It was just after 5:00 p.m.
As she walked towards the sound of music, down the pebbled pathway between the main house and the bails where she’d just vamped herself up, Roxy couldn’t help frowning. If this was the sound of the Moody Roos screeching through the gum trees and across the sprawling lawn, then she was Diane Sawyer.
The drum beat was sloppy, there was a wailing sound that she assumed was a guitar, but if it was, it needed tuning, desperately, and—horror of horrors—what sounded a lot like a squealing fiddle, one of her least favourite instruments, second only to the flute which she could also just make out amongst the din.
As Roxy got closer, though, she felt a wave of relief. A stage had been set up in the open shed at the farthest end of the lawn in front of the veranda. A black curtain had been strung up and, in front of that, was a merry band of men who were definitely not the Moody Roos. More like a local hippie act. These blokes were even older and scruffier, most wearing flared trousers, some in woollen vests, others in open peasant-style shirts. Not one of them appeared to know how to play a note. Yet it didn’t seem to put the crowd off.
There was already a gathering of similarly dressed people dancing in front of them, arms in the air, heads back, dazed smiles on their faces as though they were in some kind of trance. Perhaps they had been hypnotised, Roxy thought, or, more likely, smoking some of the local weed. It would certainly explain why they didn’t find the music as offensive as she did.
A large bonfire had been set up in the centre of the lawn and it was crackling away, a wide circle of hay bales around it where several other hippies were seated, chatting and smoking what looked and smelt a lot like pot. That explained that, then. An elderly couple sat together on a hay-bale, looking more stony- faced than stoned, and about as comfortable as chicks in a snake pit. Roxy wondered momentarily who they could be before she noticed Houghton waving to her from the other side of the fire.
“When do the Roos go on?” she asked, seating herself down beside him.
“Oh, Jed’ll tell this mob to bugger off when he’s ready.” He held his hands out towards the flames as though attempting to toast his fingers.
Roxy looked around. “Who are all these people?”
He followed her eyes. “Just the local riffraff. Jed always invites them to his jams. Keeps the natives happy.”
Roxy spotted Govinda then, the woman from the Goddess Café. She was in the middle of the crowd, childless this time and twirling around in circles to the music, her eyes closed. She was surrounded by a swirl of other women, some blonde, some brunette, one with cherry red hair that fell about her face in long, luscious locks. It might have been the same woman Roxy had spotted earlier with Alistair at the stables. All of them were wearing the standard hippie garb—long skirts, feathers hanging from their ears and hair, velvet vests and tinkling silver beads that looked straight out of an Indian marketplace.
“And who is that band? Please tell me they’re going to stop.”
He chuckled. “Local lads called the Cloudchasers. Again, it’s all about keeping the peasants happy. Let ’em have their moment in the sun, then they let Jed and Annika get on with their shit.”
“What ‘shit’, exactly? Recording albums?”
“And the rest.” He lowered his voice slightly. “Got big plans to turn this property into a festival site. Got a development application in with the local council now.” He pulled a piece of hay from beneath him and began chewing on it. “Some of the locals aren’t happy about it, been trying to make waves. Jed keeps throwing bones out to them, trying to woo them all back.”
“Who’s against the DA?”
“Just your usual greenies, a few councillors, some of the neighbours. It’s nothing Annie can’t sort out.”
“What sort of festival are they planning?”
He spat the hay out. “Festivals, actually. Plural. Want to put at least ten on a year, bring in top rock acts; maybe do a jazz fest. Take advantage of the growing yuppie crowd down in Byron. Anyway, as I say, it’s early days. Still jumping through hoops with Council at this stage.” He shrugged. “They have to do something if they want to start making money.”
“I thought Jed was raking it in.” He did have a cleaner and a cook, after all.
“Oh, he’s doing all right. You and I wouldn’t complain, but he’s not getting the record sales he used to get. The cash ain’t flowing like the old days.”
“Hence the book and tour?”
