by Jennie Jones
Twenty-five minutes she’d waited at their table in the hotel restaurant before deciding that either something was wrong, or she’d read the signs incorrectly and he’d done a runner and dumped her.
As it turned out, he had.
Four
Half an hour later, Jax had put all the platters in the kitchen, sorted out the fancy three-tiered cake stands for the mine managers’ catering in one of the meetings rooms of the town hall, and had begun the morning rituals and tasks for opening, thinking she might as well help out since she was here. The café didn’t open until nine on a Sunday; otherwise it was ready to go by 7 am each morning and didn’t close until five.
Rachel and Rosita would be here soon.
She checked the wall clock, unsure about whether she ought to stay and let the first introductions begin—or pack Frances and her iPhone into the car now and leg it back to her farmhouse where safety resided.
She’d offered to show Frances around the café and tell her how things worked, but Frances didn’t want to know. She was leaning against a white-topped round Formica table, doing something on her iPhone.
The café door opened with a tinkle from the bell above it, a gust of warm morning air, and the full-blown personality of Rosita Brown.
‘Well, here it is,’ Rosita said, dropping her handbag onto a table. ‘The niece.’
Here we go, Jax thought. ‘Frances, this is Rosita, my sister.’ She refrained from saying ‘your aunt’ as it didn’t quite make sense. There were eleven years between aunt and niece but Rosie was still very young in so many ways.
Rosie put her hands on her hips and studied Frances.
Jax flinched. Rosie was wearing a denim skirt that came to toned and tanned mid-thigh, a white sleeveless top that stretched so tight across her chest you could see the colour and the outline of her red, wired, push-up bra, and four-inch wedge-heeled sandals. How she managed to stay on her feet in the café all day long in those, Jax had no idea.
Frances scowled at her aunt.
‘What’s up?’ Rosie said to Frances. ‘Don’t you want to hug or something? I’m your auntie—but if you dare call me that, I’ll skin you alive or put your hand in the meat slicer.’ Rosie grinned hard while Jax shuddered at the image.
‘Rosie,’ she said. ‘Stop.’
Frances now looked more perplexed than she had been with Jack.
Rosie strode across the café, lifted herself up onto the counter with the ease of a gymnast, and sat, her bare legs crossed and her short denim skirt riding up to the top of her thighs—which didn’t bother her. ‘What does your day consist of?’ she asked Frances. ‘Are you on Instagram?’
Frances shook her head.
‘Facebook, huh? Well, stick with me, kid. I’ll show you the wonders of social media.’
‘I’d prefer you didn’t,’ Jax said.
‘Twitter?’ Rosie continued.
‘She’s too young to want to be on Twitter.’
‘I can’t stand Twitter.’
‘Facebook only then,’ Rosie said as she pulled her iPhone from her skirt pocket. ‘That’s not so bad. You’re lucky. I didn’t have FB when I was younger and mummy bear over there had complete control of my life. Which she’ll have over you, I must warn you.’ She scrolled through something on the iPhone and frowned. ‘Can’t find you.’
‘I’m there,’ Frances said, taking a step forwards.
‘What as?’
‘My name,’ Frances said as though she thought Rosita the dumbest person alive.
‘Oh, shit!’
‘Rosie!’ Jax warned.
Rosita looked at Jax with an amazed expression, which she then turned on Frances. ‘You’re still going by that name. Aren’t you going to be a Brown now?’
‘No.’
‘Rosie!’ Jax stepped forwards, ready to snatch the offending iPhone out of her sister’s hands.
‘She’s still going by Frances Fellows. I’m just saying, as her auntie—and only I’m allowed to call myself that,’ she said, pointing a finger at Frances and narrowing her eyes. ‘To you I’m Rosita.’
‘Why not Rosie?’ Frances asked in a challenging tone.
‘Because I don’t know you yet, that’s why not. And you don’t know me.’
‘I don’t want to know you.’
‘Do I look as if I care?’ Rosie put her attention back on her iPhone. ‘You’ve only got nineteen friends. What’s with that?’ She looked up again. ‘I’ve got over two thousand.’
‘They obviously haven’t met you in person,’ Frances said acidly.
