Steve seized on that. “Where exactly is back home?”
“I live at Potts Point now but I grew up in Glebe. The place had a real village, small town atmosphere to it, kind of like the Isa.”
“We were practically neighbours. I was raised in Redfern.”
“Then the Isa must have been something of a culture shock for you?”
“Not for long,” Steve admitted. “I amazed myself and the locals with how quickly I fitted into the place. It probably helped having the odd holiday on my uncle’s farm down at Braidwood when I was a teenager.”
“I’d heard you’d come up from the NSW police. You might know a friend of mine, Meredith O’Connor?”
He nodded. “Never met her but I know the name. Has a reputation for being a top officer.”
“That’s Meredith,” Francey said with a grin.
They followed the path around the back of the homestead and went up one of the side verandah’s set of steps.
“Well, now that you’re here for a while, I might see you in town more often. I’d enjoy buying you a coffee or a wine at one of the pubs. If I’m off-duty, of course.”
Was this the backhanded way policemen or perhaps country people suggested a date? Her lips twitched with the effort of not smiling. She’d keep her options open. “Maybe,” she said enigmatically as she opened the French door into the living room. “I presume you’re looking for CJ?”
“I am.”
“He’s in his study. I think you know where it is.” Then, as he turned away she had a thought. “Steve, perhaps you could do me a favour. I have some film I want processed. Would you mind …?”
“Of course not. No trouble at all.”
“Come into my office and I’ll get it for you.”
She beckoned for him to follow her out through the kitchen to a small room, hardly bigger than a broom cupboard. While she rummaged around for the film rolls he took a peek at what she had on the drawing board. Having worked as a carpenter’s assistant on a couple of Sydney projects before he’d joined the service, he could read building plans. Impressive. She was halfway through drawing a rough layout of what appeared to be a hotel complex, complete with pool, courts and golf course. He read “Stage One” centred at the top of the page. On a pad beside the drawing were rough sketches, a lot of calculations, loads, weights, room dimensions, that sort of thing. Yes, indeed, Francey Spinetti knew her stuff.
She turned back to him, noticed but ignored his interest in the plan and said, “Three rolls. Tell the chemist, the one in the mall, that I’ll pick them up at the end of the week. And thanks.”
Her smile, which showed a set of perfect white teeth and a perfectly curved, generous mouth, made Steve go all tense.
“Oh, Steve, what are you doing here?”
Steve turned around to answer Les Westcott’s question and glimpsed the put-out expression before he masked it. Interesting! “Just doing an errand for Francey,” he answered truthfully as he shouldered his way out of the small room. “I’ll take care of these for you,” he promised as he put the rolls into his breast pocket. “Now, I really should see CJ.”
Les’s gaze was as cool as his tone. “You know where his study is.”
Pleased with himself, Steve whistled tunelessly as he made his way to CJ’s study and knocked on the door.
“Come in, Steve. What news have you for me?”
Steve closed the door behind him before he started to speak.
Ten minutes later, after Steve Parrish had left his study, CJ sat motionless in the chair, deep in thought. The plot thickens, as the saying went … The policeman’s information had been succinct, to say the least. He had tracked down a girlfriend of Richard’s, a young school teacher by the name of Penny Ormond. Their relationship hadn’t been serious but the fact that Penny had broken up with her former boyfriend, Paul Andronicus, to date Richard, could be significant. Steve had ferreted out that Paul, a carpenter by trade, had been quite upset and had once threatened — in front of witnesses — to get Penny back.
Exhaustive checking through the considerable township of Mt Isa had drawn a blank. Andronicus had disappeared, moved on to places unknown shortly after Richard’s death. Steve said that a statewide police bulletin was going out to all stations about Andronicus, that he was wanted for questioning, and Steve was confident that this was a good lead, the best so far. But with regard to the ownership of the rifle that had fired the bullets, he had no information whatsoever.
CJ grunted and then shook his head. Parrish was doing a sterling job, no doubt about it, and, no matter that he’d said to keep things quiet, maybe it was time to let the family know that Richard’s death had been no accident. Maybe someone at Murrundi knew something or had information that might help Steve’s case and perhaps didn’t realise it.
