Northern Heat

by Helene Young

  A wall of photos kept her connected to her past, to her family that was. She didn’t believe in hiding those images away. Better to remember the people who’d made her and Abby who they were today, even if some of those memories were painful.

  ‘Nice place.’ A chair scraped behind her as he sat down.

  ‘Thanks. We’re just renting while we see how it all pans out.’

  ‘You’re on a contract?’

  ‘Yes. For two years. I’m halfway.’

  ‘Abby looks settled.’

  ‘She is now. It was tough at first, but she’s made friends at school.’

  ‘She’s talented at sport. Said she’d never touched a basketball before. Great ball skills. Excellent team player.’

  ‘She loves it. In Brisbane she used to swim and play tennis. I’d never really thought about her playing in a team.’ That made her frown. Why hadn’t she realised her daughter played individual sports? Had that been Abby’s choice?

  ‘She’s good with others, doesn’t try to hog the limelight, unlike some of our little stars.’ His grin took away any criticism.

  ‘How you do take your tea?’ She was embarrassed at the compliments for her daughter. How did a stranger seem to know Abby better than she did?

  ‘Black, one sugar, thanks.’

  ‘So what brought you to Cooktown?’ She was curious about why he was visiting her at this time of day, but she skirted around that direct question.

  ‘Drifted north and heard they were looking for a sports coach. I can pretty much turn my hand to any code of football, as well as cricket, basketball, hockey. Rewarding stuff, seeing kids running around and not glued to a computer.’

  ‘They hang off your every word,’ she replied, handing over the mug. There was a trace of sadness in those fathomless brown eyes. Good manners also said she couldn’t ask if he’d previously had a wife and family. Later, but not yet. The aroma of Earl Grey soothed her nerves before she put her own mug down on the table and reached for a packet of chocolate biscuits. Her courage needed fortifying.

  ‘Nothing like a good cup of tea. I always thought my dad was crazy drinking only tea, even in the height of a sweltering summer. Seems he might have been onto something.’

  She pushed the open packet of biscuits over to him and then wished she hadn’t. His fingers were long, tapered at the ends and surprisingly delicate as he selected a biscuit from the tray. She had to look away or she would have watched that biscuit journey all the way to his strong white teeth and full lips. The mouthful of tea she gulped burnt all the way.

  ‘Mmm, I don’t think I’ve eaten one of these in years.’

  ‘Please, do me a favour and have another one. Otherwise I may be compelled to scoff the lot.’ She nibbled the end of one, even though her nerves were at snapping point, demanding a block of chocolate, not just a biscuit coated in the stuff.

  ‘Nothing wrong with eating a packet of chocolate biscuits.’

  ‘Working in a hospital doesn’t burn too many calories.’

  ‘Oh, I would think the stress makes up for it somehow.’

  ‘Sounds like you have some experience with hospitals.’

  The shutters came down in the blink of an eye although his smile didn’t alter. The silence hung for a moment. ‘Can’t play competitive sport and not spend some time in hospital. I have a great deal of respect for the medical profession.’

  She took the deflection in her stride. Something was off limits. ‘Shoulders, knees, ankles. All those joints take such a pounding.’

  ‘Everything comes at a cost. Just need to manage injuries. Cross training helps. Swimming, that type of thing.’

  ‘Sure. Abby loves to swim. She’s having a wonderful time out at Ruby Downs. I’m just sorry there aren’t any other children around. Usually there are, but . . .’ She ran out of steam and took a sip of tea.

  ‘Ruby Downs? Sounds pretty.’

  ‘It’s my parents’ cattle station. It’s more majestic than pretty. Savannah country. South-west of here.’

  ‘Savannah? I expected rainforests up here.’

  ‘You need to get out more,’ she said. ‘South-west of here the landscape changes dramatically. Open grasslands with stands of tall trees. Great cattle country. Plenty of native animals, wallaroos and the like. More bird species here than anywhere else in Australia.’ She groaned inwardly. Now she was sounding like a savannah tour guide. She reached for another biscuit.

  ‘That’s the only drawback with being on a boat. I’ve seen the coast, but not the interior yet.’

