Duncan lifted his keys and shook them in my uncle’s face, then put them back in his pocket. ‘We all called him “B.B.”’ He nudged Uncle Pike in the ribs, making his hands slip off my ears. ‘If you know what I mean.’
Devon’s eyes widened and he glanced at me.
My uncle groaned and rubbed his face. ‘Do I want to know?’
Duncan stood up and did a weird rocking hip sway like he was doing the Hokey Tokey. ‘Big Bulbs, get it?’
‘Because he grew tulips?’ I asked him.
His lip curled like he had just discovered me gate-crashing his party. ‘Not a conversation for little girls.’
‘Got that right,’ Devon said. ‘Or big girls.’
‘Or anyone really,’ Uncle Pike said.
Duncan stood behind Uncle Pike, his fingers digging into the back of the sofa. ‘You two should join us at the next party. Different couples host, I think it’s Shaun and Carley Shay next month. It is all very discreet.’
‘Just like you,’ my uncle said.
The real estate agent emptied his glass and beamed. ‘Exactly!’
‘Who did Will Jansen go to the parties with?’ Uncle Pike asked.
Duncan Nunn leaned forward, absently stroking the neck of the bottle. ‘B.B. always arrived alone, one of only a few single men allowed. Once there, he was always busy with the ladies.’ He frowned. ‘But come to think of it, he wasn’t at this month’s party, or Abe Lewis’s last month.’ Duncan rubbed his finger around the rim of the champagne bottle. ‘Do you know what, I don’t think I’ve seen B.B. at any events this year. How odd.’ He refilled everyone’s drink as well as his own then raised his glass in a toast. ‘More chance for us mortals, am I right?’
Uncle Pike fake-gagged then sculled his wine. ‘So was he selling his farm?’
Duncan tapped his nose. ‘Can’t say.’
‘Can’t, or won’t-can’t?’ Uncle Pike said.
Duncan scratched his head. ‘Can’t?’
Devon sang in the background, ‘Can’t, can’t, can’t.’
‘Oh, so you can,’ I said to Duncan. ‘But you just can’t.’ I almost bowed as I winked at him.
He backed away from me down the hallway. ‘Please stop saying “can’t”.’
‘So he wasn’t selling his farm?’ Uncle Pike said.
I joined Devon in his, ‘Can’t, can’t, can’t’ song as we moved Duncan towards the front door.
‘Okay, fine,’ he said. ‘Just please stop, you’re freaking me out.’
Devon and I stopped singing.
Duncan returned to the living room and topped up his and Uncle Pike’s glasses, finishing the bottle which he shoved at me like I was the rubbish bin. I glared at him but he ignored me. ‘There was a huge amount of interest in B.B.’s property. Huge. But he wasn’t ready to sell.’ Duncan sipped his champagne. ‘I knew just another month or two and I could’ve convinced him that it was the right thing to do, but he was so stubborn.’
Uncle Pike raised his glass to Duncan. ‘You really are number one.’ The real estate agent grinned and clinked flutes with my uncle. ‘Indeed I am.’
They finished their drinks and we all walked up the stairs to the street. Devon raced ahead and was first in the ute. I knocked on the driver’s window and took his empty glass, giving it to Duncan who didn’t say thank you. I hopped inside and waited for Uncle Pike, who was slower at escaping. Finally, he got in.
Duncan held the ute door open. ‘You know I always told B.B. he should run for mayor or the council: he’d have won in a landslide.’ As Uncle Pike went to shut it, Duncan stopped him. ‘Maybe if he had none of this would have happened.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Devon drove us out of Riverstone. Suddenly The Corrs ‘Runaway’ blasted from the stereo, causing us all to jump. Devon glanced at Uncle Pike. ‘On brand song for you.’
My uncle ignored him and stabbed at the stereo’s buttons but nothing changed. ‘It really is impressive how fucked this thing is.’
‘Well I guess we have music now,’ I shouted above it. On my phone, I had looked up Peter Henare in the White Pages and called his number, passing it over to Uncle Pike. He spoke with Mr Henare, who as soon as my uncle mentioned Dad, said he was home and invited us over for a drink.
While Uncle Pike finished the call, one finger in his ear, we passed Dad’s roadside cross and I noticed some of the flowers were looking brown and manky. ‘Can we stop on the way back and tidy up?’ I asked.