He grinned. “Got it in one. Hey, here’s the High Priestess herself.”
Roxy looked up to find Annika strutting across the lawn towards them, an enormous goblet of red wine in one hand, a plate laden with some kind of brownish white meat in the other. She looked breathtaking, in a long, white halter neck dress that billowed out as she walked, accentuating her chiselled shoulders and long black hair. She stopped to offer the plate of food to the surly older couple who brightened up when she approached, then to several others before she reached Roxy, a wide smile on her face.
“Hello, my darlings!” she said, bending down to plant a thick kiss on Houghton’s lips, followed by a sly wink.
The jealous wife had transformed into a zealous hostess and she was now holding the plate out to Roxy who still couldn’t work out what it was.
“Freerange pork! Just off the spit.”
“There’s a spit?”
“We always do a spit. It’s not a Moody jam without one!”
Houghton was already plucking several slices of oily meat from the plate and shoving them into his mouth.
“No, thanks,” Roxy said. “I’m not real hungry yet.”
“Well, don’t wait too long.” Annika glanced around surreptitiously then leaned in closer and said, “With this lot there’ll be nothing left within the hour. Vegetarians my arse!” She stepped back, flinging her long hair behind her as she did so. “Didn’t get a chance to chat to Jeddie, I hear?”
Roxy shook her head. “He thinks tomorrow will work better.”
“I’m sorry about that. I’ve kept him a bit busy today.” The look she gave Roxy reminded her of the cat who’d just swallowed the cream. Clearly Mr. and Mrs. Moody had made up for last night. “If you need a drink, just help yourself. You should know where the bar is by now.”
Roxy nodded and glanced around the crowd. Several people were nursing beers and glasses of wine. Did they all just help themselves? It seemed considerably gracious of her.
“I cannot believe it!” Annika exclaimed, staring across the fire. “The Green Brigade has shown up!” She turned to Houghton and dropped the plate into his lap. “Here, hide that, quick. If Joe sees it, he’ll start lecturing me again. I don’t think I could bear it, not tonight.”
She took a large mouthful of wine, then said, “Wish me luck!” before striding in the direction of a small group who were just entering the party from one side of the house.
There were two men, an older one, short and slightly beefy with curly white hair and a brown woollen poncho, and another half his age, taller, leaner with a swishing ponytail and linen drawstring pants. Behind them Roxy could just make out a young woman, a teenager perhaps.
Both Roxy and Houghton watched as Annika rushed up and gave the two men an air kiss then said something before breaking into her trademark machine-gun laughter. The ponytailed man laughed along with her but the older man did not.
“A couple of the greenies I was telling you about,” Houghton said, picking up another piece of pork. “The young one’s one of the councillors, can’t remember his name; other one’s the mayor.”
“The mayor? At a rock jam?”
He chuckled. “This is Byron Bay, Roxy. That’s situation normal.” He made a whistling sound. “It’s also a good sign for Annie. Maybe Mayor Kidlong is coming on board after all.”
Roxy stared at the short, white-haired man who was now deep in conversation with Annika. “He’s against the festivals?”
“Kidlong’s against everything. Typical bloody NIMBY.”
She looked back at Houghton, a confused look in her eye.
“It stands for Not In My Back Yard,” he explained. “There’s thousands of NIMBYs in these parts and it’s all very well for them. They’ve moved here, set up homes and businesses, but don’t want anyone else to have a crack. Selfish bastards.” He chuckled but there was no laughter in it.
“You’d think, being a greenie, he’d be into music and the arts. It’s not like it’s a shopping development. What’s his beef with the whole idea?”
“Shh, don’t say beef, not around that bloke.” He laughed more genuinely this time. “Guy’s a vegan from way back. Says it’s all about the marsupials.”
“Marsupials?”
