The next morning, early, I Skyped Leo again. Not the most successful of mature-perhaps-it’s-time-we-break-up conversations. More of an impromptu phone-sex assignation, truth be told. Which was Leo’s fault, what with the killer smile, ruffled blond hair and lack of shirt. I didn’t quite get around to canning the drive-in appointment. Or mentioning Greg.
After the call, I had a mug of hot water (still disappointing) and caught my breath. The sun came up and I got busy with berating myself.
I figured a dawn walk would do me good. Better than going around and around in my head, wondering what to do about Leo. And Brad’s always on at me to get some exercise. I pulled on a T-shirt and my best tracky dacks and headed out.
I marched down my gravel driveway and turned onto Best Street. Headed past Vern’s, past Showbag’s place, his dried-up front lawn, his corrugated fence glinting in the sun. I walked under a yellow flowering gum, bees already busy. No one around: a welcome moment to myself. Maybe Brad had a point after all about rising early to make the most of the morning. I’d have to thank him, once he got up.
I walked past the silos, headed for the wheat stubble beyond. Long streaks of cloud low in the sky. How can you bear to stay there, Cass? Leo said that once. Hot, dusty, nothing to do.
There’s plenty to do, I should have told him. A bit too much, in fact. As to how I bear it: well, it boils down to being used to the place, I guess.
Maybe I should keep on walking and never come back. Tempting thought. Everyone could find a way to solve their own problems without having to rely on me. They could do their own private detecting, find their own missing partners, deal with their dumped rats, murdered bosses, arsonised friends. Any number of ferrets could move in to my place, and I’d be…free. Just the feel of the word in my mouth made me slightly dizzy.
‘Cass!’ A voice behind me.
I turned.
It was Vern on his bike: a flashy red number, recumbent. He says it’s easier to manage, given his missing arm. In my opinion it just makes it simpler for road trains to mow him down, and I’ve been proved right on at least one occasion. His little Australian flag was flying cheerily behind him. Far too cheerily for my mood.
He caught up, apparently without effort. He was wearing a blue cycling jacket and black lycra shorts a size too small. At least he had a helmet on, for a change.
‘Been trying to call you all morning,’ he panted.
I looked at my watch: half past six. When did he think the morning started?
‘Taking a brief sabbatical, Vern. Not in the mood to discuss rats or Joanne’s whereabouts, at the moment. Need a little me-time.’
Vern considered that, cycling slowly alongside me. Not taking the hint and hurrying off anywhere, unfortunately.
‘So you wouldn’t want to hear about an important development?’
‘What development?’ I couldn’t help myself.
‘This Mel woman, who wants to find Joanne. She’s working for Nic Peluso.’
‘I know. She told me.’
‘So you’ve looked into Peluso?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I’ll take that as a no. Must say I’d’ve expected better of you, Cass.’
I didn’t like his tone. ‘Are you accusing me of something?’
‘Yep. Way too quick to judge the woman I love.’ A glare, rapidly followed by a softer expression. ‘Prob’ly can’t help yourself.’ He took his hand off his handlebar a moment; made a minor adjustment to his groin. ‘Woman scorned and all that.’
‘What?’
‘Seriously, you’re gunna hafta move on, Cass. There’s no other way.’
Oh, for God’s sake. I upped the pace of my walking. But Vern stuck alongside me without any apparent effort.
‘Paula called me Monday night. Said you weren’t answering your phone.’ He paused. ‘You can’t afford to work public service hours, not in this line of work.’
‘I was in the Mildura cop shop being questioned,’ said the woman scorned who also, it seemed, wasn’t working hard enough. I stifled the urge to whack Vern. ‘What did Paula say?’
‘Peluso’s past. Pretty interesting.’
‘In what way?’
‘He’s a bloke not heavily into ethics, let’s say.’
‘You mean he’s a crook?’
‘Dodgy developer. Very dodgy.’ He paused. ‘Plus Paula said Jo had been getting nuisance calls.’
I probably should have told him about that. Then I thought it was slightly worrying that Vern was talking about Joanne in the past tense. I flicked a look at him. ‘Joanne’s OK, Vern, course she is. She’s just hiding out somewhere.’
‘Yep.’ He didn’t sound entirely convinced.
I wasn’t totally convinced myself.
Once I managed to shake Vern off, I got on with opening the shop, although frankly it was hard to see the point, given the complete absence of customers. I spent a moment considering Vern’s and Mel’s accounts of Peluso: worryingly different. I should call Dean and ask about Peluso, assuming Dean was talking to me. Maybe tonight.
The shop doorbell rang. Claire; Jess’s curly red hair was peeping out of the stroller. Claire’s not exactly my daughter, but she is Brad and Dean’s sister, which makes Jess their niece and Jess my…well, never mind. It’s a bit of a long and boring story really, and I don’t always feel up to going into it.
Claire stood there looking lovely as usual: smooth skinned, slender, young. ‘Just heading down to see Sophia, Cass. You want to come?’
‘Nah. The shop…’
‘You can leave it for a bit, surely. It’s not like there’s a line out the door.’
