by JD Nixon
When they arrived in town, we discovered two very interesting facts about Teddy and Lee. The first fact was that Lee was also a man, something the townsfolk discussed breathlessly non-stop for about a month. The second fact was that they were social activists and on the opposite side of the political divide to Mrs Villiers, a proud, diehard conservative. Spouting a strong belief in grassroots politics, Teddy decided to throw his hat in the ring and run against Mrs Villiers, hoping to bring a bit of fresh blood to the Council.
The excited stir that caused amongst the townsfolk was almost as huge as the one created by their half-built home. Everyone whispered behind their hands and took unnecessary detours to walk or drive down Silky Oak Street to marvel at the mansion-sized house as it rose from the ground. Its ultra-modern curves and interesting use of glass, tin, and timber was the talk of the town.
There hadn’t been a new structure built in Little Town since the terrible bushfires of 1933, when half the town burnt to the ground. That was if you didn’t count my state-of-the-art chicken coop, an overly-generous gift from the Sarge. It replaced the coop destroyed by Jake’s older brother and jailbird, Red Bycraft. He’d smashed my old coop into a million pieces some months ago when I didn’t have two coins to rub together to replace it. Dad’s and my financial position had improved since we’d sold the land to Teddy and Lee, but that money was fast being drained by Dad’s medical bills and the endless cash pit of maintenance on our old timber home. Judging by my last reluctant online look at our bank account and the avalanche of bills waiting to be paid, it wouldn’t be long before our finances verged on perilous yet again.
Mrs Villiers and I faced off for a tense minute, but she was a woman who knew when she was beaten. She snatched her handbag off the counter, shot me a dirty look and left, head held high with self-righteous umbrage. Unfortunately, her haughty exit was blocked by the simultaneous arrival of Joanna with a mail delivery.
They pulled up short with sharp intakes of breath when they spotted each other, cherry-coloured spots instantly blazing on their cheeks, horrified expressions stamped on their faces. It was social embarrassment and a woman’s worst nightmare – they each wore the same outfit in the same colour.
The Sarge made a strategic retreat, his hand clamped over his mouth, but I watched on with amused fascination, leaning my elbows casually on the counter. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.
“I had this outfit custom-made for me! How dare you mock me by wearing that cheap replica?” Mrs Villiers accused, ship-brow bosom quivering in anger.
Joanna looked her up and down disparagingly. “You mock yourself wearing something so clingy with an arse that huge, honey.”
Mrs Villiers gasped in outrage. “Well, at least this colour flatters me. It makes you look like you’re seasick.”
It was Joanna’s turn to be indignant. “It does not! Mark told me it made my skin glow.”
Mark was Joanna’s husband and their marriage was strong and loving, but I had to agree with Mrs Villiers – he’d been too kind to his wife. Pale green really wasn’t Joanna’s colour.
“Oh, it makes your skin glow all right – like nuclear waste,” Mrs Villiers said nastily, only to have Joanna hit out at her with a handful of our mail. It bounced off her helmet hair harmlessly, but riled her up. She swung out at Joanna with her handbag, whacking her on her broad muscled shoulder with all the impact of an ant bouncing on a trampoline.
I spoke up in my cop voice. “Oi, you two! This is going to stop right now.” Not that it had even started. Identical expressions of shame settled on their faces. “Got it? No brawling in my station. If you want to catfight, you can go somewhere else to do it. I understand that outside the pub on a Friday night is quite popular, especially with the Bycraft women.”
They were decent citizens, both thinking of themselves as ladies and were highly affronted by any allegation that they’d ever resort to scragging in public. They drew themselves up, brushed off their respective twinsets as if they’d been rolling around in a dustbowl. They crossed paths, eyeballing each other with unconcealed loathing as they did. I knew one person who’d be voting for Teddy Caravani in this town.
Mrs Villiers left, but Joanna lingered for a while, complaining to me about her for five solid minutes, before making moves to leave as well to continue her rounds. She paused at the door.
“Tessie, I almost forgot to mention. You might just like to go and check on Miss Greville. The mail I delivered to her late last week is still sitting in her mailbox.”
