by Sue Williams
‘I’ll remind him. Anyway, my leg hardly hurts. Do it good to get out. I can head up to your station. Brad’s minding the shop. You want me to man the radio? I’d be good with a radio.’
‘Mum. Go home. Stay away from Noel and his dog. And leave the police work to me.’ Dean hung up.
En-route home, I stopped in Hustle. I got out of the car and headed into Whitey’s before they closed, in need of Panadol. Sophia was coming out the door.
‘Ciao Cassie.’ She kissed me on the cheeks.
Claire stepped out from behind her. ‘Hello, Mrs Tuplin.’
‘Just call me Cass. So, how’s it all going with the rellies?’
‘Good.’
‘You know Claire’s rellies, Sophia?’
‘Ah si, si,’ she said, avoiding my eye. ‘Come on Claire, we running late.’ Sophia bustled off, Claire following along behind her.
Back in my shop, I spent the next hour cutting up onions and making burger patties, wondering if Ravi had made that phone call yet. I was elbow-deep in mince when Monaghan strode in, his leather coat draped over an arm.
‘Mrs Tuplin.’ He didn’t sound too friendly. Not an I’m-pleased-to-say-we’ve-discovered-you-were-right-all-along-about-that-dead-woman tone of voice.
I washed my hands and dried them on my towel. I remembered how Monaghan had marched into Grantley’s place after I left. He wasn’t going to arrest me for impersonating a board director, was he? I mean, I only said I was a potential board director. And Mona wasn’t around to dispute whether she’d sent me in to see Grantley. Breathe, just breathe, I told myself.
‘There’s no need to look so frightened, Mrs Tuplin. I’ve come here for a meal, not a discussion regarding all your eccentricities, your non-existent corpses and so on. Fascinating though such topics always are, of course.’
Well, thanks. So Ravi hadn’t made that phone call, then.
He looked up at my blackboard. ‘Oh, I see you do home-made sausage rolls.’ A wistful expression on his face. ‘My mother used to make sausage rolls. Yes, I’d come home from school to the smell of them cooking, just wonderful…’ He stared off into a happy-pastry-childhood distance.
That eye was looking extra weepy. Maybe I should duck out to Whitey’s in the morning and get Monaghan some drops. If the eye felt better, he might be able to concentrate properly. He’d be in need of plenty of top-notch clear thinking, once he caught up with the Mona situation.
‘Are they low fat?’ he said.
Low fat? The comfort food specialist knows the whole point of a sausage roll is its fat content. That’s what makes them taste so good. ‘Not exactly,’ I said.
‘And what kind of oil do you use in here?’
‘The cooking kind.’
He stood there, looking uncertain for a tick. ‘The thing is, I’m trying to transition to the raw food diet.’
‘Oh?’
‘A whole range of health benefits, Mrs Tuplin. Schizandra berries, for instance. Terrific for the liver. You don’t happen to stock them, by any chance?’
I shook my head. ‘Right out of them at the minute,’ I said. ‘I can make you a salad sandwich though? Without butter?’
‘Yes, I suppose that would be best.’ He flopped down into one of my plastic chairs, looking weary suddenly.
I rounded up a couple of slices of wholemeal bread and started making his sandwich. He wasn’t a fat bloke, plenty of space in that almost seven foot for one tiny sausage roll, I’d have thought. Maybe Monaghan had cholesterol. Keeping Muddy Soak crime free must be pretty stressful. ‘I hear you were in Muddy Soak today, Mrs Tuplin.’
Oh shit. Here it comes. He was going to arrest me, then. Or give me a warning at the very least. I flicked him an anxious look. ‘Yep, had a slight dim sim crisis. Needed urgent supplies.’
‘Really.’ It didn’t sound like a question. ‘So why were you asking questions of Mr Pittering? A lot of rather odd questions.’
I cleared my throat. ‘Ah, yes. Well, I’m quite keen to find Clarence Hocking-Lee. Mr Jefferson asked me to… sort of look into things. He’s pretty anxious about his tenant, as you might imagine.’
I wrapped up his sandwich and put it on the counter.
He fished out his wallet. ‘I suspect you’re a woman who…likes to solve things? For herself?’