Devon nodded at me in the rear-view mirror.
‘Course, darling,’ Uncle Pike said.
We turned off the main road and on to Mr Tulips’ road, driving past the white wooden railing fences and his sign. One minute and seventeen seconds further down the road, a gravel driveway snaked up a steep grassy hill, disappearing into a square of silver birch trees. ‘Dalrymple,’ I read out loud off the mailbox as we went past. Through the trees I caught glimpses of a two-storey brick house with a black roof.
Uncle Pike turned his head towards us. ‘We’re definitely paying him a visit on the way back.’
Less than a minute of curvy road later, Peter Henare’s mailbox poked out, on the same side of the road as Mr Tulips and the Dalrymples. ‘Pull over,’ I said. ‘This is it.’
Halfway up a large hill sat what looked like a small collection of black wooden boxes with large windows. Stones and gravel surrounded everything, and random grassy tussocks were planted across the hill, tucked in among the stones.
‘Nice,’ Devon said.
‘Now we’re talking,’ Uncle Pike agreed.
I grabbed on to the handle above my window as we bumped over the cattle stop and then the drive. Devon parked near a huge wooden front door. As we got out of the truck, the door opened and a man with a buzzcut in blue jeans and a white shirt, around Mum and Uncle Pike’s age, came out.
‘Peter Henare?’ Uncle Pike introduced us all.
‘That was quick. Call me Pete.’ He shuffled over in bare feet and shook my uncle and Devon’s hands. He stopped in front of me. ‘I was so sorry about your dad, Tippy. Joe was a great friend of ours.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, surprised he knew who I was. I hadn’t even known Pete existed. I took in his green eyes and the laugh lines on his face before he bustled us inside.
The white walls and dark concrete floor reminded me of Sam’s old house. ‘How’s your mum?’ Pete asked me.
‘She’s okay,’ I said.
He led us to the living room. Out the large windows was a spectacular view across green rolling farmland all the way down to the freezing works and Clutha River in the distance. We sat down while Pete fixed us all a drink, lemonade for me and Devon and wine for him and Uncle Pike. I had never seen so many photos and paintings in one room before. They covered the white walls and tops of bookcases and an antique sideboard.
Pete came back in with a tray. ‘We keep—’ he sniffed. ‘Sorry, have to get used to past tense.’ I jumped up and took the tray, placing it on a marble coffee table. He blew his nose.
I sat down beside him.
‘We kept an eye out for Joe’s roadside cross,’ he said. ‘I put some flowers there for the anniversary.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. So that was where the lilies came from.
‘So sorry to hear about Angus,’ Uncle Pike said, and we all nodded.
‘I love your house?’ Devon said.
Pete laughed and wiped his eyes. ‘You sound surprised.’
‘Trust me, I am.’ Devon admired the room and paintings. ‘And you are originally from here?’
‘Born and bred,’ Pete said. ‘I’m not sure if I should be insulted?’
‘That is the normal reaction,’ Uncle Pike said.
I wondered if it was too late to go grab the witness statement questions from the ute.
‘Are you a farmer?’ Devon asked.
‘Chemical engineer,’ Pete said. ‘Work’s given me time off to …’ He bowed his head then raised his glass. ‘Welcome, I wish it was under dif
ferent circumstances.’
We toasted and I sipped my lemonade.
‘On the way here we passed Mr Tulips’ sign,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘Awful what happened. How well did you know Will Jansen?’
‘Most of my life. We had him up here for a neighbours’ dinner on New Year’s Day, but hadn’t seen much of him since then. Guess that was a while ago now.’ Pete sighed. ‘I’m struggling with what they say he did.’
‘Why?’ Devon said.
‘That’s not Will, not what they’re saying. He was a good person. Never hurt anyone, let alone blow up the town. And Raewyn, and …’ Pete trailed off.
‘Did Will have any enemies?’ Uncle Pike asked.
Pete shifted in his chair. ‘I don’t know anything about that.’
I shot my uncle a look: Pete was lying.
‘In the news, they said he was upset with the council?’ Uncle Pike said.
Pete grunted and nodded. ‘No secret Will wasn’t a fan of local government, but then who is?’
‘What about Angus?’ my uncle said.
Pete smiled. ‘He was everybody’s friend. Like Will.’
‘Did he normally work so late?’ I asked.
