Liar Bird

by Lisa Walker

  I nodded again. It was right here. In Beechville. There didn’t seem much point in trying to stop the media juggernaut now. The sight of the tiger had pulled me straight back to that night on Cougan Peak. My stomach clenched. Where was Mac? Why hadn’t he contacted me?

  Simon shook his head. ‘How about that, eh? The Tasmanian tiger hits the town.’

  I gazed at the place where the animal had vanished. The forest was as dark as a cave.

  ‘Well, these chickens should put you in solid with your boss,’ said Simon as we strolled down the street, chickens under our arms.

  ‘Pardon?’ I pushed the thoughts of Mac aside. I was an idiot to keep thinking about him. I needed to stop it. ‘Are you still quoting Raymond Chandler?’

  ‘Sam Spade — The Maltese Falcon.’

  ‘You’re a real hard-boiled detective fiction fan, aren’t you, Simon?’

  ‘Yep, I love a tough-talking man with a gun.’

  ‘Who would have thought?’

  Simon flashed me a glance. ‘Guess there’s lots you don’t know about me, Cassie. Why don’t you make it your mission to find out more? Here’s something else you didn’t know,’ he waggled his eyebrows suggestively, ‘I make a great breakfast in bed.’

  ‘Simon, I rank that about one out of ten on the flirting subtlety scale. Next you’ll be asking me where I left my wings, because I must be an angel who fell from heaven. Am I right?’

  He laughed. ‘It was just on the tip of my tongue. I’ll have to lift my game, won’t I?’ We stopped beside my car. ‘Where do you want your rooster, ma’am? In the boot? Or would you rather have it home delivered?’ He waggled his eyebrows again.

  ‘Jesus. You’re going downhill. I didn’t think that was possible.’ Something caught my eye. ‘Simon.’ I stared over his shoulder. ‘What’s going on in there?’ It might have been quiet on the street, but inside the office the lights were blazing. Silhouettes of a crowd of people moved to and fro in front of the lights.

  ‘Looks like your party invitation got lost in the mail,’ said Simon.

  The dark shapes shifted around in the office like shadow puppets. I couldn’t believe how many people were in there. It looked like it was standing room only.

  ‘Quick,’ I hissed. ‘Let’s get up there and see what’s going on.’

  Simon looked up at the window. ‘You think this is the big conspiracy at work?’

  I nodded. ‘What else could it be?’

  ‘A community meeting?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t they have invited me, then? And what sort of community meeting attracts that many people? I only got five to mine. Besides,’ I glared in the direction of the office as some music drifted towards me, ‘they’re dancing. Come on.’ I waved my arm towards the steps.

  ‘What about the chickens?’ Simon held up his rooster.

  ‘Just take them. They’re no trouble.’ Indeed, the roosters were extremely docile now they’d been caught. They sat quietly, taking in the scenery from under our arms.

  The front gate was locked but I had my key. We sneaked up the steps, although there was probably no need — the noise doof-doofed from upstairs; they wouldn’t have heard a thing. It sounded like the party was in full swing. When we reached the office foyer, I beckoned to Simon to crouch and we scurried over to the front counter and huddled under it.

  Simon raised his eyebrows at me questioningly.

  I shrugged.

  With his free hand, Simon reached towards his camera, which he’d stuffed in his jacket pocket. He couldn’t get it out with one hand. Shuffling towards me, he transferred his rooster to my other arm.

  ‘I’m a Texas chicken-slinger,’ I whispered, cradling a rooster on each hip.

  Simon smiled. ‘You’re lucky I left my firearms at home. Usually I pack a coupla mean bantams.’ He cocked his head up questioningly.

  I nodded.

  Rising slowly, we peered over the top of the counter. The roosters peered over too. It took me a few seconds to process what I was seeing.

  The office was packed. I think there were about fifty people. Music was playing — whoever was doing the selection had a fine taste in eighties disco hits.

  Maureen, in a tight purple dress, was dancing with a man in a loose blue shirt and black pants, who had his back to me. Her hair, also purple now, glowed under the fluorescent lights.

  Sam — a champagne glass in her hand — was wearing tight leather pants and a red singlet. She looked like she’d had a few — her cheeks were flushed and her arm was draped over Trev’s back. Trev was talking to Hannah, the animal liberationist. Weren’t they enemies?

