Good News, Bad News

by Maggie Groff

  Two seconds later Mick jumped on board and I felt an extraordinary frisson of electricity pass through me. There was no sign of Leila—she was probably at home counting money.

  I have to say that Mick looked pretty damn good for a dead man. Like Leila, he had taken care of himself and appeared young for his age, which I knew was sixty. Trim, tanned and still good-looking, he was clean-shaven with deep-set dark eyes and thick salt and pepper hair. Close up, the white splash in his hair was so prominent that it almost appeared manufactured.

  He was dressed in the same uniform as the crew and had Mitch embroidered on his shirt. There was no doubt in my mind that he was the man who had married Nemony Longfellow, and I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

  There were introductions all round and I introduced myself as Fantasia Jonson, and Daisy as my cousin Ysiad. I pronounced it ‘easy-add’.

  Daisy, I was pleased to see, had a confused expression on her face.

  ‘Her name sounds like an airline,’ one of the boys said, and I smiled at him. ‘Yes, doesn’t it?’

  Mick took the helm and, trailing a small dinghy behind us, we motored out of the harbour. Daisy and I took photos of the numerous yachts we passed, as it would have been foolish not to look for Lavender given the chance. We could, I told Daisy, trawl through the photos later. It would also have been an opportune time to take a photo of Mick had he not put a blasted cap on his head.

  Patience, Scout. Patience.

  Once we were clear of Low Rock and Shute Island, Rocky and Bigelow hoisted the sails and we sailed around the southern side of South Molle Island and then northeast across the glorious Whitsunday Passage towards Hook Island.

  Kestrel skimmed through the water and it was exhilarating to feel the wind and sea spray on my face. We waved to other sailors and gawked at dolphins as they raced us through the dark blue waters. It was a lot of magic and I felt a profound sadness for Nemony that this could have been her life. More than once I caught myself scowling in Mick’s direction.

  ‘Are we going through Hook Passage, Mitch?’ Daisy called to Mick in a loud voice. I knew she was getting a kick out of using the name.

  He nodded. ‘We’ll sail past Whitsunday Island and then through the passage and out to Common Noddy Island for lunch, swimming and snorkelling. I think you’ll like it.’ His Irish brogue was still strong after all these years; strong and sexy as hell. Looking at him standing holding the helm of his yacht, the sea spray hitting his face and his body braced against the tilt of the yacht, I understood why Nemony had fallen in love with him and followed him to Sydney.

  The family was having a great time sitting along the side of the yacht, hanging on to the railing and dangling their legs over the side. The boys took turns standing in front of Mick, holding the helm with him. He was Mr Nice Guy and it made me want to throw up.

  Steadying myself, I went below deck to use the bathroom. I wanted to have a private look-see in the cupboards for something with Mick’s DNA on it. No one was below deck so I poked around for a bit, but there was nothing I could use, or that I could identify as belonging to Mick.

  I went back on deck and sat down and scrutinised his shoulders. There might be a stray hair that I could pick off of him, seeing as I was such a nice person and attentive to the grooming of others. But there was nothing.

  Daisy whispered in my ear, ‘Stop staring at him, will you!’

  I grimaced. It was hard not to.

  At noon we dropped anchor at Common Noddy Island and had a buffet lunch on board of cold chicken, prawns and salad followed by a fruit platter. There was champagne and beer for the adults and juice for the kids. It wasn’t the most imaginative of menus, but it filled a gap.

  When everyone had finished, I offered to help clear away in order to snaffle Mick’s fork, but Danni chivvied me out of the galley. Securing the skipper’s DNA wasn’t proving easy, and neither was a photograph of his face and hair as he was still wearing the cap. Like everyone else on board, I’d already taken plenty of photos that included Mick, but none that were good enough for my purpose.

  The boys wanted to explore the island and Bigelow ferried the family ashore in the dinghy. Daisy and I declined a lift, preferring to swim over to the reef. I was hoping that everyone would go ashore and I could make a more thorough search of the yacht, but unfortunately Mick and Brittany stayed on board.

