A Good Result

by Marg McAlister

  “It’s a possibility. I see three other men involved. Men he sees regularly…does that mean anything to you?”

  “Yes,” she said immediately. “Stan Lambert, Ron Foley and Stephen Patterson. Golfing partners. Jim got onto the duplex we own through Stan.”

  The moment she uttered the name Ron Foley, Georgie saw an image of Ron’s ex-wife, Linda Malloy, so clearly that she might as well have been standing in the same room.

  She was standing, nose to nose, with Ron. Arguing, Furious.

  Linda knows something.

  Georgie looked across at Maureen. “I’m getting one message loud and clear, Maureen. You should make the time to talk to Linda Malloy. Things will become clearer, I think.”

  The angry dark cloud in the crystal ball began to dissipate, and along with it went some of Georgie’s tension. Holding Maureen’s gaze, she said quietly, “I’d contact Linda sooner rather than later. And maybe not say anything to Jim.”

  25

  In the Wee Small Hours

  They thought they were so smart, those Mowbray women.

  First Linda, now them. Women messed up everything.

  Little did they know that their Enemy No. 1 was well aware that their brother had taken to sleeping on the premises at night. He was sneaky about it, waiting until dark and then making his way there on foot from the caravan park, but he wasn’t fooling anyone.

  There was a way to fix that little problem. A brother looking out for his sisters was sure to go charging to the rescue if anything happened to them.

  That could be arranged.

  Feeling almost cheerful, he gave Scott Mowbray a good few hours to settle in at the cafe while he rested at home, dozing and refining his plan. He couldn’t see anything wrong with it – in fact, he thought it was excellent. It brought back memories of the fun he and his partner in crime used to have as teenagers.

  He’d gone over several different scenarios. What was the most likely thing to make women panic enough to call in the troops? He toyed with the idea of a fire, but that could get out of hand all too quickly, and he was no murderer. He might have spent a few enjoyable hours imagining a quick and dirty homicide to get rid of the people he didn’t like, but there was a big difference between daydreaming about something like that and actually doing it.

  Besides, the big drawback to committing actual bodily harm was that it could earn him jail time. Did he want that, after all these years of managing to avoid it?

  No way, José.

  He lay there thinking about how it would all play out, and discarded a few options after looking at them from different angles. Then he thought of the perfect way to make sure that nobody would discover what he was up to until it was way too late, and smiled at the ceiling. Step One, Step Two, Step Three.

  Really, he would have made a good career criminal, if he hadn’t decided to stay straight—straight-ish—and stuck to making money the easy way.

  It was a filthy night, with rain drumming on the roof. A fire wouldn’t have worked anyway, he reflected, listening to the downpour.

  He briefly considered leaving things for another night or two until the weather improved, but then thought again of those wild days back in high school, when he and his friends had discovered that stormy nights were ideal for breaking into cars or houses. The noise of wind and rain covered other sounds, and if anyone did hear something, they generally thought twice about investigating if they had to step out into the rain. More than once, he’d seen a light click on and a face peer out into a dark, wet night, only to disappear again when its owner went back to bed.

  He might be decades older, but he hadn’t lost his mojo. A bit of rain never hurt anyone.

  Two a.m. seemed to take a long, long time to come. He passed the time watching TV—or rather, staring mindlessly at the screen—and then, relieved to be moving, heaved himself off the bed and set about collecting what he needed.

  It wouldn’t take much.

  When he was ready, he backed the car quietly out of the driveway and rolled off down the street in the rain, the wiper blades swishing rhythmically. It wasn’t likely that his neighbors would be awake to hear anything at this hour of the morning, even if the storm hadn’t masked the sound of his departure.

  The other nights, he’d always walked to the girls’ cafe, taking care not to be seen. If you were on foot, you could always slip behind a tree or duck down behind a car.

  Right. Step one, pay a visit to the Mowbray girls’ home.

  They wouldn’t be expecting that.

