‘Where was it cold?’ asked Grace.
‘In the bedroom,’ said Les. ‘I closed the window and it was okay.’
‘And you slept all right after that?’
‘Like a top,’ said Les, thinking it best not to tell Grace about the rat. ‘Until I woke up this morning. Me and my hangover.’
‘Okay.’ Grace smiled and continued to watch as Les drank his mineral water. ‘Do you know anything about this house, Les?’ she asked.
Les shook his head. ‘No. Only that it belong’s to Clover’s parents.’
‘It used to be the old government surveyor’s hut.’
‘This was a surveyor’s hut?’ said Les. ‘Not a bad hut.’
‘What I really meant was,’ said Grace, ‘the government surveyor, Edward Ruddle. His original slab hut used to stand here. In those days there wasn’t much down here but rainforest. Then the Merrigans built the house.’
‘They sure picked a good spot,’ said Les. He turned from the view to Grace. ‘So who were the Merrigans? What happened to them?’
‘Lander Merrigan owned a sawmill. He and his wife Hildreth drowned when their sulky got swept away during a flood.’
‘They got drowned? Oh. What a bummer.’ Les ran his eyes around the verandah. ‘I suppose having a house like this, they would have left about twenty little orphaned Merrigans too.’
Grace shook her head. ‘No. Only one. A son. Eachan. He lived here on his own — before he went insane, and died in a mental hospital.’
‘Christ!’ said Les. ‘The Merrigans sure had a lot of luck — didn’t they?’
Grace looked at Les for a moment. ‘Have you ever heard of a place called Mystery Bay, Les?’
Les indicated his ‘What’s On’ still sitting on the table. ‘I think I saw it on a map. Is it further down the coast a bit?’
‘That’s it,’ said Grace. ‘On the way to where I live. Edward Ruddle disappeared there early in the nineteenth century. Along with three other men.’
‘Disappeared?’ Les found himself interested. ‘What? Nobody knows what happened to them?’
‘That’s right,’ said Grace. ‘Their boat was seen drifting off Mutton Bird Point before it got washed into the bay alongside. The authorities left it there till it rotted away. And the place ended up getting named Mystery Bay.’
‘They left it there? What sort of boat was it?’ asked Les.
‘A solid wooden clinker. With a big hole in the bottom where the staves were forced out.’
‘Forced out?’
‘Yes. That’s another part of the mystery. The bottom was stove out. Not in. They found most of the men’s things still in the boat. But the men had vanished without trace.’
‘Fair dinkum? And how do you know all this, Grace?’ asked Les.
‘Oh, I sort of dabble in local history,’ said Grace. ‘It gives me something to do during winter.’
‘Right.’ Les finished his mineral water and indicated with the empty bottle. ‘Well. Between Edward Ruddle and the late Merrigans, you wouldn’t actually call this spot Happy Valley — would you?’
‘It gets even better, Les. At the time of his disappearance, Edward was about to marry a farmer’s daughter from Bodalla, Gwendolyn Monteith. He had a gold ring with tiny opals in it, made specially for the occasion. Which Edward swore to wear on his own finger until their wedding day.’
‘And he had it on when he disappeared,’ said Les.
‘That’s right,’ replied Grace.
Les stroked his chin. ‘So what happened to Gwendolyn. Who did she finish up with?’
‘No one,’ answered Grace. ‘She never married. She moved to Moruya, and died of a broken heart.’
Les looked blankly at Grace for a moment. ‘I don’t quite know what to say, Grace. Until you turned up this morning, I was having a pretty good time living here. Now I feel like moving into a motel.’
Grace laughed. ‘I’m sorry, Les,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to be like that. It’s just that for such a lovely old house, and such a lovely spot, it’s got a very sad past.’
‘You can say that again.’ Les tapped the empty bottle against the railing. ‘The mystery of Mystery Bay, eh. Any theories? You give me the impression you’re keeping something up your sleeve.’
Grace shook her head. ‘No. No theories. Edward Ruddle didn’t have any enemies. None of the men had any money on them at the time. And it wouldn’t be worth killing four men for a wedding ring.’
‘What about the local abos?’ asked Les. ‘They’d have to be a walk-up start to get the blame.’
