Poison Bay
Page 29
Callie’s indignation deflated like a punctured balloon. “Oh. I hadn’t thought of any of that.”
Jack shrugged. “It’s probably all academic anyway. There’s probably no money left, or his aunt will challenge the will, and so she should, when the whole purpose behind it was so immoral. But in any case, the money itself isn’t evil. It’s just a thing that can be used by people whose motives might be good or bad. Or a mixture of the two.”
Callie was gazing off into the distance. “Just like those mountains. I really thought they were evil some days, and Bryan certainly tried to use them as a murder weapon, but they don’t actually have a morality. They just did what mountains are meant to do.”
***
William Green, television star, stood in the parking lot at the head of the jetty with his camera operator, watching the launch approach. A young police officer had asked them to wait there, but he knew there’d be no difficulty slipping past him when the time came. There never was, in these country towns. Unsophisticates always yielded to the boldness of the media. If you act like you have the right to be somewhere, most people believe it.
He glanced at his reflection in the window of their hire car, and gave his hair a refining tweak. It had been an effort to get the boss to agree to this particular overseas excursion. In these times of budget cuts, it was a long way to go for an uncertain story. Who knew if they’d ever even find the bodies?
But the missing included one of their own. And so the boss had approved it, though he gave William only three days on location, and no sound engineer.
They’d done the shots of aircraft and search teams, and interviewed experts. Most importantly, they’d got William’s face on screen—windswept on the lake shore, and in pseudo survival mode over in the dense rainforest (he hadn’t needed to go more than a few meters in).
Their three days had expired, but William had called Sydney and persuaded the boss to extend that by just one more day, and voila! The story had happened, just in time, and his “exclusive” was moments away.
There was a slight commotion at the gangway and William said to his cameraman, “Here we go!” They walked forward, the red “record” light already showing in the camera viewfinder.
William saw Callie Brown coming towards them, some unremarkable guy in a strange, one-armed jacket limping along beside her. He narrowed his eyes, gave her a considering look. The hair was a fright, but nothing a couple of hours in a salon couldn’t fix. And he noted with approval that she was supermodel thin, even thinner than the blonde he’d taken to Italy. For a few weeks at least, she’d be quite the celebrity. Perhaps he had missed her after all.
***
As she emerged from the gaggle of people helping them off the launch, Callie looked up along the jetty and saw William Green, with a little power-socket-shock of recognition. How unfamiliar he looked, even though his face had been so dear for so many months. Had he actually been worried about her?
Then her eyes shifted to the camera beside him. Oh. She was News now. And he’d want to exploit their previous connection to get the story that might just win him an award, or at least get him a gold star from the boss. William was wearing moleskins with an outdoorsy jacket and shirt—obviously his interpretation of wardrobe for a story set in the wilds of New Zealand. His beautiful hair was just slightly mussed—another outdoorsy touch. The corners of her mouth twitched in the tiniest of smiles.
William stepped forward with his television face and voice on. “Welcome back, Callie Brown. How does it feel to be safe at last?”
Callie felt rather than saw Jack step away from her side and edge past the television crew. Getting out of the firing line of the camera lens, yes, but also an emotional withdrawal. She could see him now past William’s shoulder, standing at a slight distance behind William, his body angled away from them, his hands in his pockets, gazing up the lake.
Their relative positions made it easy to look from one to the other, comparing the two men. Two journalists. One gorgeous, successful and supremely confident. The other not very tall, not very good-looking, not very anything.
The strength of her own reaction took her by surprise, and brought with it self-knowledge. She held William’s eyes in a steady gaze, and spoke to him, just two words, then pushed past him.
William stared down the jetty after her, uncharacteristically speechless. It was hardly the first time he’d ever heard those two words, but to get them from this woman, and now, of all the times! “No comment.” Had she actually said that? To him?
As Callie drew level with Jack, she lifted her hand toward him, hesitantly, suddenly unsure. Jack reached out and grasped it in his own strong hand, and looked her in the eye for a long moment. They turned together and walked down the jetty towards the shore, and Jack’s face split into an enormous grin.
***
In Poison Bay, dark water seethed and hissed over boulders, in and out, in and out, as though the ocean was breathing. Above, mountains stood back, watchful, brooding. And then they hid their heads behind a cloak of silent cloud.
THE END
Acknowledgments
It takes a village to raise a child, and a global village to produce a book. Thank you to my dear friends, family and blog readers around the world who have encouraged and challenged me through the process of creating this debut novel.
The people of Te Anau, New Zealand were generous with information, hot chocolate, venison pies—and some good-natured teasing—while I undertook my research. Lloyd Matheson and Alan Johnston explained Search and Rescue operations in Fiordland National Park. Fishing boat operators Steve and David told me their experiences of the real Poison Bay. To those who can tell when I have taken liberties with geography and topography for plot purposes, I apologize; writers make stuff up!
Helen and Nita of Ultimate Hikes were a key reason that I and my eccentric knees completed the Milford Track without needing to be rescued.
Varuna, The Writers House gave me more than an award—their Publisher Fellowship was that first crucial validation, a catalyst that helped me persevere. Varuna manuscript consultant Carol Major guided me in the discovery of both flaws and possibilities.
I honor the amazing beta readers who critiqued my manuscript, and who deserve medals for their skill, patience, generosity, encouragement and wise suggestions. They are:
• Dawn Dicker, content strategist and writer.
• Molly Greene, author of the Gen Delacourt mystery series.
• Karin Cox, editor and multi-published author of both non-fiction and fiction, including the Cruxim dark fantasy series.
• Sophie Cayeux, author of the upcoming Mauritius Migrants women’s fiction series.
Journalist, author of Sell Your Books! and Type 1 diabetes advocate Debbie Young corrected my many misunderstandings about both the physical and emotional impacts of the survival situation for Rachel and her mother. Her attention to detail was extraordinary. Nurse and writer Sarah Edgecumbe tutored me in the use of insulin pens and blood sugar monitors. If you have been touched by the Type 1 diabetes storyline, please consider supporting the work of JDRF, the leading charitable funder of the search for a cure.
Retired NZ police inspector Grant Middlemiss not only corrected and enhanced my understanding of police procedures and likely behaviors, he offered savvy suggestions for how to get around plot problems and when to boldly take literary license. Grant is also the author of Waikato River Gunboats.
Any mistakes that persist after the feedback of these experts are of course my own.
My editor Jo Swinney was much more than a typo corrector. She shared my vision for this book in a way that lifted me. She tightened my prose and strengthened my story through intelligent feedback full of grace and humor.
I honor my parents Jim and Barbara Pollard, who believed I could write a novel even on the days when I wasn’t so sure, and who helped me in countless practical ways, from feeding me during training hikes for my research expedition, to correcting my dra
fts. Dad, I wish you were still here to see this; Mum, thank you so much for everything.
Finally, my heartfelt thanks to the Creator, who first imagined the beauty of Fiordland, and decided to share it with us.
Belinda Pollard
Belinda Pollard is an award-winning former journalist who loves mountain hiking despite bad knees and a fear of heights. She has been a professional writer/editor for decades, and a contributor to the Closer to God series since 1999. The name “Poison Bay” on a map triggered her journey to the sinister end of the bookshelf. Spooky and remote, it was a location just begging for a mystery. Poison Bay is her first novel, and won a Varuna Publisher Fellowship in 2011. Belinda lives in Brisbane, Australia where she undertakes ball-throwing duties for a dog named Rufus, and turns on the air-conditioning so she can dream of snow...
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