by Helene Young
‘That won’t achieve anything.’ Adler was regrouping.
‘My peace of mind.’
‘Pointless.’
‘To you, maybe. Your ticket’s booked. So is my car. I’ll see you in the office when I get back.’
‘If you go digging around up there you’re likely to stir up a hornet’s nest.’
‘No one knows who the hell I am. They won’t give a rat’s arse about me.’
‘I won’t see you take this company down.’ Adler was back on song.
‘You’re damn right you won’t. I have no intention of doing anything that will destroy what my father worked so hard to build. That’s exactly why this madness stops now. I’m not being blackmailed by an unhinged psychopath.’
Grant went through to the bedroom to collect his bag, not acknowledging the protests from Adler. He was out of there. ‘See you next week.’
The taxi rank had one lone maxi idling in it. A quiet Monday in the Cairns CBD. Grant sat up the front with the driver. ‘Avis car rental, thanks.’
Twenty minutes later, armed with sat nav and a bottle of water, he turned onto Mulgrave Road. The rental guy had said it was a straightforward trip. He hoped so, because he was dropping with exhaustion.
‘Too damn long coming,’ he muttered, his anger still boiling. Don Adler had been a thorn in his side for his entire life. A manipulative, scheming lawyer, who constantly played both ends off against the middle. Grant found it almost impossible to believe Adler hadn’t known the truth about Barton. Adler usually left nothing to chance.
The only reason Grant had uncovered anything was because he’d hired a very thorough private investigator, who’d turned up Derek Barton’s possible involvement in the Canberra fires.
The coronial inquiry had determined that the young half-brother, Chris Jackson, was the arsonist. The private detective had drawn only one conclusion: the court had accused, and convicted in absence, the wrong man. It was easy to see how, with the public baying for answers, they may have taken the convenient option and pinned it on a man who couldn’t defend himself. The man’s wife and son had left Canberra not long after. Who could blame them, with all that hatred around?
But how to stop Barton now? Could he confront him again and convince him to give up? Was it better to go to the police and lay the evidence out for them? The Federal Police? The chances were there’d be major repercussions for the company. Arson and fraud made great headlines. If Grant turned witness he’d probably get away with some fines for not coming forward sooner. Maybe it was time to activate the shelf company he had ticking away. It would mean starting from the bottom again, but anything had to be better than living with blackmail. Or was there another way?
Chapter 20
RYAN decided it was time to explore further afield, get his bearings on the Tablelands. He’d spent the day driving to all the main state-forest campsites. Most of them were empty except for day visitors. In a few more weeks, once school was out for summer, they’d be bursting at the seams.
The Herberton Range Conservation Park was the last one on his list. He left his car in the empty parking lot and hiked up Mt Baldy. The view over Atherton stretched away below him. To the north and east were the McAllister Ranges. The vantage point gave him a chance to get the lie of the land sorted in his head.
Dense green plantations stood out from the silver and greys of the native trees and the patchwork of agricultural land. He could see where Happy Jack Road curved along the rim of the range. The Greentrees plantation took up a good chunk of land, but with its slope he guessed it wouldn’t have been a great block for cattle, and it certainly didn’t suit crops. Jerry’s place was a white dot on the edge.
The Scotts’ house was tucked in a little further. He could only see the cleared land that ran to the edge of the escarpment. There were a couple of forestry trails running through the plantation, one giving access to Happy Jack Road. The others came in from the bottom and dissected the block into manageable chunks. He’d checked out the gates on the plantation trails and they were all padlocked. Be good to know who had the keys.
For now, his day was finished. Nothing worth noting. The smoke haze on the horizon was residual. There were no new fires, no arsonists lurking in campgrounds, and no sign of the elusive Derek Barton, not that he’d expected there would be.
The wind had whipped in from the north-east, blowing the smoke west. The sky was a seamless blue. A couple of thunder-heads were growing on the ranges to the east. Twelve months ago, he’d been watching a cyclone swirl down the coast, wondering if he was going to get out in time. This year the rain had come early and then disappeared. It was shaping up to be a trying fire season. He hoped the analysts came up with more information so they could catch the mongrel arsonist before someone died.