“Oh, okay. She’s probably gone to Big Town for a while. I’ll take a spin over there this afternoon. Have to track down the owner of a stolen car first.”
Joanna shook her head in disgust. “Those bloody Bycrafts. Someone should do something about them.”
I laughed. “The Sarge and I try, believe me.”
Joanna’s cheeks reddened. “Oh sorry, Tess. Didn’t mean to imply . . .”
I waved away her concerns and she hastily left. I took advantage of the temporary lull to ring Brett Cusack. He answered straight away, in the middle of a break from his busy day as a farmer. His younger sister, Caroline, had been in my grade at school and he’d been a few years ahead of us. We’d all run around together when we were young and because they were friendly, loyal kids and hadn’t been Bycrafts, I was very fond of both of them. He was one of the nicest people I knew.
Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t angry at me for nearly side-swiping him this morning and not just because he was such a nice guy, but also because I’d been instrumental in bringing him back together with his true love, herb and flower farmer, Liz Lavering. They were now engaged, due to be married in a few weeks and I looked forward to Lizzie’s hen’s party this Sunday night. The Sarge was rostered on-call, Jake was on duty, Dad was at his girlfriend’s place, Kevin would have returned to the police academy, and I was free to be free. I wasn’t presented often with opportunities to let my hair down.
I offered humble and sincere apologies to Brett, which he accepted good-naturedly, not bothered in the slightest by the near encounter. He laughed when I told him about the showdown with Mrs Villiers whom he’d chivalrously stopped to help after I flew through town. But taking advantage of my regret, he made me promise to look after Lizzie at the hen’s party because she wasn’t much of a drinker and he was concerned about her safety. I felt obliged to agree, but the evening I’d been looking forward to so much was ruined before it had even happened. It appeared that my hair would be staying up, after all.
“Sure I will, Brett,” I heard myself saying. What else could I say? Of course I’d ensure Lizzie arrived home safely. It was the least I could do after nearly killing her beloved in a Bycraft-chasing frenzy.
Depressed, I returned to the back room and threw myself into my chair.
The Sarge looked up from typing. “What’s up?”
“I have to be sensible,” I grumbled, reactivating my computer.
He bit his tongue and tried mightily not to smile. “In what possible way is anyone expecting you to be sensible?”
I poked out my tongue at him and waited for the computer to respond. “With Liz’s hen’s party on Sunday. I promised to get the bride-to-be home safely.”
The log-on screen came up and I entered my username and password, staring intently at the screen as it went through its startup. I wanted to jump on the motor vehicle registration database to track down the owner of the red Commodore. They’d be frantic about getting their car back.
The Sarge threw a screwed-up piece of paper at my head to get my attention. Irritated, I looked over. “I’m on-call this weekend, remember? I’ll look after her. And you. All of you. I’ll make sure you all get home safely.”
I swung my chair in his direction. “Really? Do you mean that? I’d love the chance to just be one of the girls for once.”
His face was expressionless, but his eyes grew darker. “Of course. It’s the least I can do.”
“Thanks so much, Sarge!” I smiled at him.
It didn’t take much to make me happy.
He turned back to his computer, his jaw set. “Like I said, it’s the least I can do. You’ve covered me a lot lately.”
That was true. I had covered him a lot in the last few months as he trotted back and forth to the city. I’d been on-call for four out of the last five weekends. They hadn’t been quiet weekends either, with minor car accidents, two lost bushwalkers, a barn fire, drunken brawling in the street between some Bycraft cousins, a couple of ugly domestics, and a stolen sheep keeping me flat out. I needed a break.
“Any progress on that front?” I asked carefully. Melissa and he had been engaged for a couple of years now and he remained touchy about any questions on whether or not they’d managed to agree on a wedding date yet. Our friendship didn’t stop him from snapping my head off whenever he thought I was prying too much into his relationship.
“Possibly,” he replied, his tone cautious, keeping his eyes firmly on his computer screen.
