‘What do you suggest we do first?’ Mia asked. He hadn’t laughed or looked at her as though she was insane. Apart from the one comment he hadn’t fobbed her off with platitudes about grief. He was interested and he was ready for action. The relief was palpable as though she’d been carrying a heavy load and he’d taken half of it from her.
‘Do you have a contact for Linda Karas?’
‘Yes, she gave me her phone number. Excuse me.’ She almost ran to the bedroom for her phone.
‘Here.’ She held it out and he copied the number into his own phone. ‘What’s your number?’
He picked up her phone and entered his details then pulled a business card from his pocket and left it on the table. ‘That has the office address, email and number as well.’
‘Thanks.’ She looked at it.
‘I thought I was going around the bend,’ she said and glanced up to find him watching her with a half-smile on his face.
‘I’m not surprised.’
‘What’s it like living here?’
‘Quiet.’
‘Too quiet?’
‘We have our exciting moments.’
‘Such as? Apart from the obvious, I mean.’
‘The occasional bushfire, the Music and Drama Society annual musical presentation, the show, the Taylor’s Bend midwinter ball, the primary school fete, the harvest festival. I could go on.’
‘Enough to fill a newspaper?’
‘So far so good. Georgia takes lots of photos and we have our advertisers. I have an enthusiastic team of local contributors.’
She nodded.
‘I like it here,’ he said. ‘The locals are generally very welcoming. I’m sure your father said that.’
‘He did. He was surprised how much he liked it and how much was happening, particularly on the Arts scene. He said there was a well-known artist living out here.’
‘Abbie Forrest. She paints landscapes and she’s married to Rupe. Tell me about the gun club thing.’
‘I don’t know anything about it.’
‘Why do you think he took that up?’
‘Curiosity. Maybe someone took him along and he enjoyed it.’
Arlo nodded. ‘Alan Brown according to Rupe.’
She said, ‘I was surprised he owned a gun. He’d never shown any interest before and he thought the gun buyback was brilliant.’ She frowned. ‘Are you thinking he joined for some other reason? That he thought he needed protection?’ Her voice rose with scepticism.
Arlo shook his head. ‘I don’t think anything. I’d like to know the reason. I’ll check out the gun club.’
He straightened and turned to rinse his mug in the sink. ‘Thanks for the tea. I’d better get back to work.’
‘When does the paper come out?’ She walked with him to the front door and he put his shoes back on.
‘Every second Wednesday. We’re just finalising the front page. I need to get it to the printer this afternoon for tomorrow’s edition.’
‘What’s your lead story?’
‘A sixty-fifth wedding anniversary.’
‘Nice. It’s encouraging to hear some people manage it.’
‘There are a few couples like that in the area. It is nice.’ He smiled and asked the question she’d been wanting to ask him but couldn’t find an opening. ‘Are you married?’
‘No. Not even a near miss although I’ve had a few longish relationships. They turned out to be duds. What about you?’
‘Divorced. My boy lives with his mother and her partner. Riley’s fourteen. Constant travelling is hard on a marriage. He’s visited me a couple of times in the holidays.’
‘I travel a lot in my job. To Asia mostly, as well as Canberra, Melbourne and Brisbane.’
‘Do you enjoy it?’
‘Yes, for the most part. I like Japan.’
‘Me too.’
‘Your coat, sorry.’ She hurried to retrieve his damp anorak.
‘Thanks.’ He pulled it on and zipped up. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
She opened the door. ‘Thanks, Arlo. I feel … I’m glad I told you about the dream. It’s a relief to share it.’
He held her gaze. ‘Thank you for telling me.’ He touched her arm briefly. ‘We’ll resolve this one way or another.’
She nodded. ‘Okay.’ His confidence flowed over her like honey.
The door closed behind him and she turned to resume packing her father’s life into bin bags.
***
The next hour was spent putting the finishing touches to the front page. Georgia had filed the anniversary article before she went to collect little Charlotte from the minder, and all he had to do was adjust some spacing, do a last run through for typos and other errors which somehow always managed to creep in, and send the lot to the printer. Five was the deadline and he made it with two hours to spare. The main Wagga paper did the print run for him and delivered the papers when they did the area newsagent deliveries. A perfect setup which he was careful to maintain by not giving anyone cause to complain.
