Lynsey sat down in front of the laptop again. With her thoughts churning she typed in the names of the places she’d seen in the folder’: ‘Blue Mountains, ‘Bora Bora’, ‘Hamilton Island’, even ‘Pro Hart’.
Her mind screamed questions at her. Where was the laptop kept? She typed in ‘study’.
Where was her father born? She typed in ‘Mindalby’.
What about her mother? Her fingers tapped out ‘Inverell’.
What did her father drive? She hit Caps Lock and pecked out ‘BMW’.
The laptop pinged. A blue background appeared followed by a cluster of icons down the left-hand side of the screen.
Lynsey sat back in her chair and took a deep breath.
BMW.
It was so logical now that she thought about it.
She stared at the old version of Windows displayed on the screen and reached for the mouse. Opening up the programs she ran her eye down the list. She clicked on Office Suite, but apart from a few standard templates very few documents were saved. Could her father have used the laptop for searching the internet at home? Probably. There was no way of checking. The laptop was a relic from the dial-up days.
An email program anchored to the computer’s IP address caught her eye. She double-clicked on the icon. The screen filled with emails from a dozen years ago, mostly correspondence between her father and Yasmin in the months leading up to her parents’ separation. The new relationship banter was confronting for a daughter to read and something Lynsey hoped her mother would never need to see.
I dream of running away with you, of leaving the mill behind and spending our days in an island paradise. Just the two of us. Donald.
It isn’t an impossible dream. There are ways of getting what you want. Yasmin.
I have responsibilities. This place—Mindalby Cotton. It’s a millstone around my neck. Donald.
Why not stash a little extra away somewhere? You deserve it my darling.
The email thread ended as though her father had been shocked by Yasmin’s suggestion and didn’t reply.
Two weeks later there was another email from Yasmin: I’m tired of waiting for you to leave Veronica. I’m starting to believe it will never happen.
I’m worried about money. The house belongs to Veronica. My assets are in the mill. I want to be able to keep you in the style you deserve. Donald.
Then shift some of your ‘assets’ out of the company. Otherwise, I’m getting out of this bogan town. Yasmin.
Lynsey closed the email and waited for the next one to load. Dated the following day, it was addressed to a bank in Bermuda.
Dear Sir/Madam,
I am interested in undertaking various foreign investments and wish to open accounts which are guaranteed secure against access by third parties including investigators and government agencies. I understand that your bank may be able to assist me in this arrangement.
I look forward to hearing from you in this regard.
Thanking you in anticipation,
Yours sincerely,
Donald Carter
Bermuda. A tax neutral country.
Lynsey put a hand on her stomach and fought off a rising nausea. A response had hit her father’s inbox twelve hours later.
Dear Mr Carter,
Thank you for your recent enquiry.
We are pleased to confirm that in addition to providing a wide range of banking services to individuals and companies, a substantial portion of our business is in the provision of international transactions and security services. We appreciate your privacy concerns and you can be assured of total confidentiality in all dealings with our bank.
If you would care to provide us with your international fax number we’d be happy to forward further information concerning our services and expertise.
We look forward to hearing from you again, …
Lynsey blinked away the hot tears pricking at the backs of her eyes. Her teenage intuition that Yasmin was bad news had turned out to be spot on. And, as Julian had tried to tell her today, her father was worse than a besotted fool with a roving eye. These emails proved just how far he’d been prepared to go to keep his younger lover satisfied. Even if it was at the expense of his daughter and her rightful inheritance.
Lynsey surged to her feet and flung open her window. Resting her palms on the wooden sill she let the cold breeze cool her skin. She’d always known her father wasn’t perfect but she’d never imagined he’d betray everyone— his own father, his family, and the people who worked for him.
Could she keep it a secret?
Lynsey stared into the murky depths of the swimming pool. Apart from her mother, she was the only person who knew the laptop existed. Did she show her mother the emails, knowing she’d be hurting her all over again? Her mother would want to do the right thing and inform the administrator, of that Lynsey was sure. Or did she lie—and say there was nothing of interest in the storage shed?
Could she hide what she knew?
Could she live with herself if she did?
Could she live with herself if she handed over the evidence that sent her father to prison?
Lynsey ran a hand across her forehead and gazed down at the sweat that clung to the back of her hand. She was Donald Carter’s daughter. It was his blood that ran through her veins. How far would she go to protect her mother, her father, and her inheritance which would surely be gone if her father went to prison?
Just how much bad did she have in her?
The doorbell rang and she swung around. Surely not David Gresham— not two nights in a row.
Lynsey waited, eyes cutting to the laptop where a retro screensaver had popped up to obscure the email program. Footsteps came from downstairs as her mother walked down the hallway on her way to the front door.
‘Hello, Warren.’
Warren?
Warren Leadbeater?
‘Hello, my dear. My apologies for calling in at dinner time.’
My dear? Confused at the exchange, Lynsey tiptoed to the top of the stairs, curling her fingers around the banister as she listened.
‘The police tell me you had some trouble today.’
‘I did, Warren. Someone painted graffiti across my fence. I knew nothing about it until after the shop closed and Lynsey had painted over it by then. Still, it’s all very unpleasant.’
