Her breath hissed in and out as she rounded a bend, then the sharp noise of the galahs made her smile. No matter how often she did this course, they rose in a squawking flock as she passed. A few metres on, she threw a quick glance over her shoulder: they’d already settled back onto the ground and were pulling at the onion weed growing along the edge of the track.
Running gave Amelia quiet time and cleared her head for the day, before all the thoughts started to crowd in. It kept her trim and fit. It also meant she could see her favourite place on the whole of Granite Ridge.
Well, she could look at the entry to it. Floods in previous years had made what her family affectionately called ‘Emerald Springs’ almost impossible to reach. Deep crevices, carved out by heavy rain, meant a ute couldn’t drive in, and what had once been the Bennett family’s picnic area had become overgrown with thick bush. No one had set foot there in ages, even though Amelia thought the long hike over granite boulders was probably worth it.
She blew out her breath, wiped a trickle of sweat from her brow, and ran on without stopping. One day soon she’d go up there, she promised herself. Every morning she remembered what the spot looked like. Circled by moss-covered rocks, where lizards sun-baked, was the main pool of water, which never went dry. Bottlebrush trees grew through cracks in the stones, their branches hanging over the water’s surface, and wattle birds flitted between the tall red flowers.
Along the track before the main pool, up higher in the rocks, were two smaller pools. These often went dry because their water trickled down through thin waterfalls into the main one.
John had told Amelia that the main pool would have been used as a natural spring by the Aboriginal people: a place they knew would always hold water. In fact, there were precious rock carvings of circles, indicating water, en route to the springs.
As a kid, she’d spent Sunday lunches there with her parents and Graham. They carted the barbecue over the boulders, and it didn’t take long before the smell of sizzling chops was wafting through the air. Amelia would never admit it, but the thinly sliced potatoes and onions had been her favourite, not the chops. And the sponge cake for dessert had certainly come a close second.
Later, her teenage birthday parties had been held there, and she and her three closest friends—Chelle, who also just happened to be her cousin on her father’s side, Chrissie and Sav—had spent nights around a campfire, playing truth or dare and talking about boys. Or they’d go up during the day to lie on the small sandy beach and sunbathe, then take a dip to cool down. Amelia had loved to pluck flowers from the trees and put them in her hair, pretending she was on an exotic island. At night, they would break off branches and use them to roast marshmallows in the orange flames.
Emerald Springs had also been her daydreaming spot, the place where she could feel sand between her toes, float in cool water and stare at the sky. During wildflower season she would scour the hills for orchids.
When Amelia looked back, she thought how idyllic the area had been. Almost too perfect. Wistfully she wondered what it looked like now—if it was as gorgeous and wild as she remembered. She really wanted to take Paul there and show him how beautiful it was. To share it with him. Maybe even make love there on the sand.
Amelia ran on and on, ragged breaths escaping her, until her wristwatch beeped time and she turned back towards the house.
‘Morning, Milly.’ Natalie was hovering over the stove, tongs in hand. Deftly she served up a plate of bacon, eggs and tomatoes and placed it in front of John.
‘Morning,’ Amelia puffed and headed towards the bathroom.
‘Good run?’ her father asked.
‘Uh-huh. Back in a sec. Nature calls. Morning, Graham.’
Her brother nodded as she walked past, his mouth stuffed with the cooked breakfast his mum had just given him.
Amelia shook her head. Sometimes living at Granite Ridge was how she imagined things were like in the 1950s. Her mother, dressed in an apron, made it her business to tend to the every need of her menfolk. It was what Natalie had been brought up to do; the way her mother before her had treated her husband and sons. Even though Amelia could see how exhausting it was, she also knew her mother wouldn’t change.
At the end of the hall Amelia paused and looked over her shoulder towards the kitchen. The table was encased in early morning sunlight and her family was laughing at something. No matter what, she loved them. Although her brother could be a pampered pain in the arse, he was also charming and told the best jokes. And John was kind, loving and supportive—everything a daughter could hope from a dad—and he treated Natalie with respect and kindness.
