Good News, Bad News

by Maggie Groff

  ‘Daytrippers,’ Daisy explained. ‘They come every day, stop here for a drink and lunch, then go to a couple of other islands and then back to Shute Harbour.’

  ‘How do you know?’ I asked her.

  ‘Stella told us at the meet and greet.’

  ‘It explains why the bar takings are high,’ I said.

  ‘They also have tourists from Airlie Beach that come over on Saturday and Wednesday nights for an island feast and a show.’

  No wonder Leila had big dollars to play with.

  We dragged the canoe up the beach and took the oars back to the hut. Eddy was lounging in a hammock strung between two palm trees. One of his legs was dangling over the edge.

  ‘Don’t get up,’ Daisy said sarcastically.

  ‘You’ve canoed before, haven’t you?’ he said suspiciously.

  ‘No,’ we said together.

  ‘First time,’ Daisy said.

  He looked amazed. ‘You did really well. Most people take a while to get the hang of it.’

  ‘We’re mothers!’ Daisy exclaimed, and I laughed but Eddy didn’t. The best lines are wasted on the young.

  We left Eddy protecting the hammock and returned to our room.

  The island tempo had upped a level with all the visitors. You could tell those who’d just arrived as they walked quickly. Everyone else had either perfected a languid island stroll or was working on it.

  We made tea and took it out onto our balcony and admired the view. The island was as beautiful by day as I’d imagined. In the distance hazy green islands were dotted across an emerald sea. Closer to shore the water was bluer and it lapped gently against the pristine white sand. The foliage was dense and tropical with coconut palms, mango trees and patches of littoral rainforest hugging the shoreline. There were people snorkelling in the lagoon below our balcony and kids splashing each other in the shallows. It didn’t get much better.

  My tea finished, I spread out a map of the island on the table and studied it.

  Silver Gull was a small island shaped a little like the Australian continent. It was about four kilometres at its widest part and half that north to south. Behind the resort was national parkland with two peaks: Mount Cinnabar and Mount Bradley. A shaded area with dots indicated that the southern shoreline was rocky, but there was a small inlet about halfway along that cut well into the island. It was called Stingray Cove and, as far as I could see, it was the only other place on Silver Gull that would provide safe anchorage.

  I pointed it out to Daisy.

  ‘If the Bomboras are not there,’ she said, ‘and Mick’s still got them, which you think is unlikely, the only other place they might be is Shute Harbour. We can’t search all the islands.’

  I nodded agreement. ‘We can sail a small catamaran around the island,’ I said, ‘or we can walk across. There’s a marked pathway to Stingray Cove. It shouldn’t take long.’

  We decided to walk across. I didn’t think my sailing skills were quite up to scratch. Well, I did, but Daisy didn’t.

  Before lunch we went to the bar to see if we could eyeball Leila. It was already packed with pre-lunch drinkers and all the cane seating areas were taken. The interior design was similar to the Raffles Room, except the bar was a whole lot bigger with a higher ceiling. French doors leading onto the deck were open and Daisy found a couple of seats overlooking the water.

  The staff behind the bar were all young and working way too efficiently, which was a clue that the boss was nearby.

  At the end of the bar, sitting on a stool, was a woman of about sixty who was talking on a phone and making notes in a journal. Vaguely resembling the woman in the newspaper photo, she was slim and looked like she took care of herself. Her hair was as black as pitch, curly and cut short. She was wearing a navy pencil skirt and a white blouse with long sleeves rolled up on her forearms. I couldn’t see a name badge but she had a string of pearls around her neck.

  I looked at my watch: 11.45 am. No one, but no one, my dear, wears pearls before noon.

  Moving closer to the woman, I leaned on the bar and ordered a gin and tonic for Daisy and mineral water for myself. By the time the drinks came I’d listened in on her phone conversation and heard her Irish accent. She knocked on the bar and rudely ordered one of the girls to refill the water jugs. Then she snapped her phone shut, stood up and walked out. I watched her leave. She had the most beautiful legs, just as Overton Siliphant had told me.

  It was definitely Leila Leary.

