by Jennie Jones
‘Morning,’ Jack said to Barbara, Will’s wife, giving her a smile and trying not to eye off the picnic she was setting up on the front counter.
‘Shall I help you take all this to the kitchen?’ he asked as she unpacked a wicker basket, not used to having picnics in the front office of any police station he’d ever been in.
‘It’ll do nicely here,’ Jimmy said, shoving a scone topped with a mound of jam and cream into his mouth.
‘Is it all right?’ Barbara asked Jack, looking at him with a bit of concern.
‘Of course!’ Jack said as two of his officers came in from the street and helped themselves to a scone like they were used to it.
‘Thanks, Barbara.’ First Class Constable Johnson, who’d been at the station for around nine months, looked at Jack and swallowed before speaking. ‘Sarge?’
‘Okay,’ Jack said, indicating his permission for Constable Johnson and Constable Edwards to enjoy the picnic.
‘Am I causing a scene?’ Barbara asked with a smile that brightened her eyes but didn’t quite hide the concern.
‘Absolutely not,’ Jack told her. It wasn’t as if they were asking people off the street to join in, and things were relatively quiet apart from the snake, the pram and the offender now in the charge room.
The front door opened and the Agatha Girls walked in with a swish of busyness, a flurry of skirts and scarves, and a waft of eau-de-cologne—or something violet smelling.
‘I could smell those scones from the newsagent’s, Barbara,’ Mary said. ‘You spoil us.’ She helped herself to a scone and sliced it in half as Jimmy pushed the jam pot her way.
Jack wondered if he ought to lock the front doors.
‘Here,’ Barbara said, handing him a paper plate with a scone laden with jam and a huge dollop of cream on top as the Agatha Girls drew up chairs and created a circle around a little table with a plant pot on it.
He was unsure about accepting the scone while on duty because it appeared that his officers suddenly considered themselves off duty and someone ought to remain vigilant.
But he took the plate off Barbara with a smile of thanks, then checked the front windows. Everything normal out there. No murderers or bad guys with machine guns. He could take five for a scone.
He took a bite then had trouble with the jam and cream, which didn’t all quite make it into his mouth.
Barbara handed him a paper napkin, as though she were ready for all and every scone emergency.
‘Thanks,’ Jack said through a mouthful of scone dough. ‘Delicious.’
‘It’s refreshing to see you again, Detective Senior Sergeant Maxwell.’
Jack was still chewing and didn’t want to speak with his mouth full again, so chewed faster and nodded at Mrs Amelia Arnold until he swallowed. ‘Lovely to see you too, Mrs Arnold. And you can drop the detective bit. I was sorry to hear about the fire at your property. We’re doing everything we can to find the person or persons responsible.’
‘Thank you, Sergeant. Life is certainly full of surprises at the moment.’
‘Life in the fast lane,’ Mrs Frith said, accepting her paper plate off Barbara. ‘At least, I’m in the fast lane. Can’t say the same for these two old farts.’ She turned to Jimmy, giving him a questioning look. ‘No tea?’
‘Sorry, ladies,’ Jimmy said, vacating his chair behind the counter. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘We’re here primarily to ask about Hercule,’ Mrs Arnold said. ‘Oh, thank you, Barbara. You do make the best scones. Even better than my mother’s.’
‘That’s a real compliment, Mrs Arnold, thank you.’
There was so much happening that Jack wasn’t sure where to put his focus. He looked over his shoulder at the charge room door, which was still closed, then out the front windows again, half expecting a tank to roll down High Street, which would piss him off because he and his officers weren’t ready for it due to scone-activity and tea-making.
‘Hercule?’ Mrs Arnold said again, pinning an expectant look on Jack.
‘He’s fine. The vet’s due down at the end of the week and Solomon and Jax are prepped for moving him to Jax’s place.’
‘Isabelle,’ Mrs Frith said whimsically.
‘Beautiful name,’ Mary murmured. ‘How’s the romance going?’
Jack wiped a crumb off the side of his mouth. ‘Em …’ Every officer was now looking at him.
‘There’s a romance going on?’ Will asked.
‘Jack and Jax,’ Mrs Frith said. ‘They’re walking up a hill.’