He was sweating by the time he got back to his car, and wished he’d been smart enough to find a house with a swimming pool or, at the very least, air conditioning. Maybe he could be neighbourly and drop by the Scotts’. He’d seen air conditioners banked along one wall. Would the delightful Kaitlyn be home? A yummy mummy – that’s what Crusoe would call her. His partner had a track record with older women. Ryan had always tended to go out with the younger ones. They were easier to brush off when the need arose, and most of them weren’t into commitment any more than he was.
But Kaitlyn?
Interesting that a curvy woman perched on a ride-on mower, wearing gardening clothes and an outrageous hat, could possibly pique his interest. But she had. Truth be told, he’d been interested when he helped fix her tyre, although the wedding band had warned him off. Since there was no man about the house he figured the guy had probably died. It would be unusual to wear a wedding band after a divorce. Damn shame working undercover didn’t run to casual relationships while he was on the job. Still, no harm in flirting, and if that got him a dinner invite, that was just fine too.
He was still smiling when he turned into the Scotts’ driveway. Their double-front door looked to be made of heavy timber, with a spy hole recessed into it. No glass to break. Piano music poured from the house, soaring and trembling and sobbing with emotion. He stood, transfixed. Classical music was not his taste, but this was amazing. He hesitated before pressing the intercom button. Doubtful anyone would hear it over the music.
He stepped back and looked around, admiring the curve of the walls. The house looked impregnable. No cracks for fire or wind or water to penetrate. He followed the pebble path to the left and couldn’t resist rapping on the solid garage doors. The end of the house had no windows. It faced west, so there was sound logic in that. The path continued to the front of the house – or was it the back?
The wide windows there stood open, which explained the volume of sound. He didn’t get two paces before the music stopped and there was movement inside.
‘Can I help you?’ A smiling older woman leant through a doorway.
‘Hi, wonderful music, sorry to disturb you. I’m Ryan. I’ve moved in up the road.’
She came to meet him as he talked. ‘Of course you have. You’ve waved a few times. Julia, Dan’s nana. So lovely to meet you. And thank you for helping Kaitlyn with the tyre. She’s so independent.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I thought you were the police. Apparently, someone found Dan’s bike out in the scrub near Herberton. It went missing over a week ago.’
‘That’s a long way from here. A friend of Dan’s borrow it?’
‘No, we don’t know anyone living over at Herberton.’ A tiny frown drew delicately arched brows down over her eyes. ‘It’s all very odd. I don’t know …’
He saw her visibly rally herself, even though her hands ran up and down her arms, smoothing, soothing.
‘I guess the main thing is that they’ve found it.’ He smiled, wanting to lessen some of her tension. ‘And thanks for the cake you sent over with Dan. It was truly delicious. Very kind of you.’
She still looked unhappy, but managed a polite smile. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it. How rude of me to
leave you in the hot sun – would you like a cool drink or a coffee? I have some blueberry muffins almost ready to come out of the oven.’
He checked his watch and went with a boyish grin. ‘If you’re sure I’m not intruding? Freshly baked muffins sound too good to be true. Haven’t had those since I left home.’ That was a lie – his mother didn’t bake anything except herself, by the pool in a bikini. But unless he’d misread it, there was something upsetting Julia. Best way of getting answers? Talking.
‘What was that music?’ he asked, following her inside.
‘Chopin. “Fantasie Impromptu.”’
‘It was amazing. Who’s the performer?’
She smiled, but didn’t answer. He looked around. The beauty of the interior was in sharp contrast to the exterior of the house. A grand piano dominated the room. Its highly polished black timber glowed in the sunlight streaming in through the windows opposite.
‘It’s the piano.’ She waved her hand at it. ‘It has wonderful tone and I like to play while I wait.’
He was perplexed. ‘You were playing that? While you waited?’
She laughed this time. ‘For the baking to finish.’