  Daisy and I pulled on snorkels and flippers and jumped off the yacht and swam over to a coral reef a short distance away. I was wearing my new swimsuit, which was black and blue, so it matched beautifully the angry bruises on my legs.

  I felt no fear swimming in the water in daylight, and compared to my last swim this one was breathtaking in a different way. Beneath me shoals of brightly coloured fish swam in the crystal-clear water over intensely vivid corals that resembled cauliflowers and upside-down mushrooms.

  It wasn’t long before I found Nemo. He was darting among swaying pink sea anemones playing hide and seek with hundreds of relatives. A curious parrot fish, about the size of a loaf of bread, cruised up to me and bumped my mask. I looked for Daisy to see if she’d seen it. She had, and she gave me the thumbs-up.

  We swam around until we were totally exhausted and then, reluctantly, climbed up the boarding ladder at the stern of Kestrel.

  ‘That was incredible,’ Daisy gushed as she pulled herself into the boat.

  ‘Beautiful,’ I agreed, looking around.

  Everyone except Mick was now in the water. He was standing on the bow watching the crew show the parents and boys how to use their snorkels.

  ‘What’s with the stupid name?’ Daisy asked me as she towelled off.

  ‘Ysiad?’

  ‘Yeah, I thought we didn’t want to draw attention to ourselves.’

  I shrugged my shoulders, as I thought the risk was minimal.

  ‘I’ll tell you if you tell me what the something was that Hermione Longfellow gave you.’

  ‘Beast,’ Daisy said, but she was grinning.

  I raised my eyebrows.

  ‘Oh, all right,’ she said. ‘Do you remember when I had chemotherapy and was very sick?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Well, someone told me that Hermione grew marijuana and distilled the leaves, and if you put a few drops on your tongue it would take away the nausea.’

  ‘Hermione Longfellow!’ I shrieked a little too loudly and then, realising how foolish I’d been, I looked towards the bow to see if Mick had heard the name. It was, after all, one he knew well. He hadn’t turned around, so hopefully he hadn’t heard me.

  ‘Yep, surprising isn’t it?’ Daisy went on. I don’t think she’d realised what I’d done.

  ‘Did it work?’ I asked, turning back to face her and attempting to carry on the conversation as if nothing was awry.

  ‘For me it did,’ she told me.

  Just then Mick jumped down into the cockpit and said to me, ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you okay?’

  I glanced up at him and said, ‘I’m fine thank you, Mick.’

  Oh shit, shit, shit, shit.

  Recovering quickly, I said, ‘I mean Mitch.’

  He smiled at me but there was a coldness in it that made me shudder. ‘I haven’t been called Mick in years,’ he said, fixing his steely eyes on mine. ‘Since I was a kid.’

  Liar, liar, pants on fire.

  Looking away from me, he leaned into the cabin and pulled out a pair of binoculars and then returned to the bow, seemingly unconcerned. I frowned at Daisy and she gave me a worried look. I was pretty sure he had been alarmed by my stupid slip-up, and from now on Daisy and I would have to keep our backs to the wall and our minds alert. Silently, I thanked every deity I could think of that there were other people around. Otherwise Daisy and I might have been taking the swim of our lives.

  Later, when the crew were preparing to sail for home, the father of the four boys asked if his sons could have their picture taken with the skipper.

  ‘No problem,’ Mick said, and he po
sed at the helm with the boys.

  Suddenly one of the boys seized Mick’s cap and put it on his own head. The boys laughed, and in the playful scuffle that followed, I managed to take several shots of Mick before he retrieved his cap. Sitting back down, I checked my camera and grinned. My pictures were perfect.

  On the return sail across the Whitsunday Passage two of the boys became ill and Mick told Daisy and I that he was making a detour to drop off the family at Silver Gull on the way back to Shute Harbour. As we were both keen as hell to put as much distance between Mick and us as possible, we were mighty pleased.

  When we arrived at Silver Gull, Daisy told Mick that she was also feeling unwell, and that we would be getting off too, and would take a water taxi back to the mainland when she felt better. Gathering our belongings together, we thanked the crew for a wonderful day and hastily climbed onto the jetty. Hopefully, none of them knew we were also staying on Silver Gull.