‘I’m sure it was. I’ve got a fair idea who might have done it. Boyd Dunbar’s coming over to the mill’s carpark tomorrow to lay down the law that this sort of behaviour will not be tolerated and anyone caught doing it will be charged with malicious damage.’
There was a brief silence and then her mother spoke again. ‘Well, I hope that does some good, Warren.’
There was a pause in the conversation and then Warren Leadbeater gave a nervous cough. ‘There’s another reason for me calling. I’ve arranged for a couple of legal eagles to come along to a community meeting next week. They’re going to answer any concerns the workers have and offer them free advice. Now, it’s not my place to tell you what to do, but you know what happened last time.’
‘I know, Warren. I’ll be staying here. There’s no need for me to attend a meeting like that anyway.’
There was another brief pause and then Warren spoke again. ‘Well, I’d better be off.’
‘Have you eaten?’ Veronica asked quickly. ‘Lynsey and I were just about to have dinner.’
Lynsey frowned. Just how well did her mother know Warren? Well enough to ask him to stay for dinner, obviously.
‘I appreciate the invitation, Bonnie, but another time. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.’
Lynsey’s mouth fell open.
Bonnie?
No one called her mother ‘Bonnie’ except for her Uncle Vincent. Unable to pronounce ‘Ronnie’ when her parents had brought her home from hospital as a baby, ‘Bonnie’ had become Vincent’s permanent pet name for his little sister.
‘I’m fine, Warren,’ her mother way saying. ‘It’s a great comfort to me
having Lynsey home.’
And that was her cue. Lynsey let go of the banister and ran lightly down the stairs.
‘Here she is!’ Warren Leadbeater greeted her as though she were a niece he hadn’t seen for a few years. He stepped forward and offered his hand for her to shake. ‘Let me apologise for the behaviour of those two chaps last night, Lynsey. I’m Warren.’
His charming introduction caught Lynsey by surprise. With a quick glance at her mother she reached out and shook his hand.
‘Those lads believed it was your mum in the Camry. I wasn’t going to have them hassling her.’ A light flush rose in his cheeks. ‘That’s why I went with them to the depot. Got myself into a bit of a pickle though, didn’t I?’ he asked with a shy smile.
Had he really been trying to protect her mother when he’d arrived at Julian’s depot with Cody Nossiter and Burton Sims last night? Lynsey didn’t know whether to believe him or not.
It was plausible.
It was also convenient.
‘I heard you saying you’re organising some kind of information night,’ she said.
‘That’s right. A couple of lawyers have offered their services, pro bono. Many of the workers can’t afford food, let alone legal advice. This will give them an opportunity to ask questions and get the right answers. There’s a lot of misinformation out there at the moment.’
‘Why, Lynsey?’ her mother asked. ‘You weren’t thinking of going, were you?’
‘I’d like to.’ Lynsey looked at Warren Leadbeater and in that instant came to a decision. Despite her fear of what the townspeople thought of the Carters, she wanted an opportunity to speak. And Warren was the person she’d need to get on side if she wanted to make it happen.
‘Do you think it would be alright if I addressed the mill workers too? I’m an agricultural scientist and I have some information that I think the whole community will find interesting.’
Chapter Ten
Julian sprinted past the bowling club before skirting around the deserted children’s play area on his third lap of Mindalby Park. The intermittent sounds of a garbage truck in low gear rumbled through the back streets— the hydraulic whir of the robotic arm as it scooped up the bins, the slide and crash of rubbish followed by the thump and bump of the empty bins dropped back onto the roadway.
Julian picked up his pace when he reached the golf course, rivulets of sweat seeping into his eyes. Peeling his dripping wet t-shirt away from his stomach he began to sprint along the cement path used by the motorised golf carts. A mob of kangaroos paid him no attention as they nibbled at the dewy grass on the fourth fairway.
He came to a stop when he reached River Road, breathing heavily as he waited to cross. The area outside his townhouse was busy—boot campers arriving for their 6:00 am. Friday class in Mindalby Park.
Inside, Julian towelled himself down before his sweat pooled on his polished hardwood floor.
I thought I knew you, Julian.
You knew me.
I didn’t know you were a wimp.
He went into the spare room and set the timer on the rowing machine for a ten-minute sprint.
Lynsey bloody Carter.
He’d sweat the damn woman out of his pores if he had too.
***
The phones were running hot for a Friday morning and Julian spent the first hour at the depot filling orders. As he’d predicted, the service stations were having a run on fuel thanks to the transport companies hauling the late-harvested cotton to gins further afield.
One old farmer who hadn’t previously bought from Stone’s had told him he was thinking three months ahead to when he would harvest his newly planted wheat crop. ‘I want me tanks filled up now for when the harvesters come down from Queensland.’
‘Spring’s a while off yet,’ Julian had commented.
‘Take it from me, when the drought breaks it’ll rain for months, and it will break this year. If the roads flood I’ll be caught without fuel because the bloody tankers won’t be able to get through.’
Julian had smiled at this. Years ago he’d learned to listen closely to the old-timers, many of whom were third-generation land owners. They were more reliable when it came to the seasons than any weather forecaster.
