by Helene Young
‘Anyone home?’ he called. No one appeared. ‘Hello, Mr Ryan? It’s Grant McCormack. We met the other night. I’m with the Greentrees receivers.’
His foot was on the bottom stair when the door burst open and a bullet tugged at his sleeve before burying itself in the dirt behind him. He threw himself sideways and kept on tumbling and rolling towards his car. What the fuck was going on? Another bullet zinged past him and embedded itself in the car door.
‘Holy fucking hell.’ He yanked open the door and hauled himself inside. The side window shattered around him as the engine roared, his foot flat on the accelerator. He created a cloud of dust as he spun the car through ninety degrees, the steering wheel slippery in his hands.
He swore again as he fishtailed down the road. What the hell was Chris Jackson doing at Brad Ryan’s house?
Chapter 29
RYAN had been in the Atherton library for most of the day. Not only cool and quiet, it was full of information. Leafing through back issues of The Tablelander had given him an even clearer picture of the rising number of fires. He reckoned it had started last season. Time to head home and log on.
He was halfway across the wide pavement when he saw Dan get out of a parked car and run down the street. Julia was driving Kaitlyn’s car, with its bruised and scraped side. Ever the opportunist, he strolled over. The window slid down as he approached.
‘Ryan, how are you?’
‘Julia, lovely to see you.’ He bent down and leant on the door. ‘Dan’s in a hurry.’
‘He has to buy a birthday card for Kaitlyn. It’s this Saturday. He’s made her a jewellery box, but needs a card.’
‘Having a party? I do love cake.’ He didn’t need to force his smile.
‘Are you angling for an invite?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘Then you must join us. You’ll be very welcome. Seven o’clock for seven-thirty.’
‘I’ll bring some wine.’
‘No need for that. You’ll be our guest.’
‘Okay.’ He gave in, knowing he’d take something regardless. They chatted for another five minutes. Ryan needed no pretence to be charming. The Scott women were very easy to spend time with.
‘Ryan?’
He turned around as Dan scampered back up the street, clutching a brown paper bag.
‘Find a good card?’
‘Yeah. One with a puppy on it.’
‘A puppy? That sounds cute.’
‘Did Nana tell you what we’re giving Mum?’
‘A jewellery box?’
‘Yeah, but something else as well?’ Dan was hopping from foot to foot with excitement.
Ryan glanced at the paper bag in his hands. ‘Wild guess but … a puppy?’
‘Yeah! How cool? A puppy.’
Ryan had never been allowed a pet of any kind as a child so he could understand Dan’s excitement. And the kid’s joy was infectious.
‘A Heinz 57 from the pound, or is she more a purebred type?’
Julia laughed as Daniel puzzled over the reference. ‘It’s a he,’ she corrected. ‘A stray from the Mareeba dog home. I think he’s a staffy-cross. All black and very cute. You’ll meet him Saturday. Jump in, Daniel. Your mum will be home soon.’
The car door slammed and Julia waited for Dan to buckle up.
‘What has baked beans got to do with a dog?’ he said with a frown.
Julia patted his knee. ‘I’ll explain on the way home. Seven o’clock, Ryan. See you then.’ The last was directed out the window.
‘Done. See you Saturday.’ Ryan tapped the door as he straightened. The window slid up and he stood for another minute to watch her reverse out and drive away. Daniel waved distractedly.
He looked up and down the street and spotted the shop he was looking for. The bell rattled as he pushed open the door. A woman with a phone pressed to her ear and a harried expression screwed up her face in apology.
‘No, no, take your time. I’m not in any hurry,’ he said and she shot him a tight smile before continuing the conversation. Ryan tuned out.
He had a good view across the road to the front door of the Barron Valley pub. It was knock-off time for the average worker, so a steady trickle of predominantly male drinkers was wandering through the front doors. A cold beer would go down just fine right now. That and one of the giant steaks they served up. His kitchen cupboards were still looking pretty bare so it might be an easy option for dinner. Cleaning the place up had been enough of a chore. Shopping was not Ryan’s forte.