He nodded.‘People have been asking me that. Angus was working on something big.’ Pete leaned over and topped up Uncle Pike’s glass and his own. ‘He couldn’t tell me what, but it changed him.’
‘How do you mean?’ my uncle asked.
‘Had problems sleeping, lost weight. Started working back late at the office, doing all-nighters.’ Pete stared at a spot on the floor for ages, the clinking from his wedding ring tapping against his wineglass filled the room.
I glanced at Uncle Pike, but he was looking at Devon with a small sad smile. Nobody spoke. To me, Mr Henderson’s behaviour sounded the same as Dad’s in the weeks before he died. His tired hollowed-out face, the fights at home with Mum over money, and his weird late hours.
Finally, Pete spoke again, breaking the silence. ‘When Angus was at home he wasn’t here, if you know what I mean?’
I wondered where he was.
Pete put his wineglass down on the side table so hard it broke.
Both Devon and I jumped. Pete looked horrified. ‘Sorry! Sorry, I—’
‘Rubbish,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘We’ve all been guilty of poor glassware decisions at some point. Joe Chan more than once. Tippy, take note.’
I tried to relax and gave Pete a smile. It did feel nice to hear people talking about Dad again. While Uncle Pike helped Pete tidy up the broken glass, I stood up with Devon and studied the paintings and the photos on the old sideboard. Hanging above it was an old aerial farm photo. Uncle Pike and Pete came back in and joined us.
Pete pointed out where we were now in comparison to the neighbours’ land. ‘That’s John and Raewyn Dalrymple’s farm. You would have loved Raewyn, she was great. Next to their farm is Will’s.’ He picked up a photo in a silver frame. It was of him and Mr Henderson, Mr Jansen, Raewyn—
I gasped. It was the giant from Dad’s group photo. He stood slightly on his own and wasn’t smiling. I noticed my uncle give me an ‘Are you all right?’ look from behind Pete’s back. I gave a slight nod.
‘Is that John?’ Uncle Pike asked, pointing to the giant. ‘You said Raewyn was great …’
‘John’s a—’ Pete looked at me.
‘It’s okay,’ I said and nodded, trying to let him know we knew about the suicide attempt and to keep talking.
‘Angus wouldn’t let me crop that awful two-faced piece of shit out of this photo.’ Pete turned the frame over and pulled it out. ‘Guess it doesn’t matter now.’ He ripped the photo, tearing off Mr Dalrymple and leaving the four of them. ‘That’s what it should’ve been.’
‘So not a bestie?’ Uncle Pike said.
Pete snorted and put down the group photo, then tore up the strip with Mr Dalrymple, ripping it into tiny pieces.
We finished our drinks and my uncle made an excuse to leave. Pete walked us to the door. He put out his hand for me to shake. ‘A real honour to meet Joe’s daughter. You take care, Tippy.’
He watched us get into the ute. ‘You’re all welcome back here any time.’
We waved as Devon reversed, then drove back down the driveway. ‘Clearly, Angus was having an affair,’ Devon said.
‘How can you say that?’ I asked.
‘Weight loss, working late …’ Devon glanced at Uncle Pike.
‘And that whole thing with Raewyn’s husband,’ my uncle said.
‘The lady protests too much,’ Devon said.
‘Exactly,’ Uncle Pike agreed. ‘Either Angus shacked up with Dalrymple, or Pete did, judging by his venom towards that photo.’
My stomach churned. Dad worked late, too. ‘But couldn’t Mr Henderson just have been working late?’ I asked.
‘Sure,’ my uncle said. But he didn’t sound sure. I thought of all Dad’s late nights. Had he been seeing someone else? Someone on a nearby farm? That would explain why he was driving out of town when he crashed.
‘Who knew the country was so sexy?’ Devon said. ‘And I do like it a lot better in the dark.’
‘Yes, you do,’ Uncle Pike said, fiddling with the silent stereo.
‘We need interview practise,’ I told them, hunting for the witness statement questions in my backpack.
Planted along the edges of Dalrymples’ steep winding driveway were green flaxes and toetoes with their pale feathery fronds blowing in the wind. The drive’s edges were trimmed and the grass in the middle was pale yellow.
‘Looks like someone’s been spraying,’ Uncle Pike said.
