The Vet from Snowy River

by Stella Quinn

  The truth was what it was, and he’d pushed through his own truth with hard work and bloody determination. He’d have helped Vera push through hers if she’d have let him.

  Instead, she’d pushed him away at every damn opportunity, kept throwing her shame up as an excuse. She just didn’t get it.

  ‘Josh?’

  He looked down at Hannah.

  ‘What’s up? You’re looking pensive.’

  He sighed. ‘Soz, I was wool-gathering. I’m going to run over to Graeme’s place and pick up the waiting room chairs. You want to start sorting the desk?’

  She pursed her lips. ‘You trying to flick all the paperwork at me?’

  ‘Is it working?’

  ‘I guess. Bring me back a full-fat, sugary treat, will you? I want to try out your calorie theory.’

  ‘Sure thing.’

  A knock sounded at the temporary door of the clinic he’d installed while he waited on the planning permit decision for the building’s exterior. He reached for the handle to open it, and there she was: Vera. He blinked, and wondered if he’d conjured her up with his thoughts until he noticed the box full of paperwork she held.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘I was just—’

  Hannah cut him off. ‘Vera, hey. Of course you can come in. How’s that cranky grey beast of yours going? Might be time to bring her in for a check-up, she must be due soon.’

  ‘Daisy.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Her name’s Daisy. Turns out, I have a bit of a thing for mountain wildflowers. I’ve named her after the snow daisies that grow on the foreshore,’ Vera said, but even though she was answering Hannah’s question, her eyes didn’t waver from his.

  He sighed. He could take a minute, he supposed, even if she had mushed his heart into pulp. He stepped back so she could move past him into the room.

  She’d vowed to herself she’d never make a dumb choice again, because dumb choices ended in a swagload of grief. Her sure-fire, no-complication, one hundred per cent chance of succeeding had all revolved around one strategy: being alone.

  A lone wolf, in an apron, with baking trays for company and a batch of chocolate rum ganache whenever the itch for a little sin needed to be scratched.

  Her madcap café idea had been her first mistake. How does a wolf stay alone when half the darn town keeps popping in for chats and knitting bees and whatever else all those happy laughing people did at her scrubbed tables?

  She’d needed the profit, so she’d needed customers. She just hadn’t figured in how community-minded the customers of Hanrahan would be.

  Staring into Josh’s clear gaze as he held open the door of the vet clinic reminded her of what the other smack-in-the-head fault in her lone-wolf plan had been.

  Him. And the coal-hot feelings he stirred up in her.

  Josh Cody had made her realise that living aloof and alone might be safe, but it wasn’t living.

  She wasn’t living.

  She’d blown it, she knew that the second Aaron Finch turned up in the cemetery and started spouting his crap about ‘us’ and ‘Vera honey’. She’d not been open with Josh, even after she’d assured him she’d told him the worst of it.

  She’d been too … ashamed. Finding out she was such a poor judge of character to the point that her own boyfriend sacked her had made her feel so, so small. Admitting that would have taken a piece out of her that she hadn’t thought she could spare.

  She couldn’t make up for not being open with Josh, but she could help him and his sister dig into the spate of harassment they’d been subjected to.

  ‘I’ve found something. If you have ten minutes to spare, both of you, I’d like to share it.’

  Hannah’s eyes slid to Josh. They were tight, these two, she thought, and there was another thing to add to the long, long list of what she didn’t know about relationships.

  ‘We’ve got ten minutes, haven’t we, Josh?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Here okay? The rest of the place is a construction zone.’

  She took a sniff of the fresh paint. ‘Can we use the counter? I need to spread this stuff out.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  She rested the box on the counter and started hauling out the clipped bundles of paper, then paused. Turned. Faced them both.

  ‘I just want to get this out of the way first. I lied to you, Josh. Not outright, but by omission. And not just about the fact I was sleeping with my boss when he sacked me.’

  Hannah let out a soft choking noise. The younger woman looked like a rock wallaby frozen by oncoming headlights.

