Without wasting any time, Les had a quick shower, changed into the same clothes he’d had on and started packing everything into the car. What do I need for a souvenir, he thought? The horseshoe. That’ll do. I’ve already got the bear and about half a million photos ready to get developed. Les put the horseshoe in the bag with his diving gear and put it in the boot along with everything else. He placed his overnight bag on the seat next to him and his tapes, then went inside and had a last look around the house. Yeah, I’m going to miss this old house, he told himself again as he walked along the verandah. Even allowing for Edward nearly killing me. It was fun. And what about that view? Les closed the door to the verandah and walked into the bathroom. He looked at the message on the mirror and decided to leave it. I’ll tell Clover what happened when I get home and her parents can come round and take a photo in case my one doesn’t turn out. Les had a last look in the kitchen, made sure all the lights and everything were turned off, then stepped outside and locked the front door. Now, all I have to do is take the key back to the op-shop. What were those two old girls’ names again? Edith and Joyce. That’s right. Jiggling the solid brass key in his hand, Les walked down to the op-shop.
The only other car in the side street was a white, dual cabin truck with ropes in the back, parked outside the cake shop. The op-shop was open for business. Les stepped inside. Edith was standing with her back to the door, wearing a pair of grey, woollen slacks and a black cardigan, and dusting some bricabrac when Les walked in. She didn’t hear him, so Les called out cheerfully.
‘Good morning! Is that you, Edith?’
Edith turned around and peered at Les through her red-framed glasses. ‘Oh good morning, Mr Norton,’ she smiled. ‘How are you?’
‘Good thanks,’ replied Les. ‘Where’s Joyce?’
‘She’ll be in later.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Les. ‘Anyway, I just called in to return the key. I’m on my way back to Sydney.’ Les handed Edith the key. ‘There you are.’
‘Oh, thank you, Mr Norton.’ Edith put the duster down, pocketed the key and straightened an imaginary knot in her grey hair. ‘So did you enjoy your stay in the Merrigan house?’ she asked, smiling congenially.
‘Yeah, it was a blast,’ replied Les, happily. ‘I’ve never had such a good time in my life. Especially listening to that radio station that plays all the old songs.’
‘Season FM,’ said Edith.
‘That’s the one,’ nodded Les. ‘I can never get enough of Fred Upstairs and Ginger Rogers.’
‘Yes. I like them too,’ beamed Edith. ‘And tell me, Mr Norton. Did you sleep all right at night in the house? Were the beds comfortable?’
‘Comfortable? Edith, my bed was that comfortable, I was asleep the minute my head hit the pillow. I slept like a baby.’
‘Oh isn’t that nice,’ said Edith.
‘It was funny though,’ said Les. ‘One of the old tenants called in and stayed with me a couple of nights.’
‘One of the old tenants, Mr Norton?’ enquired Edith.
‘Yeah. He used to live there. Nice bloke too. Edward Ruddle.’
‘Edward Ruddle?’ gasped Edith.
‘Yeah. Not a very big bloke,’ said Les. ‘Wore a beard and funny little glasses. Said he was a surveyor.’
‘Edward Ruddle the surveyor?’ Edith put a hand over her mouth.
‘That’s him,’ nodded Les. ‘He said he’d been working down at Mystery Bay. He’s getting married next week out at Bodalla to a girl named Gwendolyn Monteith. He showed me a photo of her. Big woman. A little plain. But nice.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘He invited me to the wedding too,’ said Les. ‘If didn’t have to go home, I’d be out there with bells on. I love a bush wedding.’
‘Mr Norton, I might have to sit down for a moment.’ Edith plonked herself down in a cane chair near a rack of clothes.
‘Anyway. I’d better get going,’ said Les. ‘Goodbye Edith. I’ll see you next time I’m in Narooma.’
‘Goodbye, Mr Norton.’
Les smiled and left the shop. As he did he noticed a white porcelain teapot near the door, with Narooma written on the side and a sketch of the jetty. He didn’t really need it. But it was only three dollars and it’d make another good souvenir. The bell had just rung above the door to the cake shop and Les was standing on the footpath going through his pockets to see if he had the right change. He didn’t notice a group of people standing outside the cake shop until he heard a familiar voice.
‘Well, well, well … If it isn’t Bondi playboy and big shot underworld figure, Les Norton.’
Les looked up in the direction of the cake shop and didn’t blink an eye. ‘Oh, hello Serina,’ he smiled.
‘Hello, Les,’ she said, deliberately.
Serina had stepped out of the cake shop followed by three swarthy, unsmiling men with unkempt black hair and thick moustaches. Like Serina, they were all wearing dark tracksuits and gym boots and carrying white paper bags and boxes from the cake shop. With her mane of orange hair, Serina stood out like a beacon.
‘So what brings you to Narooma, Serina?’ asked Les. ‘Family?’
Serina exchanged glances with the three men. ‘We’re down here for a yacht race,’ she replied.
‘Oh, of course. The one from Bermagui to Ulladulla,’ nodded Les. ‘You’re right into that sort of thing, aren’t you.’
Two of the men said something to Serina and got into the white truck, leaving one man standing next to Serina.