  ‘Do you think he’s on to us?’ Daisy whispered.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I told her truthfully. ‘Let’s wait here and watch to make sure he sails back to Shute Harbour.’

  We sat on the jetty with our legs hanging over the side and pretended to look for fish. Mick didn’t look at all concerned and he gave us a friendly wave as he took the helm and steered his yacht away from the jetty. Both of us waved enthusiastically back.

  ‘Thank God for that,’ I said, and we stood up and watched Kestrel sail into the distance.

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about it,’ Daisy said reassuringly. ‘I’m sure lots of people call him Mick by mistake.’

  ‘I hope so,’ I said, but I wasn’t confident that they did.

  ‘So, enlighten me about the name Ysiad,’ Daisy asked me as we walked down the jetty towards the resort.

  ‘Does Yab Noryb ring any bells?’

  She thought for a moment and then stood still and groaned. I turned around and gave her my most compelling smile.

  ‘I’ll get even,’ she said, catching up with me and laughing.

  We walked on in silence. I was disappointed that I hadn’t secured any of Mick’s DNA, but it wasn’t essential to my story. Besides, the police could do that, and they could also check on any life insurance policy that Mick and Leila may have claimed. It was only fair to leave them something to investigate. I’ve always been thoughtful about that sort of thing.

  Halfway along the jetty Daisy suddenly stopped and said, ‘Scout, I’ve done a bad thing.’

  Concerned, I put my hand on her arm and said, ‘What is it, Daisy?’

  She bit her bottom lip, opened her bag and took out a small freezer bag and handed it to me. ‘I stole these,’ she said.

  Inside the bag was a pair of sunglasses.

  ‘They’re Mick’s,’ Daisy said. ‘If you look carefully you can see his hair caught in the hinges.’

  Honestly, I thought my face would crack from smiling.

  Chapter 56

  While Daisy showered, I ensured the door to our room was safely locked and then checked the money and documents were still in the pillow. That done, I turned on my laptop.

  There was an email from Tom, the boat code agent, asking me to call him urgently.

  I rang his mobile.

  ‘Thank goodness you called,’ he gushed. ‘You may have to write your story sooner than you anticipated. There’s an issue with the Australian Builders Plate on the yacht Nadine.’

  I sat bolt upright. ‘What sort of issue?’

  ‘It’s been altered. The threes have been turned into eights, the five changed to a six and the F to an E. If you enlarge the photograph you took, you can see where it’s been changed. It’s been cleverly done, but I was looking for it.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Positive.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ I was speaking too fast and willed myself to slow down.

  ‘It means that the original ABP matches a yacht called Vincent that was stolen in Nouméa four years ago. It might also mean that your man Mitch Leary has other yachts that he’s borrowed.’

  I swallowed hard, trying to absorb this information and what it meant.

  ‘Why would I have to write the story sooner than I’d expected? No one else knows about this.’

  ‘No, but I know, and it’s my duty to report it.’

  My stomach lurched. ‘Have you already done that?’

  Tom chuckled. ‘I’m not that mean, but I’ll have to do it first thing tomorrow.’

  Oh, help! This meant I had to contact Brian Dunfey to secure publishing space and write the story now. As in NOW! I absolutely had to have my scoop before the police questioned Mick about Nadine.

  ‘I hope that gives you enough time to do what you need to do,’ he said.

  I took a deep breath. ‘Don’t worry, we journos work well under pressure.’

  ‘Sorry, but I can’t hold off any longer.’

  ‘No, I understand,’ I assured him. ‘We all have our duties.’

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I have to note in the report to police your name and phone number, and that it was you who discovered Vincent and requested information on the codes. There’s a bounty on her, which is yours.’

  ‘What about the other yacht, Belle de Fontenay?’ I asked quickly.

  ‘That appears kosher.’

  ‘How much is the bounty?’

  ‘That’s up to the insurer.’

  I paused while a vision of a brand-new Toyota Landcruiser jumped into my head. Abruptly I dragged my thoughts away from the car showroom.

