‘But what else could it be? Harley had no business up at the res—why was he there?’ Dan snagged some pita bread and dip from one of the large platters in front of him.
‘They think that he lost his footing from the high bank and hit his head on the way down,’ Stephen explained. ‘It was an accident, pure and simple.’
‘Yeah but, Stevo, that doesn’t explain why he was there in the first place—that’s what I’m saying,’ Dan said. ‘There’s only one reason he’d be at the res in the middle of the night—he planned to kill himself.’
‘There could be another reason,’ Henny said quietly. She shifted uncomfortably as everyone turned and looked at her.
‘Like what?’ Ethan asked.
‘Like maybe someone wanted to make it look like an accident.’
There was a chorus of disbelieving chuckles.
‘Knock it off, Henny—have you been watching too many murder mysteries?’ Dan said with a laugh.
Charlie also looked unconvinced as she topped up her tea. ‘No, I can’t believe that,’ she said. ‘Why would you even think that, Henny?’
‘I spoke to Harley at the memorial. He warned me off and said that I should never have come back here. He said that it wasn’t safe and I should leave Lawson’s Bend. Also, Aunt Janey said that he was devoted to his dog—if that was the case I can’t see him leaving Dover deliberately.’
Dan reached across the table and took her hand. For once Henny didn’t see any sarcasm in his eyes. ‘Sweetheart, Harley wasn’t in his right mind. I get how it could seem sinister but there’s nothing there. Maybe that’s hard for you to believe but the rest of us have been living with Harley around for years. Anyone at this table can tell you that what he said meant nothing.’
‘It’s true, Hen,’ Stephen said. ‘Like I said the other day, there’s two possibilities: it was either a stupid, pointless accident or he did it on purpose.’
Charlie blew out a breath. ‘Sometimes Harley would come in here and he’d be almost like his old self, and then other times he’d talk about conspiracy theories and that someone wanted him dead. It was all crazy stuff—he even told me that the town was cursed and the drowning wasn’t an accident but rather a sacrifice that needed to happen.’
‘Geez,’ Dan said as he sat back in his chair. ‘He was worse than I thought.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Henny said. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘Nothing to be sorry about,’ Stephen added with a smile. ‘You’ve been away, how could you know?’
‘Anyway, I choose to believe it was an accident,’ Charlie said, blowing over her tea. ‘Kylie, what do you think?’
‘The same. And the fact that he did love that dog confirms it for me,’ Kylie said.
‘Maybe we should just leave it there,’ Ethan commented. ‘I mean, Harley’s dead and nothing we say or think is going to bring him back. Let’s just try to remember him how he was before and forget the rest.’
‘You’re right,’ Dan said. He held up his coffee. ‘To Harley, and may he have finally found peace.’
The others raised their glasses and cups and chorused, ‘To Harley.’
A silence fell and all of a sudden Henny felt uncomfortable. She glanced at Stephen who gave her a smile that seemed to ease the moment. It was funny how he could do that.
The conversation changed and the awkward tension slowly melted away. Henny spent the next half an hour or so chatting, sharing her plans for her shop and catching up with Kylie. It was nice to be among friends again, even under these sad circumstances.
***
The weeks passed and it officially moved from summer to autumn. Not that Henny could tell—it was still hot, dry and windy. She could smell the heat in the air every time she stepped outside and she wished for a great big thunderstorm to clear the air and settle the dust.
Her life settled into a quiet sort of rhythm. There were preparations to open her shop, both the physical Matchbox and online, walking Dover and adjusting to living back in her home town. Her order for the first series of prints and cards had been made and sent off to a printer in Maryborough. Henny was about to turn her attention to painting the shop and sourcing locally made items to sell. She was busy but made sure that she took time to catch up with Charlie and Kylie whenever she could. Stephen dropped around every now and again and Henny had to admit to herself that she was always happy to see him. Sometimes he’d come in for a cuppa and a chat or to drop off a load of firewood in preparation for cooler weather, and once he stayed to watch a movie with her.