  Chapter 52

  After a buffet lunch, Daisy and I put on hiking boots and set off towards Mount Cinnabar on the well-trodden pathway over to Stingray Cove.

  Fortunately we only had to hike a short way up the mountain before a path veered off towards our destination. The winter sun had a kick in it and it was quite hot. I wouldn’t have wanted to do the walk in summer, even though the views were spectacular. There were island-strewn waters as far as the eye could see.

  Tall grass grew on both sides of the path and we each had a big stick in case anything slithered out. For a while a nankeen kestrel flew overhead, gliding with the air current. We stood still and watched as it hovered in one spot before dropping like a stealth bomb into the grass.

  Just when we were both tiring and wishing we’d sailed, we crested a small hill and looked down. Below us lay Stingray Cove, a protected inlet with turquoise water and narrow sandy shores abutting rocky hillsides. It wasn’t a secret spot. I counted thirteen yachts and six motor cruisers anchored. And people. Lots of people.

  ‘Daytrippers again?’ Daisy speculated.

  ‘Guess so,’ I said, and we sat down to rest and watch.

  I focused the binoculars and systematically looked at every yacht.

  ‘Nothing,’ I muttered and handed Daisy the binoculars.

  She searched diligently. ‘Have another look at that smallish blue boat without a mast, and without anybody on it,’ she said.

  I looked again and tried to picture it with a mast. It was an old yacht, that much was obvious. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘It’s hard to tell.’

  When I looked at Daisy she was grinning.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘Look at the name on the hull.’

  The name was Valor. ‘So?’ I queried. ‘It doesn’t have a white splash.’

  ‘It’s one of Mick’s boats, that’s for sure,’ she said confidently.

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘He’s Irish, isn’t he?’

  I nodded.

  ‘And wasn’t the yacht involved in the reef rescue called Amandine?’

  I nodded again.

  Her grin broadened. ‘Amandine, Kestrel, Nadine, Belle de Fontenay and Valor are all types of potatoes, and if you ask me if I’m sure I’ll bop you on the head.’

  I threw my arms around Daisy and gave her a hug. ‘Oh, well done you,’ I said, and I stood up. ‘Come on, let’s have a closer look.’

  ‘Gawd,’ she said, struggling to her feet and dusting off her behind. ‘I feel like I’m in the Secret Seven.’

  The path down to the cove was rough and precarious, and we picked our way carefully around scattered boulders and small rocky outcrops until we were standing on the sandy shore on one side of the inlet. Valor was roughly fifty metres away.

  I sat on a rock at the water’s edge. Now I was closer I could see that the old blue boat was identical to the yacht I had sailed on with Bill Shaw. There were no numbers on the hull, so I reasoned it wasn’t registered.

  Somehow I was going to have to board Valor and look for the hidden serial number in the cupboard. I was sure that Mick would have removed the one on the transom. I toyed with the idea of swimming out now, but I’d need a ladder to climb aboard. Besides, the cabin would be locked and there was no way I could break in with so many people about.

  ‘We could paddle around and you could get on board that way,’ Daisy said, mirroring my thoughts.

  ‘Too many people about,’ I said. ‘I can’t do it during the day.
’

  ‘Well, we can’t hire watercraft at night,’ she said.

  ‘No, but McCormack has a speedboat.’

  I took out my phone and, surprised I had reception, called him while Daisy took photographs of Valor.

  ‘No can do tonight,’ he said. ‘My mate’s taken the boat to Mackay. If he’s back tomorrow, then I can help.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I’ll let you know.’

  ‘You okay for the 10 pm drop?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, don’t worry,’ I told him.

  I snapped my phone shut and relayed the conversation to Daisy.

  ‘You’ll have to wait until tomorrow night then,’ she said.

  I shook my head. I never put off until tomorrow what I can do today.

  ‘No, I’ll come back this evening,’ I said, ‘and if some of the other boats are still here, then I’ll try again tomorrow.’

  ‘How are you going to get out there?’ Daisy asked.

  ‘Swim,’ I said.

  ‘In the dark?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Holy crap,’ Daisy said.