  Mismatched pairings seemed to be the order of the night. Rodney — in a Billabong T-shirt and board shorts — was dancing with Christine Bowles.

  Tyler and the other teenage boy from the feral pig morning were slumped on the floor, passing a bottle of champagne between them. I scanned the room. Almost everyone I’d ever met in Beechville was here.

  Why hadn’t they invited me? I’d been snubbed before, but only at A-list events. This one spanned the whole alphabet.

  Simon tapped my arm and pointed to the walls. He clicked off a few photos.

  I followed his gaze. Pasted up all around the office were the posters I’d seen in the storeroom. Finally, I could get a good look at them. The message was the same as that on the coasters. No Dam for Beechville. Underneath were the words: Leave Our Valley Alone. LOVA — well that explained that; it wasn’t a band at all. Why had it been such a secret, though? So there was a dam planned? Big deal.

  As I was taking this in, the music stopped. The crowd on the dance-floor dispersed towards the drinks table. The man who’d been dancing with Maureen turned.

  My heart accelerated like I’d grasped the terminals on Rodney’s car battery. The man was gorgeous — smoothly shaved tanned cheeks, bright blue eyes, a sharp haircut and sharp clothes. It was Mac — but not as I knew him. Where was the three-day growth and slept-in hair?

  Sam whistled and a dog bounded across the room towards her. She looked around. ‘Where’s your mate?’

  Nails clattered on the steps behind us and a hairy shape streaked past, racing towards Sam. The dogs were tan-coloured and stocky with short hair and long tails. One had chicken feathers around its mouth.

  ‘What have you been doing, you bad dog?’ she said.

  As they jumped up at Sam, wagging their tails, the recognition hit me like a kick in the stomach. The stripes on their backs were fading, but still clearly visible.

  I’d been had, René. The bastards had conned me.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  If not for the roosters

  Simon’s camera clicked madly as he focused in on the dogs’ stripy backs.

  I knew instantly what had happened. There was no doubt in my mind — those dogs were the tigers. I just wasn’t sure what that meant.

  It would have been all right except for the roosters. Simon and I were ducking out of sight again when something set them off. Maybe it was the sudden silence.

  Cock-a-doodle-doo, cock-a-doodle-doo, cock-a-doodle-doo.

  It was obvious why those roosters had been dumped. Their cries were absolutely piercing — there’s no way I’d want one of them living near my house.

  All heads turned. For a moment there was silence, then Tyler nudged his friend and laughed. I had a vision of how absurd I must look — standing there with a chicken protruding from under each arm.

  ‘Get them,’ yelled Trev. His eyes opened wide. ‘Get them, before they give the game away.’ He looked like he was about to leap the counter.

  Tyler jumped to his feet, flicking his hair out of his eyes. ‘Easy, Uncle Trev. We’ll handle it.’

  His mate scrambled up, overturning the champagne bottle they’d been sharing.

  ‘Get the camera,’ yelled Trev.

  ‘Run.’ Simon took off for the door, camera in hand.

  I hesitated. It was just a party — full of people I knew. Okay, they hadn’t invited me, but that
didn’t mean I needed to run away. I scanned their faces — shock, hesitation and uncertainty were variously registered. My eyes returned to Mac; a flash passed between us. Well, it passed through me, anyway. My legs trembled. I stared into his eyes, unable to break away.

  ‘Cassandra.’ His voice was low, but there was an edge to the way he said my name. Was that guilt?

  ‘Cassie,’ Simon called from the door. ‘Come on.’

  Tyler and his mate ran to the counter and vaulted over it. Throwing the chickens at them, I ran too.

  A large proportion of Beechville followed me.

  We never stood a chance, Simon and I. Not with most of Beechville after us. Not with two athletic and inebriated teenage boys in the lead. Not with my weak legs and spinning head full of Mac.

  Tyler crash-tackled Simon to the ground before he reached the door. He wasn’t as big as Simon, but he sure had a mean tackle.

  The camera slid from Simon’s hand. ‘Run, Cassie,’ he yelled.

  I might have got away if it hadn’t been for Mac. ‘Cassandra,’ he called. ‘Come back and talk.’