‘Naturally, doesn’t everyone play Chopin while they bake?’ He couldn’t help teasing. ‘You play beautifully.’
‘I used to. My fingers are less supple these days. Daniel plays too. It’s a wonder you haven’t heard scales most afternoons. Jerry used to say if the wind was from the south, he could hear us.’
‘Now you mention it, I have heard some tinkling a couple of times. I didn’t think too much about it.’
He slanted his head as he answered, taking in the tiny details that made up a home, a family. The pale timber panelling, white walls and strong colours in the floor rug were stylish. Photos in plain frames and different sizes formed a patchwork along one wall. He would have loved to take a closer look, but Julia led the way through to the kitchen where a solid granite bench faced more windows. He didn’t miss the shutters that guarded all that glass. The smell filling the air made his mouth water. Blueberry muffins.
‘Coffee, tea?’
‘Coffee would be great, thanks. Your house is beautiful.’
‘Yes, isn’t it.’ Julia smiled at him. ‘I have a very clever daughter.’
‘And she plays the piano too?’
‘Of course.’ A slight hesitation. ‘Kait has the real talent.’
‘Not everyone has a baby grand in their house.’
‘It’s no baby.’ Her smile took away any offence. ‘And no, most people don’t, but I was a professional pianist once. Now I really only play for myself.’
She handed him a steaming mug. ‘Sugar? Milk?’
‘All of the above,’ he replied. He spooned two teaspoons into his cup. ‘And you?’
‘Neither, thanks.’
‘Sweet enough, as they say.’ He flashed a grin at her and knew he’d got away with the corny line when she laughed and turned to the oven.
The aroma as she opened the door was heady. He doubted he’d ever smelt muffins straight from the oven. With deft flicks of her wrist she transferred them, one by one, onto a wire rack.
‘Here, don’t burn your fingers and please don’t tell Daniel if he gets home before you leave. I never let him have them straight from the oven.’
‘Our secret.’ And any others you’d care to share, he thought, biting into the soft cake. It melted on his tongue, crisp on the outside, buttery-soft inside. And it burnt the hell out of the roof of his mouth. The pain was worth it. ‘Mmm, this is great. You must have no trouble bribing Dan with these.’
‘He’s a good boy.’
‘Apart from losing his bike.’
‘Yes, but he didn’t. That’s the point. And I can’t help wondering. You see …’ She stopped again. ‘No, I shouldn’t gossip.’ She turned away.
‘Don’t think of it as gossiping, think of it as sharing.’ She didn’t answer, so he tried again with a chuckle. ‘A trouble shared is a trouble halved?’
‘Oh, you’re good, you’re very good.’ She half turned, this time with a smile. ‘Sometimes, living this far out I wonder how safe we are. You know about Kaitlyn’s flat tyre the other day. They didn’t find anything wrong with it when she took it in to be repaired – no puncture or anything. Then she found …’ Was Julia blushing? It looked like it. ‘Well, she found an item of her clothes outside. In the grass on the other side of the fence.’
‘Right.’ He wasn’t sure where this was headed.
‘You see, this house is like Fort Knox. The doors and windows all have deadlocks. We have a security alarm. Her car is never parked outside, so how did the tyre go down? And her clothes. She hadn’t worn that particular item for years.’
‘Someone broke in?’ He reached for another muffin. Good delaying tactics, he convinced himself. Nothing to do with how great they tasted.
‘I don’t see any other answer. I haven’t told Kaitlyn, but twice I’ve found the door unlocked when I came home. I assumed it was my fault, blamed it on old age.’
‘It happens.’ He shrugged, trying to allay her concerns while his own had just gone to red alert. ‘The tyre could have had a faulty valve? Maybe Dan borrowed his mum’s clothes for a fancy dress and forgot to return them.’
‘Did you borrow your mother’s clothes when you were seven?’ she asked.
‘Ah, no, I didn’t, but then, my mother’s clothes were hung in colour-coordinated lines and she knew if anything was out of place. But I had friends who did raid their mothers’ wardrobes.’