Stephen was easy to talk to and to be around, but Henny was worried that it wasn’t going where she suspected he wanted it to and that ultimately she could end up hurting him, and that was the last thing she wanted to do. She enjoyed his company and if she was honest with herself she had to admit there was a spark. As friends their relationship was light, easy and comfortable, but Henny felt if it developed into something deeper it could be trouble—for the both of them.
On a warm and bright Wednesday morning, Henny pulled up in front of Mia Gardener’s place, a small stone miner’s cottage down a dirt track on the north side of Lawson’s Bend. She opened the narrow metal gate and walked up the path. The garden was dry but there were several pots of flowers and herbs on the steps leading up to the tiny verandah. Half a dozen wind chimes in varying sizes and designs were suspended along the wrought-iron lacework. As Henny mounted the couple of stairs a small breeze blew from the north and set the chimes in motion, tinkling melodically as they swung from side to side. Henny used the old-fashioned lion’s head knocker in the centre of the front door. After a moment or two she heard footsteps approaching on the other side.
‘Just a sec,’ Mia called out before she opened the door. ‘Hi, Henny, sorry about that.’
‘There’s nothing to be sorry about,’ Henny said with a smile.
‘Right, well I suppose you’d like to see what I make?’ Mia smiled back. ‘If you follow me we’ll go to my studio.’
‘Alright.’ Henny went to take a step through the doorway but was surprised when Mia walked out and closed the door behind her.
‘Come on, the studio’s round the back. Just as easy to go this way as through the cottage.’
Henny followed Mia down the verandah steps and along a narrow path beside the old wooden boundary fence. At the rear of the miner’s cottage was a large shed that sat to one side of the garden.
‘Welcome to my workshop,’ Mia said as she opened the door and let Henny walk through.
The interior was an Aladdin’s cave filled with metal, tools, welding masks, jars of buttons and marbles, glass rods, wire in varying gauges and a blowtorch. Everywhere Henny looked there were shelves that held a myriad of interesting things.
‘Wow.’
Mia laughed. ‘Yeah, there’s order under the chaos, really there is.’
‘No, no—I mean, it’s fantastic,’ Henny said.
‘I’m a bit of a hoarder but I do use most of this stuff.’ Mia wandered over to a large workbench and pulled out one of the two stools. ‘Have a seat.’
‘Thanks.’ Henny sat down and looked about her. ‘I’m feeling inspired just being here.’
‘Well, that’s good,’ Mia laughed. She reached down and stacked a couple of large jewellery cases with glass lids on the bench. ‘So this is the small stuff I do. It’s mainly earrings with the odd necklace and brooch. Most of it is silver, there’s a little metal and I’ve incorporated vintage pieces along with stuff I make myself, like the glass beads.’
Henny peered into the boxes—it was like looking into a treasure chest. ‘Oh Mia, these are beautiful. You’re so talented.’
‘Thanks. So is this the sort of thing you were thinking of for your shop?’
‘Absolutely. I’ll have the art prints and cards of my mother’s paintings but I also wanted to have other things as well. The problem, as you know, is that The Matchbox is tiny, so I have to be creative about what I can put in there. Jewellery is great, and I’ve
reached out to a friend of mine in Thailand who paints silk and ordered some beautiful scarves from her. Oh and Gemma who I used to go to school with apparently makes wonderful candles.’
‘She sure does. I snagged a couple off her last month and I swear the fragrance goes through the entire cottage.’
‘So how long have you been in town?’ Henny asked.
‘I guess it would be about three years, maybe a little more,’ Mia replied.
‘And what brought you here?’
‘Well, I was in a job that I hated and I guess my life didn’t seem to be going anywhere. So in a moment of madness—at least that’s what my mum calls it—I quit and moved out to the sticks. She thinks it was the worst decision I’ve ever made but I’m happy to say that it really wasn’t.’
‘I guess mums can be like that, although I’m sure she had your best interests at heart,’ Henny said.