“Yeah, reckons any kind of development here will destroy their natural habitat. Make sure you don’t get stuck talking to him, eh? Will bore you senseless with lectures about koala corridors, threatened quolls, even cares about bloody bush rats, would you believe?” Houghton looked around. “Listen, I’m as big on animals as the next bloke, but there’s 250 freakin’ acres here, Roxy. How much more room do the furry little critters need?”
He thrust some more pork into his mouth.
“Who’s the girl?” Roxy asked, nodding towards the teenager who was still standing just behind them, a bored look on her face as she chomped away on a candy-coloured string of beads that were hung around her neck.
“That’s the mayor’s daughter, Asha I think it is. Now, she’s a hottie.”
“She looks about fifteen,” Roxy said, thinking she also looked out of place. Apart from Roxy and Houghton, she was the only other person not dressed like she was heading to Woodstock. Asha had a short, ’50s style white lacy dress on with black leggings underneath and Dock Martin stomper boots on her feet. Her white-blonde hair had been pulled up into a high ponytail and her eyes smudged with so much black eyeliner, it was a wonder she could pry them open.
“Oh, she’s older than that, but only just. Finished school last year I think. Must be at least seventeen or eighteen by now.”
“Perfect age for Jed then.”
He stared at her horrified, then across to Annika. “Why? What have you heard?”
She quickly backpedalled. “Nothing, Houghton, I was just having a joke.”
He didn’t appear to hear her. “You know, that is one rumour doing the rounds that is total bullshit. I don’t know who started it, but it’s got to stop. He is not sleeping with Asha Kidlong, he’s promised me he’s not. He’s mended his ways.”
“I believe you, Houghton. Seriously, it was just a joke.” But she could clearly see he didn’t have a sense of humour where this was concerned. “Anyway, it looks like Annika and Jed are back on track. They obviously made up for their little tiff last night.”
He nodded. “Always do. Those fights are what keeps the passion alive.”
She thought about that. Perhaps that’s where she and Max went wrong, both too damn polite and accommodating.
After watching the fire for a few minutes, Roxy said, “If I’m going to listen to more of this noise pollution, I think I’m going to need a drink.” She stood up. “Can I get you anything?”
“I’ll be right.” He produced what looked like a joint from his shirt pocket. “You want?”
She shook her head and weaved her way around the hay bales towards the thin set of stairs on the side of the veranda, which she knew led straight to the bar. The living room was empty when she stepped inside, and almost dark with only a selection of candles scattered at various intervals to light the place up. Roxy walked behind the bar and kneeled down to inspect a large wine rack full of dusty bottles of mostly red. There was plenty of Shiraz and a few Cabernet Sauvignons, but she struggled to find a Merlot amongst the blends. She was just giving up and reaching for a cab-sav when she heard a door creak and a familiar voice filtered across the room.
“Come on then, but we have to be quick. He’ll be on stage soon.”
It sounded exactly like Annika, and Roxy wondered how she’d managed to get away from the Greens Party councillors so fast. Roxy was about to stand up and identify herself, when a man’s voice broke through the silence. He was whispering and it made Roxy hesitate. It did not sound like Jed.
“What if he catches us?”
“Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf then?” Annika giggled.
“You can joke all you want woman, but he’ll have my balls if he knows what we’re up to!”
Annika giggled a little more flirtatiously, “Not if I have them fiiiiirst.”
Roxy heard Annika’s voice trail off, as though she was moving deeper into the house. “... Keep telling you ... we have to act now. It’s time, babe... it’s time.”
Although Roxy was struggling now to hear them, she could just make out the faint sound of laughter before a door slammed and the room returned to silence. Roxy stood up slowly, making sure she was alone. The room was empty again.
Hurriedly, she cracked open the bottle, poured herself a hefty glass, and slunk back out the side door. She wasn’t exactly sure what she’d just overheard but it didn’t sound anything like a faithful wife.
What a piece of work, Roxy thought as she descended the staircase. And she has the gall to lecture me about flirting!
“You okay?”