‘Right,’ Will said, looking none the wiser.
‘And we’re walking around the museum,’ Mrs Frith continued. ‘We have to get back there today to see if there’s any more gear. We found—’
‘That’ll do, Freda,’ Mrs Arnold interrupted. ‘I must say,’ she continued, looking at Jack, ‘I’m surprised to find you out here in the front office enjoying morning tea.’
Jack paused. What had Mrs Frith been about to say and why had Mrs Arnold cut her off? He glanced at Mary who was looking nervously innocent. ‘What was that, Mrs Arnold?’ he asked as his focus wandered back to the head Agatha Girl.
‘Senior Sergeant Weston informed me you might feel somewhat overwhelmed by the amount of paperwork before you while he was on leave.’
‘Did he?’ Remind me to thank him. ‘I’m fully up to date with the necessaries, Mrs Arnold.’
‘Good,’ she pronounced. ‘Because there have been occasions when things get tight around this town.’
‘Especially on pension day,’ Mrs Frith said. ‘That’s when we play up and hit the pokie machines.’
‘We haven’t got pokie machines in Mt Maria,’ Jack said.
‘I’m having you on,’ she told him. ‘We usually just hit the hotel bar and pick up men.’
He didn’t dare chance a look at Will when Will choked, seemingly on his scone.
Barbara rushed to pat him on the back.
‘What I meant,’ Mrs Arnold said in a stern yet patient tone, ‘is that pension days are dangerous due to us having over two hundred dollars in cash in our handbags.’
Jack snuck a look at her handbag, a big straw affair the size of a small suitcase. Mrs Arnold was a tall lady, and although not overweight, she was of a sizeable stature. But did she have some kind of weapon to back her up?
‘I always advocate to those my age the wisdom of having cash available on our person in case we find ourselves in a predicament where the ATM machines don’t work or we misplace our glasses.’
Jack couldn’t imagine her losing anything, and as far as he knew, none of them wore glasses. Was she leading him off the trail of whatever Mrs Frith had been about to say regarding a find of some sort? ‘Perhaps it might be best not to advertise the cash issue,’ he said, playing along.
‘We are in a police station partaking of morning tea with police officers. I feel safe in my honesty.’
‘Except for the knob,’ Mrs Frith interjected, wiping jam off her lips with a finger. ‘Even I wouldn’t take him up on any offer to have sexual relations.’
Christ. Jack didn’t know where to look.
‘You wouldn’t be asked,’ Mary pointed out, accepting a cup of tea off Jimmy who had just walked into the front office with a trayful. ‘Oh, thank you.’
‘My pleasure, Mary. Mrs Frith? One sugar, isn’t it?’
‘Three,’ Mrs Frith said.
‘One!’ both Mrs Arnold and Mary said in unison.
‘Too much sugar gets her a bit confused,’ Mary explained to Jack, then continued the previous conversation with a frown at Mrs Frith. ‘You’re too old for the police officer in question. In fact, you’re too old for any of them.’
‘I am not. I can do what I like so long as I don’t get caught—and I never get caught. I’ve snuck out of the house a few nights in a row, and neither of you heard me.’
‘Oh, Freda, please,’ Mary said. ‘There’s no way—’
‘You can’t get out of your house,’ Mrs Arnol
d said. ‘We’ve got you so secured, you’re practically in lockdown.’
‘Can and did,’ Mrs Frith said, sticking her nose in the air.
‘When is pension day?’ Jack asked, wondering if he ought to call for backup or double the officers on shift that day.
‘Thursday,’ Mrs Arnold said. ‘On Thursdays our nerves are tightened, our minds taut and our reflexes ready for anything. Much like you, Sergeant. I expect you’re always on the lookout, ready for anything.’
‘Part of the job. You found the bull on a Thursday, didn’t you?’
‘Good thing Amelia had a length of chain with her,’ Mary said, ‘or we’d never have been able to lead him to the police station.’
Jack studied the head Agatha Girl and decided to chance his luck. ‘Are you armed, Mrs Arnold?’
She paused for the merest second. ‘Only with my wit.’
‘I need to remind you that it’s important you don’t go looking for trouble.’
