15

An hour and a half later, I’d scrubbed myself raw, changed into black trackie bottoms and a colorful blue, green and yellow sloppy pullover. Although still with a slight, unmistakable but impossible to eradicate, odor, I got back in the car and headed for the small country town of Virginia—a ten minute drive from Two Wells.

By now, the threatening rain clouds of the morning had burst their seams. As I parked outside The Luv Bug, sending water splashing onto the footpath, I squinted through the wet windscreen. Was Tanya busy selling sex toys? Nope. I could see my best friend walking to nowhere on the second-hand treadmill she’d installed for times when trade at the adult shop was slow. And her boss, Norm the Nervous, was nowhere to be seen.

Good. Now I could run my latest news past her without big ears straining to hear our whispered conversation.

“Raining cats and dogs out there,” I said as I shook the water from my hair.

“As long as you don’t let the little varmints inside,” Tanya joked, puffing a little as she walked. “And what brings you to my humble place of employment when you could be enjoying the pungent smell of wet dog and mud?”

Ignoring her banter, I got straight to the point. “I need your advice.”

Tanya’s eyebrows lifted, but she didn’t break step. Tanned legs pumping under her micro-mini-skirt.

“I’m confused,” I said. “There’s this person I’ve always respected and—and I think she might be involved in something illegal. It’s doing my head in.”

The noisy thrum of rain bucketing down outside contributed to my present dark mood. Gina Robertson—savior of animals—squeaky clean administrator of our state’s greyhound adoption program—maybe a Mob Mamma? That image didn’t compute. I sighed as I pictured Gina arguing with the man in the barn, remembered her parting words to me, ‘I’d never forgive myself if they hurt you too’.

They who?

God, I was a lousy detective. Every time I attempted to unearth the answer to one question—not only did I not get an answer, but another question popped up. It was like driving in circles in a foreign country–complete with not knowing the language.

“Well, I can’t help you if you won’t fill in the blanks,” Tanya said waving one hand in front of my eyes while holding onto the bar of her walker with the other. “Snap out of your daze and tell me the name of this pillar of society who might or might not be a crook.”

“It’s Gina Robertson.” Unable to keep still, I paced up and down in front of the counter, distractedly checking out the equipment on display. “She knows more about Stanley’s disappearance than she’s letting on and I don’t know why she won’t confide in me. After all, we’re both on the same side.”

“Hmm…sure about that?”

“Of course I am.”

“What if Goodie-Two-Shoes is in this right up to her coral colored lipstick?”

“Tanya, just because you and Gina don’t see eye-to-eye ever since you nicked her boyfriend—”

“Hey—I did not steal Corey Palmer. The guy was tired of playing second fiddle to the woman’s goats, pigs and homeless dogs, so he moved on. It’s as simple as that.” She switched off the treadmill, stepped off and wiped the sweat from her face with a pink hand towel displaying a fit naked man in the act of bending over. “And it wasn’t my fault he moved on to me.”

“But then you moved on from him,” I added. My best friend could be such a man-eating slut at times. “Look at this from Gina’s point of view. You pinched her boyfriend, refused to give him back for three days and then when she declared it was over between them, you dumped the guy.”

“Katrina, have you ever had three days of sex with a whiner?”

“Er…can’t say I have.”

Tanya folded her hand towel over the front bar of the treadmill and blew air through her lips. “It was like going shopping with your mother-in-law. Why were you so quick? Why were you so slow? Oh, I wanted to be on top. No, no, the kitchen table’s too hard. Don’t know how the sainted Gina put up with the Big Girl’s Blouse bellyaching for so long.”

I picked up a packet of jokey giant sized condoms that would fit an elephant and frowned. “So, what happened?”

“On the third day I decided to douse his skinny little willy in a vase of week-old water, complete with a dozen prickly roses.” Tanya shrugged one bare shoulder and hitched at her boob tube. It was warm in the air-conditioning but I hoped she had a track-suit, coat and galoshes waiting in the closet for when she closed up shop. “And then I dumped him.”

When God created Tanya—he broke the mold. Probably yanked on his Heavenly hob-nailed boots and kicked the stuffing out of it.

I gazed through the shop window. Two girls on horseback jogged along the wet roadway, bodies hunched under bright orange wet gear. A squally wind sent a soggy chip packet laboring across a puddle…

And when Ben, dark hair covered by a dripping Akubra hat, tugged open the shop door, a life-sized cardboard Marilyn Monroe look-alike taking pride of place in the middle of the store, crashed to the ground.

“Ladies,” he drawled and removed his Drizabone before standing Marilyn back on her feet and giving her cardboard bottom a smack.

I couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across my face. “Do that to all the girls?” I purred. “Or just the ones who can’t smack you back?”

His dark eyes narrowed, implying I’d learn the answer to that question later.

“Aha, look what the wind blew in.” Tanya smirked and marched behind the counter, her mock saleslady persona in place. “Double pronged vibrator?” she cooed. “Blow up doll? Girlie magazine? Name your weapon of choice, sir, and I’ll see what I can dig up. Although, if you’re after sex toys, Benjamin, I’m disappointed in you. Must mean you and Kat aren’t getting your gear off enough at home.”