  ‘If I send photos of a yacht called Kestrel, can you have a look at those too?’ I asked. ‘She’s owned by the same man.’

  ‘I’ll have a look and email you back if I have any concerns.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘What time will you contact the authorities?’

  ‘I’ll alert Queensland Water Police at 7 am tomorrow, but if you’re done before then, call them and say I told you to call and that I’ll send the report first thing.’

  After I’d thanked Tom again, I closed my phone, downloaded today’s photos of Kestrel and sent them to him. Then I leaned back in the chair and breathed a long sigh. No way was I going to have the story written in time to hit the papers before the police pounced on Mick tomorrow morning. But I’d give it a damn good try.

  I didn’t need to panic. Daisy was doing enough for the both of us. Besides, I’m brilliant in a crisis and always know exactly what to do first.

  So I made tea.

  Handing Daisy a cup, I told her about Nadine and that we would be dividing the bounty if one were paid, and I wasn’t going to listen to any arguments that she wouldn’t take her fair share. Then I asked if she would look for another Bombora in the photographs we’d taken today. Seemingly pleased to have something to do, she sat on her bed and started flicking through our cameras. I didn’t see any point wasting time checking the photo of the ABP on Nadine. Tom knew his job way better than I did.

  I took my tea over to the desk, sat down and called Brian Dunfey at Anzasia Media Group.

  ‘It’s action stations, Brian,’ I told him, and then quickly and succinctly provided an overview of the situation, confirmed that I had evidence, that none of my sources needed anonymity and that I would have the copy to him by midnight. I didn’t know if I could or not, but it sounded good to me.

  ‘Any pics?’ he asked.

  ‘Yep, and documents.’

  ‘Good girl,’ he muttered, ‘good girl.’

  I’ve long since abandoned remonstrating with Brian over such patronising terms, so I ignored it, said goodbye and closed my phone.

  ‘There are no Bomboras in any of our photos,’ Daisy said, coming over to the desk. She sounded disappointed, but to be honest I was relieved. Things were already complicated enough.

  ‘I’m going to organise for us to have dinner here,’ Daisy went on. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Three chocolate éclairs and a tub of English toffee ice cream,’ I quipped.

  ‘Oh
, be sensible,’ she said crossly.

  ‘Be careful!’ I yelled as she disappeared out the door. There was no way that Mick could have returned to the island already, but I didn’t want us taking any chances.

  I took a moment to gather my thoughts before calling Nemony Longfellow. This was going to take up valuable time but she had to be told everything now. I couldn’t bear for her to find out any of this on the news.

  What I was about to tell her would, I knew, be absolutely devastating, and I took a few slow deep breaths before punching in her mobile number.

  I wasn’t looking forward to this at all.

  Chapter 57

  Despite my trepidation, I was relieved when Nemony answered.

  ‘Grab your fags, Nemony,’ I said, plunging right in. ‘You’re going to need them.’

  I waited a minute.

  ‘Got ’em,’ she said.

  Focusing on the chronology of events, I started at the beginning and explained that Michael Leary, whom Nemony knew as Mick O’Leary, had been married to a woman called Leila Leary when he and Leila had arrived in Australia in 1977. I then told her that in 1982 Leila had worked at the solicitor’s office that was handling Willard Longfellow’s estate, and that Leila had had access to inheritance details and had almost certainly told Mick about the money.

  ‘Why almost certainly?’ Nemony asked. I heard her light a cigarette and inhale. She was probably smoking two at once.

  ‘Because shortly after you received your inheritance, Michael Leary wandered onto your farm as Mick O’Leary seeking work, and a solicitor has identified him as the man who had frequently visited Leila at work. The odds of Mick picking your farm at random are a billion to one, higher when you consider other evidence.’

  ‘Which is?’ She was eager for information.

  ‘Leila disappeared from her job at the solicitors in November 1983, at the same time as Mick O’Leary disappeared in the storm, and Mick and Leila are both currently living together in Queensland as Mitch and Leila Leary. The solicitor has also confirmed from a recent photograph of Mick and Leila that Leila is the same woman who worked for him in 1983.’