely guy.’
‘Be that as it may. He’s not my type.’ Call me picky, but I have a prejudice against gun smugglers. Especially ones with multiple wives.
‘Well, we all know that’s a big fat lie. You and Leo had a thing, way back, didn’t you?’
‘Too bloody right,’ said Ernie, his voice a growl.
‘Well, I wouldn’t have called it a thing. I mean, it wasn’t consummated, not that it’s anyone’s business. In any case, I’ve moved on from relationships. Those days are behind me now.’
‘Really, you two never…? Well, no wonder there’s all this tension. You have to…And you know…’ she paused.
‘What?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t be concerned about Serena. She came in for a massage yesterday. Nasty kind of knot. Actually, I haven’t seen a pulled muscle like that, not since Ian and Estelle’s sex drama that time.’
‘You mean Ian and Estelle Flanagan?’ Ernie turned around and looked at Madison.
‘Yes. That time they got it on in the wardrobe. Nothing wrong with that, of course, I mean variety is an excellent investment in your relationship, particularly for the more mature couple. Saw that in an article in Red. But you do have to draw some boundaries. Foxy jumped on Ian’s back at…well, a critical moment.’
‘Foxy always was bloody good with doors,’ said Ernie.
‘Are you talking about Jim Fox? The grain agent bloke?’ I said, doing my best to keep up. We had a lot of important dead-dog-head-related matters to discuss, but at least we’d got off the topic of Leo.
‘Foxy was their flaming cat. Focus, Cass.’
‘Anyway, I just happened to mention that to Serena while I was massaging her problem area. Told her that some people push themselves too hard, beyond their personal level of flexibility. I suggested she try some specific stretches before sex. It can make all the difference, I told her, when you’re considering something a little bit acrobatic. Especially when you’ve reached a certain age.’
Ernie nodded.
‘Well, she just laughed. Said she’d hurt herself falling off a stepladder in the shop. Her partner wasn’t there at the time.’ She paused. ‘Her partner Christina, Cass. Serena isn’t into Leo. Or men, in general.’
Ernie turned back to face the windscreen. ‘Well, if you ask me, it’s lucky I put a stop to all that; looked out for our little Cassandra Ariadne.’ He clicked his false teeth. ‘You don’t want to know about Stone men, Madison.’
‘Sex addiction.’ I explained.
‘Hey?’ said Ernie.
‘That’s what you told me, Ernie. A lot of women in Leo’s life. Not to be trusted: like all the Stones.’
‘Nah. You’ve misremembered, Cass. He was only after you, that Leo bloke. Flaming single-minded.’
‘What?’ I glanced at Ernie.
‘What did they do, Ernie? The Stones?’ said Madison.
‘Not they, he. Leo Stone’s father, Bob. Bastard bogged my truck. Him and Dennis Stanley.’
38
I spent the rest of the drive in silence. Obviously I should have been guiding the team re the Morris Temple interrogation, but I was having trouble focusing. Either Ernie had lied to me about Leo way back, or he was lying now. I could have done with a couple of Panadol.
As we arrived in Muddy Soak, grey clouds were thickening in the sky. The streets were lined with a dazzling array of colour—trees clothed in leaves of all shades of red, orange, yellow, purple. A man in a cap held a leaf blower over a footpath filled with endless piles of leaves.
We passed a row of heritage buildings; the polished sandstone glinting in a ray of sudden sun. I don’t know why all the buildings in Muddy Soak have to be so excessively historical. The ornate rotunda in the park, built in 1903. The fire station, established 1874; the mechanics institute, built in 1875. Even the postbox looked like it was heritage.
The sound of bagpipes. A marching band?
I arrived at the T junction, intending to turn left and head to the Cultivator office. But a yellow road-closed sign blocked the way. I turned the wheel, thinking I’d do a U-ie, but a man in a reflective jacket came over and shook his head. I put the car into reverse, but another car had pulled in behind me. Another car behind that. Soon, a whole row of cars had built up.
The man in the jacket came over to my car. I wound down the window. The smell of frying onions mixed with wood smoke.
‘You’ll have to wait here for a few minutes,’ he said. ‘Parade’s about to go through.’
‘Parade?’
‘Yep. Always a parade for the Spectacular.’
Great. I wound my window closed.
The roadside started to fill with people in hats and coats: rugged-up people sitting on fold-up chairs, on walls, the kerb. It started drizzling. A voice on a megaphone started up.
The sound of bagpipes got louder, then became deafening. The highland band appeared, marching, dressed in navy blue and green tartan kilts, some of them wearing sunglasses.
