Where There Is Smoke

by Elisabeth Rose

  The voice was unfamiliar but the location wasn’t. Rod Smythe, stable manager from The Grange.

  Oliver listened to the man’s precise description of the symptoms. Sounded like a cold or an allergy, but could be flu. Also sounded like someone who knew and cared for his horses.

  ‘I’ll be right out,’ he said.

  When he swung the car into The Grange driveway, a man in a dark blue security company uniform stepped forward from under a shade umbrella and flagged him down.

  ‘Good afternoon, sir. This is a private function. Could I see your invitation and photo ID, please?’

  ‘G’day, mate. I’m the vet. Rod Smythe called me in to see a horse.’

  ‘Wait one moment, sir.’

  He turned away, pulled out a walkie-talkie and spoke rapidly into it. Oliver waited. The man walked back to the car.

  ‘We don’t have any notification of your visit, sir.’

  ‘That’s because Rod only just called me twenty minutes ago. You can’t predict when animals will get sick.’

  ‘We only have your word for that, sir,’

  ‘Call him and ask him.’ Christ. He didn’t have the time or the inclination to wait around in the heat while these bozos messed around. ‘I’ll be at the stables.’

  Fortunately the ornate metal gate was open. He put the car in gear and continued on down the long driveway. In the rear-view mirror the failed security bloke was staring after him in the rising plume of dust, gesticulating with his radio pressed to his ear. Lucky he didn’t have a gun. Or maybe he did. Ridiculous. Who was he protecting the place from? None of the locals gave a damn about The Grange and its inhabitants or guests.

  Four luxury cars were parked neatly in the large open area in front of the stables. A man with the uniform shirt straining over his belly strode to meet him when he reached the house, alerted by the gatekeeper, no doubt. Oliver continued on to the stables.

  The guard arrived panting and with sweat running in rivulets down his face. ‘Sir, you’ll have to step out of the car.’

  ‘Okay.’ He turned off the engine and got out. The sun belted down on his bare head. He’d left his hat on the passenger seat. ‘Would you tell Rod, the stable manager, I’m here to see the stallion?’

  ‘I’m waiting on confirmation of that. Mr and Mrs Littlejohn are the only people who can authorise guests who aren’t on the list.’

  ‘Right. I’m not a guest and I’m sure Rod didn’t want to bother them with this. He said he’d be in the stables so you can come with me and ask him yourself.’ Oliver opened the rear door and retrieved his bag.

  ‘What’s in the bag, sir?’

  ‘Drugs.’ He straightened and looked the man in the eye. ‘I need to see the horse. Equine flu can be lethal. Do you want to be the one to tell the owner his horse died while you were asking the vet for ID and phoning people?’

  The man hesitated but while his brain cell began working overtime on that problem, a voice said, ‘Oliver Johnson? Thanks for coming straight out.’

  Rod Smythe had the workworn hands and sun-battered skin of a man who worked outdoors. Tall and gangly, he had sinewy strength under the cotton shirt and jeans, evidenced by the grip in his handshake.

  ‘G’day. Tell this guy who I am, will you?’ Oliver jerked his head slightly.

  ‘I’m just doing my job,’ said the guard stiffly.

  ‘Thanks. It’s fine. I called the vet,’ said Rod. He began walking to the stables. ‘It might be nothing but I can’t take any chances.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘I’ve got him on his own at the far end.’

  The cool dimness of the large high-ceilinged shed was welcome after the unrelenting glare of the yard. Two heads poked over the stall doors watching with interest as they approached.

  ‘Is Calypso Secret here?’ Oliver asked with a smile.

  Rod shook his head. ‘She’s out in the paddock. How’s Archie? I’m sorry about all that.’

  ‘She’s fine. Only minor abrasions and one cut over her eye. I put a couple of stiches in. Shouldn’t leave a scar. It wasn’t your fault. Was it?’

  ‘I had no idea what Angus was up to. Still don’t.’ He sounded angry.

  ‘His stepsister said the same thing.’

  ‘There’s no love lost there.’

  ‘So I gathered.’

  ‘Here’s your patient. He’s called Firebrand but we call him Fred.’