‘LOL!’ Mrs Frith said with a laugh. ‘Trouble finds us.’
That’s what he was worried about.
‘Amelia was once attacked in her car,’ Mary said. ‘They poured a gallon of acid on the roof!’
‘That was many years ago, Mary.’
‘That’s why she carried the carjack handle,’ Mrs Frith said. ‘Sadly, she never got to use it before it was confiscated.’
Jack looked at Mrs Arnold’s wrist. What had Mrs Frith said? That the ‘whatsit’ was tricky to fire. ‘That looks sore,’ he said, indicating her bandage-bound lower right arm.
‘Nothing but a sprain. Gardening can be as hazardous as ice-skating when you get to my age.’
‘I bet. Good job there’s no ice-skating rink in Mt Maria.’
‘Amelia,’ Mary said, ‘we’d best get on.’
‘Indeed.’ Mrs Arnold stood, the folds of her skirt and blouse falling into place with a soft ruffle.
‘Have you clocked how big Hercule’s testicles are?’ Mrs Frith asked Jack on her way past him. ‘Huge dangling globes!’
‘Freda!’ Mrs Arnold snapped.
Will had a sudden need to move out of the front office and into the hallway to control his choking.
‘I’m just saying,’ Mrs Frith said as she headed for the door.
‘Ladies,’ Jack said, halting them. ‘Before you go—I need to talk to you about the drawing you hosed off the bull.’ If he had to interrogate them over scones and talk of balls, so be it.
‘Paw prints,’ Mary said. ‘Three paw prints with dots which we presume were meant to be claws. Drawn in charcoal so it was easy to wash off.’
‘Could one of you draw it for me before you go? Jimmy—get Mary some paper and a pencil.’
‘That looks about right,’ Mrs Arnold said once Mary had executed the drawing. ‘But don’t forget it was all in a square frame, and don’t forget the bags in the bottom right-hand corner.’
Did Mrs Arnold mean boxing gloves, like the ones Jack had found on the posts at Jax’s place? Like the ones on old Mr Roper’s water trough?
Boxing gloves in a frame. What the hell was that about?
‘Thank you, ladies,’ Jack said as he took the drawing off Mary.
‘Is it time for my nip?’ Freda asked.
‘You’ve already had your nip,’ Mary said as she opened the door to the street.
‘Have not.’
‘You had it at ten o’clock,’ Mary insisted.
‘I did not!’
‘Your next one isn’t due until eleven.’
‘You’re just like some dictator,’ Mrs Frith said. ‘A very short dictator with no sense of fun. You’ve completely lost your joie de vivre, Mary McCovey.’
Jack let out a sigh as the ladies made their way outside, bickering as they went.
‘I do a morning tea like this once in a while,’ Barbara said, giving Jack a chagrined smile. ‘I hope I haven’t done the wrong thing.’
‘It’s a lovely thought and we appreciate it, Barbara. The scones were delicious.’ He clocked the charge room door opening down the hallway. Davidson and the first constable led the offender to the lockup area.
Barbara was now cleaning up, packing the jam and napkins into the picnic basket.
‘You must have got up early to bake them,’ he said.
Barbara shrugged. ‘I don’t sleep so good when Will’s on the late shift. Always worried until he walks in the door at two or three in the morning. So I get up and bake. This is my second batch of scones this morning.’
‘Well if you bring in more like this, I promise to keep him on day shift for the next six weeks.’
Barbara laughed, an easy smile creasing her face. ‘Like I believe you.’
‘Like I’d let him!’ Will said gruffly.
‘Sorry,’ Barbara said. ‘He got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.’ She threw her husband a pointed look.
‘Don’t forget,’ Will said, walking up to her, ‘you can only talk to me like that when I’m out of uniform.’ He kissed the top of her head.
Barbara pushed him away with a laugh. ‘Watch it, Sergeant, or I’ll forget my promise.’
‘Aw, come one. You love me. You can’t wait to fulfil your promise.’
‘I might, if I suddenly cancel the children’s sleepover.’
‘You wouldn’t do that to me.’
‘Bring that Tupperware cake box home with you,’ she said as she headed for the door with her picnic basket. ‘And wash it first.’