Jax ran a hand over her head. She had a full-scale war on her hands already.
‘Morning!’
She swung around.
Rachel stood in the doorway, looking like a saving angel. Her perceptive green eyes took everything in quickly then went purposefully to Frances. She walked forwards, put her shoulder bag onto a table and broadened her smile. ‘I’m so happy to meet you, Frances. I’ve been looking forward to this almost as much as Jax has. I don’t suppose I could hug you, could I?’
Frances now looked dumbfounded.
‘I’m Rachel, Jax’s best friend—one of them. Have you met Donna yet? She’s a cop. Our only female cop at the moment. She’s cool. You’ll like her.’ Rachel didn’t wait for an answer to her question about the hug; she swooped in and hugged Frances tight.
It made Jax’s eyes sting. She hadn’t been able to do that yet.
‘Yeah,’ Rosie said. ‘So don’t mess with Officer Donna or she’ll put you behind bars.’
‘No she won’t,’ Rachel said, releasing Frances, then smoothing back Frances’s squared bob from her face. ‘Gosh, you’re pretty. Prettier than Rosita.’ She threw a winning grin Rosie’s way.
Rosie pulled a face.
‘Are you settling in at home?’ Rachel asked. ‘Jax and Donna and I decorated your room. I hope you like it although Jax chose everything—the colour scheme and all the furniture. Donna and I just helped with the painting and arranging.’
Frances looked like she didn’t know what to say. ‘It’s not home,’ she said at last. ‘I don’t have one.’
‘Is it any wonder?’ Rosie said, with a bright-eyed sneer. ‘Just my luck. I was looking forward to meeting my niece at last, and she turns out to be you.’
‘So where do you stay?’ Frances asked Rosie. She had a wary look in her eye, as though waiting for the answer she didn’t want, and Jax—for the first time since her sister moved out of the farmhouse a month ago—was grateful Rosie wasn’t living at home.
‘I live with a man,’ Rosie told her. ‘He’s a cop too. So watch yourself.’
‘She lives with David Davidson,’ Rachel said. ‘He’s a new police officer. He’s only been in town six months. He helps out at the youth centre.’
‘And when he’s not there,’ Rosie said, ‘he’s at home with me. Having sex.’
Frances coloured up fast.
‘Take no notice of Rosie,’ Rachel said. ‘She likes to think she can shock people. But we’ve all got her number.’
Jax thought it best she intervened now before someone made a remark about plenty of men before probationary constable Davidson arrived on the scene having had Rosie’s number.
‘Yes,’ Jax said. ‘Take no notice of Rosie.’ She turned to Frances and tested a smile. ‘My sister—your aunt—is a livewire, but I trust you to make your own judgement.’
‘Trust me?’
Rosie jumped off the counter before Jax had a chance to respond.
‘Come on then, niece. I’ll show you how to make a milkshake out the back, so you don’t go pestering me to make them for you every time you’re in here.’
Rosie went through the door to the kitchen, not waiting for Frances.
‘Come on, tortoise!’ she called five seconds later. ‘The grown-ups want to talk without you hearing. Chocolate or strawberry?’
Jax nearly fell in a dead faint when Frances, frowning, pondered for only a few seconds, then moved towards t
he kitchen without giving either Jax or Rachel a glance.
Rosie—she presumed it was her sister—slammed closed the kitchen door and after the resonating crash died down all that was in her head was white noise.
For a few seconds she felt unreal, as though she was floating outside her own body. Then the blender sounded in the kitchen, waking her, and she put her face in her hands, surprised to find herself trembling.
Rachel walked over and ran a hand over her head, the way she had with Frances. ‘You were right. She’s beautiful.’
Jax let her hands drop. ‘I haven’t been able to do any of that yet—all that hugging—and you just walked up to her and did everything I want to do.’
Rachel pulled her in, arms around her, and Jax let her, seriously in need of a hug.
‘I did it on purpose,’ Rachel said. ‘So Frances felt shocked by it, so she could begin to understand how much love goes on around here and that she’s part of it.’ She released Jax and looked into her eyes. ‘Don’t be mad at me. I did it for you. Sometimes someone just has to let rip so the recipient of the hug and the welcome—the person who’s hurting a lot—just has to put up with it, giving them a chance to get used to it. I thought it would be better coming from me.’ Her face fell. ‘Have I done the wrong thing?’
