Either way, as Cal had reminded her this evening, she’d failed as a daughter.
She’d failed at everything! Being a daughter, a musician, at relationships, at life in general. The only thing she was proud of was Aria, but that didn’t make her a good mother. The ever-present lump in her throat expanded and stopped her breathing for a moment. A tear ran down her cheek and she brushed it away angrily. Reaching out for the light switch, she flicked it on and a dim glow lit up the small room.
It looked just the same—lino covering the cement floor and newspapers lining the wooden shelves—and it smelled damp. In the corner there was a steel trunk, which Chelsea hoped contained the books she was looking for.
When her mum and grandmother were alive, the cellar was stocked with jars of pickles, relishes and bottled fruit, harvested from the orchard at the side of the house. After trips to Adelaide, there would be bulk buys of oranges and lemons from roadside fruit and veg vendors. The fruit would be stored in the dark to keep it fresh longer. But now the shelves were bare, save for a few cardboard boxes that were covered in dust and cobwebs.
The trunk had her grandmother’s name painted on the outside. Evelyn had gone to boarding school and this had been how she’d carried her belongings. Flicking the catch upwards, Chelsea tried to lift the lid, but it was stuck fast. Rusted closed.
Chelsea rubbed her fingers along the hinges and scratched at the rust, hoping to loosen them, then tried to wiggle the lid. It came up a little way, enough for her to move the lid up and down and get it to open more and more each time. Finally, with a loud screech, the lid opened fully. There weren’t any books inside, only neatly stacked old documents and photo albums. Quickly she leafed through each one but didn’t see anything that interested her.
She opened each of the cardboard boxes till she found the Christmas decorations, which she put at the base of the stairs to take back up with her. She also discovered a lot of archived cash books. She gave them a cursory glance; they dated back to the first years of her parents’ marriage.
Pulling out the first cash book, she recognised her mother’s writing. Seeing it made her think of all the birthday cards she’d kept in her apartment in Sydney. Everything her mum had sent to her, she still had. The letters, the cards, the angry demands to try harder. Everything. And she was glad she had, because Chelsea hadn’t known that when she’d left Shandona last time, she’d never see her mum again.
When she’d heard about her mother’s death and finally got back to Sydney, she’d pulled out the letters and cards and reread them all. They’d prompted tears, both happy and sad, and a lot of memories. They’d also unsettled her, so she’d sorted them into years and put them away again. She wouldn’t admit to too many people that since Pip had died, every year on her birthday she went back and ran her fingers over her mother’s writing, trying to feel her presence. Sometimes, when she held the envelopes to her cheek, she even thought she could smell the moisturiser her mother had used on her hands. Chelsea wished she’d handled the years since she’d finished at the Conservatorium differently; wished she’d handled her relationship with her mum with more care, because the truth was no one lived forever. Now her mum was dead and Chelsea was left with regret and guilt.
Now here were more memories, even though they were historical ones. Going back over to the trunk, she sat cross-legged on the floor and started to look through its contents. She remembered the detective saying something about looking through photo albums to find if she could see anyone wearing the brooch he’d shown her.
The pages were delicate, and in between each page there was a sheet of tracing paper to protect the photos from being damaged. Seeing faces of people she’d loved as a child made her smile, even though tears were hovering. The photo album seemed to start when Baxter and Adelia were building the main homestead. The black and white photos showed a half-built house. There was one with Baxter standing on a wooden plank held up by drums. He was wearing baggy pants with suspenders and had what she thought was a handkerchief wrapped around his head. With a trowel in hand and a large smile on his face, he looked as if he were telling a funny story to the man standing next him. The next page showed her grandfather, Leo, in the sheep yards with a stock agent. She traced the outline of her grandfather’s face in another photograph and laughed out loud when she came across a picture of her granny wearing a yellow golfing outfit! The knickerbockers looked as if they belonged back in the early 1900s.
‘I hope you were going to a fancy-dress party, Gran,’ she said quietly. ‘That’s a pretty shocking outfit!’