  The big black stallion stood with his head drooping slightly but he flicked his ears and shuffled nervously when Oliver and Rod entered his stall.

  ‘Is he quiet?’ Stallions could be unpredictable.

  ‘Yes, pretty good. Nips sometimes but he’s not up to much at the moment.’

  Oliver studied the horse. He was wheezing but not heavily, moisture around his nostrils indicated a clear discharge. Rod said he’d been sneezing and coughing occasionally.

  ‘He’s a beautiful animal.’

  ‘Yeah, he’s booked up solid for breeding.’

  Oliver began his examination. After completing all his checks, he said, ‘It’s a cold. Is he outside much?’

  ‘Yes, he’s usually out but I bring them all in at night.’

  ‘Keep him in for a few days and see how he goes. Keep him away from the others. Damp his feed a bit just before he eats to settle any dust and make it easy for him to eat. Call me straight away if you think he’s any worse.’

  ‘Okay, I’ve handled colds before. So you’re sure it’s not flu?’

  ‘His temperature’s almost normal. Any other horses affected?’

  ‘Not that I’ve noticed.’

  ‘Any new horses come in recently?’

  ‘Two new mares. I guess one of them could have passed it on.’

  ‘It’s not too bad at the moment but we don’t want it to get worse. At least it’s warm weather for him.’ Oliver patted Fred’s neck. ‘You’ll be fine.’

  ‘Come to the office,’ said Rod, ‘and I’ll fix up the account.’

  ‘Thanks. Would you like me to check these two horses before I go?’

  ‘Would you? I don’t want to take up your afternoon.’

  ‘I’m here now. Won’t take long.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Is there somewhere I can have a wash?’

  ‘Sure. The washroom is just by the entrance. When you’ve finished, come through to the office.’ He pointed to a door marked Office.

  Oliver rejoined Rod with the news that the two mares showed no signs of illness. ‘I don’t need to tell you, I guess, but make sure you keep Fred quarantined and wash your hands after handling him and his feed.’

  ‘Yep. Know the drill. Thanks, though. Like a beer before you go?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Take a seat.’ Rod opened a small fridge and pulled out two chilled bottles. He handed one to Oliver and sank onto the chair behind the desk.

  ‘Stinking weather we’ve been having,’ he said after a long drink. ‘Did you know there’s a fire to the north?’

  ‘No, I haven’t seen any weather reports. Been busy.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem to be a problem for us but you never know.’

  ‘Fire’s always a worry.’

  ‘Yeah. Specially if the wind picks up. You been in Taylor’s Bend long?’

  ‘About five years.’

  ‘You like it?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s a nice place. Good community.’

  ‘We go to Jindalee for the mail. Closer,’ Rod said. ‘Not much going on there though.’

  ‘You should check out the Bend.’

  ‘Yeah. You have a wife? Family?’

  ‘No. You?’

  ‘Wife, no kids yet. Amy’s away at her sister’s at the moment. She shops at the Taylor’s Bend supermarket but she’s not good at meeting people. Neither am I. We’re flat chat out here, to tell you the truth. Hardly have time to scratch ourselves, and we’re so tired at the end of the day we just want to crawl into bed.’

  ‘I thought Angus lived here
.’

  ‘He shows up occasionally.’ His expression gave no hint as to his opinion of Angus.

  ‘Isn’t he the manager of the place?’

  ‘Yes, but Amy and I do all the work. Most of it,’ he amended. ‘A local girl comes in about once a week, and a gardener.’

  ‘Sandy. She helps out at my surgery. Nice kid. Good with animals.’ So the gossip wasn’t entirely accurate. Two Bend residents did have work here and the stable manager was a good bloke and knew his job. He wasn’t avoiding the Bend, he and his wife were just too knackered to socialise. He knew what that felt like. Oliver looked at the clock on the wall above the fridge. Close to four. ‘I’d better get going. Thanks for the beer.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Thanks for coming.’

  ***

  Krista was enjoying the family lunch as much as she’d expected to. Hugh’s brothers and their wives were friendly enough but talked of things she either knew nothing about or wasn’t interested in. Her mother’s closest friend, Gwen, and her husband, Felix, had been invited but Gwen and Krista had never been on more than cordial terms, and the few occasions when she’d met Felix he’d made it clear he’d be up for a cosier relationship, something Brenda said he was well-known for. That also went for Hugh’s brother Edgar but he knew better than to try anything under Hugh’s roof.