  ‘It’s special. If you get the chance to visit a working station, jump at it.’

  ‘I will. Thanks for the tip. Actually . . .’ He looked up, his expression almost pensive. ‘I was wondering if I could buy you dinner, or at least a drink.’

  ‘What?’ It was too close to her latest fantasy and she was lost for words.

  ‘Sorry, I don’t normally turn up uninvited and ask women out for dinner, but I didn’t want to ask at the club either. It didn’t seem appropriate.’

  ‘No, right. That could be awkward.’

  ‘So is that a yes, no or . . .’ He looked embarrassed, almost. ‘Or a maybe?’

  She looked at the biscuit in her hand and summoned her courage. ‘A drink would be lovely or even —’

  The front door banged open. ‘Hey, love, sorry I’m a bit early, but I thought I might as well see if I could do anything to help.’ Mary waddled into the kitchen and stopped dead. ‘Sorry, love, I’m interrupting. I’m a stupid old woman. I’ll come back.’

  ‘No, no. Stay. I was just about to invite Conor to join us for dinner. There’s plenty of meat and from the look of that dish, more than enough potato salad.’

  ‘Oh no, I couldn’t impose,’ he said, scrambling to his feet, his cup of tea tilting precariously.

  ‘Don’t be a baby. You scared of two women?’ Mary placed her bowl down on the table. ‘If you’d ever tasted the beef from Ruby Downs, you’d be begging to stay for dinner. Besides, I need to hear it from the horse’s mouth.’

  ‘Hear what?’ Conor was standing, looking from one woman to the other, his eyes narrowed. Kristy felt sorry for him. Joyce’s interrogation would be more gentle than anything Mary could inflict.

  Mary carried on undeterred. ‘Mate, you were there, you found Danny boy. Everyone’s talking and I hear Joyce has been hassling you.’

  Kristy took pity on him. ‘It’s okay. You can stay and eat prime beef without feeling the need to answer even one of Mary’s questions. She’s tried pumping me and got nowhere. Cuppa, Mary?’

  ‘Phsst,’ Mary almost hissed. ‘You can give me a wine, thanks, not a bloody cup of tea at this time of night. And you.’ One bony finger pointed at Conor’s chair. ‘Sit.’

  ‘Please,’ Kristy added with an apologetic shrug. ‘She’s always on Abby’s case so normally her manners are impeccable.’

  Mary laughed at that, a belly laugh that was contagious. ‘And I’m not usually so bossy in someone else’s kitchen, but I spend almost as much time here as I do next door.’

  ‘Mary’s Abby’s after-school mum. I’d be lost without her,’ Kristy said. ‘And she feeds me more often than not.’

  ‘That salad looks great,’ Conor said, sitting down, but still perched on the edge.

  ‘Amazing,’ Kristy added. ‘Red wine, Mary?’

  ‘Yep, the bigger the better. Pour your mate one too. Can’t imagine a red-blooded Australian male seriously drinking tea at six-thirty at night.’

  ‘You got something against tea?’ he asked, as Mary kept up a stream of low-level needling.

  ‘Nothing at all at three o’clock, but once that sun’s over the yardarm it’s time to pull out the grog. So unless you have a shot of whiskey in that tea I’d wrap your hands around that glass instead, if you know what’s good for you,’ she said, jerking her head at the ruby-red liquid pouring into deep-bowled crystal glasses, scattering magenta light across the tabletop.

  ‘At least I can’t run fou
l of Joyce and his breathalyser unit if I’m on foot,’ he retorted.

  ‘Don’t be so sure he won’t be waiting to pounce down the street. I hear he’s been shadowing you around town. As if there’s such a thing as a covert operation in a place like Cooktown.’

  ‘You mean it wasn’t possums in the bushes down the road? There I was thinking I was clever, dressing in disguise. You think he still might have recognised me then?’

  Conor was grinning now and Kristy felt a flutter in her stomach. He filled the space, took the oxygen from the air, and the wicked glint in his eyes made her think of the darkest chocolate, laced with Cointreau. Thankfully Mary was still sparring with him so there was no need for her to try to talk.