He sat back and stretched his arms over his head then rotated his shoulders. No exercise today beyond a couple of short, very wet walks. He needed to go for a run but mud walloping wasn’t his style. His stomach growled. He’d missed lunch. He walked through to the flat and investigated the food situation. He needed to shop but not in this weather. He hated supermarket visits at the best of times. Hannah’s café it was.
Fortunately Hannah’s was literally around the corner and more fortunately still had a couple of serves of her vegetarian lasagne left. He ordered from Renee then sat at his favourite table with a coffee while he waited for the food to arrive. Hannah came out from the kitchen and pulled out a chair. She tucked a flyaway strand of grey hair behind her ear. She had a strong face, tanned and narrow with a direct pair of hazel eyes that missed nothing.
‘Won’t be long,’ she said.
‘Quiet day?’
‘Rain keeps people indoors.’
Only one other table was occupied. Two women sat chatting over tea and cake. One was Krista, the vet’s gorgeous blonde wife and the other was Amy, not nearly so gorgeous but attractive in her own quiet way, owner of the stud farm on the Jindalee road. He nodded hello when Krista caught his eye and she gave him one of her dazzlingly lovely smiles. How had Ollie landed her? A girl like that could have her pick on the world stage. But there was one thing he’d learned— there was no accounting for taste. And that was one happy couple.
‘What are you smiling about?’ Hannah asked.
‘Happy couples,’ he said. ‘Lead story this week is Les and Sal’s anniversary.’
‘Oh that’s great. They’ll love being in the paper.’
‘Tell me what you know about Glenda Petros,’ he said.
‘Why?’ She eyed him suspiciously.
‘Come on, Hannah, you know everything about this town. You wrote a book about it, for God’s sake. That’s why you’re my local history reporter.’
‘It doesn’t include picking at scabs, Arlo.’ Her mouth set in a firm line. ‘Paul and Lorraine are still grieving.’
‘I don’t want to pick at scabs. I want to write about Tony. We all knew him and we all liked him. I think he deserves a bit of sympathy. He had a mental illness.’
‘You’ve been talking to his daughter.’
‘Mia, yes. I saw her this morning but I’m interested apart from that. It’s just so weird that he would do it. Don’t you think so?’ He wasn’t surprised she knew Mia was in town, everyone would by now.
‘Nothing surprises me anymore. I’ve given up trying to figure out why people do things.’
He smiled. ‘Fair enough. But you knew Glenda well, didn’t you?’
‘Went to the same school, but she was a lot younger,’ she admitted. ‘What’s that got to do with a piece on Tony?’
‘Background. She fell in love with him. Why? What was it about him and what went wrong? They seemed happy to me.’
Hannah waited while Renee set Arlo’s lunch in front of him and went away.
‘They were. She said he was fun to be with, steady, trustworthy and kind.’
Pretty much what Mia had said, but she’d added generous.
‘Did you know her first husband?’
‘Barry. Yes. He and my husband played golf.’
Hannah’s husband had died of a heart attack about eight years earlier. Forty-four was way too young but it was a congenital weakness. They’d run the café together and she saw no reason to stop. Her homemade food was fantastic and her cakes and slices legendary. He’d learned the truth of these claims the first day he’d arrived in Taylor’s Bend and walked round the corner to the café for coffee and a snack. He’d asked her on the spot to do a food column for the new paper. She’d laughed and said she wasn’t giving away her recipes. But she agreed to do the column and gave cooking tips which were an instant hit.
Arlo cut into the lasagne and savoured the first delicious mouthful.
Hannah said, ‘I never liked Barry all that much. There was something about him …’
‘Like what?’
‘He was a bit too nice. You know? Smarmy. A ladies man, or thought he was.’
‘They were married a long time though, with two kids. Glenda must have liked him.’
‘She did. He bowled her over when they first met.’
‘At a party in Willoughby. Someone’s birthday maybe.’
‘So was Barry from round here?’
‘No, he was from Wagga.’
‘And he was happy to move to a small town when they married?’