She looked amused for a moment. ‘Well, that’s not something I can see Daniel doing. And the bike disappearance baffled me.’
Hearing the litany of things that had gone wrong baffled Ryan too, but he wasn’t going to upset this gracious lady unnecessarily. He could see where Kaitlyn’s fine features and long hands had come from. Those hands were currently wringing each other in an anxious little tussle.
Julia would have been a very beautiful woman when she was younger. He had trouble pinning an age on her. Anything from mid-sixties to late seventies. Right now she had furrows on her smooth forehead and pinched lines around her mouth. He’d bet there was more to it than this, but she wasn’t about to share everything with a stranger.
‘Kaitlyn says you’re a Sydney firefighter.’ She changed the topic and smiled, welcoming again, but there was a lingering sadness in her eyes.
‘I was. I’m not sure that I’m ever going back to that.’
‘It must be very stressful. And the shift work. My husband was an arson investigator.’
‘Really?’ Now that surprised him. There weren’t many of them around.
‘Yes. He was very good at what he did. Solved a lot of cases.’
‘He’s retired now?’
‘No. He passed away a few years ago.’ She looked as though she wanted to back away from the conversation. He saw a flicker of strong emotion before she controlled it.
‘I’m sorry for your loss. It must have been very hard.’
‘Yes, it was, and I’m a silly old woman bringing it up like this.’ She patted his hand as it lay on the benchtop. ‘So, what brings you to the Tablelands?’
‘I’m off on stress leave.’ He slipped into his cover. ‘The doctors recommended twelve months off. I’ll see how it goes, but I think I need a change.’
‘It would be difficult, especially the ones you can’t save.’
She’d hit that raw nerve he tried so desperately to ignore. ‘Yeah, it is.’ He knew his vocal cords had tightened and he deliberately set the cup down on the counter to stop his hands clamping around it. ‘Nothing the other guys don’t have to deal with as well.’ He tried to reinstate his mental swagger, but it wasn’t working. There was something compelling in the sympathy radiating from this woman, this stranger. It felt like a confessional.
‘We’re all affected in different ways by loss. Look at Kait. She’s squared her shoulders and carried on, knowing Daniel and I both depend on he
r. I love her for that, for her strength, but I know she’s hurting just as much as I am.’
‘For losing her father?’ Ryan asked, wanting to know more about Kaitlyn, her family, her life.
‘Yes, and …’ Julia stopped again. ‘And other things, things that aren’t mine to talk about. Would you like to stay for dinner?’ She’d visibly regrouped and Ryan felt the strong urge to say yes. Instead, he shook his head, alarmed at the ease with which she disarmed him, had him fighting to stay in role.
‘No, thanks. I’ve imposed enough.’ He was on his feet and moving before he could change his mind. Everything about this place was seductive. The earthiness, the beauty, the smell – everything made him want to stay. At the same time, his instincts were screaming at him to run, run, run, as fast as his R.M. boots would take him. He needed to go before he got involved. The coffee and the muffins were a bad idea. He didn’t need the gentle mothering. Kaitlyn was a bad idea.
Julia walked him through to the front door and watched as he drove off. It took a truckload of effort not to plant his foot on the accelerator and roar away in a cloud of dust. She wasn’t to know she’d gone straight to the heart of his fears. Maybe pretending to be on stress leave was a bad idea too. Maybe his body was starting to believe it.
Chapter 21
KAITLYN knew there were those at the public meeting who thought she was an interfering greenie from the city who’d built her ugly house to show them how smart she was. She also knew there were many more who did understand fire and who shared her views.
The man on stage at the moment was one of those. As head of the Atherton Tablelands Geographic Information Services, or ATGIS, he was responsible for the North Queensland Wildfire Mitigation Project. He’d been in local government for many years. He’d run the local State Emergency Service when it was still a newly formed rabble of enthusiasts. He was now the head of an organisation that brought together all the local resources and gave them the tools to manage their communities and minimise the fire risk.