Yes. Tomorrow he would assemble all the staff and tell them the situation in the hope that it might jog someone’s memory.
Francey swished her body this way and that, checking how her long skirt clung to her in all the right places. The gold thread lurex long-sleeved top, together with a long strand gold chain and matching earrings proclaimed a touch of elegance for the party she’d been invited to: Pierre Dupre’s fortieth at their home in town. CJ, Les, Natalie and Shellie had also been invited and she was going with CJ in his Rolls while the others travelled in the homestead’s Range Rover
Nothing like a bit of class for the migrant’s daughter from Glebe, she thought as she applied a final sheen to her lips. She remembered being in Aden’s BMW — it seemed so long ago. Their fragile, emotional involvement seemed a distant memory too and lately she was finding it difficult to recall his features and the thrill of being with him. When had her feelings towards Aden started to cool? Had it happened because she was out of the office? Was it the phone call, during which he’d made it obvious that their relationship came second to business? Somehow, she couldn’t imagine Brett O’Connor putting business before Meredith … but maybe she shouldn’t use the O’Connors as a yardstick to compare relationships.
Still, she consoled herself with the thought that even if she and Aden weren’t meant for each other, and she was pretty sure now that they weren’t, he had freed her from the tyranny of her memories of Bryan Steinberg. She had come through stronger, more complete, confident. Aden had helped to make her heart whole again and brought her out of her self-imposed shell. For that she would always be grateful to him.
The Dupre house, a sprawling ranch-style weatherboard set in a refreshingly leafy garden was ablaze with coloured lights and party noises as CJ parked the Rolls. Loud jukebox music could be heard coming from the backyard and already a throng of people were spilling out onto the front verandah, chatting, laughing and enjoying each other’s company.
CJ kept Francey’s arm tucked in his as they made their way through the house to the rear patio. After a while Francey’s head spun with all the names of people CJ insisted on introducing her to. The mayor, the superintendent at the hospital, several doctors and numerous executives connected with the mine.
Her blue-green gaze eventually lighted on Sergeant Parrish who stood on the fringe of the crowd. With his height and breadth he was hard to miss, and she noted that he looked smart, rather “un-copperish”, in his casual clothes. Black slacks and boots, a long sleeved collared shirt and a multipatterned vest. Kind of laid-back, dressy country and western, she guessed.
“CJ, let the girl go,” Lisa admonished her boss for his proprietorial air towards Francey. “I want her to meet some regular folk,” she added, raising her eyebrows at the types Francey had been introduced to: the upper eschalon of the Isa, people CJ knew and dealt with.
“Thanks,” Francey whispered gratefully as the two women made their getaway, giggling. Suddenly what she wanted to do was to talk to Steve Parrish, despite her earlier apprehension towards him. But it wasn’t to be. She found herself drawn into a new group of people and after what seemed like hours later, looking up as someone touched her arm, she recognised t
he man she had met the first day in town standing at her elbow.
“Hello, architect lady. Sam Bianchini, remember me?”
She laughed and shook her head, her ebony tresses swaying to and fro. “I’d rather forget, not you in particular, but the way we met.”
“Bumped into any roos lately?” Sam teased and when queried by one of the women, with Francey’s tacit approval, told them the story of Francey’s encounter with the kangaroos.
“You wanna dance?” Sam asked.
“Gee Sam, if Michelle catches you you’ll be in trouble,” one of the women said in a half whisper.
Sam shrugged his shoulders but his gaze roved furtively over the crowd looking for the woman with whom he was supposedly having an affair. Deciding it was safe he led Francey onto the covered patio, where a temporary timber floor had been laid, and began to twirl her about.
Francey soon found out that country people were very hospitable, especially the men, many of whom couldn’t wait to dance with her. But when a rather large hand took her by the arm and twirled her off the floor, and she saw that it belonged to Steve Parrish, she smiled with gratitude. They moved to the edge of the noisy throng and Steve slipped away for a moment or two to get them fresh drinks, giving Francey time to catch her breath.
“Looks like you’re having a good time,’ he said as he handed her a glass of white wine.
