Mia saw the man before he saw her. On the point of stepping out of the hotel to look at the damage in the light of day she saw him across the street, and hastily drew back into the doorway. Dressed differently today, in jeans and a parka he looked like a local and she almost didn’t take notice of him but something about his walk and the solid build, caught her eye. Then to her surprise, Lucian Farage approached along the footpath, stopped shook hands, spoke and the two men turned and walked back the way Joel had come.
She backtracked to reception and asked Meg at the desk if Mr Carmody was staying again. He wasn’t. Mr Farage? No. She sent a hasty text to Arlo but then regretted it—what was he supposed to do? He had enough problems at the moment. This was something she could deal with herself. Was it coincidental they would be here again when Arlo’s office was blown up?
After the late night she’d slept in, so the street was busy with the usual Saturday morning shoppers. Keeping a wary eye on the passers-by in case Carmody and Farage were hovering about, Mia walked across to Hannah’s for what was now brunch and found the café buzzing with the news.
Renee served her.
‘I guess you already know about Arlo’s office,’ she said.
‘Yes, it woke me up and I went out to see. It’s terrible.’
‘Reporters have been in and out all morning, asking questions and buying coffee by the truckload.’
‘What are people saying?’
‘No-one knows who would do something like that, everyone likes Arlo. Rupe and the firemen say it wasn’t a terrorist attack but you never know. Those people are crazy. It couldn’t be a local. No way.’
‘Why not? Someone threw paint on my car and I’ve been abused in the street twice.’ Why did these people assume everyone in this town was kind, forgiving and generous?
‘That’s terrible but it’s different, isn’t it?’ Renee’s expression morphed into a defensive blankness.
‘Is it? Maybe Arlo wrote something someone didn’t like,’ Mia said.
‘It’s a pretty extreme reaction. Everyone agreed with him about the road and the council and even the article about Tony wasn’t …’ She stopped, a red flush rising in her cheeks. ‘Sorry, I forgot he was your father.’
‘That’s okay. I know how people feel about him.’
‘But even so, no-one here would blow up Arlo’s office over that.’
‘Maybe not.’
After eating, Mia walked around the corner. A crowd had gathered to stare at the blackened building. Crime scene tape cordoned off the front but a white van was parked in the gutter with another police car behind it. An unfamiliar constable stood guard. One media van was parked across the road and a woman was talking to the camera.
Mia stood in the midst of the group scanning the figures around her. No sign of Carmody and Farage. The building was a stark and sorry sight in daylight. Arlo wouldn’t be able to move back in for months.
‘Mia?’
Glenda’s mother, Lorraine, stood beside her, pale faced, bundled up in a warm coat, pale blue knitted scarf and matching felt hat which must have come from the witch’s handicraft shop.
‘Hello, Lorraine. How are you and Paul?’
‘We’re managing. Are you?’
Mia nodded. ‘Hanging in there but my car was vandalised the other night, amongst other things.’
‘I heard about that. I wanted you to know we’re sorry about the way you’ve been treated since you came here. I know you’re only doing what’s necessary.’
‘Yes. It’s been difficult.’
‘For us all.’ Lorraine gestured towards the building. ‘This is awful. Who could have done it?’
‘Someone Arlo upset, I imagine.’
Lorraine looked at her, the astonishment clear from the raised eyebrows and widened eyes.
‘You can’t think we had anything to do with it. I know Graham was responsible for what happened earlier … the rabbit. That was an awful, stupid thing to do and we appreciate that you didn’t involve the police any more than you did.’
How conveniently she airbrushed the facts. None of her family had apologised or contacted Mia in any way to make amends. And what about the piece on her father? What did they think of that? Arlo hadn’t mentioned anything about their reaction. Maybe they’d decided to stay quiet after the rabbit incident.
‘I don’t think you’d go as far as this, no. But someone obviously did.’
Lorraine nodded, turned away then back. ‘Paul and I very were surprised by what Arlo wrote … accusing the police of not investigating properly is a bit much. He can make all those assumptions but he doesn’t really know what happened, does he?’
‘Not yet, no. But you have to admit blowing up the office means someone is upset about his assumptions.’
‘The two things may not be connected at all. I’m sorry for your loss, Mia,’ she said stiffly.
Before Mia could react she’d gone, threading her way through the crowd.
The reporter and cameraman were moving amongst the onlookers asking questions. Time to go. Mia eased her way towards the street and turned in the direction of the house. Before she reached the end of the block she glanced back. Carmody was following her, alone now, hands thrust in pockets, rapidly closing the gap between them.