Ten minutes later, washed and dressed, Amelia was sitting in front of a bowl of cereal. She drank deeply from a glass of water, then smiled at her family, wishing she didn’t feel she had to try so hard with them.
‘So, what’s everyone up to today?’ she asked cheerily.
‘Just the usual for me, washing and ironing,’ Natalie answered as she scraped egg fragments into the chook bucket. ‘What about you, love?’
Reaching for the honey, Amelia wrinkled her nose as she thought. ‘I’ve got to be at Pip’s to do her monthly accounts by nine, and then I thought I’d go see Paul. Unless you need any help here, Dad?’
John shook his head, mouth full.
‘We’re fine, Amelia,’ Graham said before their father could swallow. ‘You go off and see your boyfriend.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘I’m going to start shearing my mob of ewes today.’ Graham was allowed to run two hundred ewes that were solely his on Granite Ridge, to supplement the pittance his parents paid him.
Amelia shrugged. ‘No worries, just thought I’d ask.’ She bit her tongue. It wasn’t only her mother who had the 1950s attitude towards women. There were times she just really wanted to snot Graham, especially when he spoke down to her.
She’d wondered more than once why Danielle put up with it. Love could be blind, she reasoned. Especially when it was new and exciting. And Dani, at twenty-three, six years younger than Graham, had visions of being the grand farmer’s wife with all the trimmings. A big wedding to begin with and then a lovely homestead. She wouldn’t have a clue what it was like to manage the farm finances the way that Amelia did. Didn’t mean she couldn’t, but Amelia knew that Dani had a lot of maturing to do, as well as learning what real life on a farm was like.
The talk turned to familiar business matters and, half-listening, Amelia thought about Graham and his attitude towards money. In spite of his meagre income, he loved spending and never seemed to save anything. He never considered the future. Whenever he saw money sitting in the farm account, he wanted to buy something new, generally to replace equipment that was still in working order. He couldn’t understand that the extra money had already been earmarked for something else, like a tractor payment or remitting GST monies. Graham certainly hadn’t got Amelia’s head for and love of figures.
Lately she’d seen some improvement in him. He’d started hanging out with Anne Andrews’ three sons, Will, Mike and Tony, when some of his less savoury high school friends had moved on from town. Anne had raised her boys right. If only Natalie could have taken a leaf from her book.
Amelia tuned back in to hear her dad say: ‘Not a partner, no, but Milly understands how it works. She’s more than qualified, too, which you seem to forget.’
Natalie took her hands out of the soapy washing-up water. ‘We should make sure that Graham can do it though, John. We’ve talked about this before. How can he take over Granite Ridge unless he’s fully informed? He’s going to be a married man soon enough, and I can’t imagine Danielle being too happy about Graham not having more of a say about what goes on around here.’
There it was, just like clockwork. Amelia put her head down and tried not to grit her teeth. Then she started gulping down her cereal, wanting to leave the table as soon as possible and avoid an old, tired argument.
‘Hell’s bells, Nat,’ John said, ‘our Milly’s got a degree in c
ommerce! Surely we should be entitled to use her talents to benefit the farm.’ He wiped a piece of bread around his plate to pick up all the egg yolk.
‘Mum’s right though,’ said Graham, scratching behind his ear, a sure sign that he was getting angry. ‘Not many farmers employ a bookkeeper, and you all seem to forget I do my own books for my sheep and my loan.’ He looked at them all. ‘Anyway, it’s usually the wives who do the books and I know Dani’s perfectly capable.’
Amelia tried not to cough. Not yet, Dani wasn’t. It would come with time and there was still proof needed that Graham had a handle on his own affairs.
‘John, no one’s saying Milly isn’t good at what she does,’ Natalie said, ‘but you know she’s a bit flighty, just like Kim. At some stage she’ll be swept off her feet by a man and leave. Then where will you be?’
‘Um, excuse me? I’m actually in the room.’ A surge of anger forced Amelia to her feet. ‘Could you please not discuss my faults like I’m not here? And have you forgotten about Paul?’