‘So what are you doing down here, Les?’ asked Serina.
‘I came down for the Blues Festival,’ he answered. ‘The Blues Festival?’ Serina twisted her face up. ‘That was over days ago.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ answered Les.
‘So what’s a big, swinging, city boy like you doing still hanging round a dump like Narooma?’
‘I dunno, Serina,’ answered Les. ‘It’s got me beat. But I was just on my way home when you saw me.’
Serina nodded to the op-shop. ‘And did I just see you coming out of an op-shop counting your money?’
‘Yes Serina,’ Les nodded slowly. ‘You did.’
Serina turned to the man next to her then gave Les a caustic once up and down. ‘Well, we all know you’re tight with a dollar, Les. But what’s a guy who owns a home in Bondi, and works at the Kelly Club helping old Price Galese wash piles of money, doing in fucking op-shops?’
Les thought for a moment. ‘I’m fucked if I know Serina, to be honest,’ he replied. ‘It’s a dead set fuckin mystery to me.’ Les gave her an oily smile. ‘Anyway. If you’ll excuse me. It’s a long drive back to Sydney. And I have to get on the road. See you, Serina. Nice talking to you as always.’ Les nodded to her friend. ‘See you, mate.’ Without waiting for a reply, Les turned and walked back to his car.
Les started the car, drove up the side street, then did a U-turn at the lights and stopped at the garage opposite the hotel. He got out and proceeded to fill the tank. Fuck it, Les cursed to himself as he stared at the numbers going round on the bowser. They’ve sprung me. Well, that’s fucked that, hasn’t it. And that’s them behind the coke all right. The truck and the rope proves that. But fuck it. How’s my bloody luck. Les kept looking at the bowser and out the side of one eye watched the white truck go past. Serina and her friends never gave him a second look. He followed the truck as it disappeared down the hill towards the park and unexpectedly the sun appeared from behind the clouds. On the other hand, thought Les, why has it fucked things? They don’t know that I know about their coke. And I doubt if they picked up on my little innuendos outside the op-shop. I’m just a goose as far as Serina’s concerned. And when they do find all their coke looking like a giant pile of steaming seal shit, what are they going to do? They’re not going to race into the hardware store asking if somebody just bought ten litres of pool cleaner. They won’t have a clue what happened. They’ll just cut their losses and get to the shithouse out of Narooma. They could even think i
t’s another drug syndicate trying to put them out of business.
The meter stopped running when Norton’s tank filled and he replaced the nozzle on the bowser. In fact, smiled Les, I’m glad I bumped into Serina and her friends. I reckon they’ve just done me another favour. Les screwed his petrol cap back on and walked across to the office.
While the young bloke in the blue denim shirt was swiping his Visa card, Les searched his pockets again for change. He signed the receipt and pointed to a yellow pay phone near the door.
‘Is that phone working all right, mate?’ asked Les.
‘Yeah. No problems,’ replied the young bloke, handing Les his receipt.
‘Thanks.’
Les walked over to the phone, dropped some coins in the slot and dialled. It didn’t take long to get through.
‘Hello?’
‘Grace. It’s Les. How are you?’
‘Les? What …?’
‘Grace. You’re not going to believe this. But I just rang home. And everything’s sorted itself out at the club. Do you and the other chattel still want to have lunch?’
THE END
About the Author
Robert G. Barrett was raised in Sydney’s Bondi where he worked mainly as a butcher. After thirty years he moved to Terrigal on the Central Coast of New South Wales. Robert has appeared in a number of films and TV commercials but prefers to concentrate on a career as a writer. He is the author of nineteen books, including So What Do You Reckon?, a collection of his columns for People magazine, Mud Crab Boogie, Goodoo Goodoo, The Wind and the Monkey, Leaving Bondi, and The Ultimate Aphrodisiac.
* * *
To find out more about Bob and his books
visit these websites:
www.robertgbarrett.net.au
or
www.harpercollins.com.au/robertgbarrett
* * *
Books by Robert G. Barrett
So What Do You Reckon?
Mud Crab Boogie
Goodoo Goodoo
The Wind and the Monkey
Leaving Bondi
The Ultimate Aphrodisiac
Copyright
HarperCollinsPublishers
First published in Australia in 2002
This edition published in 2014
by HarperCollinsPublishers Pty Limited
ABN 36 009 913 517
A member of the HarperCollinsPublishers (Australia) Pty Limited Group
www.harpercollins.com.au
Copyright © Psycho Possum Productions Pty Ltd 2002
The right of Robert G. Barrett to be identified as the moral rights author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000 (Cth).
This book is copyright.
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission.
Inquiries should be addressed to the publishers.
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National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication data:
Barrett, Robert G.
Mystery Bay blues.
Previous ed.: 2002
ISBN 0 7322 7560 1 (pbk.)
ISBN 978 1 4607 0379 3 (epub)
1. Norton, Les (Fictitious character) – Fiction. 2.
Mystery Bay (N.S.W) – Fiction I. Title.
A823.3
Cover illustration by Mark Vesey
Cover design by Darian Causby, HarperCollins Design Studio
Mystery Bay Blues Page 27