Turtle Reef

by Jennifer Scoullar

  Zoe exhaled. Leo meant business. In one way she was thrilled to have such a powerful ally in her push to protect the reef. But she also knew that cooperative change would prove the most effective. Nobody liked having a gun held to their head. It would be the worst possible tactic to use with Quinn.

  Zoe climbed from the seaquarium and headed for the change rooms, stopping when she saw her reflection in a window. Amazing, how much her figure had changed since taking this job. She’d gone down two wetsuit sizes, and looked so lithe and fit – like somebody else. What a shame there was no lover waiting in the wings to be impressed.

  Karen came in as she was changing. ‘Good crowd today. How’d it all go?’

  ‘Fine,’ said Zoe. ‘The moray eel seemed a little off-colour. We’ll have to keep an eye on him. Maybe he was intimidated by all the new turtles.’

  Zoe had to hand it to Bridget; she was doing a great job with the turtles. Two more had come in yesterday and they were running out of places to put them. Every tank and holding pen was crammed. As Zoe slipped into shorts and shirt and hung up her wetsuit, an unsettling thought crept in. It must be costing a fortune to care for them all. Feed bills would be going through the roof. The dolphins alone ate fifteen kilos of fish each, every day. Was her missing pay really due to an accounting mix-up as Bridget had said, or was the place in financial trouble?

  ‘Who were those blokes here this morning?’ she asked Karen.

  ‘What blokes?’

  ‘Bridget was showing them the dolphins. Early, like six-thirty.’

  Karen shrugged. ‘I didn’t see her before she left for Brisbane.’

  ‘Did George come to look at those new turtles?’

  ‘Yep. Reckons there’s not much wrong with them that a good feed won’t fix. By the way, he left something for you.’ She tossed an envelope onto the table and gave Zoe a curious look.

  ‘Thanks.’ Zoe shoved it in her pocket. ‘See you later. I’m out on the reef again this afternoon.’ She hurried away before Karen could quiz her about the letter. George had analysed the substance from the rusted drum in Quinn’s shed for her. This could be the results.

  She slipped out the side gate and scaled the stone steps to the shack. Opening the letter, she skimmed through to the bottom line. Fuck . . . Dieldrin. She needed a drink. She poured herself a glass of chardonnay from a half-finished bottle in the fridge, then she sat down to read the report again. It hadn’t changed. She couldn’t believe it. Swallowdale had a chemical sitting in its shed that was so toxic it had been banned in Australia since the 1980s. Zoe helped herself to another glass of wine, and sat for a while, thinking it through.

  The seagrass could wait. She rang Quinn: something she’d rarely done before. ‘It’s Zoe. Where are you?’

  ‘Why, what’s wrong?’ The background roar of machinery almost drowned out his voice.

  ‘I have to see you. Can you meet me at the house in ten minutes?’

  A deafening clash, a shudder and then silence. She waited. Had he hung up? ‘Make it fifteen,’ he said at last.

  Zoe gulped down the last of her wine and dashed out the door.

  Quinn stood in the driveway with Captain at his heels, staring at her in disbelief. ‘It’s impossible,’ he said. ‘Dad used Dieldrin in the past, when he didn’t know any better. Everybody did. For grubs, wireworms, funnel ants, soldier flies – pretty much any pest you can think of. They used to put ratoons of cane through Dieldrin baths before planting them. But after they banned the stuff, Dad got rid of our leftover stock.’ Zoe handed over the report. He ran his hand through his hair as he read it. ‘Where did this come from?’

  ‘When I went through your shed I took a sample from one of the drums. It was so rusted you couldn’t read the label. I wanted to find out what was in it, so I had George analyse the sample. There’s no mistake.’

  ‘Rusted drums?’ He sounded bewildered. ‘In my shed? Show me.’

  Zoe followed Quinn to his jeep and they headed for the shed. This time she had to wait for him to unlock it. That was an improvement, at least. But when she looked inside, the two mystery drums were gone. ‘You’ve moved them,’ said Zoe. ‘Where are they? Those things are terribly toxic. They have to be disposed of properly.’

  ‘I haven’t moved anything.’

  Zoe inspected the steel floor. The faintest circular rust marks showed where the drums once stood. ‘There, see? That’s where they were.’