  It had taken Lissa a while to get to sleep, mulling over the backpacker’s actions and the likely involvement of Jim Beggs, which led her thoughts to Ron Foley and Stan Lambert, which made her angry all over again. Which one had been breaking into the café? Or was it all three? The rain kept her awake, too, worrying about water damage or floods after her mother’s warning. It was well after midnight when she finally dropped off.

  She was in a deep sleep when a loud crash had her sitting bolt upright in bed, her pulse racing and the sense of terror making her instinctively scrabble backwards against the bed head.

  Who? What…?

  Then she heard Viv’s voice call out, a note of hysteria rising. “Lissa? Lissa!?”

  “I’m here,” she yelled, launching herself out of bed.

  Viv appeared in the doorway, her eyes wide, as she stared at Lissa and then behind her, back into the hallway.

  “Did you hear that? What was it?”

  “I heard a crash.” Lissa shook her head, disoriented. “I don’t – what was it?”

  Viv disappeared, and Lissa could hear her footsteps padding toward the sitting room. She followed her sister, her heart thudding. What now?

  She heard the click of a switch, and the sitting room flooded with light, and then Viv held out a hand behind her to stop her. “Stay there, Liss,” she ordered, her voice shaky. “There’s glass everywhere.”

  Lissa pushed her aside to peer into the room, and gasped. Across the room, the shattered window was letting in the wind and rain, setting the curtains billowing. On the floor lay a house brick, surrounded by gleaming fragments of glass. “A brick? You’re kidding. Someone chucked a brick through our window?”

  Viv sagged against the doorjamb. “I don’t believe this. Now someone is attacking us in our home.”

  Before Lissa had a chance to reply, there was a loud thump as something heavy hit the back door. She couldn’t prevent a shrill yelp of fear, reaching out for Viv.

  Viv swore and whipped around, taking a step in the direction of the door. “Just wait until I—!” her eyes snapped with fury.

  “No. No, Viv.” Lissa hung onto her arm. “Don’t go out, please don’t. We haven’t got a clue who’s out there. They might be trying to force us outside. Just phone Scott.”

  For a moment Viv resisted, but then the fire in her eyes muted slightly and she nodded, moving over to the kitchen counter where their phones were charging.

  Lissa heaved herself onto a kitchen stool while she listened to their end of the conversation feeling a heavy weight grow in her chest.

  First the cafe, now their home.

  Who could want them out of town this badly?

  As soon as he heaved the second brick against the back door, Enemy No. 1 hurried away, halfway down the street to where he’d left his car neatly tucked away between two others, in a pool of shadow under a dripping tree. Now, all he had to do was watch and make sure their brother turned up to check things out, and then head off to put the second part of his plan into operation.

  Step One, Step Two, Step Three…

  26

  Water, Water Everywhere…

  Just twenty minutes of waiting in Linda Malloy’s back yard, under the ineffective protection of a gum tree with branches that creaked ominously in the rain, was enough to convince Scott and Trevor that nobody else was likely to be lurking outside in this weather. A dry night inside the cafe seemed like a much more sensible option.

  They
let themselves in through the back door, removed their muddy footwear and toweled off in the bathroom before swiping the towel over the wet tracks they’d left on the floor.

  “Nobody’s going to be coming out in this,” Scott said, standing in the kitchen doorway and peering out at the rain slanting down through the streetlight outside.

  “Don’t be so sure of that. I had all my tools stolen one night in a thunderstorm.” Trevor leaned back on one of the folding chairs Scott had brought around earlier that day, as well as the camp stretcher he’d used to sleep there on other nights. “Who’s your money on?”

  “Got to be one of three. Jim Beggs, Ron Foley or Stan Lambert. Don’t think it’s the dentist.” Scott went back and sat in the other chair.