I looked at him. Maybe he hadn’t swallowed the Mr Jefferson line. Maybe Monaghan was smarter than I thought.
‘Mrs Tuplin, this is serious police business, completely unsuitable for some kind of deep-fried Miss Marple.’ He handed me the money. ‘Clarence Hocking-Lee could be extremely dangerous. I’m warning you in the strongest terms. Stay right away from him.’
Terry was late, then later, then obviously not coming. No phone message, no go-between popping by with secret notes. It was a busy evening in the shop, a drab type of busy. My head hurt, my leg ached under the bandage. I needed chocolate biscuits.
At eight-thirty I closed the shop, a pile of invoices waiting. But first I flicked through the North-West Parrot Trust brochure. Balance sheets, accumulated deficits, endless columns of numbers. Paragraphs of glowing guff about increasing membership, aviary design, events for kids. I turned to the other brochure. Balance Neutral had more pictures. Orderly tree plantations, koalas, happy kids holding seedlings in eager hands.
Then I saw his photo.
Was it really him? I held it closer. Terry. In a red cap, standing beside a mob of smiling kids. Underneath the photo, Local contractors do our tree planting. This means we reduce travel emissions while utilising local expertise.
‘Mum?’ Brad slouched in the doorway. ‘Dean’s been on the phone.’
‘Oh?’ Maybe Ravi had called Dean about Mona after all.
‘He’s on about a contract at the Hustle abattoirs. Skinning carcasses. He said you’d said I should do it.’
‘Ah…’
‘You both bloody know I’m a vegetarian.’ He punched the door frame.
‘Apart from the bacon, son.’
‘Yeah, well, I’m in the process of giving up bacon. And I’m telling you, I’m not skinning any carcasses.’
The thing is, Brad could do with a decent opportunity. One with a bit of clear direction. I had an idea. I filled him in on the owner of Noel’s van, poor Donald Streatham, quite possibly Noel’s latest murder victim. ‘And, actually, Dean’s asked for our help on this.’ I crossed my toes.
He paused. ‘Seriously?’
‘Yep. He wants you to arrange a birdwatching outing with Noel.’
‘No way. That dog could have killed you.’
‘You’ll be fine. You’re just arranging a perfectly safe birdwatching trip. I’ll be hiding in the scrub, keeping the binoculars trained on you.’ Brad would be all right, of course he would.
‘And Dean?’ His voice was suspicious. ‘Where will he be?’
‘He’ll be with me, deep undercover. You’ll be perfectly safe.’
‘Why didn’t Dean mention this to me on the phone just now?’
‘He’s a busy bloke, son. Anyway, this’d be better than skinning carcasses, don’t you think?’
He sighed.
‘You’d have a contact for Noel; didn’t you say he emailed your blog? I bet he’s got the internet in that van.’
‘Mum, this is probably the most stupid idea you’ve ever had. Up there with what you did to Showbag.’
‘No need to bring Showbag into this. That was just an accident. Anyway, it’s Dean’s idea. It’ll be simple, just email Noel and say you’ve seen the most amazing rare parrots, he’ll be there like a shot, to smuggle them. Probably best if you use a false name.’
‘And as this false, as yet unnamed, person, how exactly did I get his email address?’
‘Through the parrot trust, of course. You’re a new member. An eager-beaver member, recent retiree, moved up from the city.’
‘How am I going to look like a bloody retiree, Mum? I’m twenty-two. Noel will suss it out and set his dog on me. Or you. And you’ll be killed
this time.’ Calamity and catastrophe; you can always count on Brad to hunt for woe, just like his father always did.
‘An appropriate wig and costume will be provided from the Victoria Police wardrobe. Dean mentioned that, specifically.’
‘What? I can’t believe Dean’s suggested this. What’s the objective of this stupid meeting?’
‘Find out what Noel’s done to Donald Streatham, of course. Find out where Clarence is, and Aurora. Find out what happened to Mona. See if Noel’s doing something evil to your parrot eggs.’ I counted the flush of find-outs on my hand.
A pause.
‘I can always just do it all myself, Bradley. Although there is the injured leg to consider, of course.’ I gave it a rub, and winced a bit for effect.
‘You can’t go hurting yourself again, Mum.’ He paused. ‘Christ, OK.’