  Back at the resort, we were sitting on the grass near the beach hut waiting for Eddy to be distracted. My plan was to nip into the hut and take one of the metal boat ladders that were hanging on the back wall. Daisy had seen them earlier when we had returned the oars.

  ‘Can’t we just hire one?’ Daisy remarked impatiently.

  ‘No. If Mick reports a break-in to the yacht, then Eddy would remember us hiring accessible means.’

  ‘Oh.’ She grimaced. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

  The girl in the red bikini who had capsized in front of us this morning came speeding into the shallow water on her windsurfer. There were two small children playing in the shallows, right in her path. Eddy leapt to his feet and raced into the water.

  ‘Now!’ Daisy barked, elbowing me in the ribs.

  I stood up and calmly walked into the hut and took a ladder off the wall. It was very light and I wrapped it in my beach towel, stepped out of the hut and walked away.

  Catching up with me on the pathway, Daisy puffed, ‘That girl is a menace. The kids were okay though.’

  We hid the ladder in our room and then walked round to the machinery shed that I’d seen on my trip to Calypso Point. There was no one about and, while Daisy kept watch, I helped myself to boltcutters, a wrench and a chisel.

  Daisy was quite pale when I emerged with my booty, so we returned to the room and she lay down for a nap. I made her a cup of tea and then went onto the balcony and called Miles.

  ‘How’s the Chairman?’ I asked after we’d exchanged greetings.

  ‘Waiting by the back gate for your return,’ he said.

  I explained about Peppy and Miles laughed.

  ‘Should I still be watching out for that man you were worried about?’ He was referring to McCormack.

  ‘No, that’s sorted, thanks.’

  ‘I saw you walk out of the restaurant,’ he said. ‘I hope it wasn’t the food.’

  I knew Miles was digging for the gory details of my row with Rafe. ‘Of course not,’ I said firmly. ‘It was the company.’

  Miles sighed loudly. ‘It’s a shame,’ he said, his voice full of regret. ‘I’ve never seen you look as happy as you have the last few months.’

  Not wishing to buy into that discussion, I asked, ‘Did Rafe stick around?’

  ‘No, he paid the bill, gave me a fifty to return to you and then left. He looked very upset.’

  Changing the subject, I told Miles about the island. He knew I was working on a case and he said affectionately, ‘Don’t you get up to any mischief, you hear?’

  ‘Who me?’ I replied, and he was still laughing as we rang off.

  Chapter 53

  Daisy had recovered and was adamant that I was not going to Stingray Cove alone.

  ‘We’ll walk over while there’s still some light,’ I said, packing the borrowed tools, my own toolkit, camera, phone, reef shoes, swim cap and a large zip-lock plastic bag into my backpack. ‘We have to be back in time to change and witness the drop,’ I added.

  ‘Better get a move on then,’ Daisy muttered, looking at her watch.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ I reassured her. She didn’t need to know that I was already having dramatic visions of the wildlife that hunted the cove’s deep waters at night.

  Daisy had organised sandwiches and bananas from the restaurant as we would probably miss dinner. I would need to eat when we got to the cove, and definitely before embarking on any stressful swim and search mission.

  We were both wearing dark clothes and hiking boots, and I had my swimsuit on under my clothes and my diabetic pack around my waist. Daisy had the ladder wrapped in a towel, and a torch and our food in her backpack. I’d have been happier wearing a wetsuit or stinger suit as I was aware that there could be nasty jellyfish in the water. However, I knew there was less likelihood of being stung during the winter months, so I was prepared to risk it.

  We sprayed ourselves with insect repellent and, satisfied that I had everything, I asked Daisy if she was ready. She smiled and nodded, although I wouldn’t have said she looked overly keen.

  We walked through the resort and took the path to Stingray Cove. A light breeze was blowing, but it wasn’t cold. Daisy led the way and we walked quickly. The night was closing in and we wanted to negotiate the hill down into the cove while we could still see.

  When we reached the hilltop above the cove we stopped and looked down. This was the point of watch, see and decide. If other boats were still there, we’d give it a miss and try tomorrow night. If not, we’d press on.