‘Seemed to be.’ Hannah stood up. ‘I didn’t see much of them after they married and the kids appeared. I was too busy here.’
‘What about when he walked out? She must have been upset.’
‘I think she’d had enough of him by then. Enjoy your lunch.’ She headed for the kitchen but paused and came back. ‘He’s been visiting her parents regularly since the funeral.’
‘What do they think of that? He dumped their daughter.’
‘They say he’s being very supportive.’ She turned and strode away before he could ask what she wasn’t saying.
‘Thanks, Hannah,’ he called. She waved a hand as she disappeared into the kitchen.
Arlo did enjoy his lunch and as he enjoyed it he thought. Where did smarmy Barry live now? What did he think of Tony, his replacement? Did he care? Was he visiting the bereaved parents out of a united grief or to console them? It wasn’t a terribly unusual thing to do. Tragedy sometimes brought people together and they were still connected through the children. The children, however, were grown up and living their own lives many hundreds of kilometres away.
Krista and Amy stopped to say hello on their way out.
‘Hi, Arlo. How are you?’
‘Fine, thanks. How are the animals?’
‘Rod and Oliver are fine, thanks,’ Amy said.
Arlo grinned.
‘Amy!’ Krista gave a surprised laugh. She said to Arlo, ‘You should do a piece on our new stallion. He’s beautiful. Copper coloured.’
‘Sure. What’s his name?’
‘Roy.’
‘Really? Are they running out of names for thoroughbreds?’
‘No, that’s what Rod calls him,’ Amy said. ‘His name is Grand Royal Doubloon.’
‘That’s more impressive. I’ll send Georgia out when the weather improves. Like to do a regular fashion tips column, Krista? I’ve had some very good feedback on the two you’ve done so far.’
A very becoming pink tinged her cheeks. She had no business being so stunningly beautiful and so very married. And so sweet and unassuming with it.
‘I’d love to,’ she said. ‘How often?’
‘Once a month starting next issue? Alternate with Oliver’s veterinary advice column. Photos too, if you can get them.’ She shouldn’t have any trouble. Krista had money, loads of it, and came from Melbourne’s fashionable elite. She knew everyone who was anyone in that world but she still looked as though he’d offered her a prize she didn’t expect to win.
‘Okay. Thank you.’
‘Come on, Krista. We’d better get moving. See you, Arlo,’ Amy said.
‘Bye.’
They went out with Krista chattering excitedly. She gave him a wave through the window from the street as she went by.
This newspaper venture was doing well, better than he expected given that nearby Willoughby had its own established weekly which covered state and world affairs as well as local. He’d decided to focus on this town and its people, their local issues and problems and their celebrations and triumphs. It had worked. Taylor’s Bend residents were proud of their town and liked reading about themselves and each other. He had a team of volunteers on delivery detail and between them they covered every letterbox both here and in the much smaller villages in the surrounding area.
Advertising revenue was picking up at a very pleasing rate and he hadn’t expected to find such a good assistant so easily. Georgia had just completed her Masters in English, was a single mother at a loose end work-wise, was smart, good company, wrote well and had done a photography course. She was also Rupe’s step-daughter which gave her personal access to the police. Not that she abused the relationship. But it was handy.
He pulled out his notebook and made a note about the stallion at The Grange. It would make for a good photo. Not front-page material, he’d done local feel good this week, he wanted something punchier for next time. Might be worth taking a drive to see if the shire council had done anything about the potholes on the approach to the bridge on the road leading southwest out of town. It was an accident waiting to happen and complaints had achieved nothing so far. He could follow that up with a call to the shire council offices in Willoughby and an interview with someone responsible for roads.
The rain had eased to a half-hearted drizzle while he’d eaten lunch, and by the time he’d walked round the corner to collect his car, turned onto the main street and headed out of town, it had stopped. A glimmer of pale sunlight showed over to the west as the sun made a valiant effort to put in an appearance before going down for the day. He passed the sportsground turn-off. Footy season was underway and the Taylor’s Bend team was in the middle of the ladder. He or Georgia always went along to the game. Everyone knew the results straight away so a fortnightly paper wasn’t much use for that but player interviews and photos were always good for morale regardless of the scoreline.