It was a pretty good plan. At least it seemed that way for a day or two.
I started working through my pile of invoices. Pretty soon, the desk was in disarray and my neck was sore.
‘Just heading over to Madison’s.’ Brad paused at the door. ‘Will you be OK on your own? You won’t go doing anything stupid?’
I let that one slide by. Seemed like Brad was getting kind of close to Madison. How close? I didn’t fancy being mother-in-law to a load of hissing ferrets. And what about Claire? She’d phoned earlier and talked to Brad. He’d acted all strange and hush-hush on the phone.
Anyway, Madison’s animals were probably just child substitutes, a cheering thought. If things got serious enough for mother-in-lawing, the ferrets would be on their way out. Life is full of change. Although sometimes not as much change as you might hope for.
Brad tried looking casual. ‘Madison needs a hand with Janette. She’s got dermatitis. You have to hold her by the tail and dip her in a bag of powder. It’s not easy, powder-dipping an unwilling ferret.’
‘You done that email yet to Noel?’
‘I’ll do it later.’
‘You need to send it, son. Dean’s counting on it.’
‘I’ll do it when I get home. That’ll be bloody soon enough.’ He turned and left, slamming the door.
I wandered into the kitchen, took out the briefcase from the cupboard. I ripped out the lining, in case something was stuffed inside a secret pocket. No secret pockets.
The books. Maybe there was a cipher? A heap of circled letters spelling a significant someone’s name or a vital rendezvous. I flicked through, checking every page. Nup, zero circling. The books looked new, hardly read. I flung them and the shreds of lining back into the briefcase, snapped it shut.
I lay on the couch with a packet of Mint Slices and had a longish worry about suspects and their motives. I wrote myself a list.
1. Clarence. Motive: Mona’s money (and she didn’t like his book).
2. Noel. Bird smuggler. Mona objected. Donald collateral damage. Or objected too.
3. Grantley. Killed his brother. Mona knew. How?
4. Stu McKenzie. Revenge for Adrian’s suicide.
5. Alexandra. Needs Mona’s money for the B&B.
6. Aurora. Motive: money.
7. Ravi. Seemed worried about Mona, no obvious motive.
A knock on the door. I jumped, whacking my bitten leg against the table, then limped over to the door and opened it.
Terry looked at me. I looked back.
‘Sorry I’m so late. Had a problem I had to…’ he trailed off.
I brushed the biscuit crumbs from my dress. ‘No problem. I expect you’ve been busy with the investigation. You’re too late for potato cakes, but I can make you a cuppa. Maybe a Mint Slice? I suppose you’d like to chat about Mona. I’ve had an instructive day.’ I was talking too much. I’ve never been able to wait quietly around the strong, silent type.
‘Let’s sort out your car door, Cass.’
We headed outside. The sky was dark blue, a lemony smudge on the horizon. He got into the driver’s seat via the handbrake manoeuvre.
I sat beside him. ‘Yep, had a useful day in Muddy Soak. Saw all the key suspects.’
‘Key suspects in what?’ he fiddled with the door.
‘Mona’s murder, of course.’
He looked at me. ‘Why did you really phone me that night?’ His voice was low, like he didn’t want us overheard. Who’d he think could overhear?
‘Because her body was there, Terry. I wouldn’t make up a thing like that.’
He took off the door panel and handed it to me. ‘Could have been a trick of the light. Maybe you saw something else. A sheep, perhaps.’ He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. He turned back to the door innards.
‘A sheep?’ I balanced the panel on my knees. ‘What sort of twit would confuse a dead woman with a sheep?’
He stiffened. ‘People can make mistakes.’
Bugger. I’d offended him.
Something clunked and he pushed the door open. I got out and held the door, watched him roll up his sleeves. I liked the set of his wide shoulders.
‘You’re obviously a woman who notices things,’ he jiggled the door handle. ‘A smart sort of woman. But you’d have been on edge. You’re probably worried with Clarence on the loose.’
A woman who notices things. I wondered if Terry was partial to a rumball. He was a fella who deserved a rumball, a hard-working decent bloke like him.
‘You…ever considered acquiring someone to look out for you?’ He looked up at me, a long steady look from those blue eyes.
I smiled. I might be used to running my own show, but I’m quite adaptable to change.