There were photos of the finished house and paddocks flush with green grass—not that Chelsea could tell it was green because the photos were black and white, but the land was covered with feed that came up to the ewes’ bellies. Then there was a photo of a horse-drawn wagon filled with wool bales. Chelsea carefully removed the picture and turned it over to see if there was anything written on the back. Wool clip from 1948. 50 bales. The most we’ve ever produced.
‘Wow,’ she whispered, slipping it back into the holder. She hadn’t seen these photos before.
Other photos showed local cricket matches and people Chelsea didn’t know sitting on picnic rugs and watching the game and laughing. They depicted much more enjoyable times than the family was experiencing now and she loved the sense of history and happiness they exuded.
What had gone wrong? she wondered. Tori would say her family had run over a Chinaman. Tori was also the most un-politically correct person she knew! And her best friend.
She wondered why families were happy for generations, then the universe decided it was time to give that happiness to another family. Things took an unexpected turn and the next generation couldn’t get along. It certainly felt like that for her family now.
Looking back, Chelsea knew it wasn’t Dale’s death that had started the downward slide for them. It was her going to the Conservatorium. Perhaps it was because her parents had put themselves back into debt to make her music dream happen—the scholarship had only covered the fees and her mother had been fond of telling her about all the other expenses involved in keeping her at the Conservatorium. Debt did funny things to people—nowadays there was a name for it: ‘debt stress’. Back when she was growing up, it didn’t have a name, but the stress came out in anger and blame. Towards her. And the bad seasons, which had come one after the other, only compounded the problem.
And after Dale’s death, well, it had all been downhill from there.
Sighing, she put the photo album back into the trunk.
There had been no sign of the brooch.
Or the Billabong books.
Chapter 10
Dave switched off his car lights and let his head rest against the back of the seat for a couple of seconds. Running his hands over his face, he could feel he needed a shave. Kim would give him a good-natured chip about that later tonight, he was sure.
‘I always get a pimple rash when you kiss me and haven’t shaved,’ she’d say. Then he imagined her lowering her voice and throwing him the sultry, sexy look that made him want to kiss her, and saying, ‘And I want you to kiss me.’ He realised he was smiling. Nice thought. Oh yeah, a really nice thought.
Yanking open the car door and grabbing his briefcase, he got out and walked up the path. He should have been home much earlier, in time to go for a walk, but the shire president had wanted to chew his ear about safety and road blocks for the pageant. Something Dave had undertaken for the many years he’d lived in Barker; he knew exactly what he was doing. For some reason, this year the president was worried about the road closures and the welfare of the public.
As if that wasn’t my priority too, Dave thought, annoyed.
‘Hey, sweetie, I’m home!’ he called as he walked through his front door.
He was greeted by the thump of a tail and the smell of chicken curry.
‘Hello there, old fella.’ Dave reached down to pat Bob, an old kelpie he had adopted after his owner had died. B
ob was stretched out on the lino in the kitchen, under the airconditioner—the coolest spot in the house. He raised his head and looked at Dave before trying to lick his hand.
‘Hello, you,’ Kim said from behind him.
Dave straightened and held out his arms. ‘Hello, you, too.’ He dropped a kiss on her head as she hugged him. ‘Dinner smells good.’
‘Unfortunately it’s not for you.’
Dave sighed theatrically. ‘Is it ever?’
‘Haha, it’s usually all about you! Anyway, this one is for a family whose son is in hospital. You know the Gallaways from up near Blinman?’
‘Hmm, vaguely know the name,’ Dave answered as he reached into the fridge and pulled out a beer.
‘Their son, Michael, has just been diagnosed with a childhood form of cancer. Mum has moved to Adelaide while he has treatment. Not wanting to upset the rest of the family, education-wise, Dad has stayed home with the two girls to keep the station going and so on. You know the story.’
‘I hate hearing about kids who get sick.’