I waited a few seconds to see if he’d elaborate any further on that tantalisingly enigmatic comment. When he stayed silent, I took the hint, instead inviting Kevin to sit next to me so I could show him the motor vehicle database. He didn’t have far to drag his chair as he’d been forced to sit on one of the visitor’s chairs at the end of my desk, the station’s space and furniture embarrassingly limited.
I showed Kevin the steps to tracing the owner of the red Commodore and let him listen in on my phone conversation with the relieved and grateful owner. Without stating it outright, I hinted it would be best if she arranged to collect her car as soon as possible. Whatever weakness in its security system allowing Chad to steal it in the first place would surely enable him to steal it a second time as well.
“What . . . Shouldn’t we . . . I mean . . . locals . . . Arrest . . .?” Kevin asked. I’d hoped that being in closer proximity to me would help him relax. But if anything, he seemed even more uncomfortable, tugging at his collar, swallowing noisily, his skin a mottled red. In fact, he appeared so tense and stiff, I was afraid he might snap in two with the slightest pressure.
“Are you asking why haven’t we visited those teens and arrested them?”
Kevin nodded, his eyes darting over to the Sarge as if desperately begging for help. I was beginning to become a little offended over his reaction to me. I didn’t think I was that terrifying, particularly as I was actually trying to be nice to him.
“There are two reasons why we’re not, Kevin. The first one is that we’ll never find them. The Bycrafts have a primitive, but effective, warning system. Those kids will disappear into thin air the second we pull up outside their houses and their mothers will lie blatantly to our faces that they haven’t seen them all day. And the second reason is this . . .” I slid out one of my desk drawers and took out a photo album, handing it to him. “Go on, Kevin. You identify the Bycraft teen driving that stolen car.”
Puzzled, he opened the album to be met with page after page of photos of the Bycrafts. Over the last few months, it had become almost an obsession of mine to collect a snap of every Bycraft family member for this very specialised album. The Bycrafts hadn’t exactly been cooperative, but using one of the Sarge’s expensive cameras with its zoom lens, I’d been able to capture all of them not currently in jail. I hadn’t hidden what I was doing, taking the photos openly, even if from a distance. And where I hadn’t been able to take a photo, I’d used mug shots to fill in the gaps. Needless to say, in a large percentage of the photos, the middle fingers of the subjects were firmly extended upwards in my direction. I’d deleted all the exposed buttock shots.
To give him due credit, Kevin struggled valiantly for five minutes, carefully scrutinising each photo. He looked up, his expression so woebegone that I smiled, causing his face to flame afresh.
He jabbed his finger at one of the photos, pointing at Mikey. “I think . . . this one?”
I shook my head. “Nope. It was him.” And I tapped the photo of Chad.
Kevin leaned down to study the two photos. “I can’t . . . Look the same . . . All of them,” he tried.
“Mikey’s a couple of years younger than Chad. And his hair is slightly darker and less wavy.”
“Looks . . . Same person.”
“Exactly,” I said triumphantly. “Unless you’re as familiar with the family as I am, there’s no hope of identifying any of them. I know it was Chad Bycraft driving that car, but you can’t back me up on that, and he was driving so fast no one else in town could either. So ultimately, it would just be my word against his. If we take it to court, his lawyer will only argue that as the Bycraft teen cousins and siblings are so similar in looks, there was no way I could be certain of the identity of the driver. Especially if there are no fingerprints.”
And I’d learnt that from bitter personal experience in the past.
“But . . . broke the law . . . mooned us!” remonstrated Kevin, on the verge of becoming genuinely upset at the thought of barefaced (barearsed?) felons escaping justice.
I shrugged, understanding his frustrated indignation – I’d felt it a million times myself when dealing with the Bycrafts. “But at least nobody was hurt and the owner will get her car back. That’s probably the best outcome we can hope for in this situation.”
“But . . .” Kevin persisted, despite his incoherence. “. . . won’t learn. Not without . . . Do it again . . . You know?”
And surprisingly, I did know. Perhaps I was becoming fluent in Kevin-speak?
“You’re right – they won’t learn anything.” I could hear my own voice growing harder. “But you can’t teach a Bycraft anything anyway. Apart from Jakey, they’re not interested in behaving or improving themselves.”