“I think Sam, Tim and Dimitri intend to wear me out on the dance floor.”
“Yes. Around here it’s called ‘get the girl exhausted and wear down her resistance’ — much as they do when they’re roping a steer — so they can have their wicked way with her,” he replied, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
Francey’s eyebrows rose sharply. “I don’t think I care for the analogy between women and cattle. Besides, how do you know about such ruses? Practiced them yourself, hey?”
“I’m a cop. It’s my job to know about everything.”
“And do you,” she queried, intrigued by his confidence, “know about everything?”
He thought for a while, his dark eyes sparkling in the play of lights above them. “Not everything, perhaps, but most of what’s important around here.” He elaborated, “Like your partner, Dimitri. I can tell you that he has a wife and two children at home and he’s always out for a good time. Sam’s all right but he’s having it off with Michelle Mason, the wife of one of the mine’s foremen. Tim’s a good bloke. He works on a station north of here, he’s footloose and fancy-free.”
“What about you?” she asked pertinently.
“Me?” His features assumed a thoughtful expression. “I’m like Tim. A good bloke.” He paused for a moment then added, “and available.”
“That’s good to know.” Francey realised that they were verbally fencing with each other, and that both were very much aware of the undercurrent of attraction between them. It was exciting, and exhilarating. Apart from Aden she hadn’t even remotely flirted with any male since Bryan. And then, as she looked up into his hard, hewn features her initial awkwardness, of feeling left-footed around him for no apparent reason fell away.
“Dance?”
Francey glanced at the crowd of jumping, gyrating party animals squashed into the dance area and shook her head. Had it been a slow dance she might have said yes. “It’s not worth it, the bruises, I mean.”
He grinned in understanding and marvelled as they began to talk naturally and easily, expanding on what they knew about each other. It was as if the slate of their previous meetings, where there had been tension and some awkwardness, had been wiped clean. Of course, he realised that he’d be just as happy to look at her, without too much talking, but Francey, he soon learned, was a woman who liked to talk. Not useless, frothy chitchat though, she had a keen brain and an interest in many things and when she became passionate about something, he sensed that she was the type who wouldn’t be easily dissuaded from her beliefs.
“CJ told us about your investigation into Richard Ambrose’s death. Everyone at Murrundi can’t believe you think he may have been murdered. They all spoke so fondly of him. I wish I’d had the opportunity to meet him.” From what she had heard about Richard from Shellie and Natalie, and from Les and Billy Wontow, she was sure she would have liked the man.
A muscle twitched in Steve’s jaw. CJ had done what he’d asked him not to do. He should have known the old man wouldn’t keep the information to himself indefinitely. CJ was the sort who had his own agenda on everything that concerned him. Christ, imagine if a journalist picked up the story? Then Andronicus would go to ground and he’d have Buckley’s of finding him. He expelled his breath noisily, trying to hide his irritation. “Well, the investigation’s in its early days. Clues are few and far between. Frankly, I don’t know how far I’ll be able to go with it, without a clear motive or a definite suspect or suspects.”
Francey remembered how Shellie and Natalie had cried when CJ relayed the information to those assembled by the swimming pool. She’d seen that Les had been shocked by the news too. That a person could deliberately plot and execute a stampede to get rid of a rival, or for revenge, or even for financial gain, proved to her that violence knew no boundaries; it was as much alive and well in the bush as in the city.
“But you’ll do your best? I know CJ would appreciate it.”
“Rest assured, Francey, I’ll follow up every lead I can ferret out.” He looked down at her. “I liked Richard Ambrose, he was an okay guy.”
Francey smiled, reassured by the tone of his voice and the determination in his eyes. She believed Steve Parrish wasn’t the type of man to promise something he couldn’t deliver.
“So, how’s your latest project going?” he asked, wanting to get off the gloomy subject of Richard’s death.
“It’s the biggest thing I’ve tackled in my architectural career. Quite a challenge, I can tell you. To get a comparison with what’s already been built, next week Les is flying me to Cairns. We’re going to inspect some resort complexes along the coastline, and we’re going down to Surfers as well.”