‘Me too. That’s why I’ve got to help. So instead of chicken curry, we’re having chops and salad. I’ve spent most of the day cooking for this family and the other clients I told you about. I’m a bit cooked out.’
‘Understandable. How’s the roadhouse?’ He sat at the kitchen bench and watched as Kim lifted the large pot of curry from the stove and started to ladle it into plastic containers that had already been half filled with rice.
‘All back on track. The girls are better now, so I don’t need to go in tomorrow. I’ll be able to finish off this order and then deliver it. I want to cook a Christmas lunch for them tomorrow, so they have something special on the day. There was talk about them going to Adelaide and spending the day at the hospital, but it turns out Michael will still be having chemo, so they’re going to wait until after this round of treatment before heading down there. How awful, having treatment on Christmas Day.’
‘There’s never a good time for it.’ Dave shook his head, imagining the pain the family would be feeling. ‘God, what a horrible thing to have to go through—at any time, let alone Christmas. Families should be together at Christmas.’
Kim raised her eyebrows at him. When it came to families, they disagreed a bit. Kim’s parents were dead, and her sister and her husband had moved away from the district after the death of their son in a farming accident. Her niece was now working on a farm in Canada and Kim missed everyone terribly.
No matter how many times she’d tried to get Dave to go back to the farm and visit his family, he still wouldn’t budge. ‘Hanging on to all that anger isn’t healthy,’ she’d told him more than once.
His standard response was: ‘I’m not angry.’
‘Then why won’t you go?’
‘There’s no need to.’
Dave knew she hadn’t given up on getting him to visit the farm. Kim would see his brother’s accident as the perfect reason to.
He raised his eyebrows at her and asked, ‘You’re driving all the way to Blinman tomorrow?’
She sighed heavily, letting him know she was aware he was ignoring her. ‘Not all the way. The father is going to meet me halfway.’ Putting the pot down, she reached over and put her hand on Dave’s arm. ‘Have you heard anything more about your brother?’
Dave shook his head. ‘I was going to ring Mandy tonight, but I got caught up at the station. I’ll have to call tomorrow. I did try and ring Mum yesterday, but she didn’t answer.’
‘Any news on the skeleton front?’
‘Yeah, actually. Have a look at this.’ He pulled out his phone. ‘Have you ever seen a brooch like this?’
She looked at the picture. ‘That’s really beautiful. Where’d you find it?’
‘The forensic team found it in the dirt underneath the skeleton. I’d like to ID the owner, because if we do, I think we’ll know who the body is. Do you know the Taylors?’
Kim continued to study the photo. ‘What, out on Barker North Road? Yeah, they’ve got a sad family history there. The son was killed at an engagement party accident. Can’t remember how long ago it was exactly, but it’d have to be at least ten years. And the mum died in the last couple of years too. That was a strange one—I don’t think you’d started here by then, not full-time anyway, so you wouldn’t have been called out. Don’t really know what happened, but there was a rumour she died of a brain bleed or heart attack. Can’t remember which. The daughter, she’s an amazing musician. Plays the piano.’ Kim paused and looked up. ‘Did some concerts overseas. I remember hearing her play at one of the school concerts and at a few public functions and she made the piano sing. Don’t know much about music but her playing transported people, you know. The weird thing is, though, she didn’t come back for her mother’s funeral, so I’m not sure whether there was a falling-out with the family or what.’
‘Well, if it’s the girl I met today, then she’s staying with Tom for Christmas. Chelsea. And she’s got a little girl of four. Her name’s Aria.’
Kim straightened and nodded. ‘That’s her! How great she’s come home.’
‘There seems to be a bit of animosity between father and daughter.’
‘Oh, dear. That’s a shame. I really don’t know what happened. I don’t know who’d miss their own mother’s funeral.’ She looked pointedly at Dave, who had avoided his own father’s funeral, despite Kim pressuring him.
He changed the subject.
‘The only thing which is confusing me at the moment, is Finlay seems to think the remains are male. I’m sure a male wouldn’t wear this brooch.’
‘Maybe he was going to give it to someone.’