‘Sorry about that, love,’ the woman interrupted his thoughts. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I’m after a bunch of flowers. Something bright.’
‘Sure. You want to take it with you now or order it?’
He didn’t miss the pointed glance at the clock on the wall. ‘Collect on Saturday?’
‘Right. Good. Roses, perennials, lilies?’
‘Not roses. Something tropical, maybe?’
‘Tropical’s good.’ The phone rang again and she excused herself to answer it.
‘Sorry,’ she said, finally hanging up. ‘Trudy’s been called out again. She’s firefighting with the rural guys. Bloody fires are getting out of hand. Makes me short-staffed.’ She pulled the order pad towards her. ‘Pick up Saturday?’
‘That’s the plan.’
‘How much do you want to spend?’
Ryan cast an eye over the forty-dollar price tag on the arrangements sitting forlornly on an iron stand.
‘Will sixty get me something better than those?’
She grinned. ‘Those are reduced to sell, but sixty will get you a nice bunch. What’s it for?’
‘A friend’s birthday.’
‘You want to impress? Seventy would be better.’
‘Done.’ He handed over his credit card. ‘Bit smoky out. Usually this many fires around in November?’
‘No,’ she said, looking up sharply. ‘Last year wasn’t good, either, but this is ridiculous. You ask me it’s got something to do with those developers. Government changed the guidelines for land clearing so now they just burn out what they want then get a permit to do whatever the hell they like.’
‘You think the fires are deliberately lit?’
‘Can’t see any other explanation.’ She leant on the counter as she slid the machine across for his PIN. ‘You’re new around here.’
‘I am. Just moved up from Sydney a couple of weeks ago. I might know your missing florist. I’ve joined the Rural Fire Brigade.’
She glanced at the name on the card this time. ‘Ryan. Trudy said there was a new guy. You’re the firey from Sydney.’
‘Yeah, that’s me. I don’t think I’ve met Trudy.’
She laughed. ‘If you’d met her, you’d remember. She’ll be fixing your arrangement. You might meet her Saturday, if she’s not called out again. There you go.’ She handed over his receipt and card.
‘Town like Atherton, I guess most people know each other. I like that.’
‘Depends whether you want most people having an opinion about you or not, I guess. You’ll work it out fast enough. Plenty of single ladies looking for a man. ’Specially one who buys flowers. That gets around and they’ll be lining up.’
Ryan shook his head, trying for soulful. ‘Not looking for a serious partner. Just here to regroup, really. I had a friend who moved up this way. Used to tell me how much he loved it. I lost contact when me and my wife split up. Must track him down again.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Derek, Derek Barton, although he called himself John as well.’
She frowned, then shook her head. ‘Can’t think of anyone by that name. He moved to Atherton?’
‘Near here. Used to tell me about the crumbed steak at the BV.’ He jerked his head at the pub over the road.
The florist laughed again. ‘Well, he definitely lived in these parts if he knows the BV. Ask around over there; they’ll know him if he’s still around.’
‘Thank
s, I’ll do that. See you Saturday morning.’
‘Not me. Trudy. Enjoy that.’
He was still smiling as she shut and locked the door behind him.
In his experience, women had the best memories for names. Maybe Trudy would help.
He paused outside for a leisurely scan of the street. All clear. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, Ryan sauntered across the road and into the dark foyer of the Barron Valley. Funny how all pubs smelt the same. It didn’t matter whether they were newly renovated or – in the case of the BV – an old, tried and true small-town pub. Beer soaked into the carpet, smoke leeched into the upholstery and the smell of hot chips and fried onions permeated every architrave, exhaust fan and menu.
The sounds of laughter, the clink of glasses and the occasional tinkle of a pokie machine spitting out its bounty were familiar, all backed by bass-heavy music in sync with writhing bodies on a widescreen TV in the front bar.