Grace shook her head again. ‘No. Edward was good friends with both the Murring and the Pyender tribes. So was Gwendolyn.’
Les shrugged and indicated to the sky. ‘Maybe Edward and his mates were beamed up to the mother ship.’
Grace gave a shrug also. ‘Maybe they were,’ she said. ‘Who knows?’
Les looked at Grace looking at him, then looked at his watch. ‘Anyway. How about we beam over and have some breakfast. I’m getting a bit peckish.’
‘Okay,’ said Grace. ‘We may as well walk up. It’s not far.’
‘Suits me.’ Les started for the loungeroom door.
‘Before we go,’ said Grace, ‘let me take a photo of you.’
‘If you want,’ shrugged Les. ‘You want me to stand on the verandah with the ocean in the background?’
‘No. Lean in the doorway. I’ll get the light.’
‘Okay.’ Les propped in the doorway and Grace took two quick snaps.
‘That’s good,’ said Grace. She followed Les into the loungeroom then stopped and pointed to the ghetto blaster sitting above the fireplace. ‘Is that working?’ she asked.
‘Yeah,’ replied Les. ‘I got it tuned to some local FM station.’
Grace switched the radio on and fiddled with the dial. Next thing there was a blaze of trumpet-playing as a song ended and a gravelly voice went, ‘Zatzoo-zatzoo-zazoo-zah’. Then a smoother voice came on. ‘That was Louis Armstrong singing “Ain’t Misbehavin’”. Now let’s hear Helen Forrest and the Artie Shaw band, with “I Have Eyes”.’ Grace turned up the volume and the house filled with some woman’s tinny voice, accompanied by muted trumpets, clarinets and a slow riff from a double bass.
‘What’s this?’ asked Les.
‘It’s a local station. Season FM. They play nothing but old twenties and thirties music.’
Les listened for a moment and was reminded of the old hotel he stayed in at the Blue Mountains. ‘It takes you back in time,’ he said.
‘Doesn’t it,’ smiled Grace. They listened for a while longer then Grace turned the ghetto blaster off. ‘But what do you think?’ she said, waving around the room.
‘Yes, I see just what you mean,’ replied Les. ‘It definitely adds a certain … ambulance to the house.’
‘That’s … the exact word I was looking for. Thanks Les.’
‘No worries,’ smiled Norton. ‘Now let’s go and have breakfast. After you, Grace.’ Les placed his camera in his overnight bag and ushered Grace out the door.
They turned left where Browning met the divide and followed the side street past a small dive shop, an empty shop, then a bigger dive shop. Grace stayed slightly behind Les, watching him as he walked up the hill. They got to the lights just as they were about to change and Grace jogged across to the other side of the main road. Les followed her as fast as he could and nearly got run over by an elderly woman driving a silver Corolla. The woman bipped her horn at Les and frowned at him like he was an idiot. Grace waited on the footpath till Les caught up.
‘You’ve got something wrong with your back, haven’t you,’ she said.
Les felt a little embarrassed. ‘You noticed,’ he answered.
‘What happened?’
As they were walking up the hill past the shops and the people, Les told her how he’d slipped a disc. Then he told her his back was just coming good when he got a flat on the way down and strained it changing tyres.
&nb
sp; ‘I had physio and every bloody thing,’ said Les. ‘Now I’ve stuffed it up again. Talk about give you the shits.’
Grace smiled at Les. ‘I think I can help you,’ she said confidently.
‘You can?’ said Les. ‘What? Are you a chiropractor or a physiotherapist?’
Grace shook her head. ‘No. I can do a little massage. But there’s something else.’
‘Not aromatherapy or crystal balancing? I got to admit Grace — you do come across as a bit of a hippy.’
‘No,’ laughed Grace. ‘But you’ll have to come out to my place.’
‘All right.’ Les gave his back a quick rub. ‘Shit! I’ll try just about anything.’
Grace took Les’s arm for a moment. ‘Okay. We’ll see what we can do.’