We waited while about a million floats passed by: a man dressed as a town crier, pulled by a group of huskies; a trailer containing children dressed as farmyard animals; a cycling club; the Red Cross—stout, determined-looking women in white aprons; a wizened man driving a Mustang—the Oldest Man in Muddy Soak, so said the voice on the megaphone; another primary school—this time dressed as African animals; more kids, these ones on drums.
I was starting a full-scale headache. A float full of men dressed in flamboyant costumes. At first I thought they were dressed as Elvis, but then saw the moustaches—a group of Freddie Mercurys? A sign along the side of the float: Old rockers never die, they join the Muddy Soak Lions Club. Huh, Freddie Mercury was only my age when he died. Hardly bloody old.
A sudden memory. That girl went off to see Freddie Mercury. I don’t think she should have. What girl? Could the woman have been referring to Natalie? And she’d gone off to see who? The entire Lions Club?
Finally, what seemed aeons later, the road reopened and we headed to the Cultivator office. No brown Fairlanes in sight. I cruised further along the street. Pulled over outside the piano repair place and killed the engine. A young woman with a lot of teeth missing was pushing a pram along the path.
‘Right, here’s the plan.’ I turned to face the back seat. ‘Madison: are you OK to go in there and talk to Morris? I’d do it, but he’ll recognise me from last time.’
‘Absolutely.’ Madison sat up straighter. ‘What should I talk to him about? Oh, I know, what about a piece on ferret healthcare for the Cultivator? Dental hygiene: I bet that’s an angle they haven’t considered. And there are a lot of interesting types of oral sores he could go into.’
‘Err, terrific, Madison, but I was actually thinking we should try and encourage him to leave the office, so we can have a chat with him in…private. Maybe tell him you’ve got a message from Jacinta. Or that you’ve got some information regarding Natalie’s last story. Something that’ll make him want to leave the premises. You could suggest he meets you for a coffee. Then the three of us will follow along behind, inconspicuously, of course.’
‘Right. Coffee where?’
‘Anywhere. Don’t worry, we’ll be right behind you.’
‘And make sure you take that flaming ferret with you,’ said Ernie.
Madison got out of the car, Timmy held tight to her chest. She headed into the Cultivator office.
I looked at my watch. Considered the pros and cons of phoning Dean.
Pro: Preston’s head needed to be in police custody before it defrosted.
Cons: far too many to go into.
I dialled his number. Held my breath. A long delay and then it rang out. I tried again and got his message bank. I left a message about Preston’s head and then hung up.
‘Bloody hell. Dean phones me every day, hunts me down relentlessly, goes on and on about solicitors, police meetings and interrogations and then, when I ac
tually need him, he’s not there.’
Not quite the level of family loyalty I generally strive for, but I was in need of an outburst.
I put my phone away and stared out the windscreen a tick. A memory of Dean flitted in. Back from when he was eleven: that time he came running into the shop, huge grin across his face. With that scab on his left knee that seemed to last for months. Mum, Mum! A tone of unadulterated joy. He’d won a competition at school. Maths. First thing Dean ever won. Only thing, in actual fact. Well, yes, there was that police medal, if you want to be pedantic. Injured in the line of duty. There’s no need to go into who exactly injured him.
Maths. Who knows where he got that from. And his eldest is good at maths as well. I supposed I’d see them all again someday? Have them over for a normal Nanna-style lunch, once Dean had got over things? Course I would. I’d find a way.
A prickling from behind my eyes.
‘I dunno why you ever encouraged Dean to join the police force in the first place. The stress of the job’s just turned him into even more of a screw-up.’ Brad’s helpful commentary from the back seat.
I turned around, feeling suddenly very weary. ‘Dean’s lack of job satisfaction is not actually my fault, Brad. And to be honest, I’m sick of being blamed for things by you two. Grow up.’
I fumbled for my car door, opened it and stepped out. Wobbled slightly. I carefully shut the door. Walked over to the footpath; continued right along that street. I stopped at the corner and paused a tick, while I considered the merits of having an existential crisis. It might damn well show a few people where my boundaries lay.
The sound of a car door opening. The click of a walking stick against the concrete path. Lots of grunting noises. A wave of Ernie-breath hit me and I flinched.
Ernie put his arm around my shoulder. ‘Cassandra Ariadne, you’re a decent woman. And a fine mother. Don’t you forget that. And I’m sorry to be the one to say it, but Dean’s always been a miserable flaming bastard. You’d probably be better off without him.’
‘Thanks Ernie.’ Can a person actually be better off without her son? Still, you had to appreciate Ernie’s loyalty.
‘Come on, we’ve got work to do,’ he said. ‘Got a dog-decapitating bully to deal with. And you know the best way to handle a bully: stand up to the bastard.’