Mia hesitated, checked for traffic then crossed to the other side of the street, heading for Laurie’s store instead of Arlo’s. By the time she’d walked the extra distance he was almost level and he entered the store at the same time.
‘Hello, love,’ said Dot. ‘Terrible goings-on last night. We didn’t hear a thing from up here but everyone’s been talking.’ She looked over Mia’s shoulder at Carmody who was studying the array of magazines. ‘Can I help you?’
‘No, thanks,’ he said easily and resumed his perusal.
Dot raised her eyebrows meaningfully at Mia but what that meaning was, she wasn’t sure. ‘What about you, love? How about some of that chocolate you like so much.’
Mia smiled. ‘That’s why I’m here. I’ll take the dark almond this time.’
‘Good choice. I like the dark chocolate myself. They say it’s good for you so we can’t go wrong, can we?’
Mia made her purchase, said her goodbyes and opened the door. He followed a few seconds later, empty handed. She turned abruptly.
‘I didn’t think I was.’ There was that unpleasant smile that wasn’t a smile.
‘It feels like it to me.’
‘I apologise if I frightened you.’
‘You didn’t frighten me, you annoyed me.’
‘Would it help if I went ahead of you?’
‘Whatever you want.’ Patronising so and so.
Mia began walking. She wouldn’t go to see Arlo, she’d go back to the hotel and have a coffee in the bar with her book. Make life really interesting for her stalker. She deliberately didn’t turn around but after the first block, while she waited at the intersection for a car to pass, he continued on the other side of the street. He didn’t glance her way.
What was he up to? Her phone pinged. Arlo.
Fridge has landed!
She sent: Best news for days. C followed me to Dot’s but denied it when I confronted him
Arlo: Come here?
Mia: Best not. Riley OK?
Arlo: Yes. Leaving tomorrow. Come with to Wagga?
Mia: OK. Time?
Arlo: 11.15 Pick you up at hotel
Mia: Fine
The rest of the day went according to plan. Mia ate lunch and sat for another hour with her book in the snug warmth. She brought her laptop down to the bar and read through some work related documents then read one of the newspapers from the rack over a cup of tea.
Rain began falling dismally and gradually the bar filled with cold, damp customers. The talk was all of the bombing. Surprisingly the tone was in favour of Arlo and how dare anyone do that to the town paper. People were taking it as a personal insult.
Rupe came in at around five, looked round the bar and headed her way, chatting to people as he came, but not being deflected.
‘Mind if I join you?’ he asked.
‘Not at all.’
He pulled out a chair, ignoring the curious looks from the surrounding customers. She closed her book.
He spoke in a low voice. ‘What can you tell me, Mia?’
‘In regard to?’
‘What’s been going on. Do you think this explosion is connected to your father’s death?’
‘Is this the right place to be having this conversation?’
‘Would you prefer to go to the station?’
She shrugged. ‘If it suits you, it’s fine.’
‘Well?’
‘What’s Arlo told you?’
‘I want to know what you think.’
‘I think what he thinks. Yes, it is. We think Dad discovered that Greenhill was bribing and threatening councillors for their development approvals to go through and from there he may have also discovered that Greenhill is a money laundering venture.’
Rupe studied her. ‘And that got him killed.’
She nodded. ‘Or they stopped him before he went any further with it. Talked to you, for example. And now Arlo has been asking questions and hinting at corruption in the council. Did you get anywhere with that note?’
‘The man who gave it to Riley wasn’t a local but a café owner recognised him as having eaten there earlier. He told the waitress he was passing through. We’re tracking his movements but it’s not looking good. No-one saw him near the school beforehand, or with anyone else.’
‘We thought it may have been Carl from the real estate office but now we don’t think so.’
‘I doubt he’s involved.’
‘He stands to make a lot of money from the sales. So does Barry Greenberg but Arlo thinks he might just be the local front man and they’re using him. Dad could have confided in either one of them.’
Rupe nodded. ‘Arlo’s smart but he’s playing a dangerous game here. He has to think about people other than himself now. Riley and you for starters.’
‘He’s sending Riley back to his mother tomorrow. I’m staying, Rupe. I have to have answers. I want to know who killed my father and Glenda and I don’t care if you still think it was suicide. Arlo and I both know it wasn’t.’
Rupe nodded slowly. ‘I’m beginning to agree with you.’