Arlo wound the window down and breathed in the chilly freshness. Rain brought out the eucalyptus scent of the gum trees lining the road. Nothing like it. He reached the bridge and slowed. It was old and narrow with white wooden railings. The pothole on this side was off to the left and filled with water. He parked on the verge and got out for a closer look. It was about half a metre wide and quite shallow. A car approached from the other side, slowed for the curve and came slowly across the bridge to stop next to him. Connie from the vineyard next door to Rupe and Abbie’s block.
‘Hello. What are you up to?’
‘Afternoon, Connie. I’m having a look at the potholes. Time for another go at the shire council, I think.’
‘Those people are hopeless. The holes on the other side are massive and really deep. Maybe we should put up warning signs ourselves.’
‘Good idea.’ He waved and she drove on.
Arlo walked across the heavy wooden planks to the other side. The river was up a bit after the rain and flowing fast with a few branches being carried along. He pulled out his phone and took some shots of the water then moved to the potholes. These were dangerous. One large one stretched right along the join where the planks met the road surface in the middle of the two lanes. At the moment it was full of water but when he poked a stick into it the depth was at least fifteen centimetres.
He’d send Georgia out for some better quality photos while he got stuck into the shire council road maintenance department. She could have a chat to Stuey at the garage to see if he’d had any cars come in with damage caused by the potholes. He walked back to his car and drove slowly across the bridge negotiating carefully around the drop. He did a U-turn farther along in a side road then headed home satisfied he had a full-page story for the next issue, and unless something more pressing arose in the meantime it would be front page news.
While he was out he really should hit the supermarket. That wiped the satisfied smile from his face in an instant but if he didn’t go he wouldn’t be able to have eggs and bacon for breakfast. Or toast. He was on the last scrapings of CWA fundraising homemade marmalade too.
Shopping was a relatively mindless activity but he’d forgotten what he’d written on the list lying on the kitchen bench at home. He wandered along the aisles hoping his memory would be jogged, putting the occasional item in his basket along with bread, bacon and eggs. Salad and vegetables. Something for dinner. He headed for the meat section.
Why did Tony have his gun out that night? He hadn’t been to the shooting range, it wasn’t a meeting night. Why had John Helger called in? Was it about the gun? According to reports wine glasses were in the dishwasher and it was common knowledge Tony and Glenda liked a glass or two in the evening. So did he for that matter. He’d swing by the bottle shop on the way home. Having wine with dinner wasn’t conducive to fooling around with a gun.
He needed to talk to Rupe again. Could it be Tony had another visitor earlier that evening? Someone he and Glenda both knew but hadn’t expected to drop in? The police investigation turned up blank in that regard but there were ways to visit without being seen if that’s what you wanted. Especially if you weren’t likely to arouse suspicion if someone did see you. A local, for example.
A familiar tingling ran down his spine. The one he felt when he was on to something in a story.
A chat with Glenda’s parents would be interesting but also a delicate operation getting them to answer his questions. Why was Barry Greenberg visiting them? What did the man do? He couldn’t expect them to tell him. Who else knew them well enough to ask? Who, apart from Hannah, knew everything in town? Dot and Laurie at the store, of course, but they’d be closed by now. Beryl at the library? Definitely not. She had an imagination on steroids and no brakes on her mouth at all.
Arlo finished his shopping and headed home. He’d call Linda Karas this evening. What was Mia doing tonight all alone in that miserable house? On impulse he drove there, parked and knocked on her door before he could examine his motive.
This time she smiled, not the wide smile of relief, a more tentative version. Vulnerable. ‘Hello.’
‘Hi. I wondered … I’ve just been to the supermarket and restocked my woeful fridge and pantry cupboard. I’m cooking spaghetti Bolognese … I thought … would you like to come for dinner?’
The smile faded. ‘Umm. I … right now?’
She was going to refuse.
‘That’s fine. I know it’s short notice. Sorry.’
‘Are you a good cook?’ No hint of a smile but the brown eyes narrowed slightly.
‘I learned this recipe from an Italian Nonna.’
She nodded once. ‘I’ll get my coat.’