Except for Tommy also, maybe. And that set me off into a deep reverie over the sincerity of Tommy’s sentiments, the likelihood of him following through, and pondering over what on earth, if anything, it would mean to me.
“Senior Constable? Senior Constable?” Kevin’s voice broke through.
I shook my head and stared at him. “Mmm?”
“Is that . . .? It’s just . . . Lunchtime?”
“Oh, sure.”
The Sarge looked over at us. “You can go back to the house to have lunch, Kevin. And I’d like you to spend some time this afternoon catching up on your assessment. I’ll join you soon.”
“Thank you, Sergeant Maguire. I’ll make you a sandwich.”
“Thanks, Kevin.” He slid his eyes sideways to me, a sly smile playing on his lips. “You better make two for the Senior Constable as well. She never stops eating.”
“Sarge!” I turned my attention to Kevin. “Don’t listen to him, Kevin. That’s nothing but a scurrilous lie.” I considered his burning face. “What are you planning on making?”
“I was . . . Maybe . . . Yeah . . . Tuna and salad?”
I groaned. The Sarge smiled over at me again. “Geez, you can tell he’s been living with you! Just make it one sandwich for me thanks, Kevin.”
“Right . . . Okay . . . I’ll . . . Bye.” He stumbled out the back door.
I waited until he was out of earshot and turned to the Sarge. “What is the matter with that boy? Every time he’s near me, he turns into a puddle of incoherence. I’m not that scary, am I? What have you been telling him about me?”
Without a word, he came over and pulled me up out of my chair by my arm. With a hand on each shoulder, he pushed me gently over to the back door. He stood me in front of the age-speckled mirror hanging on the back.
“Look in the mirror, Tessie.”
I looked, but I didn’t see anything monstrous. I just looked like a normal woman to me – nothing terrifying about my features. But maybe people didn’t see me the way I saw myself. I met his eyes in the mirror. “I don’t understand.”
“I know you don’t and that’s the wonderful thing about you,” he smiled affectionately, giving my shoulders a little shake. “You look like this, but you’re completely oblivious to it.”
I
frowned at him. It sounded as if he was making fun of me. “If you think anything you just said explained what you meant, then you’re very wrong. I still don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. Why can’t you ever just say things out straight? Why do you always have to be so enigmatic? It’s annoying.”
He laughed. “I couldn’t possibly say what I mean out straight.”
My frown deepened. “Why on earth not? I can handle plain speaking.”
“Because it will only make you uncomfortable and I don’t want that between us.” I gave up on trying to understand him; it was like trying to decipher some alien language. “Anyway, returning to Kevin, the answer is very simple.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. He has an enormous crush on you. That’s his problem.”
I spun around, mouth open, incredulous. “Nah. No way!”
“Afraid so. He talks about you non-stop when you’re not around. And even then, he’s still a puddle of incoherence.”
“That’s ridiculous. Stop teasing.”
“I’m not teasing. I’m perfectly serious.”
I thought about it for a moment. “Gee, I wish you hadn’t told me. Now I feel really –”
“Uncomfortable?” he guessed.
I nodded. “Yep.”
“And now you know why I’m not speaking more plainly.”
I sighed crossly. “No, I don’t. But you should know that you’re just giving me a major headache with all this doublespeak.” I flung open the back door. “Let’s go have lunch. I’m starving.”
“Who could have predicted that?” he said under his breath, locking the back door behind him.
Chapter 4
We ate lunch on the front verandah of the Sarge’s house so we could see if the station received any visitors in our absence. It was such a beautiful day, sunny with a clear blue sky and warm enough to remind us that summer was only a couple of months away.
We chatted generally while we ate, regaling Kevin with stories about some of our more interesting policing activities during our careers. He drank it in greedily. I noticed his fingers twitching, as if he wished he could be jotting it all down for future reference. Not sure whether what the Sarge had said earlier was true or not, I kept my interactions with the young recruit friendly, but neutral. I didn’t want to encourage him in any way, but I didn’t want to be cool with him either.