Fool's Gold Read online

  Fleur McDonald has lived and worked on farms for much of her life. After growing up in the small town of Orroroo in South Australia, she went jillarooing, eventually co-owning an 8000-acre property in regional Western Australia.

  Fleur likes to write about strong women overcoming adversity, drawing inspiration from her own experiences in rural Australia. She has two children, an energetic kelpie and a Jack Russell terrier.

  www.fleurmcdonald.com

  OTHER BOOKS

  Red Dust

  Blue Skies

  Purple Roads

  Silver Clouds

  Crimson Dawn

  Emerald Springs

  Indigo Storm

  Sapphire Falls

  Missing Pieces of Us

  Suddenly One Summer

  First published in 2018

  Copyright © Fleur McDonald 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

  Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

  Email: [email protected]

  Web: www.allenandunwin.com

  ISBN 978 1 76029 396 3

  eISBN 978 1 76063 561 9

  Set by Bookhouse, Sydney

  Cover design: Nada Backovic

  Cover photographs: © Shelley Richmond / Arcangel Images, background photographs © Dan Proud

  To those who are precious

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Acknowledgements

  The Farmer’s Choice - an original story

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Prologue

  1945

  The stars and the cold breeze were the only witnesses to the death.

  Perhaps a bird saw the woman throwing the rope over the branch of the thick salmon gum, and maybe a dingo, sniffing along a scent, stopped to watch the woman take the steps to her final breath.

  Paddy doubted it though.

  It had been weeks since he’d seen a dingo and no doubt even longer since one had passed this way through the thick bush north of Barrabine. Water out here was scarce and wild dogs, like all creatures, stayed within walking distance of a watering point.

  Scratching his head in distress, Paddy stood and watched the body swing gently for a few more moments. He’d heard about scenes like this over the years, but had never seen one firsthand. He wished he hadn’t come across this one—the whole sight was causing his heart anguish.

  Even though there didn’t seem to be any witnesses, there had been visitors. What would have been a pool of blood on the ground under the body was now a small hole where the ants had scavenged. The line of moving black was scurrying busily up the tree trunk, across the branches and down the end of the rope for titbits to take back to their queen. A crow had been sitting on the dead woman’s shoulder when Paddy had first arrived. The damage the bird had done to her face was indescribable.

  Looking away, he surveyed the familiar landscape. Red earth stretched for miles, scattered lumps of ironstone and quartz lying on the surface. Saltbush and bluebush littered the landscape, while salmon gums and gimlet trees rose tall and majestic against the blue sky.

  The landscape was harsh; hot and dry. Too hard for some, while others loved it. The land, weather and life had clearly been too tough for this woman. It was pointless to question her decision; there would be many reasons, he knew. He’d heard about them from his friends and their wives—too isolated, too hot, too hard. Paddy understood. Sometimes, when he’d finished shovelling dirt from the depths of the earth without finding any gold, he’d thought life was too hard as well.

  He searched the area for any sign of life—a little humpy or camp, the smell of smoke—but the landscape lay quiet, not revealing where she had come from or who had loved her. Barrabine, the closest town, was too far; she wouldn’t have walked from there. She would have lived around here somewhere. Somewhere within the vast miles of red dust, little water and no company. With a man gripped by gold fever.

  He’d seen it before and knew he would continue seeing the pattern for as long as he travelled through these empty miles.

  Still, surely someone had to be missing her. Or perhaps he hadn’t been back to camp to realise she was missing yet. What if there were children…No, he banished that thought. No mother would have left her children at camp by themselves to do this.

  Scratching at his three-day growth and keeping his eyes averted now, he felt agitated and sad, as though he had to do something for her. But what? It was too late to help her. Too late to plead with her not to do this.

  Paddy did the only thing he thought right. He took a shovel from his battered old car and began to dig. He’d give her a burial so the dingos couldn’t dig her up or the crows peck at her. Or the ants finish eating her. Then he would travel to Barrabine, stopping in at all the little digs along the way, letting people know what he’d found.

  The next of kin might be angry he had buried her, but the way he looked at it, he couldn’t leave her here like this. If he put her in the ground, at least the family would know where she was. There would be somewhere to come and mourn and remember. He would have to find and tell them. Make sure they knew what had happened to her.

  From the treetop a crow watched his effort, the only noise the shovel hitting the hard earth and his grunting. Puffs of red dust rose with each shovelful and his breathing became more laboured.

  Finally he was done.

  Driving his car close, he stood on the roof and cut the rope and the body fell into the grave he had dug with a thud. He said the only prayer he knew and then started to fill in the grave.

  ‘Heavenly Father, hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven…’

  Casting around for rocks, he couldn’t see any big enough, so he got out his handsaw and started to cut wood to lay across the mounded dirt.

  Chapter 1

  1997

  ‘We’re not staying here long, are we?’ Melinda asked, her lips curled in disgust.