  ‘Humph,’ her neighbour said with a withering look. ‘You can’t trust that stupid fool not to do something crazy like stake out Kristy’s house. He asked me if I was aware of any visits to the house.’ She plonked down on the seat nearest Conor and leant her forearms on the table, the flesh in her upper arms swinging with each movement. ‘Like I’d tell them if there were any visits. Kristy no more shot poor Danny than you did.’

  Kristy had been sneaking glances at Conor’s face as she sliced and diced the garden salad. She was used to Mary, but from the look on Conor’s face he hadn’t been confronted with this sort of verbal barrage before. He was struggling not to laugh as he replied.

  ‘But I don’t believe they’re any closer to finding out who shot the guy. That must be unsettling for everyone around here.’

  Mary paused for breath. ‘Looked to most of us like a premeditated attack. If you play with fire you’re likely to feel the heat. Don’t believe any of the good citizens of Cooktown will be locking their doors at night because of this incident.’

  Conor nodded. ‘Seems Danny may have had a girlfriend, but I’m also hearing whispers that he may have made some powerful enemies with his stand against drugs.’

  ‘He’s always been outspoken about drugs and things that affect the community. That’s why he would have been a shoo-in at the next election. He had the support of the local Aboriginal communities too. Always done good work with them. Doesn’t mean he wasn’t still messing about after hours. A man can do good and still be a dickhead.’

  Conor looked down at his hands. ‘No, you’re right. And a man can spend a lifetime atoning for mistakes. That doesn’t make him a good man either.’

  Kristy filed his comment away and took the opportunity of the break in conversation to go outside and light the barbecue. She could hear the two of them resuming the debate on the merits of Danny’s good works.

  ‘So has anyone seen Debbie since the shooting?’ Kristy asked, letting the screen door slap closed behind her as she returned.

  Mary shook her head. ‘No, I hear her parents took her home with them. Forensics from Brisbane flew up and the house is still under wraps.’

  ‘Mary used to be a policewoman,’ Kristy said to Conor.

  ‘Should have been sergeant, but pissed off the brass down south. I was lucky not to get busted out of the force, but even they were smart enough to know I’d do anything to protect my community. They didn’t like Edith and me being a couple. Homosexuals were bad enough, but two women together? Lucky that’s all changed.’ She shrugged. ‘Still got plenty of mates in the force though. And I’m not backwards in telling them Joyce is an idiot – nor would I hesitate to get a background check done on a stranger in town.’

  ‘On me? What did you find?’ he asked, stretching back in his seat, his hands relaxed on the tabletop. The uninterested nonchalance didn’t fool Kristy.

  ‘Found a sailor with a surprisingly clean record, Conor Woods.’

  ‘Ah, good to hear those parking fines aren’t still following me around.’

  ‘You checked him out?’ Kristy wasn’t sure whether to be amused or annoyed.

  ‘Course I did. Abby’s always “Conor this” and “Conor that”. Then he turned up here while you were away. Only natural I’d keep an eye on my girls.’

  ‘I think I should be pissed off,’ Conor interrupted, sounding cautious. ‘Aren’t there privacy laws in Queensland?’

  Mary snorted. ‘Course there are, but if you have nothing to hide you shouldn’t worry. They didn’t tell me anything, so that’s a good thing.’

  ‘And it doesn’t actually help with catching whoever shot Danny.’

  ‘You remember anything more about that car?’

  Conor shook his head. ‘No. I’ve spent a lot of time trawling through car sites trying to identify at least the make if not the model. With the sun barely up and the car lights off, there was no way I could get a glimpse of a numberplate.’

  Kristy placed the bowl of salad on the table. ‘So who was Danny supposed to be having an affair with?’

  ‘No one knows, or at least they won’t say,’ Mary said.

  ‘I heard it was someone from out of town. Maybe from a property or one of the settlements?’

  ‘Really? You got better sources than me?’ Mary asked Conor.

  ‘I have a vested interest in seeing the killer caught, since I’m still implicated. Bill didn’t do much fishing in the last ten days so I’ve had plenty of time to sit in pubs and chat to people. And I’ve run most of the streets of Cooktown. Can’t see that car anywhere.’