Julian had calculated the price of the load needed for the farmer’s tanks. It would be a good one for Chappy to deliver he’d decided. It would get him back in the swing of things. ‘I hope you’re right about the rain,’ he’d said after the business was settled between them.
‘I’m right, son.’ There was a pause. ‘You sound pretty young. You seen rain in your lifetime?’
Julian had chuckled. Cheeky old bugger.
‘I’ll get the diesel out to you today.’ He’d rung off then and leaned back in his chair, thinking about what was next. He’d better give Chappy a refresher on how to attach the fuel hoses to the tanker. After that he had the appointment at the bank.
‘Julian.’ He looked up to see Bridie standing wide-eyed in the doorway. ‘Constable Dunbar is here to see you.’
Julian took a swig of coffee, wondering whether Dunbar’s visit had something to do with the graffiti attack at Lynsey’s place. He grimaced as the cold liquid slid down his throat. He needed one of those thermal mugs to keep his coffee warm on days like this when he was flat out on the phone.
He stood as the constable walked into the room, police cap in hand. ‘Take a seat, Boyd. It’s not often I see you twice in two days.’
‘Don’t mind if I do.’
Julian moved around the desk and took the visitor’s chair next to Boyd. Somehow it didn’t seem right to be talking to the law from the other side of his desk. ‘They’ve formed a picket line across the street,’ Boyd said, stretching out his legs. ‘There’s no problem with that, provided they’re not disrupting anyone.’
Julian shook his head. ‘They’re not disrupting me.’
‘I told them that if I find out who’s been going around smashing windows and defacing fences they’ll be charged. That kind of thing is just not on.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘We can’t let things get out of hand.’
‘That’s true,’ said Julian, wondering when Boyd was going to get around to the real purpose of his visit.
‘There’s another matter I wanted to discuss with you, Julian. We’ve got a couple of English backpackers in the area somewhere. They’ve been keeping in close contact with home but their parents haven’t heard from them in a day or two. Last the family heard they were in Dubbo and on their way to Bourke,’ he explained, rotating the police cap between his fingers. ‘I’ve told them how poor the mobile coverage is out here but they’re worried it’s something more serious.’
‘It’s natural they’d be concerned,’ Julian said. He regretted giving his mother an awful scare once when he’d stayed out all night. He’d thought he’d done the right thing by not getting behind the wheel after a night of heavy drinking. Her distress was something he never wanted to witness again.
‘We don’t want to cause unnecessary panic when they could have changed their plans or taken a detour,’ Boyd Dunbar was saying. ‘They’ll probably turn up safe and sound tomorrow.’
‘Anything could have happened,’ agreed Julian. ‘They might be out of range or can’t charge their phones.’
‘Exactly. Anyway, just so the parents know we’re being proactive, I’m asking all the truckies who drive that route if they could keep an eye out for them at the truck stops. That’s where they usually turn up. Everyone’s gotta eat.’
Julian smiled. ‘I’ll speak to the men first thing.’
‘Appreciate your time.’ Boyd Dunbar stood up and settled his cap on his head. ‘I’d better get back to the station. For a sleepy country town, there’s a lot going on in Mindalby right now.’
Chapter Eleven
Yasmin had never been a fan of window coverings of any description so as Lynsey approached her father’s home she could see right through the glass front door and into the e
ntry foyer. Constructed of river stone and western red cedar, the house was an architectural showpiece, its floor-to-ceiling windows allowing inquisitive passers-by to gaze in at the goings-on in the expansive downstairs rooms.
Lynsey pressed the button for the doorbell wondering what drove people to put themselves on display in their own home. But Yasmin had always loved being admired.
The toxic cocktail of emotions that had kept Lynsey tossing and turning until five this morning welled up inside her now. Fury that Yasmin might have succeeded in bullying her father into misappropriating company money. Disappointment at her father’s weakness. And sorrow—for herself. If the company was liquidated it would end her association with the cotton mill, and she couldn’t deny that the loss of the family business would be a terrible blow. Even worse was the fear that the workers’ entitlements were gone. The guilt. The shame. It made her want to hide under the blankets and pretend the whole sordid thing wasn’t happening. How on earth could she face the townspeople?
A car roared down the street then slowed as it neared the house. Hand hovering over the doorbell, Lynsey stared at the familiar black ute. The same car had tailgated and pipped her yesterday when she’d been looking for the storage units. Now, it was idling beside her mother’s parked Camry.
She was halfway to the kerb when the driver planted his foot on the accelerator and sped off. Lynsey squinted after the departing car but she was too short-sighted to read the plates. Damn! If only she’d worn her glasses.
‘Lynsey! What are you doing?’
She swung around to see her father standing in the doorway. ‘Looking for you,’ she called, hurrying back towards the house.
‘Get inside. I’ve been trying to keep a low profile.’
‘No kidding.’ Lynsey brushed past his portly frame without bothering to give him a kiss. He’d never been affectionate towards her so why would she go through the motions now?
‘I was in the upstairs sitting room. I sent the housekeeper home earlier.’
‘Economising are you?’ Lynsey asked, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice as she trudged up the stairs behind him.
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