  Quinn gave the floor a cursory, disbelieving glance. ‘I haven’t got time for this.’ His voice was tight. ‘You come over here like you’re on some kind of mission and throw wild accusations around. Then when I show you there’s nothing here, you still don’t believe me.’

  ‘What about the lab report?’ said Zoe. ‘That’s proof.’

  ‘It’s proof the lab analysed something. How do I know it came from my shed?’

  ‘Because I told you it did.’ Tears welled up unexpectedly and she blinked them back. ‘Believe me, Quinn, those drums were here.’

  ‘So what, you think I’ve gone and hidden them?’

  ‘I don’t know what to think.’ Zoe rubbed her eyes until she saw spots. ‘Maybe somebody else moved them.’

  Quinn’s expression softened. ‘I don’t know what you think you saw,’ he said. ‘But I can guarantee you, nobody’s been using Dieldrin at Swallowdale.’

  ‘There are other sheds, right? Will you show me?’

  For a moment he looked like he was going to argue, then his body relaxed. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘If it’s the only way I can convince you.’

  An hour later and she followed Quinn from the last shed. ‘That’s it.’ He locked the door behind him.

  Zoe examined his face. Clear, honest grey eyes without a hint of deceit. Yet somebody had moved the drums. ‘Talk to Rob. Please. It must have been him.’

  ‘Okay, okay, I’ll talk to Rob.’ His tone was soothing, as if he was pacifying a fractious colt. ‘Now will you come and have a cuppa? I’m parched.’

  Josh was as pleased to see her as Captain was. The boy bounced around the kitchen while Quinn made tea, telling Zoe all about Aisha, and how he’d been helping with the harvest.

  ‘He’s doing a good job too,’ said Quinn.

  ‘Wow,’ she said. ‘I’m impressed.’ She looked from brother to brother. Pride was reflected in both their faces.

  ‘Can I go back with Zoe?’ asked Josh. ‘I want to see Mirrhi.’

  ‘I don’t see why not —’ started Quinn.

  Zoe put her hand on the boy’s arm. ‘I have to talk to your brother.’

  ‘Go on then,’ said Josh.

  She shook her head. ‘In private.’

  Quinn picked up the tray and headed outside. ‘Hop it. I’ll run you down to the centre myself later on.’ Josh shot him a mutinous glance.

  ‘Please,’ said Zoe. Josh frowned and stomped from the kitchen, slamming the door behind him.

  She joined Quinn outside on the verandah underneath the jasmine. A magpie carolled and the sweet scent of freshly cut cane wafted on the breeze. Zoe trailed her fingers along the latticework while Quinn poured the tea, eyes neutral, his face a mask. They were unsure of each other, on different sides of something important. She felt her knuckles tighten. It was painful, being here like this. Her feelings towards him hadn’t changed: one look at him was enough to tell her that. If only things were different. If only she was here to go riding, or to walk by the river, or for a long, lazy afternoon chatting about nothing and everything. She craved the warm, easy bond they once shared, and desperately wanted it back. Instead she was getting ready to rip apart their brief, uneasy truce.

  ‘I hear Leo came to see you,’ she said. The mere mention of Leo’s name provoked a flare of anger in Quinn’s eyes, before his expression grew guarded again. ‘He said you’re against the Mermaid Cove resort.’

  ‘Damned straight. I don’t want hordes of ignorant tourists overrunning the town. Kiawa would never be the same.’

  Would that be such a
bad thing? she wanted to say, but managed to hold her tongue. ‘It would be a real boost for Bridget and the Reef Centre.’

  ‘Bridget’s stressed out and run off her feet as it is.’ He swatted at a fly on the table, and swore when he burned his hand on the teapot. His control was slipping. ‘Fuck it, Zoe. You’re the last person I thought would want a development on the reef. Leo’s really gotten to you, hasn’t he? It’s amazing how his wealth can turn heads.’

  ‘Nice to know you think so little of me,’ she said. ‘I don’t think you understand. The resort will target eco-tourists and pump part of the profits into education programs and reef conservation. I’m all for it.’ The bitterness in his glare cut deep and for a moment her resolve almost slipped. No, however much this hurt personally, it had to be said. ‘Let’s put the Dieldrin issue aside for a moment.’

  ‘There is no Dieldrin issue,’ he said. ‘Why the hell can’t you leave things alone?’

