Nancy Business

by R. W. R. McDonald

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ Chuck yelled.

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ my uncle hissed. ‘Of course it’s for you. Shut up or they’ll take it away.’

  The acoustics in the place were excellent, but the bartender either didn’t hear, or maybe just didn’t care. He finished pouring our drinks and snatched Devon’s money.

  I took my lemonade and helped Devon bring the glasses over to the table.

  We sat down. Uncle Pike poured a glass of beer from the jug. He slid it to Chuck who sculled it then banged the empty glass on the table.

  The bartender glared at us. Devon smiled and waved at him.

  My uncle filled up Chuck’s glass again. ‘So, Chuck, what do you remember the morning of the bombing?’

  ‘The fire? Or the bomb? The bomb went boom.’ Chuck laughed which turned into a large belch. Some of the regulars looked up.

  ‘Listen, you’re going to be kicked out any second,’ Uncle Pike growled.

  Chuck put up his hands. ‘Okay, okay. Jeesh, are you the pigs?’

  The barman stared at us again. Uncle Pike gave him a smile and a friendly everything-is-fine wave with his big paw.

  My boots were stuck to the carpet. Under the table I lifted one then the other. ‘We’re not the police,’ I said to Chuck. ‘How about before the boom?’ I asked, hoping he might respond differently to me.

  He pointed his thumb at me.‘Where’d this little fella come from?’ I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. ‘I’m Helen Chan’s daughter, the woman who rescued you.’

  ‘Your angel,’ Uncle Pike said again.

  Chuck grinned at me with his red bloodshot eyes. I don’t think I’d ever seen Chuck sober. Well, soberish. I felt sorry for him. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t be giving him alcohol?’ I said.

  ‘No way!’ Chuck grabbed the jug and filled his glass. ‘You promised.’

  I tried again. ‘What happened before the boom? Were you asleep?’

  He shook his head violently. I thought he was going to tip over the table. ‘Nah,’ he said, then snorted out a laugh.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Uncle Pike asked.

  ‘What?’ Chuck stared at the side of my uncle’s head.

  ‘Come on,’ Devon said. ‘This is hopeless.’

  ‘Are you gay?’ Chuck said to Devon.

  ‘Are you straight?’ Devon replied.

  Chuck frowned and rubbed his eyebrow with his palm. ‘That doesn’t make any sense.’

  ‘Hey.’ I poured Chuck another beer.

  Devon and Uncle Pike glanced at me. My uncle gave me a nod to go ahead with whatever it was I was doing.

  ‘Were you sitting in a doorway?’ I thought about where he was found, across the road from Henderson Lawyers and the town hall. He must have been in a doorway to be shielded from the blast.

  He nodded.

  ‘You must’ve had a good view of the town hall.’

  ‘Yep.’ He drank his glass of beer, missing half his mouth.

  ‘Did you see anyone?’

  Chuck shook his head. ‘Nuh.’

  I sat back and crossed my arms. It was worth a shot.

  Chuck burped. ‘Not allowed to say.’

  My eyebrows shot up as Chuck slipped off his seat in slow motion. He reached for the table, pulling it over with him. Glasses toppled and smashed, beer spilling everywhere from the jug.

  ‘That’s it!’ the bartender shouted. ‘Out! The lot of you.’ He stormed towards us.

  I needed more. Who had told Chuck not to say anything? What had he seen? I kneeled beside him like I had on the night of the bombing. His eyes were closed. Any minute the bridge could blow up. I shook him but he had passed out.

  Uncle Pike took my hand and pulled me up as the barman turned on us. ‘Fuck off!’ he said. ‘And don’t come back.’

  ‘Language,’ Uncle Pike said to him, which I was sure was ironic coming from him. We headed to the door, leaving the barman to deal with Chuck.

  ‘Not sure that was ideal for Tippy?’ Devon said when we got back to the carpark.

  I shrugged. ‘At least he didn’t get any beer on me. I wish we had more time. He definitely knows something.’ Fabulon barked and wagged his tail from the back of the ute as we approached. ‘That barman was a Neanderthal.’

  My uncle shook his beer-soaked bandaged hand. ‘Agreed, and I guess we can rule Chuck out as a suspect at least.’ He wiped his hand on his black coat then patted Fabulon. ‘And, yes, that barman was a fuckwad but please don’t be speciesist, Tippy. I’m four percent Neanderthal, which means you and your mum have some DNA, too.’