  None of the five offspring of Hugh’s siblings had accepted the invitation. Three lived overseas and the other two were estranged from their father. Angus hadn’t reappeared and, as far as Krista knew, hadn’t been heard from either.

  If Hugh was concerned about his son, he gave no indication and deflected enquiries as to his whereabouts with the statement that Angus, unfortunately, was away on business. ‘Couldn’t be helped,’ he said with a shrug. ‘You know how it is.’

  Not that any of them gave a damn whether Angus was there or not.

  Krista smiled and spoke when she was spoken to, ate and drank and was politeness itself. Brenda had made sure she wasn’t seated next to either Felix or Edgar so, because of Angus’s absence, she had her other step uncle, Robert, on one side and Edgar’s wife Shirley on the other, neither of whom took much notice of her.

  After dessert was served and coffee was brought in, Krista excused herself and escaped. She heaved a vast sigh of relief outside the dining room and wandered out to the rear terrace for some fresh air. It was scorchingly hot with hardly a breath of wind when she stepped from the air-conditioned house. She shaded her eyes and scanned the cloudless sky for signs of smoke from the fire Rod had mentioned. Nothing.

  Lola appeared and pattered to the open door but didn’t venture out.

  ‘Too hot for you.’ Krista went inside and pulled the sliding door closed. With the little dog following at her heels, she headed for the stairs and her room. The main party was kicking off at four, which gave time for a rest before having to change and the guests began to arrive.

  She wasn’t sure what woke her. A sudden noise of some sort. A car engine accelerating away. Lola barking downstairs. Krista sat up, head heavy, clammy-skinned and disoriented. It was late. Twenty to four. Yawning, she went to the bathroom. She’d have to be quick but her make-up was minimal in this heat, and she never wore much anyway because her skin was so fine and unblemished thanks to her Finnish heritage. Fifteen minutes later she emerged, awake, refreshed and ready to slip on the plain Arctic blue silk dress with the modest neck and hemline. She’d brought the silver evening dress as well but it had a low-cut neck and bare shoulders as well as a figure-hugging long skirt. Hotter to wear despite the spaghetti straps.

  She’d given quite a bit of thought to the two choices. Mama would say the blue silk was plain, but with a two-thousand-dollar price tag she wasn’t wearing a sack and no way was she giving the rich old men with a sense of entitlement, roving hands and lecherous eyes any encouragement.

  Some sort of confrontation was going on outside. The front door stood wide open and Hugh’s imperious voice echoed through the foyer.

  ‘Why do you want to speak to my stepdaughter?’

  Frowning, Krista ventured forward. A black limousine was parked outside, only partially visible from where she stood. Who was it? Where were Viivi and the other guests? Where was Brenda?

  Another voice sounded, low and insistent. Familiar?

  ‘You can speak to me,’ said Hugh.

  ‘Mr Moran would like to speak to your stepdaughter.’

  The two men were out of her line of sight but now she could hear more clearly as the visitor spoke. It was the man who claimed Calypso belonged to his boss, the thin one with the Italian name. A chill scampered over her body, raising goosebumps on her bare arms. He knew she’d lied, he’d said she’d be sorry. Very sorry. For the first time she could remember, she was glad of Hugh’s authoritative manner. He didn’t take kindly to demands at the best of times and this was not one of those.

  A car door opened and closed with a low click.

  ‘Good afternoon, Hugh,’ said a new voice.

  ‘Stefan. What’s this about? Why are you here?’

  ‘You know why I’m here.’

  ‘Do I? I don’t think so.’ But he’d lost some of the arrogance. Who was Stefan?

  ‘Would it be possible to talk inside out of this heat?’ The visitor spoke mildly, with the confidence of someone who is always obeyed.

  ‘I’m expecting guests any minute.’

  ‘I won’t take up much of your time.’

  Footsteps sounded on the tiles, shadows eclipsed the glare from outside. Krista had no time to hide. She had to brazen it out.