  “My conclusion too.” Trev folded his hands across his stomach, his face dim in the muted glow from the LED readouts on various electrical appliances. “My gut tells me that it’s not Stan. He’s Mr. Clean, on the council and all that. He might know about it, but he wouldn’t be taking the risks.”

  Scott nodded. He’d been thinking the same way. “Ron’s played dirty games in the past to get what he wants. From what my brother managed to dig up, this smells of him.”

  “Don’t discount Jim. He might look ten years older, but they’re the same age, went to school together. Trouble all the way, from what I heard.”

  “And he was behind today’s little game, and probably the cockroaches too.”

  “But he got backpackers to do it," Trev pointed out. “Like Stan, it seems he’s decided it’s better to let others get their hands dirty. If the three of them are teaming up on this one, he might be leaving it to Ron to handle the risky stuff.”

  Scott stretched his arms above his head, linked his fingers and cracked his knuckles, swallowing a yawn. If it hadn’t been for his mother’s conviction that there was some threat from water, he’d be tempted to go back to the caravan and get a good night’s sleep in a decent bed. The last couple of nights here had been restless and uncomfortable.

  “You want to grab some sleep? I can do the first stint,” Trev offered.

  “A bit early yet.” Despite his words, Scott yawned again. “What I can’t figure out is why. If Stan wants the girls out of the restaurant, why doesn’t he just pay out the lease?”

  Trev laughed caustically. “Anyone around town will tell you that both Stan and Jim make Scrooge look good. If they can avoid paying out a lease, they will. More than likely they’ve extended themselves too far and there’s no cash flow. Their thinking would be that it’s easier to drive them out.”

  “I was there when Lambert offered them a deal on commercial premises over near the mall. Fifty per cent of the rent for the first four months.”

  “Yeah, Viv told me about that. They’re empty; he’s having trouble getting tenants. Half rent for four months is better than zero, right? And if it gets them out of here, he’s laughing.” Trev was silent for a moment, then added, “My guess is that Stan and the others are on some kind of deadline. Big money to be made later, but not much in the short term.”

  “I thought they were all worth millions.”

  “On paper, maybe. You know how it is with these blokes. They over-invest, and then the whole thing collapses.”

  Outside, the rain increased in intensity and battered against the kitchen window for ten minutes, before easing up and settling in to a steady drumming.

  “At this rate,” Scott said, “it won’t be leaks from the roof the girls have to worry about; it’ll be flood damage. The gutters are overflowing out there.”

  “I think they’ll be right. They’re up a bit from street level.”

  They talked for a while, about Yamba and its inhabitants and Trev’s business, until ten o’clock when Trev took the first watch while Scott drifted into a half-sleep on the camp stretcher. At one a.m., they swapped over.

  Just after two thirty, Scott’s phone rang, cutting through the sound of the rain. He jerked upright in the chair, ready for trouble. “Hello?”

  He listened, tight-lipped, while Trev, instantly awake, sat up and swung his feet onto the floor.

  “We’re on our way,” Scott said, on his feet and grabbing his jacket. He shoved his phone in his pocket. “It’s the girls. Someone’s just tossed a brick through their window.”

  Enemy No. 1 watched Scott Mowbray’s LandCruiser flash past him and park outside his sisters’ house. Two figures got out and hurried up to the front door.

  Two men. That was interesting. He couldn’t make out who they were from half a street away, with the windscreen fogged up and rain still drifting down, but it seemed Mowbray had decided to bring in reinforcements.

  Which didn’t matter at all, seeing they were here, exactly where he wanted them to be, and not at the cafe.

  He pulled out of his parking space, did a U-turn and drove away.

  The rain both complicated things and made them easier. There was no way to avoid getting wet, since he planned to park his car out of sight at the back of his own place of business and walk to the cafe, but the rain also meant that nobody with half a brain would be out in it.

  Sure enough, the streets were deserted, and by the time he reached the back door of Coffee, Cakes & Crepes, he hadn’t seen a soul.