“Sounds tough,” his sarcasm had a soft edge to it. “You’re going to be spoilt with all this jetsetting around and living the lifestyle of a millionaire. The adjustment will be hard when you return to everyday life, like the rest of us.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve plenty of friends in Sydney, and my parents, who’ll bring me back to reality soon enough.” She looked up at him. “Do you ever get down to Sydney?”
“Not a lot, but who knows …” He shrugged enigmatically. Then his ears picked up the change in the music as it slowed to half its frenetic pace. “Come on, let’s dance.” He took her by the hand and half dragged her towards the dance floor.
Strong, yet gentle, Francey thought as Steve’s arms closed around her and pulled her close. And light on his feet, considering his size. She felt enveloped yet not smothered. Safe, she felt safe. She laughed to herself. Why wouldn’t she feel safe? He was a policeman, for God’s sake. But deep down she knew it was more than that. There was something genuine about Sergeant Parrish, he had a no-nonsense belief in himself, a no-frills kind of guy. What one saw was what one got. And so far, as her gaze subtlely explored the breadth of his shoulders, the expanse of his chest, the ruggedness of his features, she liked what she saw and felt. More than she knew it was wise to.
Elsewhere, above the noise and high spirits, three other pairs of eyes took note of Steve and Francey dancing together.
Les Westcott could barely suppress the scowl as he made polite conversation with Pierre Dupre, the birthday boy. Hell, what did she see in that lummox-headed cop? The same cop that CJ had recently begun to have time for. He controlled the urge to sneer as he replied to some inane remark. Parrish was a nothing, a non-achiever. He’d chickened out of the Sydney police scene when it had got too hot for him and had come, tail between his legs, to the Isa to drone the rest of his life away. Did Francey know about his past? Probably not. He’d make sure she found out, not through him, of course, but vi
a someone else. Maybe Shellie. CJ’s sister enjoyed a gossip, but then she liked Steve and probably wouldn’t bad-mouth him. His gaze moved to Sam Bianchini who looked as if he was arguing with Michelle Mason. Maybe Sam. He owed him a favour or two. A hunch told him he could be encouraged to give Francey the dirt on Parrish. He began to weave his way through the crowd of people towards his target.
CJ Ambrose, deep in political manoeuvrings with the mayor, Darren Turk, fixed his gaze on Francey and Parrish for a moment or two before looking away. They made a nice couple. He frowned at the thought. Mismatched, he changed his view. Young Francey had too much ambition for Parrish, even though he’d been forced to rethink his opinion of him since Parrish had started to investigate Richard’s death. He didn’t often make mistakes in gauging a man’s character — it was too important in business dealings to underestimate a man — but in Parrish’s case he had. The man was a quiet one, the low-key type who just went and got things done. Solid, and he reckoned he could be depended upon in a fight. A man to have on your side rather than against you.
“CJ, when are you gonna put your money where your mouth is and build that art museum you’ve been talking about for years?” Darren Turk challenged as he sipped his scotch and soda.
CJ’s gaze returned momentarily to Francey, noting that she was smiling up at her dancing partner as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “Sooner than you think, Darren. You know I’ve owned that parcel of land near the river for years. Now that I’ve found a top rate architect, if I can twist her arm a little, she might come up with an acceptable plan.”
Darren Turk followed CJ’s gaze. “You appear to have a lot of faith in that young woman.” He nudged CJ in the ribs. “Is it all business between you two?”
“We’re just good friends, as the saying goes,” CJ answered, being deliberately obtuse. Then he laughed heartily. Like most of the folks here Turk would believe what he wanted to believe.
Standing on the fringe of the conversation between CJ and Turk, Natalie stiffened as she heard her stepfather’s deliberate innuendo. CJ liked to play games and enjoyed baiting Darren, politically and personally. But, was “just good friends” an accurate description of his relationship with the architect? Since her return to Murrundi she had made a point of observing CJ and Francey together, and she honestly hadn’t seen anything to indicate that they were having an affair. However, that didn’t mean that they weren’t. They might be being extraordinarily discreet.
Heart of the Outback Page 18