The red and yellow restaurant was on the corner opposite the hotel. There were windows all round and a sign above the plastic strips in the door said CAREY’S. Les followed Grace inside. Carey’s was roomy with polished wooden floors, and the counter and blackboard menu faced the door with the kitchen behind. Near the counter was a rack full of magazines and a computer linked to the internet. The people in black polo shirts and aprons behind the counter were friendly, and knew Grace. Les ordered scrambled eggs on toast with the works and a flat white. Grace opted for an omelette and a cappuccino. Les paid and instead of a number, you got a small wooden object on a stand. Les got a lemon, Grace got a slice of watermelon. They took their little wooden stands and sat facing each other at a table near the far wall. Les had time to check out a few paintings around the walls and the other diners, when their coffees arrived and they got into a bit of chitchat.
Les told Grace pretty much the truth. His family was in Queensland, he lived at Bondi and worked security for a club in Kings Cross that he had shares in. Single, white, heterosexual male. He owned his own house and car, liked music and was down for the Blues Festival.
‘That’s about my story,’ said Les. ‘What’s yours, Grace.’
‘My story?’ replied Grace. ‘It’s a little different to yours, I suppose.’
The food arrived and over the bacon, eggs and toast Grace opened up. Her family came from Narooma. She’d gone to work for a law firm in Sydney, at Ryde, where the lawyers were cooking the books. Grace saw what was going on so she cooked a bit for herself and got away with it before she left. She stayed in Sydney for a while then returned to Narooma where she bought an old farm on five acres at Central Tilba. She made T-shirts and she also had shares in a company in Sydney. Like Les, she did her best to keep fit and, also like Les, she enjoyed good music. Les ordered another two coffees and was wiping his plate with a piece of toast when Grace told him she had a twelve-year-old daughter, who lived with her grandparents in Wollongong.
Les swallowed his piece of toast and gave Grace a double blink. ‘Did you just say you’ve got a twelve-year-old daughter?’
‘That’s right,’ said Grace. ‘Ellie. She’s got my eyes. But lighter hair.’
Les stared at Grace a little open-mouthed. ‘Well how old are you?’
‘How old do you think?’
‘Somewhere in your twenties. Thirty at the most.’
‘I’m forty-two.’
‘Forty-two?’ Les gave another double blink. ‘Christ! You don’t look it.’
‘I know,’ smiled Grace.
Les couldn’t help himself staring at Grace. Apart from a few, tiny laugh lines around her eyes, her face was exceptionally smooth and healthy. Her teeth weren’t perfect. But there were no gravity lines at the sides of her mouth and the skin round her neck was unwrinkled as were her hands. Forty-two wasn’t all that old. But Les had seen a lot of women in their forties. And after years of drink, smokes, coffee and cream cakes, and lying in the good old Australian sun, they looked every minute of it. Not Grace. However, that was just her face.
‘Yes,’ conceded Les. ‘You’ve certainly looked after yourself. But I still haven’t seen you down the beach.’
‘What?’ said Grace. ‘You haven’t seen me down the beach?’ She unbuttoned the front of her shirt and threw it open. ‘How do you think these would go down the beach?’
Sitting up confidently under her shirt, in an almost invisible wisp of lacy black bra, Grace had breasts like two, big, juicy, honeydew melons. Beneath the two gorgeous big melons was a neat six pack. As quickly as Grace unbuttoned her shirt, she did it up again.
‘Well,’ she said, easing back in her chair. ‘How did they look?’
‘How did they look?’ blinked Les. ‘I don’t know, Grace. I think I just hallucinated. Maybe you better show me again to be sure.’
‘I think you’ve seen all you need to,’ smiled Grace. She looked up as their second coffees arrived.
Les regained his composure, sugared his coffee and took a sip. ‘So, were you ever married?’ he asked, politely.
‘Two years,’ replied Grace. ‘Russell sold plumbing supplies. Then lost his job a year after we were married. He tried selling paintings door to door and got run over one night walking back to his car. Leaving me with no insurance, a daughter to raise, and a mortgage on an old house in Botany full of cockroaches.’
‘Not a bad place, Botany,’ smiled Les.
‘Yes, delightful,’ replied Grace. ‘I stuck it out long enough to sell the house without having to owe the bank any money. Then when I got what I thought was fair from the lawyers, I couldn’t get out of Sydney quick enough.’
Les looked across Grace and through the restaurant window at the ocean, blue and sparkling along the coast. ‘To live down here. I couldn’t blame you.’