  ‘Um,’ said Hannah. ‘You want me to step out back and change out the oil in my car or something? Powder my nose?’

  ‘Yeah, maybe Ha—’

  ‘No.’ She cut Josh off. She was doing this once and once only, and it had to be now before she lost her nerve.

  ‘First omission. Yes, I was in a relationship with Aaron, the guy you saw at Jill’s funeral. He was my boss, and he’s also the guy who blew the whistle on me to Acacia View. They then decided to prosecute me.’

  ‘Prosecute? What are you talking about?’

  Oh boy, this was hard. Harder still, because Josh had apparently not shared the Vera’s-going-to-prison story with his sister, and she apparently didn’t read the Snowy River Star.

  ‘I installed a camera, secretly, in my aunt’s room at her old home. Because it recorded sound as well as vision, it’s a breach of the Surveillance Devices Act of New South Wales. Possible jail term is up to five years.’

  ‘Five years. Oh my god,’ whispered Hannah.

  She wasn’t going to dwell on that for a second longer than was necessary. ‘The second omission, which is where this box comes in, is that I was just being bitchy when I said I couldn’t help out with the council by-laws. One of the things that struck me when I started as a journalist was learning how easy it is for any Tom, Dick or Vera to search through public records. And I’ve not forgotten those skills.’

  ‘Public records,’ Josh murmured.

  ‘Yes. You asked me, once, if I’d help you navigate the public records of local government and I refused. I’m sorry for that. I wasn’t thinking clearly then, but I’m thinking clearly now and I’ve done some digging.’

  Hannah clapped her hands. ‘Oh, please tell me you’ve found something that will help us.’

  She nodded. ‘I think so.’ Okay. The hard part was over. She wiped her clammy hands down her jeans. ‘First, I wondered: why would someone bust a gut—break the law—to buy your building? It’s beautiful, it’s got lake views, but it’s not the only building in town that can boast them, and some of the others have been on the market without being snapped up. So I looked up who owned property in the blocks surrounding yours, and when those properties had last changed hands. There were a few noteworthy ones.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Krauss Holdings has been busy. Bought the old Hanrahan Pub some years ago even though it’s just about derelict, owns a stretch of foreshore, and most of the buildings on the eastern edge of the town square.’

  ‘The Krauss family have always been big landowners in town. If they wanted our place, they’d have come in person and asked for it. You agree, Hannah?’

  Hannah was picking at a loose thread on her denim jacket and didn’t look like she had an opinion on the matter.

  ‘What else was noteworthy?’ Josh continued.

  ‘Transfer in title of this building from Preston Cody and Shirley Marlee Cody to Joshua and Hannah Cody three years ago.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure we know about that one.’

  ‘But did you know a corporation called Kestrel Holdings lodged a development application with council for this building six months prior to the title transferring to you? The application was to …’ Vera flipped a page so she could read the tiny print: ‘hereby seek permission to reconfigure existing commercial ground floor and upper residential two-flat layout to twelve studio apartments and small commercial space suit
ed to tourism ticketing venture.’

  The Codys stared at her, open-mouthed.

  ‘Well, hell,’ said Hannah.

  ‘Yes. Could this have been a scheme your grandparents were considering, only to change their mind and leave the building to you?’

  Josh shook his head. ‘No, they couldn’t have. They were neither of them alive then. Probate of their estate took a few years because our parents were driving the Gibb River Road and never stayed in one place long enough to sign all the relevant paperwork. They were the executors. The timing is all wrong.’

  ‘The building was vacant then. It had been empty since our grandmother was moved into Connolly House.’

  Vera shrugged. ‘Somebody at Kestrel must have thought they had a chance to start an approval process before they owned it.’

  ‘I ran my practice from Mum and Dad’s place when I first started vet work,’ said Hannah. ‘Before they bought the caravan and started their grey nomad trip, they had a house just out of town.’ She looked across at Josh. ‘Moving in here on my own was a big step. I took my time about making it, so the place was vacant for a few years.’

  ‘And when did the offers of purchase start rolling in?’ said Vera.