Jax pulled her in for another hug. ‘God, no. You did the right thing.’
She’d shown Franca friendship and love right from the start. Rosie had too, in a weird, off-beat kind of way …
‘I’ll drip feed all that robust love stuff from now on,’ Rachel said, smiling, when they let each other go. ‘Don’t want to overwhelm her all the time. Just now and again.’
Jax wiped her eyes and managed a laugh. ‘I think Rosita will be doing enough overwhelming for both me and Franca—I mean Frances.’ She swallowed. ‘I wish you weren’t going on a long holiday, Rachel. I need you here.’
‘No you don’t. And I’m at the end of the telephone whenever you need to talk.’
‘What are you doing here?’ Jack said as he walked into the station.
‘It’s your first day,’ Luke said. ‘I’m here for moral support.’
‘You’re not on shift,’ Jack reasoned. ‘You’re on leave as from today. Remember?’
‘This morning I’m here on quartermaster duty.’
‘We don’t do it that way. Not out here in the back of beyond.’
Luke grinned. ‘Testing you.’
‘You think?’
Jack walked to the back of the station, grabbed his keys from his belt and unlocked the armoury door. Luke followed him inside and leaned against a bench, arms crossed, while Jack checked the inventory Donna had signed off, being first on shift, after checking all equipment and logging out her own. In Sydney, and even in Kalgirri, they had quartermasters do all this. But not here. They did it all themselves.
He unlocked the small locker that secured his Glock 22 .40 calibre and went through the business. Two magazines, fifteen rounds in each. One mag in his belt, the other loaded and actioned, with a bullet in the spout.
Next, he picked a Taser, noting that Donna had logged one out for Louie, her partner this morning. He had only the two officers on shift at the moment. Next shift he’d have four. ‘So what’s the deal with Donna not getting sergeant?’ he asked, while he locked the gun cabinet.
‘She didn’t go for it.’
‘Why not?’ He moved from the armoury and waited for Luke to exit the room before locking it and clipping his keys back on his belt.
‘Because Louie-boy got in first. Plus, she didn’t want to mess up her chance of staying here for the rest of her tenure.’
Jack nodded. Donna had a kid; she’d want to stay in Mt Maria for a while. She’d kicked her husband out a few months back. Or rather—he’d left quick-smart after smacking her around the head. Cowardly bastard. She must have her reasons for not following up on that, but Jack didn’t know what they were. ‘I see she’s often paired with Louie. I might make some changes there.’ He hadn’t liked the look in Louie-boy’s eye as he’d run a glance over Donna’s shoulders and down her back.
‘Good idea.’
He paused as he got to the front office and gave Luke a look. ‘I was thinking out loud. I’m not going to be calling you while you’re away,’ he warned, ‘and I’m not expecting to take any calls from you either.’
Luke nodded at the front doors, then at Jack’s shirt. ‘Been watching you. That uniform’s done something to you.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Jack asked, adjusting his Hellweg belt—he hadn’t worn one in thirteen years, but it somehow felt right to have it slung around his waist.
‘You’re swaggering.’
Will Bennett let out a laugh as he walked into the front office from the back hallway.
‘What are you doing here?’ Jack asked him.
‘Backup,’ Will said.
‘Who for? I’m not swaggering,’ Jack added for Luke’s benefit.
Luke’s grin appeared. ‘Hoping to pull the women with your uniformed magnificence, are you? That’s what Louie-boy does.’ He wandered over to the coffee pot behind the reception desk and grabbed a couple of mugs.
‘There’s only one woman I’m trying to pull.’ Jack halted, and looked at Will. ‘That’s confidential information.’
‘What’s confidential information?’ Jimmy asked as he pushed through the door from the street to the station.
‘Top secret police business,’ Jack told him. ‘Not for the ears of Customer Service Officers.’
‘That’s what you think. We know everything.’
‘What are you doing here?’ Jimmy didn’t work weekends.