  ‘You’re mixed-species?’ Devon said, adjusting his sunglasses. ‘Wow, just like the Tin Man. I’d definitely marry him, kill the lion and f—’

  ‘Really? The scarecrow?’ Uncle Pike said. ‘I guess he’s kind of hot … and that lion was so whiny.’

  ‘Right?’ Devon agreed.

  I frowned at them as I got in the front seat.

  ‘Maybe I’d skin the lion after I killed him, though,’ Uncle Pike said, opening the back door. ‘And wrap it around the scarecrow before …’

  ‘His fur would be nice,’ I said.

  Devon turned to me. ‘Don’t be self-hating, Tippy. It’s the worst.’ He pulled the hipflask from his man-bag and passed it back to Uncle Pike.

  ‘Like the Tin Man repealing anti-robot discrimination laws,’ Uncle Pike said, taking the bottle. ‘Vodka? You shouldn’t have.’ He kissed it then frowned. ‘Hang on, how’s the Tin Man inter-species?’

  ‘Pretty sure he’s a cyborg,’ I said. ‘After they gave him that person’s heart.’

  ‘Whoa.’ Devon looked shocked. ‘Whose heart was that?’

  Uncle Pike winked at me as he unscrewed the cap.

  ‘But that wasn’t in the film …’ Devon whispered, worried.

  I giggled. ‘Maybe you need to read the book?’

  The truck rumbled as Devon started the engine. ‘I really do,’ he said.

  I smiled and gazed at the puddle reflection of yellow poplars on the other side of the street. ‘Wait, what would you do with the scarecrow?’

  Uncle Pike leaned forward between our seats, pointing to the ute’s clock. ‘Okay, thirty-one minutes, here we go.’ He took a swig and swallowed, shaking his head like it was wet from swimming. ‘Tippy, can you time the drive?’

  ‘On it,’ I said. ‘Starting as soon as we leave the town hall.’

  Devon pulled out of the carpark and I kept my eye on the door of Cherry Tree Lodge for Chuck, but no one came out. I felt sorry for him and hoped he was okay.

  We drove down the back streets and passed my school. Not far from here was Todd and Sam’s street. I felt guilty for not visiting Todd yet. I would make it up to him as soon as we solved this mystery and stopped the bomber. I checked my side mirror to make sure we weren’t being followed. There was not even one other car on the road.

  Devon turned on to Rata Street. No one spoke as we drove down it, past the Bully and across Hope Street, with our stinky Airbnb on the right. We continued down the next block until we reached the intersection with Riverstone Auto Repairs on the corner. Across the road from it was the police station.

  ‘Pull over,’ I told Devon. He stopped the ute and I pointed to the back entrance of the alleyway behind the mechanics. ‘Over there,’ I said.

  ‘The proverbial secret passage,’ Uncle Pike said. Devon glanced back at him. They both snickered. My uncle giggled and waved his hand. ‘Too easy,’ he said. Devon burst out laughing.

  I opened the door and hopped out. At least they were playing nice. I searched the street and building walls for any security cameras, but couldn’t see any. On the mechanics’ office window was a Riverstone Security blue-and-white triangle sticker. Uncle Pike and Devon joined me.

  ‘Anything?’ Devon asked.

  Uncle Pike went to say something then stopped and drank from the hipflask instead.

  ‘Nothing outside.’ I pointed to the sticker. ‘But maybe a camera inside?’

  ‘I
’ll ask,’ my uncle said, stuffing his bottle into his black jacket pocket. ‘You both stay here in case it’s dangerous.’

  ‘Why would it be dangerous?’ I asked, but he was already closing the office door.

  Devon jogged on the spot. He stretched his arms out and lifted his knees high, touching his hands with them. ‘Can you do this?’

  I tried; it was easy.

  My uncle came back out, rolling his eyes. ‘Walk with me.’

  We headed down the side of the garage. Behind it was the entrance to the alleyway.

  Uncle Pike shook his head. ‘No security cam anywhere because “Riverstone Security looks after all of that”. When I asked, “What if someone robbed the place?”, he laughed.’

  Devon sniffed. ‘That’s not funny.’