  Our eyes had become used to the dusky light and we could clearly see that the cove was deserted except for the blue Bombora. I sensed that Daisy was a little disappointed; I knew she was hoping we would use McCormack’s boat tomorrow.

  Carefully we started our descent, negotiating our way down past the boulders and rocky outcrops. Neither of us spoke and neither of us tripped.

  Five minutes later we were sitting on rocks by the water’s edge. Just us and a thousand sandflies.

  ‘Do you think our bug spray will work?’ Daisy asked hopefully.

  ‘Mmmm,’ I murmured, but I wasn’t really listening. I was thinking about the walk back. The trip over hadn’t been too bad, but it wouldn’t be so crash-hot retracing our steps in the dark.

  Before it was completely dark I put the torch, camera and my toolkit into the large zip-lock bag and sealed it. Then I had a shot of insulin and we ate our sandwiches in silence. Every so often a fish jumped out of the water and plopped back in again. Neither of us mentioned hammerhead sharks. Or that it was now their feeding time.

  The bugs appeared to be leaving us be, and when we had finished our sandwiches I undressed, put on my reef shoes and pushed the zip-lock bag and the borrowed tools, including the boltcutters, down the front of my swimsuit. Then I coiled my plait onto my head and pulled on the swim cap.

  I stood at the water’s edge and breathed in deeply. This was no time to be chicken.

  ‘I’m going in,’ I said rather grandly.

  Daisy shone her torch into the shallows.

  ‘Oh my goodness!’ she cried.

  ‘What?’

  She threw a rock into the shallows and there was a hive of activity.

  ‘Stingrays!’ she screeched.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I assured her. ‘They settle in the shallows. If we can clear a path I’ll be fine. It drops off steeply only a few metres out.’

  ‘If you say so.’ She didn’t sound convinced.

  Together we threw stones and rocks into the shallows until there was no further movement. I broke a stick off a branch and poked the sand. It appeared clear. I passed Daisy the stick so she could repeat the action when I returned. She handed me the ladder.

  Accustomed to the darkness, I could see the yacht clearly in the gloom. The theme tune to Jaws was trying to play in my head.

  ‘Here goes,’ I said, an
d I took three steps forward and then threw myself headlong into the water, creating a loud splash. The ladder was light but awkward and I turned onto my back, held it on my chest and kicked like a frog. I didn’t want to thrash about too much. In films, sharky-warky always takes the paddling dogs.

  Relieved that the water wasn’t too cold, I stared up at the stars and kicked and tried not to think about what might be swimming beneath me, but the truth was it was all I could think about. Steven Spielberg has a lot to answer for.

  Nearing the boat, I turned onto my front and held the ladder out ahead of me as I kicked the last few strokes. It took several tries to hook the ladder over the hull, but I eventually succeeded and hoisted myself up into the cockpit.

  ‘I’m here,’ I called out.

  ‘Thank goodness,’ I heard Daisy say.

  The boat was rocking and I stood with my feet apart to steady myself. I pulled the tools and the zip-lock bag out of my swimsuit and took out the torch. I switched it on and shone it on the transom. There were no numbers or plates and it looked like someone had chiselled off the manufacturer’s serial number.

  I tried the wooden hatch cover, which sealed the cabin, but it was padlocked. Hopeful of an alternative access point, I clambered over the top of the cabin and tried the other hatch but it was stuck solid. I crawled back down into the cockpit and examined the padlock.

  Starting to shiver from the cold, I balanced the torch on the seat and set about the padlock with the boltcutters, but it wouldn’t break.

  Bugger!

  For about twenty minutes I struggled with the padlock to no avail. On the plus side I was no longer shivering. Then I had the bright idea of forcing the chisel down behind the padlock and ripping the whole thing off the hatch. I banged the chisel with the boltcutters until it was wedged in place behind the padlock.

  I’d now been on the boat almost half an hour, but I didn’t want to have to return tomorrow night, so I took hold of the chisel, braced myself with one foot in the cockpit and one on the hatch and pulled with all my might.

  There was a loud crack, the wood splintered and the padlock flew off, knocking me into the cockpit.

  I swore loudly.