  The man who preceded Hugh was slim, a head shorter and several years younger than her stepfather, but with a presence that radiated control like a stalking tiger. Calm, relaxed but focused, constantly alert. Intent on the result he expected, whatever that was. To punish her?

  His eyes landed on Krista.

  ‘Miss Laatonen. What a pleasure to meet you.’ He held out a pale hand in greeting. She shook the cool fingers briefly.

  ‘How do you do.’ Her eyes flicked to Hugh and back to the man who had so easily and quietly inserted himself into the house.

  He said, ‘Thank you, I am very well. I’m a business associate of both your brother and your father. My name is Stefan Moran.’

  Forcing a sociable smile, Krista took a step back. ‘We’re serving drinks on the terrace. It’s still terribly hot, but there are shade umbrellas and those who can’t take the heat can stay indoors.’

  ‘Thank you,’ He inclined his head.

  ‘Stefan isn’t a guest,’ said Hugh.

  ‘Oh. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise.’

  Moran smiled. ‘A cool drink would be most welcome.’ He turned to Hugh. ‘While we discuss the matter I came for.’ Back to Krista. ‘Perhaps you will join us?’

  ‘I can give you a few minutes, Stefan.’ Hugh led the way into the small drawing room to the side of the foyer. ‘What can I offer you to drink?’

  ‘Sparkling mineral water with a slice of lemon. Thank you.’

  ‘Krista, please?’

  When she returned a few minutes later with the chilled drink, the two men were engaged in an awkward chat about the weather, although Hugh seemed just as at ease as the visitor.

  She handed Moran the glass. ‘Thank you.’ He took a small sip. ‘I shall come straight to the point. Miss Laatonen, you lied to my men about the horse. Why was that?’

  His tone was the same but his eyes had turned to stone.

  ‘I had no idea who they were and why they would claim my horse. Any of The Grange horses for that matter.’ She returned his gaze with her own, ice-filled. ‘They were quite aggressive.’

  ‘The vet also lied.’

  ‘He knew nothing about the horses.’

  ‘We use a different vet. The man has never been here,’ interjected Hugh.

  ‘But you see, you are both still lying to me. The same man was here this afternoon seeing to one of your horses. I saw him myself come from the stables and my men
confirmed he was the person they spoke to.’

  ‘If that’s true, it’s the first time he’s been here and I didn’t know. Perhaps our regular man was unavailable. I’m not told every small detail that happens in the stables.’ Hugh’s voice had a tinge of anger now. ‘What the hell is this about, Stefan? What are my horses to do with you? All the horses you’re talking about belong to The Grange and therefore indirectly to Krista. She told me what happened. How dare you or your men threaten her.’

  Moran placed the glass precisely on the small table by his chair. ‘Your son Angus has somewhat of a gambling problem. He owes me a large sum of money, which he seems unwilling to repay. He promised me he would but he has failed to make any of the deadlines we agreed. He offered a horse, Calypso Secret, as part payment. I understand her bloodline is very good and one of her foals fetched nearly half a million recently.’

  Krista stifled the urge to gasp. Did Hugh know that when he gave her Calypso? Did he know anything about his investment in The Grange? Surely Rod knew, and Angus must.

  ‘Calypso Secret is not my son’s horse to give away.’

  ‘That’s not my concern.’ Moran stood up. ‘I want my money, Hugh, and in the absence of your son, I will expect his family to honour the debt.’

  ‘I will not pay my son’s debts and he knows it. You will have to pursue him if you want your money.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘I don’t know. He left here the day after the accident.’

  Moran’s eyes narrowed. He studied Hugh and then swung his attention to Krista. ‘I am sorry you and your vet friend have become involved in this but you have insulted my intelligence by lying to me. If this debt is not repaid by five pm Monday there will be consequences you will not like. For you and your friend. I will see myself out. Enjoy your party.’

  Hugh strode forward and flung the door open, making sure Moran left the house. Krista followed on shaky legs. The black limousine slid from view.

  ‘Who is that man, Hugh?’ she asked.

  ‘He owns a string of casinos and nightclubs, amongst other less legitimate business dealings.’ His jaw tightened.

  ‘He’s a gangster, you mean? A criminal?’ Oliver was right when he made that remark about the Godfather.