  The alleyway stank badly of pee. I was careful where I stepped, searching for clues. Along the bottom of the brick walls were clumps of dandelions, broken beer bottles and a cigarette packet. A clue. I held my breath and squatted to take a closer look at the packet. It was faded and looked way older than just a couple of days ago.

  I overheard Devon say to Uncle Pike,‘Just because we’re working well together doesn’t mean we’re back on.’ I sighed and stood up.

  Devon took large tiptoe steps and held his nose. ‘Why does it smell?’

  My uncle took a swig. ‘Downtown Riverstone,’ he said, which made no sense.

  Up on the wall closer to Main Street was an old Duncan Nunn poster pasted on the bricks. I needed to talk to him about Dad and that group photo.

  ‘He really is everywhere,’ Uncle Pike said from behind me.

  Across from his poster was the ‘dry dogging’ graffiti. We stopped at the end of the alley and peered out at the footpath. An old woman with owl-glasses walking past recoiled when she saw us. She stood, clutching her chest, blinking. I waved.

  ‘Nothing to see here,’ Uncle Pike said, raising his bottle.

  She tutted and shook her head.

  ‘Sorry,’ I yelled after her. I stepped out onto the footpath.

  Chuck had been sheltering, two doors down. I stared across and down the road at the vacant section where Henderson Lawyers had been. Near it, in the carpark, was the fresh tar-seal where the van had been. Chuck’s words came back to me: ‘Not allowed to say.’ Say what? Whatever it is, whatever or whoever he saw, this cannot happen again. I turned around. ‘We’re running out of time.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The drive out to Mr Tulips’ farm was quiet—well, except for when the stereo decided to blast The Corrs ‘What Can I Do’. Again. Devon drove, while I sat shotgun with Uncle Pike, still drinking in the back. I watched Fabulon in the side mirror. He would appear, tongue hanging out, and sniff the wind, bark, then disappear again.

  We passed Dad’s cross. All the flowers were gone. Pete must have tidied it up. What Dad did still didn’t make any sense. Even though I knew I was supposed to accept it, I couldn’t believe he had wanted to kill himself. Part of me kept wondering if the same thing was inside me, that it would happen to me, too, but each time that thought came I would block it out, scared that thinking about it might switch on something deep inside me, like a time bomb that I could never defuse.

  Instead, I had searched for clues in every memory, every detail and every conversation with Dad on repeat in my head, but I had found nothing in any of them to explain what had happened. Mum and Uncle Pike had told me that we would never know why, but deep in my bones and in my gut it felt like they were wrong: there was no way Dad took his own life. No way. He wouldn’t do that to Mum. He wouldn’t do that to me.

  My counsellor taught me denial was part of grief, which I kind of understood, but this gut feeling I had about Dad was the same kind of feeling I got when I was investigating, and it was getting stronger. Ahead was the turnoff to Mr Tulips’ road. Devon slowed down and turned into it.

  Over the wet green paddocks a rainbow stretched, bright and beautiful against the dark grey clouds. We all craned our necks to look at it.

  ‘So pretty,’ Devon said.

  I nodded and Uncle Pike agreed. ‘Looks like there’s a pot of gold at Pete’s house.’

  We passed the paddock with the brown horse at the fence again. This time it had a seagull friend, standing one-legged beside it on a post. Then the white wooden fences came into view. Fabulon started barking his head off. My heart broke. He thinks he’s going home, that he’ll see his owner. On my window I traced my finger over him in the mirror. He didn’t stop barking; if anything he got louder as we bumped our way up the driveway.

  It didn’t make sense—my stopwatch was only at six minutes twenty-eight seconds. What had they been doing for the rest of the thirty-one minutes? I was about to say something when the pine trees ended and the house came into view. Devon gasped.

  All the windows were smashed. Murderer was scrawled in red spray paint across the front of the house, along with Tulip-fucker and Piss.

  Uncle Pike leaned forward into the space between us. ‘Careful,’ he said. ‘Whoever did this could still be here.’

  I shuddered and searched for any vehicles, or people, but couldn’t see any. The front door was wide open and the police tape had been ripped off. It fluttered on the porch steps and in the desolate garden bed.

  ‘Maybe you should stay in the ute while we check it out, Tippy,’ Devon said.

  ‘Sexist!’ I opened my door. A cold breeze blew directly at us from the freezing works’ rendering plant. A vile stench hit me and across from me, Devon gagged. I pulled my polar fleece up over my nose and breathed through it. A seagull flew overhead, its wings dark grey against the rain clouds.