Tanya discussed sex like most people discussed the weather. I ignored her. Not so, Ben. He winked, his expression clearly stating: if we got our gear off any more, Miss Sexaholic, we’d both need walking frames to get around. “No need for any of your equipment, Tan—I’m here to talk to Kat.” He lifted an eyebrow at me and I swear he was taking my gear off mentally. “Jake told me you were at The Luv Bug,” he said. “Also mentioned something about you being covered in shit.”

“No comment. And remind me to dock Jake’s pay. Anyway, what’s up?”

Before Tanya could initiate a ribald play on words, Ben stepped into my space and placed both hands on my shoulders. Immediately the smell of wet tangy earth and spearmint gum invaded my nostrils. “You’re determined to go to Port Augusta, aren’t you?”

“And a good afternoon to you, too.”

His dark eyes raked mine. “Don’t deny it. I’m surprised you haven’t already staked your tent out in the middle of the Port Augusta greyhound track ready to question the locals about Liz’s disappearance.”

“I can’t just up and leave the dogs. And anyway, DI Adams says Liz hasn’t disappeared at all. He thinks she’s chained herself to a tree, protesting about developers denuding the forests. She’s evidently done it before. He also advised me to leave finding her to the police.”

“And of course you’re heeding the cop’s warning?”

Ben’s fingers massaged my shoulders. Oooh…lovely…didn’t realize my muscles were so tense. “Can you dig in a little deeper near the neck?”

“Adams hasn’t a clue,” Ben continued as he kneaded the muscles around my neck. “There again, he doesn’t know you like I do. If he did, he’d lock you up for your own protection. Hell, I’d lock you up, but I know if I did, you’d hurt me—in ways that make me flinch even thinking about them—so—I’ve come up with plan A instead.”

“Woohoo. Lock her up, Ben, go on. Don’t be a spoil sport. I want to have a front seat view when she does the hurting.”

“Plan A?” I queried, once again ignoring Tanya’s sex obsessive comments.

“Five of my dogs are racing at the Port Augusta tomorrow. Come with me, help me handle the dogs, and I’ll help you ask questions at the track about Liz, plus I’ll be there to cover your back. What do you think?”

Warmth crept through me like a comforting hug. And it wasn’t caused by the bone-melting shoulder rub that was presently making me purr. This guy was one of a kind. Unlike other men I’d had relationships with—Ben really got me.

“Thanks,” I said and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “I owe you.”

Of course the kiss turned into a full on snog, with tongue, and would have developed further if we weren’t standing in an adult sex shop in the middle of a small country town where anyone passing by would immediately hurry to the local supermarket and set the gossip mill rolling.

“Aargh. Will you two stop with the lovey-dovey stuff? It’s sickening. Ya gunna make me toss me sport’s drink in a minute.” Tanya sounded exactly like Erin, her eleven-year-old daughter. “Kat, tell Ben how you ended up covered in horse poop.”

“Hmm,” Ben’s grin crinkled the corners of his eyes. “This I have to hear. Okay, McKinley—give.”

Damn. “Do I have to?”

Falling head first into a manure pile never looked good on one’s life-resume. My kids would probably be laughing as they told the story to their kids in years to come. Of course, for that to happen, first I’d have to get over my paralyzing phobia of actually pushing an eight pound human from a cavity too small to accommodate a packet of gum.

I let out another sigh then reluctantly filled Ben in on the Perils of Katrina. When I reached the part where Atticus the goat caused my demise, I thought Ben would die laughing. In fact I had to chase him around the shop with a leather plaited BDSM whip to save his life.

“So, you reckon Gina is a suspect?” Ben said once he’d regained his breath and his dignity and impounded the whip.

“I don’t know what to think. I agree, she’s acting suspiciously, but I also know Gina would never hurt an animal.”

“Come on, face it, Kat. Saint Gina is either a criminal—or she’s stuck in the middle protecting someone who is.” Tanya let out a laugh. “Oh no, don’t tell me Miss Prim and Proper has found herself a bad boy lover and he’s leading her astray.”

“What do you reckon, Kat?” said Ben. “Did they seem intimate at all?”

Before I could think any more about the woman who ran the GAP program and her bizarre behavior with the stranger in the barn, my phone beeped, indicating I’d received a text. “Maybe,” I concurred as I slid my mobile from my pocket, clicked on the phone and brought up the message.

L in trouble. Meet me at Pt Augusta track during race 6. I’ll be in car park beside red VW Beetle. Come alone. Scott.

A chill prickled my spine.

How did Liz’s boyfriend know I’d be at the track? More to the point—how did he know my mobile number—I’d recently changed the sim card so he couldn’t have found it in Liz’s little black book.

I tightened my grip on the phone. Was Liz really in trouble? Or was this a trick to get me in that car park. Alone. And—and do what?

The chill spread from my spine into the deep cavities of my chest. I drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly. Now, what did DI Adams tell me about Scott Brady? Something to do with serving time in jail for burglary and assault…

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I tapped Scott’s number into my keypad. I’d sort this guy out once and for all—give him the third degree, chew him up, then spit out the pips. Ready to dredge up my inner Cybil, I jammed the phone to my ear.

But there was only dead air at the other end of the line.