  His first action was to turn the water off at the mains. Once that was accomplished, he let himself in and headed straight to the kitchen, where he immediately fell over a camp chair in the gloom.

  With a curse, he kicked it over, then thought twice and picked it up again. If he had figured it right, they’d be back. An overturned camp chair would be a sure sign of an intruder.

  Moving over to the dishwasher, he pulled a small battery-powered lantern from his pocket, switched it to half-power and set it on the floor, so he could see what he was doing.

  It didn’t take long to pull the dishwasher out and slit the hose at the back. Simple, but effective. He slid the appliance back in again and then shone the lantern around to make sure he hadn’t left any trace of his visit. He bit back a curse when he saw his muddy footprints.

  Damn rain.

  Crossing the room, he tore off a dozen sheets of paper toweling on a wall dispenser, and mopped up the evidence before crumpling up the paper and shoving it in his pocket.

  Job done. Step Two accomplished.

  Almost finished. He’d hang about until Mowbray came back to check on things, wait until he left again, then turn the water back on at the mains and go home while the split hose did its work. If Mowbray didn’t come back, that would mean a re-think, but he was confident he’d turn up. They’d all be running scared, not knowing what was going to happen next.

  He pulled up the hood of his waterproof jacket and stepped outside, locking the door behind him before slipping through the gate that led into the backyard of Linda Malloy’s shop next door.

  Mowbray should give the place a quick once-over, see that nothing looked out of place, and then leave again to be with his sisters.

  Or the police.

  Or both. However it played out, Mowbray would be well and truly occupied while his sisters’ cafe slowly flooded.

  Luckily the rain had finally eased, so the wait wasn’t as miserable as it might have been.

  The Mowbray Sisters’ Enemy No. 1 settled down to wait.

  27

  End Play

  The moment Scott arrived, Lissa flung the door open and went straight to her brother for a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here. Oh, Scotty…”

  He could feel her trembling in his arms, his feisty take-no-prisoners little sister. All of this had worn her down. He kissed the top of her head, rubbed her back and made a conscious effort to quash his anger, to give her the calmness she needed.

  Over her shoulder he saw Trev put an arm around Viv, which made her face crumple as she turned to put her head on his chest. His eyes met Trev’s, and he read the message there: this was where it was going to end. Somehow, they’d follow this through, confront Foley and Beggs and Lambert, face them down
. Threaten them with an investigation—armed with the information that his brother had uncovered.

  During the next half hour, Viv and Lissa got over the first shock and started getting angry again. Scott took photos of the damage and called the police to report it, only to find they were all out attending to car accidents and local flooding.

  It was when Lissa said for what seemed like the hundredth time, “Which one? Which one? And why attack us here?” that it suddenly hit Scott.

  “Oh hell,” he said, jumping to his feet. “The cafe.”

  Trev took about two seconds to reach the same conclusion as he had. “Bugger.”

  It dawned on his sisters at the same time.

  “They wanted you here,” Lissa said. “Out of the cafe.” She seemed to shrink, not wanting to face whatever else might have been done.

  “A diversion.” Scott strode through to the laundry to grab their damp jackets and came back, tossing Trev his. “We’ll have to check it out.” He paused, irresolute. “Will you girls be right here, or do you want to go hang out with Georgie?”

  “We’re coming with you,” Lissa said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

  Scott was happy enough with that. He didn’t fancy leaving them alone in a house with a broken window, with nothing more than a tarp over it to keep out the rain.

  Or intruders.

  Within minutes, they were pulling up outside the cafe, Scott no longer troubling to keep his movements secret. He didn’t even bother suggesting that his sisters wait in the car. If there was any damage, they’d want to know immediately.

  Viv unlocked the front door, and flicked a switch to illuminate the main dining area, then immediately huffed out a sigh of relief.

  It all looked undisturbed.

  She and Lissa exchanged a look and moved quickly to the kitchen, followed by Scott and Trev. Another light switch clicked, and they all stared around.