Ryan’s nostrils flared with craving as he headed through to the sports bar. He’d started smoking when he infiltrated Nemesis. It had taken four long months to kick the habit. He’d been clean for eight months now and he had no intention of picking it up again. He was sure he’d shaved a few years off his life, but it was either smoke or get tattoos. Smoking at least was reversible.
He nodded to the old boys propping up the bar. They were the characters in a small town Ryan had learnt to cultivate at the start of any operation. These two were called Pete and Baz. He’d got their life histories on his first afternoon in town: one was a retired bank manager, the other a retired Supreme Court judge from Melbourne. They liked their afternoon drink in the air conditioning, were happy to have a chat, and just as happy to be left to their own conversation. The cricket was playing on TV, a test match between the South Africans and the Aussies. The lads were glued to it. There was national pride at stake.
Ryan made his way through to the back bar. Several of the Oakey Creek team had just arrived. He recognised Speedy and a couple of others. The buxom blonde in the middle was new. Trudy?
Ryan nodded at the barman and waved his finger in a circle. The man took the notes he left on the bar. Two minutes later Ryan balanced a tray of full beer glasses as he threaded his way to their table.
Speedy rather reluctantly introduced him to the two he didn’t know, the woman included. Ryan pulled up a chair and sat down next to her. Trudy was indeed unforgettable. Ryan turned on the charm.
‘Busy day, huh?’
‘Just the one crew,’ she replied, flashing a bit more cleavage. ‘Me and Stan. A grassfire on the Dimbulah road. Lots of smoke. We needed to manage the traffic as well as keeping an eye on the fire.’ She looked flushed. It would have been bloody hot out today, but Ryan thought there might be another reason her cheeks were pink.
He went with sympathetic. ‘Hot to be standing on the road all day.’
‘It certainly was. So, you’re from Sydney.’
Her wide blue eyes were fixed on his mouth as he answered. In the past he would have happily used that attraction to get her into bed. Information was all too easy to gather in the languid aftermath of sex, but he wasn’t going down that line here. And he refused to acknowledge that Kaitlyn Scott might be the reason.
Instead, he carried on making small talk, observing the others at the table. They were a close-knit team. Stan was next to Trudy. Ryan instinctively warmed to the older man, whose belly shook with each laugh. A cheerful asset to the operation. Speedy was at the far end, holding court, and Ryan saw the man’s gaze sliding away from his too many times.
The topics ranged across everything from fires to cricket to politics. Funny how people from the city, himself included, could forget that people from the bush were just the same as them – they spoke the same language, discussed similar things and worked hard to put food on the table.
Dinners started to be delivered to tables around them. ‘I think I’ll have a steak before I go home. Anyone else eating?’ Ryan asked.
The others all shook their heads.
‘Don’t get the crumbed one or you’ll end up looking like Stan,’ Trudy joked, poking her elbow into the rounded stomach next to her.
They all laughed and it served as a cue to leave, chairs scraping as they stood up.
‘See you later.’ Ryan acknowledged their goodbyes with a wave of his hand. He’d do some more digging with Trudy on Saturday.
He ordered his meal and stood by the bar, watching the national news. The lead story was an out-of-control bushfire in Victoria’s Gippsland that had already destroyed thousands of acres of farming land. Now it was encroaching on towns. The police were sure it was the work of arsonists.
‘Arseholes,’ Ryan muttered to no one in particular.
‘They should be given harsher sentences.’ Baz had moved from the front bar and was holding his knife and fork, still wrapped in their paper napkin. ‘Tougher justice. You can’t rehabilitate pyromaniacs.’
Ryan grunted. He kind of agreed, but he also knew the jails were full to overflowing. It was only when an arsonist killed someone that the law seemed to come down on them. If it was just property destruction it almost didn’t seem to count.
That annoyed Ryan. If it was your property that had just been razed to the ground, your stock that had been barbequed or your house that had just ignited in a fireball, he reckoned you were entitled to see it very differently and demand a harsher penalty.
‘Too many fires around here at the moment,’ Baz continued. ‘They should be investigating. I told the police.’
‘You reckon there’s an arsonist up here?’