Well, there was no need to rub it in.
‘And Sophia’s kind of expecting you.’
‘I don’t see why, when I didn’t tell her I was coming.’
She shrugged. The kind of shrug that shouted loud and clear that it was Claire who’d told Sophia I’d be there.
Thanks, Claire. Sophia’s my mother in law—or was—before Piero died. And she’s not a person you fall out with.
‘Err, tell her I’m really sorry but I’ve…got a headache. I’ll pop in soon. Promise.’
I rubbed my forehead, to make my point. I actually did have a headache.
‘Yeah, you don’t look too bright.’ She tilted her head. ‘What’s up?’
‘I think it’s to do with…Dean.’
‘Right. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Dean’s microbiome is in bad shape. All these billions of bacterial cells in our stomachs and intestines: you gotta take care of them. They’re all that stands between you and a lifetime of obesity and diabetes, Cass.’
‘I think Dean’s got a few other issues on the go right now.’ Time for a change of subject. ‘How was Slow Pig?’
‘Oh, it wasn’t just pigs. A whole Slow Food festival: just fantastic. You should have come. Jess had a great time, didn’t you?’ Claire beamed into the stroller.
‘Yabby,’ said Jess, waving a fist. ‘Claws.’
‘Jess helped make yabby ballotine with ruby saltbush and samphire harvested from the floodplain.’
‘Good work, Jess.’ I didn’t ask what a ballotine was. I’d get the full briefing later, once I’d had some Panadol.
‘Well, gotta go. Sophia wants to plan the celebration.’
‘What’s she celebrating?’
Claire turned red. ‘Oh. I thought…My God, is that the time? We’d better go, hey, Jess?’ Claire grabbed the stroller and hurried off.
I got on with a stocktake of my shop freezer. I was low on whiting: I’d have to phone in an order—assuming I still needed whiting. Assuming one day I would have an actual customer again. I made a list for Rae and then got busy with some worrying. Was Peluso a trusting sweetie or a crook? Or both? What the hell was Joanne involved in?
Brad ambled in.
‘Bradley. Listen, you know anything about a bloke called Nic Peluso? Something about a casino development in Mildura. Got turned down, Mel said.’
‘Mel?’
‘The private detective. Told you about her, I’m sure of it. She’s working for him.’
‘Hmm. Peluso—isn’t that the bloke Ernie’s always on about?’
‘Is he? Why?’ I said.
‘Can’t remember the details—maybe it involved a pump? But I’m pretty sure that was the man’s name.’
He looked at his watch. ‘Way before my time, anyway. Or yours, even. Look, I’ve gotta go. Janette’s got another dose of dermatitis. That thing never clears up.’
I cleared my throat. ‘While you’re here, Brad, there’s another topic I’d like to discuss. I need you to move those ferrets out of the house. Today.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
He sighed. ‘Look, I’m up to here with work this morning.’ He held a hand across his neck. ‘Greens votes don’t just happen on their own, you know. Especially around here: I can’t believe how apathetic you all are. It’s like none of you give a damn about the future.’
That ‘you all’ definitely sounded like it included me.
‘Pretty harsh, Bradley. I’ve already said you’ve got my vote. Unless I find some reason to change my mind on election day.’
Is it manipulative to use your vote to motivate your son to get his partner’s ferrets out of your house? Not something I could ask Brad, obviously.
‘Look, it won’t take you five minutes to move that ferret cage. And then a quick call to Madison to tell her you’re bringing them back.’
He scowled.
‘You’d rather I phoned her myself?’
‘Mum, listen…’ He sighed. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’
‘It’s not me you need to tell, it’s Madison. I’m serious Brad, just explain to her that my place isn’t a home for deranged ferrets. Or any kind of ferret.’
‘You never listen, do you? What’s the bloody point?’ He stomped towards the connecting door into the house.
I stared. It wasn’t like Brad to be so moody: beat me what had got into him lately. ‘Brad?’ I called out after him. ‘Hang on, before you go. Are you doing anything tonight?’
He stopped and turned. ‘Maybe. Why?’
‘It’s not a trick question. I need your help. Can you mind the shop while I visit Ernie? And then after I get back, I need…a bird lesson. An incredibly brief one.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘No. I’m going on a birdwatching trip.’
‘I do not believe this.’ Brad put a hand to his forehead in exactly the dramatic gesture his father used to use on the rare occasion I asked him to do one small thing. Like, can you get the chips out of the fryer before they burn the place down, Piero—because I wasn’t doing much myself at the time. Just racing Brad off to the potty while I tried to hold Dean back from pulling down a mountain of heavy pans from the shelf and crushing himself.
I took in a deep breath. In, out. Focused breathing, Cass.
‘It’s to do with the murder of Vivian Bentley. Which reminds me, have you managed to find out anything about that bloke in Joanne’s photo yet?’
‘Yes, yes, yes, for God’s sake. I’m on it, OK?’ He stamped off into the house.
Right. The kind of yes, yes, yes that meant no.