  ‘Quinn, you’re in a position of leadership and influence in this town. It’s your responsibility to do the right thing.’ A pulse was throbbing in his cheek. ‘If you and your mates don’t tackle this chemical run-off problem before the wet season kicks in properly, it’ll be out of my hands. Leo won’t risk his investment – he’ll bring in the authorities. There are substantial fines and even criminal sanctions for what’s happening around here.’

  ‘Why did you have to go shooting your mouth off?’ Quinn jumped to his feet and paced up and down the verandah. The long fields of cane stretched out beyond him, like an emerald ocean. ‘I don’t reckon I’m doing anything wrong here at Swallowdale, but bring those government fellers in and they’re bound to find fault. Do you know how many growers in Kiawa are this close to selling up? They can’t afford to pay fines. And I know what the cost of compliance did up north. Put some small farms right out of business.’ He paused, ran his fingers over his eyes. ‘Just about every local farmer I know kept a disabled worker on after the government funding ran out for Project We’ll Show You. They’re paying those wages out of their own pockets. Ramp up their costs and guess who’ll be the first to go. Is that what you want? To put kids like Josh out of work?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Zoe. ‘But Turtle Reef must be protected, no matter what.’ Her throat was tight and dry, barely allowing the words out. She took a mouthful of tea. ‘I’ve heard there are grants for farmers to help them transition to best practice. Maybe you could look into —’

  ‘Shut up,’ said Quinn. ‘Thanks for your advice, but I think you’ve helped enough.’

  His sarcasm made her want to cry. She wanted to plead with him, plead for herself as well as for the reef. For a split-second the desire almost overwhelmed her.

  No, emotion would not rule her, would not weaken her. ‘I’ll go.’ She stood up. ‘But please, Quinn, think about what I’ve said. One way or another, Kiawa has to move with the times. You can bring the local growers along with you. Help them adjust, learn new ways of doing things. Protect the reef at the same time. Or you can all flounder in the past and get washed away by the tide of progress. Your choice.’ At least he was listening now. ‘And those drums of Dieldrin were in your shed. Somebody moved them. You need to find out who.’

  CHAPTER 25

  Zoe slipped into the seaquarium and headed for Tentacle Town. She wanted to check on Einstein before work, and was delighted when the octopus emerged to take her favourite meal. ‘There’s my girl.’ Zoe briefly fondled Einstein’s arm as she accepted the fat prawn. ‘You need to keep up your strength.’ She was rewarded with a gentle squeeze of her hand.

  A month had passed since Einstein laid her eggs. She’d lost a lot of weight and was responding less and less to Zoe’s visits. She still ate sometimes and her eyes remained bright. But they looked far larger than before, a sure sign that her skin was shrinking away. The only colour change she made any more was to a defensive shade of red.

  Einstein finished her meal and hurried back to her den. She pulled two large clam shells across the entrance. It was hard to find definitive information on the length of time it took hammer octopus eggs to hatch. Zoe’s own report on the subject was being eagerly awaited by the cephalopod curator at Sydney Aquarium. However, a comparison with similar species suggested that Einstein had perhaps another month left to live. Zoe would miss her. She took one last look at the devoted little octopus before heading for the kitchen. Bridget was away and they were short-staffed. Today she’d be preparing the morning feeds single-handed.

  When Zoe opened the door an awful sight confronted her. She’d forgotten to put the defrosting bags of fish into the fridge. They’d been sitting out on the bench since yesterday and were already smelly. She dared not feed them out. Zoe looked ruefully around. She’d been the last one to leave yesterday, and Karen had been called out to collect yet another sick sea turtle. There was no reason that anybody should find out what an idiot she was.

  Zoe pulled out two fresh bags of fish from the freezer. Now, how to get rid of the evidence. Didn’t Karen dispose of dead specimens by bagging them in plastic and throwing them into the big skip in the utility yard? It was Friday tomorrow, pick-up day. That would work.

  She hauled one of the spoiled bags onto the feeding trolley and wheeled it out the back. Bugger, the bin was padlocked. Maybe the key was in the maintenance shed? Yes, there it was.