  ‘For as long as the department wants me to, I guess. Maybe one or two years.’ Detective Dave Burrows pushed open the gate of his new house and ignored the hissing sound that came from Melinda as he said, ‘or two’.

  He’d been told his new partner, Spencer, was goin
g to meet him at the house with the keys, but either they were early or he was running late because there was no sign of him. Maybe there was a key somewhere, so they could get out of the incessant heat.

  He ran his fingers along the doorframe. Nothing. He lifted the frayed mat before moving on to the empty pot. Nope, no key.

  This hadn’t been the welcome to Barrabine he’d been hoping for. He’d wanted his new wife Melinda to love the place as soon as she arrived, for there to be a welcoming committee of…well, he didn’t care who, just someone to make Melinda feel comfortable and happy. To make a friend straightaway. For the house to be lovely and modern.

  Sadly, it was tiny and rundown, with a patch of brown lawn at the front. The fibro dwelling had a small porch, which would keep the northern sun from the doorway, but there weren’t any verandahs to keep the house from heating up or to sit on with an evening drink.

  The garden was a mixture of stones and dead weeds and was distinctly unappealing.

  Like the entrance to the town.

  The expansive blue sky had seemed to shimmer as they’d driven seven hours east from Perth and were closer to Barrabine, and the shiny-trunked gums had large pieces of bark hanging from their branches. For a moment Dave had had to squint—the bark looked like a body hanging, swaying in the breeze.

  Dave was sure he’d never seen dirt as red as this country. It was the colour of rich copper. Then there was the ground, scattered with little stones glinting in the sun. He’d pointed it out to Melinda, saying it looked like blue metal had been spread across the ground, and bushes and trees grown up through it. She’d shrugged, clearly not impressed.

  There’d been no mistaking that they were heading towards a mining town. Piles of dirt which seemed to reach the sky had risen above them, so long they seemed to create a range line. Their bluey-grey dirt didn’t seem to match the red on the surface and Dave wondered how deep they had to go down for it to change colour.

  Then the shanties had appeared—small tin sheds on the fringes—and Melinda’s lips had formed the same thin line that she wore now as she’d crossed her arms.

  They’d been only minutes inside town boundaries when Melinda had made mention of the rubbish lying on the road and, yes, he’d had to agree there was a lot. Beer bottles and cans, takeaway chip buckets and plastic containers.

  She’d fallen silent as they’d approached the centre of Barrabine and seen a group of Aboriginal people sitting around a campfire, their swags near the fence of a house. The children ran around playing chasey, their feet bare, their smiles wild and delighted, while the adults stared at the passing cars with blank faces.

  Following the directions Spencer had given him over the phone, Dave had made a series of turns through wide treeless roads and found their street, driving along slowly until they saw the number 12 on the gate.

  Not sure whether to ignore Melinda’s gasp at the sight of the house or to follow suit himself, he’d decided to grab her hand and give it a squeeze. The two of them had sat in the car, the air-conditioner blowing, and stared at their new home. It was nothing like they’d imagined.

  The heat had stifled them both as they’d got out of the car, and the north wind had howled around the side of the house, slamming the car door shut from under Dave’s hand.

  ‘Geez.’ He looked at Melinda; her mouth was still a thin, tight line. That was not a good sign.

  Nope, the welcome hadn’t gone according to plan.

  The streets were dusty and everything looked tired and worn and in need of a good clean.

  Dave had to admit Melinda had a point—not that she’d made one out loud, but he knew his wife well enough: she didn’t like it here.

  He supposed he could have asked for a posting to a coastal town. Somewhere there wasn’t excitement. Or perhaps he could have asked for a position in Bunbury, where Melinda’s parents and two sisters lived. That held less appeal to him than living in Barrabine did for Melinda. Not that he would have told her that.

  To Dave, the posting to Barrabine was exactly what he’d wanted—it was a town on the edge, the wild west. There would be excitement, mystery and intrigue here. Everything a newly badged detective looked for. But the main reason for this posting was it would help him get to where he wanted to go: the stock squad, a squad which focused on agricultural areas, solving sheep theft and rural crime. For him, that would be the perfect job.

  Melinda moved closer to him just as a voice called out from over the fence.

  ‘Oi, missus!’

  Dave saw Melinda freeze and groaned inwardly. It was a welcome of sorts, just not the kind he had envisaged. He put his arm around her and turned with a friendly grin.

  ‘G’day, mate. How are you? Bit warm today.’

  ‘Who you mob?’ the curly-haired Aboriginal man wanted to know.

  ‘Looks like we’re your new neighbours…’ He broke off at the sound of a horn and turned in time to a police car pulling up at the kerb.

  A short, fat man hauled himself out using the handrail. He had a large smile on his face.