  Uncle Pike had already swung himself out and untied Fabulon. The dog jumped off the ute’s tray and ran around the corner of the garage to his kennel. My uncle sighed. ‘I hope he’s all right.’ I nodded and gave his hand a squeeze. We both looked at the damaged house, then he let go of my hand. ‘Wait here.’ Before I could say anything, he ran around the side of the house.

  Devon jumped out of the ute. ‘Pike! Be careful.’ He grimaced as he inhaled the foul air and spat on the ground. By the time we got to the corner, Uncle Pike was back again.

  ‘No one home,’ he panted, and took a long drink of vodka.

  I waited until he had finished swallowing. ‘The timer only got as far as six and a half minutes,’ I said.

  Uncle Pike let out a big breath. ‘What’s the time now? Hold on.’ He went and peered into the ute. ‘It’s only been twenty. No, twenty-one minutes since I started drinking.’ Not once had he covered his mouth or nose. I wondered if he had no sense of smell.

  ‘So taking away the drive time,’ I said. ‘That still leaves twenty-four and a half minutes from the timeline.’

  Devon had his pashmina wrapped over his nose and mouth. He looked like a high-class bank robber. ‘That’s a lot of time.’

  ‘One minute for the phone call,’ I said. ‘That’s twenty-three and a half minutes to fill in.’

  Uncle Pike clapped his hands and shook them. ‘Okay, here goes. Drunk test.’

  ‘But it hasn’t been thirty-one minutes,’ I said.

  He walked over to the house and up the two steps. He looked normal.

  Devon leaned into me. ‘Remember she has had a lot of practice at this.’

  My uncle walked back to the truck then turned around and retraced his steps, heading up the stairs and back down again. ‘Because Mr Tulips had a lot of distance and stairs to cover.’

  He still didn’t look any different.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ I asked.

  ‘Fine,’ Uncle Pike said, stopping. ‘And I’m not going to be much different in ten minutes.’

  I nodded and sniffed then instantly regretted taking in more foul air. ‘One more look in case we missed anything,’ I said, and headed up the stairs. I also wanted to get away from the rotting stench.

  Inside, the hallway stank more than I remembered. Ahead was a wet stain on the wallpaper.

 
‘Tippy, stop!’ Uncle Pike said behind me. ‘Don’t move.’

  I froze and looked down. Someone, or a couple of someones, had pooed on the carpet. The smell hit me and I dry-retched. I covered my mouth and took a couple of steps back, my eyes watering.

  My uncle put his arms around me.

  ‘Why? Who would—’ It was too much, the repulsive hate of it all.

  ‘Shh, it’s okay,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘These people think Mr Jansen did a terrible thing. Doesn’t excuse them and probably they found shitting on someone’s hallway carpet exciting.’

  Devon stood beside me and rubbed my arm. ‘Kind of like a bucket list thing.’

  ‘Exactly,’ my uncle said. ‘Do you want to leave?’ he asked me.

  I held my nose and shook my head. ‘We’re running out of time.’

  ‘Devon and I will be on the front step, okay?’ Uncle Pike said. Devon didn’t wait. He ran back outside.

  Holding my breath, I carefully stepped through into the living room. Minus the smashed windows and broken glass, nothing looked moved and nothing screamed clues. In the bedroom, the window now had a jagged hole in it. I hopped my way over, landing on clear spots of carpet, and looked outside—the wine bottle that had been in here last time was on the grass near the fence. The broken wineglasses beside the bed had been smashed even further, maybe stomped on before being ground into the carpet. Nothing else caught my eye. I walked across the hall to the home office. The wardrobe lay on its side. The force of what had happened here inside this house freaked me out, like all the fury and hate was still vibrating in the air.

  I needed to get out. I only glanced into the kitchen before the terrible gagging stench forced me back outside. Uncle Pike and Devon were standing by the ute arguing about bucket lists.

  I gulped in lots of fresh air, then regretted it. I spat out the disgusting rotten taste and ducked my face back into my polar fleece, using it as a mask again. I felt sick that someone had done that to Mr Tulips’ house. I breathed through my mouth, trying not to smell. I needed a hot shower and to brush my teeth as soon as we got back. And wash all my clothes.