‘No need to get so fired up, love.’ Natalie reached over and patted Amelia’s arm. ‘No offence meant, but one day Graham will take over here and his wife will be the one he turns to. We love you just as you are, but sisters shouldn’t stand in the way.’ She raised her eyebrows and nodded towards John as if to say: I told you.
‘Let’s change the subject,’ John said. ‘Graham, I’ve organised for the agronomist to take soil samples from the same GPS coordinates as last year. He’ll be here at one-thirty. Can you meet him at the sheds?’
Graham looked embarrassed. ‘Ah, no, I can’t, Dad. Don’t you remember I asked to have this afternoon off so Dani and I can buy our engagement ring?’
Amelia watched the delight spread across Natalie’s face. ‘I must call her mother and see if I can help with organising the engagement party.’ She put her hands on her hips and smiled, her eyes thoughtful. ‘I’m sure I could help decorate the footy club rooms, or do some cooking.’
Good, Amelia thought crankily. Might keep you off my case for a while.
‘What time will you be back?’ John asked Graham.
‘Not in time for work. We’ll go straight from Barker to Torrica, and I’ll stay on for footy training. I’m gonna grab a tankful of diesel too.’
‘No worries, son. Actually, while we’re on that subject, there’s been a lot of reports of fuel being stolen from farms, some chemical and sheep—there have even been bales of wool taken—and also drive-offs from remote service stations. Amelia bought a padlock last time she was in town and I’ve put it on the bowser. The key’s on the wall just inside my office. Don’t forget to lock up when you’ve finished.’
‘A padlock won’t make any difference,’ Graham said scornfully. ‘They’ll use bolt cutters if they really want to get in.’
‘I heard they’re sending a detective up from Adelaide to do a community talk about how to cut down on rural crime,’ Amelia put in.
‘Really?’ asked her mother, her tone high in surprise. ‘Still, what a good idea. Need to deter the little blighters somehow.’
‘Yeah, they were talking about it on the Country Hour a couple of days ago.’
‘You listen to the Country Hour?’ Graham gave her a wide-eyed look.
‘You’d be surprised by what I do,’ she answered with a sweet smile. There was no point in telling him that she was up with the current agribusiness news, the prices of sheep, cattle and crops, and what was new in research and development. She needed to be, otherwise she couldn’t be good at her job. But even if Graham listened, he’d forget as soon as she told him.
‘So what type of ring do you think you’re going to buy?’ Natalie turned the conversation back to something of interest to her.
‘Dani was talking opals and gold, but I guess it’ll depend on what we see.’ Graham put his empty coffee cup on top of his breakfast plate and handed it over to his mum, who took it with a smile.
‘Aren’t opals pretty expensive?’ Amelia said before she could stop herself.
‘Money is no issue. I’ve been saving up.’
Ha, I’d like to believe that, Amelia thought before she pushed her chair away and picked up her bowl to take to the sink. ‘Nice for some,’ she said. ‘I guess I’ll see you all at tea. Can’t wait to see the ring, Graham. Will you bring Dani back here after training?’
‘No, she’ll stay in town. You can all see the ring when she comes to dinner next week. It’ll be the talk of the town! Nothing ordinary for my girl.’
Amelia wanted to roll her eyes. Instead, she tipped her head to the side and surveyed him. Where was he going to get the cash to buy something as expensive as an opal engagement ring? She knew Danielle: that girl wouldn’t settle for anything that wasn’t flashy and showy. Looks like Graham is overspending again.
Chapter 3
Detective Dave Burrows tapped the steering wheel as he drove north. It had been three years since he’d last driven this road and so much had changed. Not the landscape so much, but him. His life.
He was no longer living in Perth; Adelaide was his base. He wasn’t married, but separated. His two daughters still spoke to him, but less often than before the split; he cherished those phone calls more than ever. He was still a detective, but with all the funding cuts and lack of manpower in country areas, he spent more time in his car and less at a desk. That was the one change he liked.
The music switched to Cold Chisel’s ‘Flame Trees’ and he felt a rush of cold run through him. The song reminded him of Melinda, his soon-to-be-ex-wife. He didn’t need to listen to that. He leaned forward and changed the station to the ABC.