  I froze halfway down the stairs, stopped and — like an idiot — retraced my steps. The pack that was after me — Tyler’s mate at its head — backed away as I advanced. ‘Talk about what?’

  I was glad Mac and I still had the counter between us. I needed that space. He was so clean and well dressed; so breathtakingly good-looking. I didn’t want him to be that good-looking. It made me uncomfortable. Here was I, my hair a mess, no makeup, chicken feathers and — I now realised as I moved beneath the foyer lights — chicken shit, all over me. It was like we’d changed places.

  He ran his hands along the edge of the counter, taking in my appearance, then smiled. ‘You look … different.’ He spoke to me like I was the only person in the room. Everyone else had been photoshopped out of the picture.

  ‘Yeah.’ I puffed air out of my nose irritably. I knew I looked like crap; I didn’t need him to tell me that. Why did I have to see him right now? ‘Where have you been anyway — since you sneaked away on Cougan Peak? You might have told me where you were going.’ I sounded like a nagging wife whose husband was late home from the pub. It didn’t help that I had to yell to be heard over the dogs. They were running in circles around Simon, barking madly — nothing like a good chase. I glanced at them. ‘The Tasmanian tigers, I presume?’

  ‘Whadda ya wanna do with him, Uncle Trev?’ grunted Tyler. He and his mate pushed Simon over the counter, pulling his arm up behind his back.

  ‘There’s no need to resort to violence,’ Simon mumbled into the counter. ‘I’m sure there’s a way to resolve this … perceived problem. I’m a journalist. I should have immunity.’

  ‘Fuckin’ journalists.’ Tyler slid the camera across to Mac. ‘Spying on our base — let’s tie him up and hold him for ransom.’

  It was hard to know if he was joking or not.

  ‘It’s okay, mate.’ Mac touched his arm. ‘Why don’t you go get a drink? I’ll take over here.’

  ‘You sure?’ Tyler glanced at Trev for reassurance.

  Trev gave a nod so subtle it was almost non-existent.

  Tyler and his mate released Simon after giving his arm one last yank.

  ‘Ow, lay off,’ said Simon.

  Trev handed the boys a beer each. ‘Good job.’

  ‘Thanks, Uncle Trev.’

  Simon straightened up. ‘Jesus.’ He gazed after Tyler, rubbing his arm. ‘He’s wasted out here in the sticks. Should be playing for the big league.’

  ‘Cassandra, Cassandra, Cassandra — what are we going to do with you now?’ A suntanned hand reached out, taking the camera from Mac.

  It was very strange to see Sam out of her khaki uniform. Even stranger to see the clothes she was wearing — and was that lipstick? Her hair was all fluffed up too — she seemed to be channelling Olivia Newton-John in her Grease period. That woman never ceased to amaze.

  ‘I wouldn’t have even been here except for you — you told me to go get the chickens,’ I said. ‘And then I saw the party.’

  ‘That was probably a mistake on my part.’ Sam flicked through the photos and deleted them, one by one. The dogs sat at her feet, watching attentively. She glanced up at me. ‘I didn’t realise you were so conscientious.’

  ‘I thought it was important to get the chickens out of there. They were digging up the seedlings. It’s a nature reserve.’

  Sam smiled. ‘See,’ she said to Mac, ‘told you.’

  I would have liked to know what she meant, but I wasn’t going to ask.

  Mac flashed me a look I found hard to interpret. It was hopeless. There was no way I could talk to him with all these people around.

  ‘How about you tell us what’s going on, and we’ll take it from there?’ said Simon, flinching each time Sam pressed delete.

  ‘I suppose we’d better.’ Sam handed the camera back to Simon. ‘Whiteboard.’

  She’d only spoken quietly, but Rodney rushed down to the storeroom and pulled out an electronic whiteboard, wheeling it up to the front of the office. Sam inclined her head. ‘Come in.’

  The crowd who had rushed out into the foyer after Simon and I filed back into the office. There were a few moments of social awkwardness as we milled around. Small talk seemed out of the question, but so was everything else.

  I bumped up against Maureen and searched my brain for a suitable topic of conversation. There are times when ‘Do you like guacamole?’ just doesn’t cut it. I resolved to cross that question out of my conversation starters notebook as soon as I got home.

  ‘Everyone sit down,’ yelled Sam.