‘Yeah, but Mum never really understood my need to create. She sees a fulfilling life as a full-time job, a stable income and being well set up. I have to admit that some of me would like those thing but not at the expense of my art.’ Mia let out a loud laugh. ‘Sorry, I’m sounding off like I’m some starving artist in a nineteenth-century garret.’
Henny chuckled before turning her attention back to the jewellery boxes. ‘Can I open them?’
‘Of course you can.’
Henny opened the lid of the first box and took out a pair of earrings, each with a rough-tumbled yellow stone wrapped in silver. She held one of them up to the light. It was the colour of dark honey mixed with orange marmalade.
‘These are absolutely beautiful.’
‘Thanks. They’re sterling silver wrapped around Baltic amber,’ Mia explained. ‘I really liked the organic flow to them.’
‘I love them. Do you use a lot of natural stones?’
‘I try to but I basically use anything that I find. Like over there.’ Mia pointed to a large glass jar on the top of a stacked shelf. ‘I’ve found a whole box of vintage mother-of-pearl buttons. They’re all different sizes and styles but I’m sure I can make something out of them.’
‘I’m sure you can,’ Henny said, before she attempted a change of topic. ‘Did you have much to do with Harley?’ ‘A bit. It wasn’t like the relationship that you and your friends had growing up with him and all, of course. But he did help me to clear out the shed when I first moved in and if I needed an odd job done, I’d get Harley to do it.’ ‘So what was your impression of him?’
Mia thought for a moment before she answered. ‘That he was troubled but a very hard worker. Besides, whatever his failings may have been, I knew that underneath it all he was a decent guy.’
‘How?’
‘From what I’d witnessed, he loved his dog and always put it before himself. I’ve caught him feeding his dog his own lunch and making do with an apple more than once. What happened to Dover, anyway?’
‘I have him now. I like the company and I think he feels the same.’
‘I’m glad. I’d hate to think that he was wandering out there with no one to look after him,’ Mia said.
‘So what do you think happened to Harley?’
Mia shrugged. ‘I don’t know—an accident, I guess. I mean, that’s the only explanation for it.’
Henny frowned. ‘Why do you think that?’
‘Oh, he wouldn’t have killed himself, I’m sure about that. Look at this,’ Mia said. She opened a drawer in the workbench and rummaged around for a second before pulling out a brown leather dog collar. In the middle of the strap was an ornate silver plate with one word engraved on it: Dover. Mia handed it to Henny. ‘He asked me to make it last week, even paid me for it. This is just my opinion but it doesn’t seem like the type of thing someone would do if they were going to kill themselves.’
‘No, it doesn’t,’ Henny said quietly.
‘You’d better take this,’ Mia said.
‘Oh, but I couldn’t, I mean—’
Mia cut her off. ‘Harley wanted Dover to have it, he paid for it and what on earth am I meant to do with a dog collar that says Dover?’
Henny examined the collar before looking up and smiling. ‘It’s beautiful work. Dover is going to look very handsome in it. Thank you.’
‘My pleasure. Let’s go into the cottage and have a cup of tea and you can look through these.’ Mia picked up the jewellery cases. ‘Did you want to buy them or am I putting the pieces in your shop on commission?’
Henny stood up, what Mia had said about Harley turning over in her head. Dragging her attention back to the present she followed Mia to the door.
‘Um, I was thinking a bit of both, if it’s okay with you—I’ll buy a selection of the jewellery and then maybe we could have a couple of more expensive pieces on commission. What do you think?’
‘Sounds good to me. I’ve got a few more boxes in the house so you can take your pick from them as well.’
As they walked back, morning sun on their faces, Henny added, ‘All I know is that I’m not leaving here without those amber earrings. And no, they’re not for the shop.’
‘Well, I’d better work out some mates rates then,’ Mia said, a grin spread over her face.
Chapter Seventeen
Dan
Killop Reservoir, 2 February 2008
The light was almost gone as Dan walked along the bank, away from the picnic area, the music also receding with every step. He looked up at the sky. The sun had fallen behind the ridge beyond the res, leaving in the sky the last of its vibrant pinks and golds.