I checked out the Dalrymples’ two-storey red brick house, trying to see if anyone was home. No curtains or blinds were drawn, but no lights were on inside either. As we drove into a large concrete entranceway, spotlights came on from above a double garage. Both its roller doors were down and parked in front of them was a muddy red quad bike.
Devon parked and we got out.
‘Hello?’ Uncle Pike called.
Devon stretched his back using the front of the quad bike. ‘This is great,’ he said. ‘It’s just at the right height to get a really deep—’
A door slammed from inside the garage and the roller door closest to the house rattled and lurched upwards. When it got to about half way, John Dalrymple appeared. He bent underneath it and strode out in thick brown farm socks. He was a giant, maybe the largest man I had ever seen—except for his eyes, which seemed small and shark-like, almost black. His neck was doing that cordy-thing that Mum’s did when she was mad. ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded.
‘Surprise,’ Devon said. ‘I’m Officer Markle, as in Meghan, and this is my family.’
My witness statement questions hadn’t been in my backpack—the paper must be back at Number Four—and we hadn’t practised. I smiled and attempted a curtsy, trying to remember what questions were on it.
John Dalrymple squinted and looked around behind us. ‘Doesn’t look like a cop car.’
‘Sorry to hear about your wife,’ Uncle Pike said. We surrounded the councillor like we were current affairs reporters. All that was missing was the camera operator.
Devon took Uncle Pike’s hand and smiled at Mr Dalrymple. ‘I can see the family resemblance to Lorraine, especially your eyes.’
I whispered to Devon out the corner of my mouth, ‘He’s not related.’
‘Oh.’ Devon’s smile wavered, and he stage whispered to me, ‘Are you sure?’
John Dalrymple stood in front of the dirty quad bike. ‘Think you reporters better leave.’ He crossed his arms. ‘Don’t come around here again.’
‘We’re not reporters,’ Uncle Pike said.‘Officer Markle just wanted to ask a couple of questions about your neighbour, Willem Jansen.’
Mr Dalrymple bowed his head then shook it. ‘Just leave him alone. He was a good man who did a bad thing.’
A bad thing that killed people.
Devon nodded. ‘Still a shame they trashed his hous
e like that.’
Mr Dalrymple squinted. ‘What’s that?’
‘We went inside,’ Devon said, ‘just to check for clues.’
The councillor seemed confused. I tried something different. ‘How about your other neighbour, Peter Henare?’
He rubbed his chin. ‘Pete?’ He chuckled and his shoulders relaxed. ‘What’s he been saying now?’
‘Just that you weren’t on good terms,’ Uncle Pike said.
‘That’ll be Pete.’ Mr Dalrymple played with the metal brake lever on the bike. ‘He’s got it in his head that I’m homophobic.’ He let go of the brake and I noticed white bandages on his wrists peeking out from under the cuffs of his blue flannel shirt. ‘I’m not like that, not at all.’
‘Interesting.’ Devon beamed. ‘That’s exactly what we thought.’
Mr Dalrymple scratched his head and frowned. ‘One thing keeps going round my head though …’
We stood quietly, waiting for Mr Dalrymple to continue. I wondered if he was on painkillers.
‘How did Will know how to make a bomb like that? I’ve been meaning to ask Pete; as a chemical engineer he’s the expert.’ Mr Dalrymple looked at us like he hoped we had the answers. I hated how this bomb had ruined so many people’s lives. He staggered a little and Uncle Pike rushed to help, but he nodded he was okay. ‘Sorry, just need to lie down for a bit.’
‘Thank you for your time,’ Uncle Pike said.
‘Take care and sorry about your wife,’ Devon added.
Mr Dalrymple looked down at the ground and gave us a wave.
We climbed back into the truck. Devon started it up and we lurched towards Mr Dalrymple. He jumped back in alarm.
Devon wound down his window. ‘Whoops!’ The stereo kicked in and The Corrs’ ‘Breathless’ blasted out.
Mr Dalrymple backed away to the side of the house, far from our ute.
‘K. Bye.’ Devon waved as he reversed, then we headed down the drive.
I turned in my seat and looked out the back window. John Dalrymple stood and watched us go down the drive. I felt sorry for him, alone in his house, his wife and two lifelong neighbours gone, and the only one left, Peter Henare, hating him. It was a lot to cope with, but I hoped he wouldn’t try to kill himself again.
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