‘There was a box with the body. I’m wondering if there might be more jewellery in it. Maybe he was a merchant or something similar.’
Kim handed the phone back and got two plates out, before going to the fridge and removing the salad ingredients.
There was movement near the airconditioner and Bob came into the kitchen and sat next to the oven with a sigh. He watched hopefully as the two worked side by side. Dave started to slice the tomato and cucumber while Kim seasoned the chops.
‘I guess. But if he was, wouldn’t whoever buried him have taken the jewellery? I mean, that brooch looks like it’s worth a fortune.’
‘People were a lot more honest back then.’
‘Back when? Do you have a date? And being honest doesn’t mean you bury it. They would’ve handed it into the police.’
Dave nodded, acknowledging that what she said was right. ‘Not yet, and I’m not sure when I’ll get one. Fact is, the bones are old, and if there isn’t a strong chance of an arrest, I’m not sure they’ll spend much time on it.’
‘But what if it is a murder and they’re still walking around out there?’
Dave shrugged. ‘If the remains are fifty years old, the offender could be dead. We’re wasting our time then.’
‘That only makes the death in the late sixties. That’s when it was like, “Peace, man”.’ She made her voice sound as if she were stoned and grinned at Dave.
He didn’t grin back; he was too busy thinking. ‘I wonder when the merchants stopped coming through. You know there were traders still operating when I first moved here.’
‘Yeah, out of the backs of trucks rather than off camels, like they used to.’
‘There were cameleers at Beltana Station and Blinman,’ Dave reminded her.
‘That was back in the late 1800s, you dag! No matter how old the bones are, I’m sure they won’t date back that far.’
Looking down at the chopping board, Dave hid a smile. He loved the way Kim would disagree with him. She challenged his thinking and he liked that. ‘You could be right, honey,’ he answered.
‘Could be? I know I am!’
‘Don’t go getting all self-righteous on me just because you’ve picked a small hole in my theory.’ There was laughter in his voice. ‘But if they were that old, we would’ve left them in the ground. It wou
ldn’t have been in the public interest to bring them up. Finlay didn’t stop excavating, so they have to be reasonably recent—as in this century!’ He threw her a cheeky grin.
‘What would happen to the grave if it was that old?’ Kim asked seriously. ‘You couldn’t just leave it there unmarked—someone else might find the bones.’
‘We’d document it, fence it off. Get in contact with the historical society, make it known someone was buried there, and that’s it.’
Kim looked indignant. ‘But what if they were murdered? Wouldn’t you even try to investigate?’
‘Who would we arrest from the 1800s? They’d all be dead!’ Dave chortled. ‘No point in taking on cases like that!’
Kim was silent for a moment and Dave knew she was working everything over. He wondered what she’d say next.
He didn’t have to wait long.
‘You know what you could do with that brooch?’
‘What’s that?’
‘Why don’t you ring some of the local jewellers and see if they’ve seen anything like it before?’
Dave grinned. ‘We’ll make a detective of you yet. That’s on my list for tomorrow.’
Kim picked up the chops and headed out onto the patio to the barbecue. Bob got up and followed her out, hoping for a titbit.
Placing the salad on the plates, Dave followed her out. ‘Seriously, you’d make a good detective, you know.’
‘Nah, I’ll leave that up to you. I like cooking. And speaking of cooking, Lily Jackson contacted me today and asked if I’d cook for the pageant on Sunday night.’
‘She’s left it a bit late. What does she want you to do?’
‘Sounds like the school is going to have a fundraiser selling gourmet burgers and finger food. She wondered if I’d help.’
‘And you said yes.’ It wasn’t a question.
‘Of course!’
‘Damn. That means I’ll have to sit in the squad car by myself.’
Kim giggled. The previous year she’d gone with him and turned the siren on and off whenever she’d felt like it. The kids on the street had loved it—their parents not so much. The siren was loud and usually Dave would have had only the lights flashing. Whatever Kim did, she always spiced things up.
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