He smiled back.
‘What’s Clarence done that I should be so worried about?’
But Terry just shook his head.
Door fixed, he stood, brushing his hands on his trousers. Strong-looking legs, despite the limp. I tested the door, enjoying watching it close.
‘Right then…I’d best be off,’ he said.
‘Oh no, I’ll put the kettle on. Fancy a rumball? I made them fresh today.’
He followed me into the kitchen. I filled the kettle. ‘What happened to your cheek?’ I touched his bruise lightly.
‘Boring story. Involves a door.’ Another steady look from those eyes. ‘And Dale.’
‘Sergeant Dale Monaghan?’
He nodded.
Who did this Monaghan think he was? No wonder Terry dreamed about his wood-carving life by the sea, miles from here. He deserved some quiet; long peaceful evenings eating rumballs with a decent woman. A mature woman who noticed things.
‘Maybe you should request a transfer. I’m not sure Monaghan’s the right boss for you.’
He laughed sadly. ‘There’s some bosses you can’t ever leave.’ He looked down at his hands.
He had nice hands, square, solid hands. They’d known exactly how to fix that door, would probably be good at other things as well. Knocking up a coffee table, working on your broken bed-head. Hands that were lingering and warm and would know how to hold your shoulders later on, much later on, after he’d finished with the fixing and the rumballs.
Get a grip, Cass.
‘Nice place you’ve got.’ His lips were parted.
Close enough to feel his breath, warm on my face, I swayed slightly. I glanced around for distraction; saw the Balance Neutral brochure. ‘You’re a busy fella, all your tree planting plus being a cop. Your work must never end.’
He stared. ‘Me? A cop? Ha, that’s good. Nah, I’m self-employed. Do a bit of this and that.’
Huh? Didn’t he say Monaghan was his boss? ‘But Monaghan relies on you?’
‘Yeah, course. He’s my brother.’
I got out the rumball container, started struggling with the lid.
‘Need a hand?’ His warm fingers touched mine. Fingers that would be warm on your face, moving along your arms, your neck. Deft fingers that would know how to unbutton a woman out of silk.
The kettle boiled.
Moving away, holding onto the table for balance, I caref
ully filled the mugs, arranged the rumballs on a plate. ‘Terrific rumballs, Cass. I’m very partial to a rumball.’
I made my decision. ‘Got something to show you, Terry.’ I grabbed the briefcase. ‘Reckon it’s Clarence’s.’
He stood so close beside me, I could feel the heat of his body.
‘Jesus, Cass. I knew you knew something. You better take this in to Dale.’ Those blue eyes gazed at me. I’d never realised something blue could burn like that. My thoughts drifted, a rapid type of drifting over which I had no control, way beyond briefcases, onto shoulders, buttons, skin, his skin on mine.
Terry reached out and gently took my hand. He kissed the back of my hand, my wrist, my arm. Drawing me towards him, he kissed me then, a proper drawn-out kiss.
It wasn’t any trouble kissing him back.
Something turned to liquid in the region of my knees. He held me tight against him, his mouth moving to my ears, my neck. It’s possible I let out a little sigh. Looking at me, a hot molten look that didn’t help the knee condition, he slowly untied my apron, hung it on a chair.
‘I can’t resist you,’ he breathed into my ear.
‘Actually, don’t feel you need to,’ I whispered back.
He sat me on the kitchen table and kissed me a whole lot more. When I started unbuttoning his shirt he didn’t try to stop me. I opened it to his belt, ran my hands down along his chest, felt the line of hairs leading into his jeans. He shivered, pulled my hands away and put them by my sides. More kissing, then he unbuttoned me, an urgent unbuttoning, rough-sliding my dress off my shoulders. His hands were hot on my breasts, his mouth firm against my neck. He pressed his body, long and hot, against me, kissed me, touched me more, more. My back cracked a bit. I didn’t care.
His pocket pulsed. I may have moaned a bit. It kept pulsing.
Terry sprang away and took out the phone. I leaned on the table, trying to catch my breath.
‘Yep, yep. On my way.’ He hung up. ‘Sorry, Cass. I’m not meant to…I’ve gotta go.’ He stumbled towards the doorway, doing up his buttons, tucking in his shirt.