  Hannah pushed a strand of hair back from her face. ‘After probate. After I moved in, I suppose.’

  ‘Maybe whoever owns Kestrel Holdings got a nasty surprise when you moved into the building.’

  Josh frowned. ‘And an even nastier surprise when I moved in too and the practice grew even more … because that’s when the nuisance complaints started arriving.’

  Vera nodded. ‘Follow this line of thought through … you then stick up a noticeboard out front, letting the world know not only aren’t the Codys shifting out anytime soon, they’re wanting to sink money into the building … what happened then?’

  ‘An arson attack designed to scare the dickens out of us but not damage anything structural.’

  ‘Bingo,’ said Vera. ‘And here’s the kicker … Kestrel Holdings owns the building next to you.’

  ‘The gift shop?’

  ‘It’s a gift shop on the ground floor, tenanted, and the guy says his landlord’s pretty shady about doing repairs. Upstairs flats are empty gathering dust. The building is much smaller than this one of course, but it explains why your property was of greater interest to them than other ones that have come on the market. Shared driveway, shared common space, corner position—it would have made a studio apartment proposal very attractive.’

  Hannah nodded. ‘Now I think of it, with all this talk of a new ski lift going in, and the road upgrade from Cooma, there’d be dozens of city buyers keen to snap themselves up a ski weekender.’

  ‘So how do we find out who the hell is behind Kestrel Holdings?’

  ‘It’s a shelf company. Actually, it’s one in a string of shelf companies. They’re a bit like termite mounds: every time you think you’ve found the inner nest, a mud trail leads you to a new one. Fortunately, I have a contact at a private investigative firm back in Canberra. I rang her and asked if she’d do a corporations trace for me using her software, and she found a couple of items of interest.’

  ‘We’re all ears.’

  ‘One is a joint venture between a related entity of Kestrel Holdings and the developers putting in the new ski lift. The other big find was the names of the directors of the innermost nest.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘A guy by the name of Brian David, and a woman. Paula? No.’ Vera rifled through until she found the page she was looking for. ‘Pamela Hogan.’

  ‘Pamela Hogan!’ said Hannah.

  ‘You’ve heard of her?’

  ‘Lawyer. Signed her name to a dozen requests to buy the place, but she always said she was acting on behalf of an unnamed client. Meg—you know, the local cop—has interviewed her, but she said her client’s name was privileged information and she wouldn’t be sharing it.’

  Josh picked up the extract from the company report Vera’s investigator had emailed through. ‘Well, if she is the client, she can’t hide behind herself, surely? This is gold, Vera. There is no way Pamela is not up to her neck in this. We need to get Meg here and explain all this to her.’

  ‘Being the pushy director of a company doesn’t make you an arsonist,’ she said.

  ‘Meg’s no fool. If there’s a link there, she’ll find it. Thank you, Vera, for doing this.’

  She swallowed. ‘No need for thanks,’ she said, her voice dry. She’d probably talked more this morning than she had in months.

  ‘Nonetheless, I still want to thank you.’

  She realised Josh was holding out his hand to her. As a lifeline? As forgiveness? She placed her hand in his and he shook it once then let go, turning to rifle through the neat piles of paper trail she’d organised across the counter.

  Oh. A business handshake. The little wad of hope she’d had hidden in her heart shrivelled up and died.

  She’d done the right thing.

  Trouble was, she’d learned what the right thing to do was way too late.

  CHAPTER

  37

  By late November the weather had warmed, and Graeme convinced her to place some little tables outside the café on the footpath overlooking the lake. Tourists had flocked to them like seagulls after a hot chip, and gathered in the late afternoon sunlight for glasses of wine, cheese boards, and little dishes of antipasti. Business was up, her lawyer was texting her optimistic messages like loving our defence strategy, Vera! and her trial date had been set for the second week of December.

  She was ignoring the trial, for the most part, and when she was having trouble ignoring it, she went to yoga and Marigold helped her whizz her worries off over the lake.

  Sure it was a bit hippy and nuts … but whatever. She was trying to learn not to be so rigid and loosen up a little.