The door swung to and the front office was filled with the silence of male thoughts.
Jack drew a breath and Jimmy cleared his throat.
Will looked at Jack. ‘It’s not what you think.’
‘I wasn’t thinking anything, mate.’
Sex. His second in command had a date with his wife for rumpy-pumpy. Jack turned and headed for the office so Will wouldn’t see his grin.
Problem was, sex would now be on his mind all day.
He pulled his personal mobile out of his shirt pocket and texted Jax.
Just checking how you’re doing.
I’m making a start on my fence. Solomon’s helping.
The fact that Jax was in such close proximity to Solomon while Jack was stuck at his desk ensured his humorous frame of mind disappeared fast.
We’re on for the bull move Friday?
Yes.
Keep your mobile on you at all times.
Go away, Jack. I’m fine.
He shoved his mobile into his shirt pocket. How was he going to get close enough to apologise? To tell her he had serious feelings for her and that he hoped Solomon fell off one of his horses and broke both arms.
She couldn’t be with Solomon, could she? They didn’t fit. Solomon was all quiet solitude and deep thought; Jax was outgoing, or at least outspoken where Jack was concerned. Was it some opposites attract issue between them? Or was it because she was getting emotional stability from Solomon while she dealt with having Frances living with her and battled to get on a decent footing with the kid?
Most likely the latter, and Jack wanted to be her comforting shoulder. But she had the big, silent guy.
Eleven
By the next morning, Jack’s mood had shifted to tetchy. He never got tetchy. Pissed off, yes, but arbitrary tetchiness got a person nowhere fast.
Today, Mr Bernardo’s son, the local odd-job man, would be fixing Jax’s fence. He’d texted her early, before 6 am, to ask if anything had happened overnight. He’d almost got into the wagon after waiting for a response for twenty-five minutes as two scenarios flew through his mind. One, she’d been attacked and hurt. Two, she was still in bed with the big guy. But she’d texted back with a curt response, saying if something had happened she’d have called it in and she was out feeding the dogs and would he kindly disappear.
He pushed back in his chair and swivelled it, refocusing on a conversation he’d had with Will yesterday.
After the scones had been devoured, they’d taken a drive to meet the Baxter parents
. Nice sort. Decent folk. Hardworking. No spare cash—it had been obvious. He’d mentioned the bull, bringing it into general conversation. Mrs Baxter had been keen to hear the latest. Will had told him that she hardly ever came into town. Too busy farming, cooking, cleaning, caring. Jack felt sorry for her, but he supposed it was the way of things out here.
‘Mr Baxter was quiet when we mentioned Tonto,’ Will had said on the drive back. Jack was driving, for which he was grateful, as the steady concentration required to drive on nothing but a stretch of red dirt road and the odd camel crossing here and there gave him the opportunity to think things through on issues regarding the op.
‘Yes, he was,’ he admitted to Will. Mr Baxter’s silence, and his seeming inability to meet Jack’s eye, indicated he might know something about the bull, or maybe about his sons. But Jack didn’t think he had detailed info. Maybe he was just a man in despair. And who could blame him, the way his eldest two had turned out.
‘Might want to talk to the older Baxter boys,’ Will said.
‘Not yet.’
‘What’s going on, Jack?’
Jack took a breath. ‘I’m not going in hard,’ he explained. ‘I want to know more.’
‘I caught the look on your face when Mrs Baxter told us her two boys were working as cleaners at Lizard Claws.’
Will was right about that. He hadn’t known, and it put them in Bivic’s reach, if not his circle. ‘Yeah? I was planning on visiting the manager, that’s all. I’m surprised those two got a job there, given their employment record.’
‘They won’t last out there any longer than they lasted working for Jax.’
‘Have you met Roper’s nephew?’
‘No. Why?’
‘Just wondering what sort he is.’
‘The kind who got the Baxters a job, I guess. You can chat to him when you visit the mine.’
‘No need for that. I’m only popping out there to introduce myself. When was the last time we were invited over to review their airport security?’
‘Two months ago. Problem?’
‘No.’
Will didn’t question him again for another five minutes.