Roxy looked up with a start to find Angry Beard Man standing at the bottom of the staircase, an empty bottle of Coopers Green in his hand. She felt a sudden shot of adrenaline.
What was he doing here?
As if reading her concerns, he smiled and said, “It’s okay I got invited.”
“Really?” She couldn’t mask the disbelief in her voice as she glanced around, hoping to spot Houghton.
“Listen,” he said, taking a step towards her. “I was hoping I might see you.”
“Oh?” She stepped back.
“Yeah, just wanted to say how sorry I am about yesterday, about biting your head off at the café.”
“Oh, right.” She took another step back.
“I was just having a really bad day, that’s all. Shouldn’t’ve taken it out on you. I’m Sam, by the way.”
“Roxy,” she said, her back now up against the bar door.
“Anyway, I can’t imagine how you felt. I was a bit rough.” His eyes narrowed slightly and he leaned back a little. “I’m not going to hurt you, you know?”
She attempted to laugh him off, but her voice sounded strained, nervous even. Sensing this, he took several steps back down the staircase and waved a hand as if permitting her to pass. Tonight he was wearing a dark dress shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, and deep blue jeans, muddy boots on his feet. His three-day growth was still present but it looked like he’d clipped his hair shorter and it tufted up just slightly at the front. His eyes were softer and less angry than the day before.
Roxy smiled and continued descending the stairs again. She wondered why this man left her feeling so jittery. It’s not like he’d ever actually threatened her. He was clearly just a loving brother, traumatised by his sister’s death. Roxy had a sudden thought. She stopped just as she was level with him and said, “You should get someone to look into it, you know.”
“What?”
“Your sister’s death. The woman at the café told me about it.”
The man’s face clouded over then and his eyes began to swell. She had a dreadful feeling he was about to cry.
She quickly said, “It’s just that if you think it’s suspicious, you can always ask for a second opinion. Take your suspicions to the police. If you believe it wasn’t an accident, that is.”
“It wasn’t an accident.”
“Then speak to the police.”
He flicked her a scathing look. “Round here? They’re like a pack of groupies, all in Jed’s pocket. He’s the big superstar, no one will investigate.”
“Then take it higher, insist that it get looked at properly.”
“Like that’s gonna happen. It’s too late. It’s over with.”
“Not if you don’t want it to be.”
He stared hard at her. “What do you know about that?”
“I know that if you feel strongly about it, you can force change. You just have to speak up.”
“Oh, and that’s worked for you, has it?”
There was deep sarcasm dripping from his voice and she felt her defences rise again. “Yes, actually, several times.” He was still looking skeptical. “I’ve come across several mysterious deaths in my time, I’ll have you know, and I didn’t just moan about them. I’ve got a friend, who also happens to be a top detective in Sydney; I got her to take another look. We were able to prove that justice wasn’t being done. The police aren’t the enemy, you know? At least, not all of them are. You just have to know who to speak to and you need to find the courage to speak up. You can fight for justice.”
“Can you ask her for me?”
“Sorry?”
“Your detective friend, can she look into my sister’s death for me?”
Roxy hesitated. That’s not what I’m trying to say. “No ... I mean, she’s based in Sydney. You need to find someone local, someone in Byron or Tweed Heads, that’s the biggest town around here, right?”
Sam’s thick eyebrows nudged together like he was about to say something when a high-pitched voice called out to them from across the yard: “Hey, you two!”
They both looked around to find Govinda swirling on the grass between the stage and the bonfire. At some point the band had finally given up and someone was playing bad dance tracks from a turntable on one side. Govinda held both hands out beckoning them over.
“Come on!” she cried out. “Come boogie!”
Sam glanced back at Roxy and rolled his eyes. “God, I hate hippies.”
She smiled and went to walk past him, but he caught her arm and held her close. “Thanks for the advice, but if you ask me, the only way Jed is ever going to get justice, is when karma comes and bites him on the bum.”
Then he released her arm and stepped past her up the stairs and into the house.