The time was passing too quickly, and if he didn’t make a move soon, his chance would be gone—probably forever. He needed to find her and see where he stood. He had been thinking about this all day, and he was ready. Following the natural curve of the bank, he was well out of view of the rest of his classmates.
And that’s when he saw her, Georgie Sykes, sitting on a flat rock looking out across the water. Her shoulder-length blonde hair shifted in the gentle breeze and for a moment she brought to mind the beautiful princess in an old storybook his mother used to read to him. Slowly she turned her head and smiled at him and Dan’s heart skipped a beat.
Chapter Eighteen
The more Henny thought about it, the more she was convinced that she was right. The idea that something nefarious had happened to Harley Turner went against what most of Lawson’s Bend believed but Henny couldn’t shake the idea. Did she have any proof? Not at all, and she knew the most logical thing to do was forget the entire thing. But she couldn’t. It was a feeling she couldn’t put her finger on but it was there, and eating away at her.
Rumours and gossip were swirling around the town. The general consensus was that Harley Turner’s death was a terrible waste, a sad turn of events. Most people she bumped into, from old Mr Hansel the greengrocer to Leslie Jacobs from the Tea and Cat bookshop, agreed that it was a tragic accident and then went on to share a story or memory about Harley. Sometimes, just to test the waters, she asked if any of them thought he would harm himself. The majority of answers were the same: of course not. Harley was troubled but he wasn’t suicidal, and for the umpteenth time Henny heard how he doted on his dog and would never have willingly left it.
Sure, there was a small group who were more inclined to believe that Harley had taken his own life, but they were certainly in the minority. One morning when Henny was standing in line at the local supermarket, it became apparent that Rosalie Taylor fell into that group. Mrs Taylor was giving the woman in front of Henny her insights into Harley’s death. The fact that Rosalie seemed to relish every little titbit about the incident was getting under Henny’s skin.
‘Well, of course he would have killed himself,’ Rosalie Taylor said as she scanned another item. The woman only had a few things in her basket and Rosalie was taking her time so she could chat. ‘That boy wasn’t right in the head, everyone knew it.’
The other woman appeared to be a little more sympathetic. ‘It’s such a terrible shame. I feel fo
r his poor parents. No one should have to bury their child. To think that he survived the drowning ten years ago only to go in the exact same manner now.’ She shook her grey head. ‘I can’t even comprehend it.’
‘Yes, but he was never right. Some people say that the school drowning affected him, but all the others got over it, didn’t they? I mean, the others all went on to have lives. It must have affected them too but they didn’t go, you know . . .’ She circled her finger around her temple to imply insanity. ‘No, I reckon there was something already amiss there.’
Henny noted the malicious gleam in Rosalie’s eyes. Yes, tragedy is fun to talk about when you’re not personally touched by it. It would be a whole different thing if they had been talking about one of Rosalie’s sons. Anger began to build inside Henny and she desperately tried to damp it down. People like Rosalie thrived on gossip and the misfortune of others and Henny knew that engaging her would only be fanning the flames, but still it was so very hard to stay silent. She turned her attention to the magazines by the checkout; maybe if she distracted herself she wouldn’t be tempted to say something that she might regret later.
Rosalie leant in closer towards the other woman and dropped her voice to a harsh whisper. ‘I heard there were cut marks on his body—up his arms, I was told, and you know what that means.’
That was a step too far for Henny and she dumped her basket on the conveyor belt with a bang. ‘That’s a load of bullshit.’ Henny had delivered that statement a little louder than normal. She noted that several people around her stared but she couldn’t stay silent.
Rosalie turned sharply and glared at her. ‘No, it’s not—that’s what I was told,’ she said indignantly as she straightened up.
‘Well, whoever told you that was a liar because it’s absolute rubbish,’ Henny said as the anger inside rose another degree. ‘You shouldn’t listen to such gossip, and spreading it around doesn’t help anyone, especially Harley’s family. Don’t you think that they’re going through enough without having to put up with stuff like this?’
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