36

I flung the suitcase shut over the dog’s head. Stood up, feeling a little shaky. I grabbed Boofa by his collar and whirled into my shop. Slammed the door shut and locked it. Boofa looked at me boggle-eyed. I was feeling pretty boggle-eyed myself.

No point calling Dean. He’d be too busy reading me my rights to take in anything I said. Boofa looked up at me, tail wagging. Yeah, Boofa, but you don’t know Dean, not really. I sighed. Where in hell does a person turn to find a normal cop?

Or you’ll regret it.

Boofa whined; pushed his head into my hand. I gave him a reassuring stroke, his head was warm and comforting. I went round the house, checked the doors were locked; checked all the windows too.

I rubbed my arms, trying to warm up. Maybe I should phone Gary Kellett. I didn’t want to distress him, though. Not when he had so many reasons to be distressed, and so early in the morning. Gary would be very upset: that dog was all he had of Natalie.

What sort of person kills a dog, anyway? Anger surged the blood into my arms, my legs. Bastard. And how dare he/she (more than probably it’d turn out to be a he—I know, just call me prejudiced) think he could threaten me with that pathetic note.

The problem was: who exactly was he? Morris Temple? Andy Fitzgerald? Or was it actually a she—Glenda Fitzgerald?

Whoever it was, it was time for action. I’d assemble a team and pay the good citizens of Muddy Soak a little visit. Starting with Morris Temple. He wasn’t a big bloke. That shrimp’d stand very little chance against Rusty Bore’s finest. There are plenty of people in this town who are far from useless in a crisis.

I hoofed out to my bedroom and rootled though the wardrobe. Found my yellow gloves, a gift from Raquel and the Knitters Knot, as yet unused. I slipped them on and headed back along the hallway and into the shop. I didn’t want to mess up any fingerprints or other important evidence on that suitcase.

I opened the shop door. It was dim outside in the grey pre-dawn light. The suitcase was still there. I lugged it into the shop, down the hallway and into the kitchen. Boofa whined again when he saw it. I went and shut him in the laundry so as not to upset the little bloke any further.

I carefully unzipped the suitcase again, doing my best to ignore Preston’s head and the pool of blood. Searched the case for any identifying marks. Nothing special. A dusty outer. No name on it, no address label. Manufacturer: Jaguar Brown. I peered into the inner pocket, felt around inside: nothing.

I was just stuffing Preston’s cold dead head into a jumbo-sized zip-lock plastic bag, when Brad shuffled in.

‘What are you doing, Mum?’

‘I’ll explain in a tick.’

I tucked Preston’s double-bagged head in behind the ice-cream. Not ideal, but it wouldn’t be for long, I hoped. Might help put me off eating ice-cream for a while, which could be a good thing. And I could hardly put it in the shop freezer: health and safety et cetera.

I put the suitcase down the bottom of my wardrobe, slung the gloves into my washing basket and hurried back into the kitchen.

‘Mum? What the hell…?’

I quickly put Brad in the picture.

He looked dazed, like he was having trouble taking it in.

‘Now, are you coming to Muddy Soak with me or not?’ I said.

‘No way. We’re not going down this path again. Remember what happened last time? You could have been killed. No, this is definitely a police matter. I’m not having you end up decapitated in a suitcase.’

He screwed up his mouth good and tight. Brad’s always more than ready to catastrophise, just like his father always was. Although on this occasion it was possible he had a point.

‘Best way to prevent that is to come and help, Brad.’

‘Stay out of it. Whoever wrote that note: they’re dangerous.’

Thanks for stating the bloody obvious.

‘Phone Dean.’

‘I can’t do that. Dean’s…well, I’m staying away from him.’

I never set out to raise Dean to be an irritable, prone-to-unnecessary-arrests kind of person. I don’t suppose any parent aims for that. But surely it was remediable; Dean and I probably just needed more quality time together. I’d make that a priority, I would. Once I got a moment.

‘I’m going to Muddy Soak to see a few people. Starting with this bastard Morris. Either he’s done this to Preston or he knows something about it. Are you in?’

‘This will end up with you dead. Or in jail.’

‘Look, no one else is going to do it, Brad. It’s like all your shark-rescuing efforts. Your climate change concerns. Your fake press release. Sometimes you have to make a stand.’

He sighed.

‘And bring Morris Temple’s phone with you. We might need it.’

We dropped Boofa off with Claire, who was minding Vern’s while he was in hospital. I warned her keep Boofa indoors. At all times. Made a quick phone call to Hustle Hospital to check on Vern. The night duty nurse sounded a little surprised to hear from a friend of Vern’s at 6am, but she reassured me he was fine.

At eight, Brad and I headed off to the Home.

‘Just here to pick up Ernie for his birthday, Taylah.’

‘You’re getting in an early start. Where you taking him?’

‘Nice day out in Muddy Soak. We’re gunna check out the Turning Leaf thing. The Spectacular. Get him a nice ice-cream. Might even take a look at some autumn leaves.’

Ernie seemed to have some sixth sense that something was happening. He was ready, waiting in his room in a carefully ironed khaki shirt and matching trousers. Dressed for some kind of pensioner’s commando raid.

‘Managed to free up the diary,’ Ernie brushed down his khakis. ‘And a trip will do you good, Cassandra Ariadne. Just need you to stay away from any fellas. Can’t trust ’em, not a single flaming one.’

I got Ernie settled in the passenger seat, his walking stick beside him in the foot well. Got into the drivers seat and looked around at our little group: Ernie, Brad, Madison, Timmy. We’d had an unscheduled stop to pick up Madison, since Brad remembered at the last moment that she had an appointment in Muddy Soak.

‘What kind of appointment?’ I said.

‘Vet. Tim’s got an injured leg. Margie bit him.’

‘No way I’m travelling with a ferret in the car.’

‘Well, I’m not going anywhere without Madison.’ Brad folded his arms.

Madison gently positioned Timmy, his front left foot bandaged, into his special seatbelt harness. She promised me there’d be no accidents.

I’m never entirely relaxed when there’s a ferret in the car, but I must admit I felt a little swell of pride as I looked around at our group. There we sat, the early-morning light stretching all golden across the gravel car park of the Garden of the Gods Extended Care Nursing Home. We’d become our own version of the Famous Five. Albeit our Timmy was a ferret, unfortunately. And we had a half-frozen dog head stowed inside my esky. Still double-bagged, of course.