  She inspected the strawberry she’d just sliced. Hmm. Not so loose that that mangled cut of fruit would be acceptable in her display cabinet. She popped it in her mouth, then plated up three dozen of the tarts she’d spent the afternoon baking. Poppy had whimsically named them La Di Dah Tarts on her last visit up from Sydney.

  The swing door crashed open and Graeme shouldered his way into the kitchen bearing a tray of empty cups. ‘Marigold’s asking for you, my lamb.’

  Vera ran her eye over the bowl containing five kilos of choux pastry dough that wasn’t going to pipe itself. ‘How chatty is she looking?’

  He grinned. ‘She’s ordered a hot chocolate to go, so maybe not too chatty. One hour, tops.’

  ‘You mind asking her if she’s happy to come back here?’

  ‘I’m on it.’

  Just as Vera was fitting a nozzle onto a piping bag, Marigold sailed through the swing doors.

  ‘The inner sanctum!’ she announced. ‘I’m feeling a little dizzy with the honour, Vera.’

  Vera tested the consistency of the mix with a spoon. ‘That’ll be the powdered sugar fumes, Marigold.’ She spooned a batch of choux pastry into the piping bag and began filling her trays with short lengths of dough.

  ‘Éclairs? Oh, poop, now I’m wishing I hadn’t already had a slice of that devilish chocolate cake.’

  ‘Relax, I’m prepping these for tomorrow.’

  ‘My bathroom scales are scared of you, Vera, you know that? They see me coming home with shortbread crumbs scattered across my magnificent bosom, and they quake.’

  Vera allowed herself a smug little snicker and pulled out a stool for her friend.

  ‘But seriously,’ said Marigold, taking a sip of her hot chocolate then resting it on the workbench. ‘How are you doing, Vera?’

  She looked up. ‘Excuse me?’

  Marigold reached over and patted her arm. ‘Burying a loved one with me as celebrant gets you certain privileges. Like me coming over to check on you from time to time. And Kev, bless him. He’d have been here, but he spied an aphid on a rose bush down at the hall and went all First Testament on me. I haven’t seen you at yog
a this week, so I assumed you were burying yourself in hard work and dark thoughts, and I was right, wasn’t I?’

  She tried for flippancy. ‘Someone’s got to keep this town supplied with sweet treats.’

  ‘Uh-huh. And someone else has got to keep this town feeling better by wearing epic earrings and making taciturn people like you talk about their feelings. And that person is me, Vera. Spill the beans.’

  A splodge of dough erupted from the piping bag to form a fist-sized lump in her tray. It looked as pale and inanimate as she imagined her heart must look.

  ‘I’m never been very good at sharing, Marigold.’

  ‘You think I don’t know that? Girlfriend, you’re pricklier than a prickly pear. Luckily, I don’t scare away so easy.’

  She bit her lip, and then the words came blurting out. ‘It’s all such a mess, Marigold.’

  ‘I know, honey.’

  ‘I just wanted Jill to be happy, calm, well cared for.’

  ‘And she was, Vera.’

  ‘Not always. Not when those idiots in charge of Acacia View were underpaying their staff and under-resourcing their facility.’

  ‘Always. Always by you.’

  Was that true? She’d been so immersed in her career when Jill first showed signs she could no longer live alone. Had she taken such little care choosing a home for her because she was too involved with her career to make proper enquiries?

  Vera eyed Marigold. ‘I suppose you know my trial date has been scheduled for a couple of weeks from now.’

  ‘You suppose right. This is a small town, honey. It’s a miracle I don’t know what colour your underwear is.’

  She sighed. ‘Crap.’

  Marigold chuckled. ‘People here care, that’s all. They read the papers. They see a name they know, they sit up and take notice. They see someone through the kitchen window hanging out their washing, and they run over and share the news.’

  Vera was surprised into a laugh. ‘I guess I hadn’t thought about that before I moved here. I came for the peace and quiet. For the promise offered up in the Connolly House brochure. For the opportunity to be an unknown person who could be left completely alone.’