‘Yes. It might be dullsville at times, Les. But when you walk out to your car in the morning, it’s still there and it hasn’t got an inch of grime all over it.’
‘I know what you mean.’
Grace checked Les out over her coffee. ‘When were you born, Les?’ she asked. He told her and Grace smiled. ‘That makes me old enough to be your aunty.’
‘Well, you’d be an unreal aunty,’ said Les. ‘In fact Grace, you’re an amazing woman all round.’
Grace smiled across the table. ‘That’s what they call me, Les. Amazing Grace.’
The girl came and took away the plates. Les thanked her for the excellent food and had another sip of coffee.
‘That Olney the chef’s not a bad bloke,’ remarked Les.
‘Olney? We went to school together. He’s a really nice person.’ Grace looked at Les for a moment. ‘Did you really leave a five hundred dollar tip?’
‘Yes,’ replied Norton. ‘But it wasn’t my money.’
Grace had a sip of coffee. ‘You’ll have to call in to the hotel where he works and have a meal. Olney’s a good chef.’
‘I intend to,’ said Les.
‘Did Olney tell you what happened down there last night?’ asked Grace.
‘He said there was a fight in the bar, or something.’
‘Or something?’ said Grace. ‘It’s the talk of Narooma.’
‘Really?’ said Les.
‘And it couldn’t have happened to a nicer bunch of blokes either,’ said Grace. ‘I laughed my head off when I found out who it was got beat up.’
‘Yes. Olney said they weren’t much good.’
‘Old Mick Scully and his cronies. Pity his nephew Morgan never got beat up as well,’ said Grace.
‘Olney might have mentioned him too,’ said Les. ‘Who’s he?
Grace’s cheeks coloured. ‘A local bastard.’
Les picked up the vibe. ‘I gather you and this Morgan aren’t the best of friends.’
‘You could say that,’ replied Grace.
‘What happened?’ asked Les. ‘Not that it’s any of my business.’
‘Nothing happened,’ she replied. ‘Luckily my parents showed up. But the next day he tried to run my father off the road. He could have killed him.’ Grace shook her head. ‘He’s a nut. But bad as well as mad.’
‘He sounds like it,’ said Les. ‘So do they know who it was give it to the blokes
in the hotel?’ he asked.
Grace shook her head. ‘They think he plays football for Ulladulla.’
Les finished his coffee and thought he might change the subject. ‘So what’s doing tonight, Grace?’
‘Well, I don’t know about you, Les,’ answered Grace. ‘But I’m going to the Blues Festival. Aunty Grace has got a three day pass.’
‘Me too,’ said Les. ‘Who are you going with?’
‘No one in particular.’
‘Would you like to come with me? Warren and Clover should be here by eight. We can all go together.’
‘All right,’ said Grace. ‘I know the guy who runs it. I’ll introduce you to him.’
‘Unreal. And if you want to have a few drinks, there’s a spare room in the house.’
‘No thank you,’ said Grace. ‘I mean, if I do have a few drinks I’ll stay at Belinda’s.’
‘Fair enough. Well, just call round the house about eight. Unless you want to come earlier and have a bite to eat somewhere.’
‘No, that’s all right thanks. I have to do a few things at home. In fact what is the time?’ Grace looked at Les’s watch. ‘I’ll have to get going.’
‘Okey doke,’ said Les. ‘But before we go — my turn to take a photo.’
‘What? In this old thing?’ smiled Grace.
‘That old thing looks pretty good to me,’ said Les.
Les popped two photos of Grace and got her to take one of him, then they headed out the door. On the way back to the house, Les got the paper and checked out the dive shops when they crossed the road. The big brown one looked the busier of the two. But Les liked the smaller white one down from it. There were photos in the front window of diving at Montague Island with the seals and stingrays, and the shop had a regular charter boat that went out there game fishing or diving. They got back to the house and Grace stopped at the door of her car.
‘Well, thank you very much for breakfast, Les. It was lovely. And thanks for letting me see inside the house,’ she said.
‘That’s all right,’ smiled Les. ‘Anytime.’
‘And I am serious about your back. I can help you.’
Mystery Bay Blues Page 7