‘I was told if I didn’t come in to welcome you I wouldn’t get my Christmas bonus,’ Jimmy said, and took his seat behind the reception desk, leaning his forearms on the counter and looking like he was getting comfortable and about to enjoy himself.
‘It’s March. And you don’t get a bonus.’
Jimmy stared him down. ‘One day I might. Don’t want no detective messing up my prospective financial spreadsheet.’
‘Ex-detective. I’m a new me.’
‘If you mess up, Luke’ll rip you a new—’
‘Thanks, Jimmy,’ Luke intervened. ‘Always good to have your opinion.’ He handed Jack a mug of coffee.
Jack took it, sipped, and felt instantly more like himself.
He checked the CCTV monitor. ‘What news on Tonto? And what happened to his horns?’ he added as he took a better look at the animal and its overall condition in the light of day. He was dusty and there were dried red mud stains on his belly.
‘Someone filed them,’ Will informed him.
‘Poor bloody beast,’ Jimmy said. ‘He had real heavy weights tied around his neck and petroleum jelly in his eyes, and given the amount of runny shit he’s been pooping, we reckon he was given laxatives as well as whatever else drugs.’
Christ. Who’d do that to an animal? ‘When’s the vet arriving?’
‘Can’t get a vet out here until later in the week.’
Jack frowned. ‘Well it can’t stay in lockup.’
‘I told you yesterday,’ Luke said. ‘Jax said she’d keep it in a small paddock she has. But we can’t move it yet. It’s not well enough.’
‘She’s not moving Tonto on her own.’
‘Solomon’s going to help her,’ Jimmy said. ‘He’s the one who explained about the poop and the petroleum jelly.’
Solomon Jones, Luke’s buddy. That eased some of Jack’s concern. Solomon was the local horse whisperer. Jack hoped he could also speak fluent bull.
‘I want to know when this move is happening,’ he told Will. ‘Whether I’m on shift or not.’ He’d also talk to Jax and Solomon before it happened. ‘Has it had anything to eat?’
‘The Agatha Girls drummed up some cash from the town residents. Jax got the feed it needs after Solomon and the video-vet gave them the okay. It’s eating as though it’s been starved.’
‘
It’s a Brahman, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Will said. ‘It might have come from the Northern Territory. We’re not sure yet; it hasn’t responded to questioning.’
Jack found a smile. Then lost it as he looked at the bull again. With the large hump on its back it had to be almost as tall at the shoulder as Jack. It was dirty white, with big eyes and long ears which were brown at the tips, as though they’d been dunked in chocolate. It stood in the penned exercise yard in a daze or as if fixated on something. That’d be the drugs it had been given.
‘I’ve called the majority of stations here, and in South Australia,’ Will said. ‘Nothing.’
Mt Maria wasn’t far from the tri-border of Western Australia, South Australia and the Northern Territory—a thousand kilometres out here was nothing. Tonto could have come from any of those states.
‘Keep on it,’ Jack said. ‘I’d like to meet the bastard who dropped it off in town.’ He had an idea the animal had been abused with more than just the filing of its horns and the drugs, but why was a question nobody yet had the answer to. Some idiot having a laugh? Possibly, but a niggly sensation churned in his gut and he never ignored that feeling.
‘The poor beast was drawn on,’ Jimmy said, straightening a pile of brochures on the counter. ‘The Agatha Girls hosed it off while he was still in his sedated or drugged state.’
‘What sort of drawing?’ Luke asked. ‘And why didn’t I know this?’
‘I don’t know why you didn’t know,’ Jimmy said. ‘You’re the cop. It looked like that artwork you found at old Roper’s place last week.’
‘That’s in a file on your desk,’ Luke said to Jack. ‘Someone took a couple of Roper’s goats and left a graffiti type drawing on the side of an enamel bath he uses as a water trough. It’s not a tag we recognise. Someone’s just pissing about with magic markers.’
Jack nodded. He’d take a look later.
‘Talking about the Agatha Girls,’ Luke said. ‘Mary McCovey—remember, she used to work at the town hall with Rachel? Had to resign. She had a bit of a health scare but she’s fine now.’