7

Kawa Gang Detectives

Back at the homestead, Tai collected eggs to take to Mr Willoughby. Awa grabbed a few apricots.

“How do we ask about Mr Carol?” said Awa.

“We want to know how he died and what he was up to.”

“But seriously, adults don’t answer those questions, Tai.”

Mr Willoughby’s little house sat among a tangle of grapevines growing along wires. In a small paddock out the back, three sheep lay in the shade of a walnut tree. He answered the door in slippers and a baggy jersey and woollen pinstripe trousers held up by braces. Tai offered him the basket of eggs and apricots.

“Just a minute, boys. I’ll get a bowl.” He shuffled into the dark house without asking them in.

Awa said quietly, “We should ask what the Carols used to be like.”

Mr Willoughby let the boys fill his bowl while he thought about their question. “After the war, this wee town was a busy place. I looked after the railway station. The Carols took all my grapes. Mr Carol brewed them into wine and brandy. He collected grapes from a few others around the neighbourhood too. Mrs Carol didn’t go out much, but she and your nan were great friends. There was a garden, and bees. She milked a couple of cows, and they had pigs that went to the local butcher. We used to trade stuff, like my grapes for his brandy and pork.”

Tai blurted out, “What happened to him?”

“Just disappeared. He used to do that, come and go. Meredith looked after herself. I used to help her
with firewood and gardening. Your nan helped
her too. The war changed everything for the men who returned. Mr Carol too. He was different afterwards. Now, boys, tell your nan thanks.”

Awa nudged Tai. “We better be going. See you for Sunday lunch.” He led Tai down the path between the vines.

“Just disappeared, eh?” said Tai. “So no funeral?”

“Come with me. We can check.” Awa led the way to the small church, and they wandered through
the graveyard reading the headstones.

In one row, they found some Willoughbys. Five of them. “Old Willy Tortoise’s family must have lived around here for a hundred years,” guessed Tai.

They searched for family names they knew. “No Carol I can see, no Rumbles, none of our whānau either, they’re all up north. Is Mr Willy right? He just left? Disappeared? Why? Wait, Tai, let’s check the war memorial.”

The memorial stone wasn’t far from the church. They sat on the bench beside it and read through the list of names.

“This town lost over twenty men in the last war, Tai, and look, two more Willoughbys. Old Willy could be the last in his line! And now he lives alone.
He used to help Mrs Carol too. Maybe he and Nan were the only people who supported her after
Mr Carol was gone. Pop too, but he just gets on with it. Like the firewood. I think we better see if he needs a hand, eh?”

They dragged branches over to Pop’s saw horse. As his bow-saw sang through the branches, they carried the short lengths off to stack in the woodshed. After the last branch was stacked to dry, Pop called it quits. “There’ll be more tomorrow. That’s a good load so far.”

Tai blurted out, “Did Mr Willoughby lose all his brothers in the war? Did he help Mrs Carol?”

“Whoa, where did that come from?”

“We saw the gravestones and the war memorial.”

“You guys are real Sherlocks, eh? He and his two brothers did go to war, Tai. He was the only one to return. When he came home, he helped his old mum and Mrs Carol too.”

“Where was Mr Carol?”

“I didn’t see much of him after the war. Never knew where he was. He kept to himself, spent most of his time in that old shed, or off somewhere.”

Tai was itchy with questions. “Did he drown in the rain barrel?”

“Those uncles of yours teasing you again, eh? He’s gone. Long gone!”

Tai was on a roll. “Why is all his stuff still in the shed?”

“Right! Let’s knock all this on the head and clean out that shed. And Mrs Carol’s house. It’s high time, and the Rumbles might want to use it. Now, would you boys like to sleep at Mrs Carol’s? Your aunties Zinnia and Miro are coming up to stay. They’re worried about Nan. They probably want their old bedroom back. Kim would be over there too.”

“When?” asked Awa.

“We have a few days to sort it out. Anyway, you boys like to sleep up a tree. This way you’ll have your own room. The homestead is about to get very busy.”

Awa and Tai looked at each other. They agreed with Pop. It wouldn’t be any fun getting under their aunties’ feet. The aunties didn’t have any sons, and they often said, “Boys should not be allowed to roam at random! They should be seen and not heard! Manners maketh the man!”