  Kristy interrupted. ‘But why was he shot if he was having an affair? Jilted husband? Maybe Debbie? Political party? Although that seems pretty extreme in Australia.’

  ‘He provided evidence against the Nemesis Outlawed Motorcycle Gang a few years back. They had a property to the north of here. Maybe one of them is out of jail,’ Mary replied.

  ‘One of them is out of jail.’ Conor’s voice had deepened. ‘Did three years and then got early parole for good behaviour. He found God, along with a loophole.’

  ‘Wow, you’re good at this. You have contacts too, I take it?’ Mary asked.

  ‘The internet is a pretty amazing place if you know where to look.’

  ‘So it seems.’ Kristy turned away. The internet, where nothing was ever erased, would always hold reminders of her loss. Foolish it might be, but she hoped Conor hadn’t typed her name into a search engine along with Danny Parnell’s. She didn’t look at him as he and Mary carried on debating the possibilities. They were on the same wavelength, their language similar. Was he a cop, an undercover cop working at the PCYC? That thought gave comfort as well as regret. She took the steaks out onto the back deck, where the barbecue was smoking. Why did the thought that he might have another life to go back to leave her feeling so bereft?

  The screen door squeaked open as she seared the steaks on the grill. ‘Mary’s just nipped home for something. Another bottle of red, I suspect.’ Conor came and stood beside her, watching the flames flicker around the thick cuts of meat. Something in his broad shoulders and watchful stance made her feel secure, as though he held the troubles of the world at bay. She glanced up at his profile, backlit by the fluorescent light running along the exposed beam of the roof. She was reminded again of the arrogant strength of the wedge-tailed eagle that lived in the tall stand of gum trees in Ruby Downs’ front paddock.

  ‘I’m sorry to have imposed like this. I really wasn’t trying to invite myself for dinner.’

  ‘I know, but this steak is to die for and maybe this is better than going to a pub in town where everyone will talk. Mary’s so loyal she’d never cause trouble.’

  ‘Trouble?’

  ‘It’s a small town, feeds on gossip. I’ve been here twelve months and stayed resolutely single.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  But he didn’t look as though he understood at all. She tried to explain. ‘A single woman in Cooktown is a partner in the making for all the single men. I was straight up from the start: Abby’s welfare is the most important thing to me. No time for a relationship of any kind.’

  ‘Right.’ He grinned at her and before she could stop him, smoothed a wayward strand of hair back from her cheek, the whisper of his fingers sending a
shudder through her. She didn’t move, but she held his gaze as he continued. ‘So no chance of a drink, then? Or a day of sailing? No strings, no expectations?’ The web of lines around his eyes deepened. His eyes were the colour of rich espresso and Kristy’s throat tightened. It was so tempting. He was so tempting.

  But up this close her bravado faltered and she looked away. She was a mother with stretchmarks and cellulite, not like the Freyas of the world, immaculate and looking like sex on long legs. She didn’t answer, turning the steaks one by one to buy some time.

  ‘Just come for a sail,’ he said. ‘Bring Abby too if you like. You said you’ve never sailed.’ He eased away, a tiny frown drawing those haughty eyebrows together.

  ‘Abby’s staying with her grandparents for a few weeks.’ She knew her voice sounded strained.

  ‘Well, then. It’s the perfect time of year.’ He looked so damn gorgeous there in the low light with the shirt hanging from his broad shoulders and a pulse beating in his throat.

  She nodded, a short bob of her head. ‘You’re on. I’m on a day off tomorrow, but then I work six straight.’ Her heartbeat was racing and she realised she’d barely been breathing.

  ‘Tomorrow’s out for me. Let’s go for your next day off.’

  ‘What about the cyclone?’

  ‘It’s already slipping away to the north. Looks to me like the monsoon trough is a few weeks away yet.’

  ‘Okay. But . . .’ She knew this was going to sound cowardly. ‘We can’t tell anyone.’

  He laughed and the sound sent a blast of heat straight to her centre. ‘Sure, if that’s important. But I don’t think sailing is usually a clandestine activity. Relax, you’re in safe hands.’