  ‘Dave, my man! You’ve made good time. Didn’t think you’d be here for another half an hour. I was going to open the place up and give it a bit of an air before you got here. Get the air-con on.’ He gave his hand a cursory wipe on his shorts and held it out. ‘The heat’s made itself felt today.’

  ‘We had a smooth run,’ Dave answered, taking Spencer’s hand and shaking it hard. ‘How’re you going?’

  ‘Excellent, excellent.’ He turned to Melinda. ‘You must be the new bride! Congratulations. Welcome to Barrabine.’

  ‘This is Melinda.’ Dave turned to introduce her.

  She nodded before saying, ‘Thanks.’

  Dave wanted to cringe. One-word replies were an even worse sign than tight lips. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and saw she was swallowing hard. Maybe she was on the verge of tears.

  ‘Come in, come in.’ Spencer ushered Melinda towards the house.

  ‘Oi, who you mob?’ the Aboriginal man reminded them all he was still waiting for an answer. ‘G’day, Mr Spencer.’ ‘G’day there, Ernie.’ Spencer turned and said to Dave, ‘Ernie will make a great neighbour. Always keeps an eye on what’s going on, don’t you, mate? Loves a chat,’ he said by way of introduction. ‘Ernie, Dave and Melinda Burrows. Our new detective and his missus.’

  Dave felt Melinda recoil at the word ‘missus’.

  ‘G’day,’ Ernie nodded to them both. ‘Good neighbours, good neighbours.’ He gave a grin, showing a perfectly white and straight set of teeth, and Dave couldn’t help but smile back. His cheeriness was infectious.

  ‘Go on with you now, Ernie,’ Spencer waved him away. ‘Let these good people settle in before you start having a yarn. All right?’ He turned back to Dave.

  ‘I don’t mind having a yarn,’ Dave began but was silenced with a look from Melinda.

  Spencer slipped a key in the lock and madly shooed all the flies out of their hiding place in the shade, then threw open the door. ‘Now I know this place looks a bit ratty from the outside,’ he said, ‘but it’s nicely renovated inside. Come on in, Mel. You don’t mind if I call you that, do you? Have a look at your new home!’ He gave another wide smile and gestured as if he were a gameshow host.

  ‘I’m Melinda, not Mel,’ she said, walking in front of Spencer and into the house.

  Spencer paused. ‘Apologies. My mistake. Everyone seems to have nicknames around this place. Melinda it is.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Dave said softly to Spencer’s back as he followed him inside. ‘Long day, and I think it’s all a bit of a…’

  ‘S’all right, mate.’ Spencer stopped and gave him a wink. ‘I’ve been here for a few years. Seen it all before. Barra can be a bit of a shock to anyone, let alone a new bride. Don’t worry about it. Gawd, you should’ve seen Kathy when she first got here. Cried for days. They adjust after a while. Come on, in you go.’ He patted Dave’s shoulder and turned back to the dimness of the house.

 
; Dave was pleased to see the house was certainly better from the inside. It had the smell of new carpet and paint, and even though the kitchen looked a little tired, it was clean.

  Dave watched as Melinda ran her fingertips across the benchtop, then looked at them to see how much dust they had collected. She brushed her hands across her shorts and moved off down the dark passageway. He could feel her eyes everywhere, taking in her new home. What he couldn’t see was her reaction.

  Spencer continued to talk as if he hadn’t noticed Melinda’s aloofness or the fact she’d walked out of the room. ‘I’m sure you’ll feel much better once your furniture gets here, Melinda. Should only be about an hour away. I rang head office to check and they gave the driver a call on the radio. Having familiar things around you always makes a place feel like home. And I guess you’ve got some nice photos of the wedding to hang on your wall. Pictures always make a house seem homelier too. I know my wife has covered almost every spot. Photos of the kids when they were at school, holiday snaps, landscapes. You name it, it’s up there.’ He gave a bit of a chuckle. ‘Bit of a mad photographer, so she is.’

  Dave frowned as Melinda didn’t answer. He hoped her rudeness wasn’t as obvious to Spencer as it was to him.

  Spencer slapped his knee. ‘Oh, hell, I forgot. I’ve got bread, milk, coffee and butter in the car. I’d better grab the bag before the heat gets to them. And Kathy, that’s my wife, she’s coming over to see you tomorrow, Melinda. She’s more than happy to help you unpack and show you around. Local knowledge is good to have when it comes to Barra: where to shop, when the fresh fruit and veg trucks come in, and all of that. Be back in a sec.’

  The front door slammed, leaving Dave and Melinda alone.

  Dave made his way to what he thought was the main bedroom and stood in the doorway watching as Melinda turned in circles looking at the room. He could see the outline of a dark brown stain on the ceiling, under the new paint, but the walls were a clean, vivid white. Briefly he wondered how long they would stay like that with all the dust around. He hadn’t been here ten minutes and the red dust was already over his hands and shoes.