‘That man is back in town, Carmody his name is—if that’s his real name. The one I think owns the silver Mercedes. I think he’s following me.’
‘Has he actually threatened you in any way? Harassed you?’
‘Not really but … he spoke to me at breakfast in the hotel last time and … it’s the way he speaks. He told me to take care. He’s unnerving.’
‘I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do, Mia.’
‘Until he harms me or Arlo? Kills me? What if he’s connected? What if he’s the murderer? And there’s another man with him, sort of. Sometimes. Lucian Farage, his name is and he was at the hotel, too, and he’s here again. He was also here when Dad and Glenda died. What if he’s the bomber?’
Rupe smiled and shook his head. ‘I doubt the bomber would hang around town showing his face. If what you say is right, it was a professional hit on your father. Why come back to blow up Arlo’s office and then wander around here the next day for no good reason. Way too obvious for a professional.’
‘Don’t criminals return to the scene of the crime?’
Rupe sighed.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘But what about Farage?’
‘I doubt he’s involved.’
Something in the way he spoke made her say, ‘Do you know something about him?’
‘Not a lot. He was involved in a car accident on the highway near here years ago, before my time. He’s never caused any trouble. He’s in town a few times a year but no-one really knows him.’
‘But he knows Carmody.’
‘So what? So do you. You know both of them. They may have met when they were staying at the hotel, when you saw them.’
Mia sat back, unsatisfied but Rupe wasn’t going to indulge her suspicions. ‘Did you find anything out about my car? About the paint?’
‘We’re working on it. The results haven’t come back from the lab. That could take weeks.’
‘Right. Thank you.’
‘Tell Arlo to lay off for a while. I don’t want to be investigating your murders.’
‘Why don’t you tell him?’
‘He ignores me. He’ll listen to you.’ Rupe pushed the chair back and stood up.
‘He won’t,’ Mia said. ‘And I won’t.’
***
On the way back from putting a subdued but resigned Riley on his Sydney flight on Sunday afternoon, Mia told Arlo about the conversation with Rupe.
‘He accepts it was murder now.’
‘About time.’
‘At least you got your car back,’ Mia said after a moment.
‘They cleared it pretty quickly and Stuey came good with a battery.’ Arlo sent her a smile. ‘Stuey’s what’s called a quiet achiever. He reckons he’ll have your car finished by Tuesday.’
‘I know, he rang me to say it was going well. He’s really good, isn’t he?’ She hadn’t been completely convinced at first sight.
A few minutes later Arlo’s phone rang.
‘Can you check who it is, please? It might be Debra or Riley.’
Mia picked up the phone from the cup holder compartment between them.
‘It’s Barry Greenberg. Shall I answer it?’
‘Might as well see what he wants.’
‘Hello, Arlo’s phone. Mia Petros speaking.’ She pressed ‘speaker’. Barry’s voice burst into the car.
‘Mia? Tony’s daughter?’
‘Yes. Arlo’s driving. Can I take a message?’
‘Ummm … I wanted a word with him. I’ll be in Taylor’s Bend later. When will you be home?’
‘We’re about halfway back from Wagga so give him forty-five minutes or thereabouts.’
‘Tell him I’ll call him,’ said Arlo softly.
‘Arlo said he’ll call you.’
‘Fine, fine. Thanks, Mia.’ He disconnected abruptly.
Mia put the phone back. ‘Wonder what he wants.’
‘Probably to find out what else I’m going to say about his developments.’
‘Maybe he’ll offer you a bribe to shut up.’
‘He’s not that stupid, is he?’ Arlo laughed.
‘I don’t know how his brain works,’ Mia said.
‘His whole body runs on the smell of money.’
The cloud cover increased along with the rain the closer Taylor’s Bend came and suddenly darkness descended as the sun gave up the struggle, casting a few last, weak shafts of light as it collapsed behind the distant hills.
Arlo knew the road well and drove confidently around the twists and turns despite the rain which had settled to a steady fall.
‘Nearly home,’ he said. ‘I’m hungry. Shall we go to the pub and catch the last set of jazz with dinner?’
‘Sounds like a plan.’
‘He’s good company.’
‘He is but he’s more than that.’ Arlo glanced in the rear-view mirror as bright headlights cut through the car from behind. ‘Don’t tell me they’re trying it again!’
‘What?’ Adrenaline coursed through Mia’s body. She knew what even before Arlo spoke.
‘To run us off the road.’