  Simon shrugged and sat down next to the photocopier. I took up a position next to him. Mac leaned against the wall. His eyes flickered towards me, then away again.

  I bit my lip to try to stop myself caring. Get him out of your head, Cassandra. It was easier said than done.

  Sam stood waiting next to the whiteboard. ‘So.’ She picked up a whiteboard marker and turned it in her fingers. ‘I suppose you’ve worked out what’s going on.’

  ‘There was no thylacine?’ I murmured. My eyes were on Mac, but it was Sam who answered.

  ‘Affirmative. There was no thylacine.’

  ‘But you said …’ I trailed off.

  Mac’s eyes flicked towards the ceiling, like he wanted to escape. ‘I wasn’t totally … truthful.’

  ‘Not totally?’ My voice rose to a squeak. ‘Take out the thylacine and what’s left?’

  Several people shifted uncomfortably. Maureen shook her head sympathetically. I remembered what she’d said. Men … they’re not always what they seem. I glared at Mac; some men were even less like they seemed than others.

  ‘The truth,’ Sam fixed her eyes on me, ‘is not necessarily solid. It can be liquid.’ She took a sip of wine, as if to emphasise her point.

  It sounded like something I might have said once.

  At that moment, Simon’s phone beeped. He glanced down at the text message. ‘My editor — the Feds have intervened to stop the dam, but you knew that already, didn’t you? Hence the party. I take it that was the purpose of the thylacine?’

  ‘No-one’s going to drown a thylacine,’ Sam said.

  My mind was still fixated on the lack of thylacine. If you took that away … I rewound the past few weeks. ‘So, if there was no thylacine — why were you trying to get rid of me?’ I sounded pathetic, like I was the fat kid no-one wants to play with again.

  Simon touched my shoulder.

  Mac’s eyes followed his hand, but it was hard to know what he was thinking. He ran a hand up his immaculately shaved cheek. I’d never noticed it before, but he bore a more than passing resemblance to a curly-haired Hugh Jackman. I was a sucker for those X-Men movies. Let’s face it, I was a sucker for him. There didn’t seem to be anything he could do to stop me wanting him.

  My eyes flickered up and down, absorbing his changed appearance. It’s funny, he was gorgeous now, but I’d liked him better
before. Pretty boys were a dime a dozen but wild men like Mac … My cheeks burned at the memory. Mac looked at me like he knew what I was thinking. It didn’t help.

  ‘If there had been a thylacine — that’s the way I would have played it,’ he said.

  ‘Played it? What was this, some kind of production?’ Breathing deeply to calm myself, I turned to the rest of the crowd. ‘What was I — an expendable extra?’

  ‘The first casualty of war is truth.’ Trev took a sip of his beer.

  I frowned. ‘Is this war?’

  ‘Look, Cassandra,’ Sam intervened, ‘no-one’s sorrier than I am that we had to deceive you.’ She didn’t sound sorry. ‘But your role as naive PR officer was essential to the whole script.’

  ‘Naive?’ I’d been called a lot of things, but naive wasn’t one of them. ‘Script? You’re not making a reality TV show, are you?’ I checked the room for a hidden camera.

  Sam’s eyes crinkled with amusement. ‘Not a bad idea, but no.’ She flicked the power switch on the whiteboard, then pressed a button; the screen moved to the left. Another screen came into view. Written neatly on it in black marker was: Leave Our Valley Alone — no dam for Beechville.

  ‘We all know South-East Queensland is desperately in need of water,’ Sam said. ‘Their population’s growing by twenty-five percent over the next twenty years. Where are they going to look for it? Not on their side of the border, that’s for sure — it’s a rain shadow. So, when the government announced a new dam in this area, I knew we were going to have a hard time stopping it. No-one here wanted it.’ Her eyes swept the room.

  ‘I’ve lived here my whole life,’ said Christine Bowles. ‘They said they’d relocate us, but I don’t want to go. I love this town. People here know me. I know them. We don’t always get along, but that’s just the way it is.’

  ‘And what about the animals?’ said Trev. ‘Where are they going to go, when the whole valley’s underwater? One big cane toad breeding pond, that’s what it’d be.’

  ‘My supermarket,’ said Maureen. ‘That would have been flooded too. My father built that with his own hands.’