  Zoe pushed up the metal lid of the bin and anchored it open. She held her nose. Nobody would notice another foul smell in all that stink. With some difficulty, Zoe managed to haul the slippery, twenty-kilo bag up and over. So far, so good. But when it came to closing the lid, she couldn’t. It was jammed somehow. She climbed up the side and holding on with one arm, jiggled the mechanism with the other. Damn the thing, it was so stiff. Sitting precariously on the edge of the skip, she tried to shift the hinge mechanism with both hands. Almost . . . but just when Zoe thought she had it, she lost her balance and slipped. Argh . . . how disgusting. In the bin, half-buried by rotting fish and garbage bags.

  As she struggled to her feet, something caught her eye. A small, labelled plastic bag with something green inside. Zoe struggled across to it, shuddering as her leg sank into the stinking mess. She picked up the little bag. No, it couldn’t be. One of the seagrass samples she’d painstakingly collected from the bay and prepared for analysis. She wiped away some crud so she could read the date. First of December, just last week. She’d personally handed this bag to Bridget. How on earth had it wound up in the rubbish?

  Zoe searched around. There, beneath a carton of slimy lettuce, another one of her samples. Forgoing all squeamishness, she dug deeper. More bags . . . four, five, six of them. She collected each one into a cracked, plastic tub. Deeper again. Shit, right near the bottom was a whole box of them, dated two weeks ago. She flipped through the sample bags and did the calculations. As far as she knew, the skip was collected once a fortnight. Her brief bin audit accounted for nearly every sample she’d handed over to Bridget during that time. They were all here. Thrown away. Discarded. Not sitting in a queue at a Queensland University laboratory at all. She shook her head in disbelief.

  The chug-chug of an approaching motor. The maintenance man on his little golf cart. Zoe ducked and held her breath, stifling a coughing fit. He turned off the engine. Would he notice the skip was open? Would it matter if he did? After all, she wasn’t doing anything wrong. But as that thought was born, a more knowing one pushed it aside. How naive could she be? Whatever the explanation, her boss was up to some serious no-good. That much was obvious. Did she really want Kevin telling Bridget about this? Saying he’d found her rummaging around in the rubbish? Bridget would suspect in a second. Zoe needed to stay on the front foot, maintain her advantage. The element of surprise could be crucial to figuring this out. A few clangs and bangs sounded from the maintenance shed, then the noise of the retreating golf cart.

  Zoe was gagging on the stink. She had to get out of there. One last look around to make sure nothing had been missed. She heaved herself ont
o the side of the skip, reached for the plastic tub, and jumped awkwardly to the ground. Good, nobody in sight. Zoe hurried to the kitchen, stowed the tub under a bench, and then disposed of the second bag of fish. This time she managed to close the lid. Where was that key? Good, still in her pocket. She snapped on the padlock, and put the key back in the shed with a sigh of relief. For some reason she couldn’t stop shivering. The seaquarium residents could wait a while for breakfast this morning. What she needed was to go home, wash off the filth under the shack’s magnificent shower, and get the rescued sample bags stored safely away. They were the proof she needed to turn her vague misgivings into genuine suspicion. Something was dodgy at the Reef Centre, very dodgy indeed.

  It was three o’clock before the morning chores were done. Pretty late for lunch, but the animals were finally all fed, the shows all done and Karen was back on board. ‘Are you coming down with something, Zoe? You look terrible,’ she said as they slid the new turtle into the quarantine pool. ‘Very green around the gills. I’m surprised you haven’t scared off all our visitors. Go home, eat something, get some rest.’

  ‘If you’re sure?’ Zoe kicked herself before the words were out. Why had she said that? The rest of the afternoon off was precisely what she needed.

  ‘Clear out before I change my mind,’ said Karen. ‘I’ll call you if I need you.’

  Zoe sat hunched over the computer, googling dugong research projects. She found plenty of them, but no reference to any based at Turtle Reef National Park. Next she tried the Centre for Marine Science website. It was packed with interesting information, and she kept getting distracted by the great openings on offer. Heron Island and Moreton Bay Research Station scholarships. Grants and postgraduate opportunities. Genuine opportunities. In some ways she wished that she’d never set eyes on Bridget Macalister. But then she would never have rediscovered her love of horses. She would never have got to know Mirrhi or Baby or any of the other extraordinary resident dolphins. She wouldn’t have met Josh . . . or Quinn. Quinn. She had to tell him about Bridget. She pushed aside the ugly thought that this might be a self-serving act. Quinn was getting ready to marry Bridget. He had a right to know what she was up to – whatever that was.