That helped. He could direct his thoughts a bit better. As he drove towards Clare, he thought back over the crimes that were the reason for his visit. There’d certainly been an unusual number happening in this area of the state. Of course, the towns got rougher and more ‘wild west’ the further north you headed, especially up around Coober Pedy and Mintabie where the opals were. Men—and women—could just disappear without a trace up there. A bit lower down there’d been a spate of fuel robberies, service station drive-offs and opportunistic sheep thefts, but one tanker theft stood out in terms of sheer audacity and quantity.
‘The first of three robberies,’ he said aloud. Talking to himself was one of the ways he reviewed evidence, as links were often clearer this way. ‘Five hundred kilometres north of Adelaide. Eighty k’s from the nearest town, Torrica. The farmer had been at the bowser the night before, filling his ute before he headed to a meeting. The diesel tank, all ten thousand litres of it, had just been filled that day and was still full when he was refuelling. So it was drained sometime between when the farmer left for the meeting and the next morning. No tyre tracks, but there was a strong wind that night. The question is, how did the crims know the tanker had just been refilled and he was off to a meeting? Inside information? Does that mean it’s a local?’ Dave thought for a bit, then continued. ‘Ten thousand litres is a lot of fuel. You can’t just fill up empty drums on the back of your ute and drive away. You’d need a truck with a tanker on the back.’
He reached over to the passenger’s seat and found his notebook. Glancing between the road and the pages, he scribbled: truck type? regos? before chucking it back on the seat.
Then there were the other two thefts—fuel hadn’t been stolen in those cases, but they had a similar pattern. Sixty k’s in the other direction from Torrica had seen thirteen shuttles of chemicals taken. Once again, no one had been home on the night. There’d been truck tracks beside the loading ramp of the shed. If only the local coppers had thought to take a cast of the tyre tracks, but of course it had seemed like a random, opportunistic theft. At least they’d done enough to enable the victim to claim the insurance.
Dave kept spinning these thoughts around as he drove, then focused on the third crime, which had happened a couple of weeks later. A GPS guidance system had been stolen out of a tractor. Once again there was no one around. There had been tracks
and footprints, but by the time the locals got out to the farm, they’d been destroyed by the farmer walking back and forth over the top of them. It had been frustrating when the locals had told Dave what had happened. It had been even more annoying when they hadn’t thought to run a fingerprint kit over the inside of the tractor, even over the door handles.
Dave would have loved to have bawled them out for their incompetence, but he knew they were young and still learning. He also knew there were better ways to explain things to people than yelling. He prided himself on his casual but professional approach to dealing with staff members and the public.
He reached for his notebook and, steering with his knees, wrote: Interview GPS owner, noise, lights etc, before throwing the book back on the passenger’s seat.
His daughters would laugh at him. ‘Dad! Use Siri, you can just talk to her.’ It had taken Dave some time to work out who ‘Siri’ was. ‘No good me trying any new technology,’ he’d told the girls. ‘I’m too old to change my habits. And half the places I end up in don’t have mobile reception.’ The girls had pooh-poohed him for a while, but eventually given up.
Glancing out the window, Dave took in the paddocks and the dry brown land that stretched to the base of the majestic gumtree-covered Clare Hills. He allowed himself a small smile. He was almost at Kate and Sam’s, and it was such a long time since he’d seen them. Dave and Kate had been as close as cousins could be when they were kids. Three years ago, she’d unwittingly become mixed up with a drug-running ring. He’d been so worried about her and Sam—as well as their friends, Matt and Anna Butler—that he’d almost broken all the rules and flown to South Australia to help them out. Instead, all he’d been able to do was advise from afar, and it hadn’t been enough to stop Matt from being seriously injured in an assault.
Lost in thought, Dave missed the driveway. He eased his foot onto the brake, rolled to a stop, then yanked the wheel around and turned in through the gate, past a sign declaring that this was the home of Sam and Kate.
Emerald Springs Page 3