‘One of the last cases I heard on the Victorian bench was arson fraud. Ever heard of Greentrees plantations?’
‘Don’t think so.’ Ryan was alert now.
‘Never mind. Four years ago, Greentrees were found to have made misleading claims regarding insurance payments for two burnt-out plantations in Victoria. Fraud. The details don’t matter, except that they have another plantation up here. Still have a couple in Western Australia, too.’ Baz put his cutlery down on the bar. ‘I saw the evidence. Before the plantations finally went up in smoke there’d been a run of blazes. Property losses, no lives. It was the work of an arsonist. This is the same pattern. I’ve been watching.’
‘So, are the police investigating?’
‘Not quick enough. The conditions are so treacherous. The fool will kill someone.’
‘I guess all we can do is be vigilant.’
Baz grunted and collected his cutlery again as the barman came through with a plate.
‘Do you know someone called Derek Barton?’ Ryan asked, not wanting to waste the opportunity.
Stopping, Baz squinted. ‘Name rings a bell. Who is he?’
‘A friend of mine who moved up here. Trying to track him down.’
‘Another copper?’
‘Sorry?’ Ryan hoped he sounded puzzled.
‘Another Fed, like you?’
Ryan laughed. ‘No, another fireman, like me. I’m not a Fed.’
‘Right.’ Baz tapped his nose. ‘My memory’s shot. Dinner’s ready. When I remember where I’ve seen him I’ll let you know.’ He walked off to his usual table.
Chapter 30
‘OKAY, I get why we might have invited him to a party, but this is a family affair. Dinner, not a party.’ Kait was determined not to get into an argument with Julia again. Both their tempers had been ratty since finding out Jerry was gone. But neither Julia nor Dan had bothered to mention Ryan’s impending arrival until moments before he was due. And now it was too late to do anything more than ditch her baggy trackpants and T-shirt, find a bra, and dig out something that didn’t need ironing. She and Dan had barely been home half an hour from an afternoon party for one of his friends that had run later than expected.
And her hair? For Christ’s sake, she fumed, how the hell could she do anything with her hair with five minutes to spare?
‘Take your time. You’ve got that lovely new dress
I bought two weeks ago. You haven’t even tried it on yet.’
‘Right. I should have known there was a reason for it.’ Kait knew she was being rude.
‘And Ryan gets to meet Nero, too,’ Dan chimed in from the floor, where he and the wriggling puppy were playing with a rope toy.
‘Great, whose side are you on, big fella?’ She scowled at her son, unable to put any real feeling into it. Dan grinned at her, a dark gap showing where his latest tooth had fallen out.
‘Nana feeds me cake.’
‘Traitor.’ She had to laugh at him now.
‘Smart traitor.’
‘That too, and not the same smart you think you are.’ His giggles followed her into her bedroom.
How could she possibly stay angry with a scheming grandmother and a small boy? So what if she looked like a mum? She was a mum. Kait rummaged in her drawers, debating. She told herself off for being vain and ridiculous. Ryan wouldn’t notice what she was wearing, much less whether it was ironed. She held up a couple of outfits before shaking the wraparound dress Julia had bought out of its tissue paper.
She cursed as she heard a car pull up outside. Nero started barking, territorial already.
The dress would have to do, shop creases and all. She bit through the plastic price tag. Fingers crossed Julia had the size right.
Of course she did. Kait smoothed it over her hips and adjusted the tie at the back. And thank God for Kait’s favourite designer, Francine, and her fine eye for detail and even finer eye for cut.
With furious hands she dragged the brush through her hair. Once it was flat enough she twisted it into a low knot on the nape of her neck. Forget make-up, girlfriend, go the gloss. It was lodged in the bottom of her bag and she bent a nail digging it out. She stretched her lips and swiped the pale colour over them. There. Enough.
She heard Julia and Dan greeting Ryan at the front door, Nero’s claws scrabbling as he yipped. No way was she making some sort of late appearance like the lady of the house. This would have to do. She joined them at the door.
