Kim woke to the sound of Oscar’s steady barking, with the sun streaming in the window. A little groggy. All that tokay last night. She sat up in bed, sending her book sliding to the floor. She could hear the murmur of voices. Who on earth was Daisy talking to?
‘Come on, lazy-bones.’ Daisy poked her head round the bedroom door. ‘You’ve got visitors. Don’t keep them waiting.’ She cast Kim an appraising glance. ‘And you might want to brush your hair.’
‘Who is it?’ she whispered, but Daisy had disappeared.
Surely not her parents. They didn’t know she was here, did they? Unless Daisy had told them. She wasn’t quite ready for her mother to say, ‘I told you so.’
When Kim walked into the lounge room, an improbable sight greeted her. Taj and Mel sitting awkwardly together on the couch. Mel looked nervous and nursed a manila folder on her lap. Her hair was as messy as on the first day they met, a tangle of dark curls. Taj nodded a greeting, his dark hair falling over one eye like usual, following the angle of his scar. Muscles tense beneath his clothes, as if at any moment he might leap to his feet. He looked entirely out of place drinking coffee in Daisy’s neat lounge room on her gold-and-white striped couch. Too large and alive. Too wild. Like a wolf masquerading as a family pet.
Her heart slowly tumbled in her chest.
‘It’s terrible about Dusty,’ said Mel. ‘I bawled my eyes out when I heard.’
Kim nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Was this why they’d come all this way? So Mel could express her sympathy? How did they even know where to find her? She went over to Mel, drew her into a hug.
‘Are you okay?’ she managed. ‘I’ve been so worried. Where were you?’
‘Doing an advanced training course in rehabilitating raptors.’
‘Raptors?’
‘Birds of prey,’ said Mel. ‘I want to specialise in eagles.’
‘That’s awesome,’ said Kim. ‘You’re amazing.’
Mel’s cheeks flushed at the praise. ‘We brought your mail. Winnie gave me your address off the redirection notice.’ She took a single letter from the folder and held it out. ‘I thought it might be important.’
Kim thanked her and put it on the coffee table. A promotion from the Rural Fire Service.
‘There’s something else,’ said Mel.
Oh. She thought there might be. Jake came into the room and saw Taj. There was no more resentment in his eyes. Taj gravely nodded to Jake, who returned the gesture.
‘Kim,’ Mel continued, ‘your dingoes didn’t kill my sheep. It was Ben.’
‘It was Ben what?’
Mel bit her lip and glanced at Taj. He shifted in his seat, but his face remained impassive. She went on. ‘Ben shot the sheep. He shot Dusty too.’
The air grew thick. ‘Wait a minute . . .’
Taj put a hand in his pocket and pulled out three sandwich bags. ‘Bullets. This is from the spine of Mel’s sheep.’ He tossed it on the table. His tone was low and deliberate. ‘I found this bullet lodged in Dusty’s skull.’ She flinched as it hit the table, saw Jake whiten. ‘And these’ – he held up the final bag – ‘are bullets test-fired from Ben’s rifle. All a perfect match.’
‘There must be some mistake.’ She looked from one to the other, hoping. The knot of tension in the room twisted tight.
‘No mistake.’
Kim swallowed, her throat a lump of sawdust as she put a hand on Jake’s shoulder. Despite the absurd improbability of it, despite the shock and regret and terrible hurt, Kim did not doubt Taj for a moment.
Daisy stood up. ‘How about I get us all a coffee?’
Taj drew something else out of his pocket. ‘This is for you, Jake.’ A photograph of the garden at Journey’s End, the waratahs, upturned earth beneath them and a small cross. ‘I thought you would like to know where he is.’
Jake took the photo, his eyes filled with tears.
‘I’m going to the park.’ He stopped at the door and turned to Taj. ‘Thank you.’ And then he was gone.
Mel put the manila folder on the table and opened it. ‘There’s more.’
Kim braced herself. Bring it. Nothing could be worse than the treachery revealed so far.
‘Ben’s been buying up tracts of protected forest for a song, faking logging permits, clear-felling the land and selling the timber to a dodgy saw mill. He’s raking in a fortune.’
Kim leafed through the documents, cautiously, as though they might bite. Purchase orders for vast tonnages of premium logs, the dollar amounts staggering, and the vendor’s name – Ben Steele. She held up a form. ‘This permit number . . .?’
‘It belongs to another property altogether.’
Something else caught her eye in the folder: a sworn valuer’s report for Journey’s End. ‘Where’d you get this?’
‘From Ben’s home office,’ said Taj.
‘I see.’ She paused. ‘This valuation’s crazy. My land’s not worth anything like that much.’ The figure was twice what Karen Thompson had offered.
‘It is if you count the standing timber as an asset,’ said Mel. ‘And that valuation doesn’t mention any conservation covenant. Did you ever do a title search to check that it was registered?’
‘Well no. I always left things like that to Connor.’
‘Who arranged it for you?’
Kim slapped her forehead. ‘Walter Steele. Ben’s father. Looks like Ben inherited his dodgy ways from dear old dad.’
‘I’m sorry. This must be hitting you pretty hard,’ said Mel. ‘We know you’re sweet on him.’
Of course. They didn’t know she and Ben were no longer an item.
‘Taj!’ Abbey cannoned into the room like an excited puppy, Daisy right behind her. ‘Have you come to take us home?’
Mel’s eyes widened with hope. Kim wet her lips and looked at Taj. For a long moment, they held each other’s gaze. Daisy raised her brows and gave Kim a what-do-you-reckon? kind of smile. And Kim was no longer lost. She knew exactly what she had to do.