He slowed. The car was right behind now, crowding close, a high set bank of lights illuminating the interior like a display. It was big, some sort of overgrown four-wheel drive.
‘Hold on. He’s going to ram … Christ!’
The car gave a sickening lurch as the other vehicle smashed into the back.
Another crash from behind and the car skewed sideways, sliding wildly on the rain washed surface as Arlo fought for control. He managed to straighten, and accelerated with a lunge forward. The big car behind followed, looming with menace, the lights slashing through the interior and bouncing off the rain drops on the windows in a nightmarish kaleidoscope.
‘Hang on,’ Arlo said.
Mia stared panic stricken at the slick black road racing beneath their wheels. The turn-off to Rupe’s flashed by. The bridge was around the corner. Too fast, the car wouldn’t make the turn. Couldn’t. Her breath jammed in her lungs.
Another almighty bash almost spun them off the road but somehow Arlo hung on, slowing slightly as the corner approached. The attacker took advantage and came right up behind, connecting with the rear bumper, forcing the pace, pushing Arlo’s car forward like a child’s toy.
The bridge appeared, a narrow path across the swollen river, its white-painted wooden railings shining dimly in the headlights.
‘The potholes,’ screamed Mia. Arlo gripped the wheel, white knuckled, dragging the car to the left but only managing to turn the front wheels so they slid at an angle, dropping into the hole with a thud that jerked Mia hard against the seat and forward again locking the seatbelt. With a screech of tortured metal the car hit the edge of the bridge surface—a sickening, bone-jarring jolt. The rear end slewed round and in an endless moment of horrifying inevitability, smashed into the guard rail. The other vehicle crunched into the rear passenger side, twisted and slid, pushing the car along the railing, ripping the wooden supports away as it went.
Then the rail gave way and suddenly the other vehicle was gone. The engine died. Darkness fell like a shroud. Rain drummed down.
Mia sat stunned, immobile, hands still gripping the seatbelt, adrenaline powering through her body. Slowly she turned her head. Water dripped onto her face. The window was broken. A deflated airbag lay across her lap amongst pieces of glass. She slowly unclenched her fingers. Arlo?
His head rested against the side window. A jagged piece of wood lay on the dashboard inches from his chest having smashed its way through the windscreen and finished draped in the remains of the airbag.
‘Arlo?’ Her voice was a croak. She reached out her hand but gasped as pain shot through her shoulder. ‘Arlo?’
He didn’t stir, didn’t react at all. She couldn’t see more than his dim outline and the white glimmer of the airbags. Phone. Gingerly she groped for his in the cup holder but it was gone. Her bag was on the back seat. Useless. Tears mingled with the rain drops. She felt for the seatbelt, ignoring the spasms of pain in her shoulder, and unclipped it.
‘Arlo.’ No response. Unconscious. Not dead. Definitely not dead. Not Arlo. No.
She fumbled for the door handle but the door wouldn’t open. The car lay at an odd angle. Arlo’s side was lower than hers and the crushed back section … something was wrong. Very wrong. She couldn’t see, couldn’t think. She closed her eyes, breathing heavily as she tried to sort it out, to remember. Where was the other car?
Her eyes popped open. Behind them, ramming, deliberately trying to push them off the road. Off the bridge. To kill them.
Where was it now? Waiting in the darkness? Waiting to finish them off? A wave of panic shot through her body like molten lava. She was trapped. Arlo was injured, unconscious and helpless.
Where was that car? Who was in it? Carmody? Farage?
She strained to see out the shattered windscreen but the rain had increased and the cracked, broken glass was opaque. The engine had died and with it the headlights. Or they were broken. Her side window was cracked and leaking but all she could see was darkness. All she could hear was the hiss of rain plummeting down and the drumming on the roof.
Why hadn’t that car finished the job and pushed them over the edge into the river? Why had it just gone like that? Maybe it had been damaged as well and couldn’t risk another try. Maybe they were deciding what to do.
Lights flashed ahead, dazzling in the darkness. A car engine sounded faintly above the rain.
Her breath stalled. Who was it? The engine stopped but the lights remained. A shadow blocked the light momentarily. A figure coming towards the car. She gasped for air, her heart pounding. She closed her eyes, head resting against the seat, face averted. Pretend to be dead, unconscious. They’d go away.
Footsteps sounded. Fast moving. Close. She shivered, steeled herself for the end.
‘Mia?’
She knew the voice, and a whimper of fear escaped.
Lucian Farage.