Where the River Runs Read online

  ‘Huh, how can I be sure?’ Chelsea asked, looking at the bike. ‘Dale used to do his best to scare the crap out of me when he was dinking me. He’d line up a tree and drive straight at it, or drive really fast and stop really suddenly.’

  ‘I’m not Dale,’ was all Cal replied. ‘Hop on.’ He called to Scout, who jumped up in front of him, and Chelsea tried to get on the back and still look elegant.

  Chelsea wrapped her arms around Cal’s waist and held on tight. It was exhilarating feeling the cool wind against her face. Her hair whipped around the nape of her neck and she wanted to reach up and tie it back, but she also didn’t want to stop holding on. She told herself it was for safety, but really it was because Cal felt so good. She hoped he hadn’t realised that she’d wanted to kiss him earlier. Her emotions were all out of whack at the moment!

  ‘How much do you know about sheep?’ Cal had turned his face to the side so she could hear what he said.

  ‘Sheep? Not much. I used to help in the yards and shearing shed when I was a kid, but that’s a long time ago. My fingers and hands were pretty important, so I had to stop doing anything that could have caused them injury.’

  ‘Fair call. Well, I’m shifting these because we’re running out of feed in this paddock.’

  ‘I realise that,’ she said in a huffy tone. ’You asked about sheep not feed!’

  Cal gave half a smile. ‘I haven’t finished yet.’

  ‘Oh.’

  He slowed the motorbike and came to a stop in front of a gate. ‘Hop off.’

  Chelsea put her left foot down and brought her other leg up to try and hop away from the bike without clobbering Cal in the back of the head.

  Flicking the stand down, Cal got off and opened the gate. ‘Can you stand there for me?’ He pointed to the far side of the gate but back from the fence slightly. ‘I’m going to run them along the fence and you need to stop them and get them to turn into the gateway, okay?’

  ‘Sure.’ She was nowhere near as confident as she sounded. Looking around, she wondered if Cal would get them close enough before the light faded. The sun had been gone for nearly ten minutes now, and although it was still light, the darkness was encroaching quickly.

  Scout had held the sheep so they couldn’t turn around and run back the way they’d come, and now, with a rev of the engine, Cal roared back around them and rode from side to side, encouraging the ewes down the fence line towards the gate.

  Chelsea watched carefully as the sheep ran in her direction. She knew enough not to move in case she baulked them, but at the same time she wasn’t sure when to make a noise to stop them running. She could hear Cal revving the engine, hurrying them along, and by the time they appeared from the cloud of dust, they were almost on top of her.

  ‘Hey!’ she yelled. ‘Hey, hey, hey! Get in the gate, get in the gate! Ha!’ She stamped her feet and waved her arms around as she remembered her mum doing and then, for good measure, blew a raspberry.

  The sheep came to an abrupt standstill and looked at her before the leader took a step towards her.

  ‘Nope! No, you don’t!’ she yelled again. ‘Go in the gate! Shhh, shhh!’ She felt like an idiot. What were you supposed to say to sheep to get them to go through a gateway? ‘Come on, turn, you buggers!’ With a few more movements a professional dancer would’ve been proud of, Chelsea took a couple of steps towards them and they turned. Seeing the gate and freedom, the leader ran through, with the rest of the mob following.

  ‘Hey, good job!’ Cal said as he parked the bike in front of the gate and turned off the engine. He got off and dragged the cocky gate across the ground, shutting it tightly. ‘You look like you’ve done that more than once.’

  With relief, Chelsea laughed. ‘Maybe about twenty years ago, in another life.’

  ‘They went through the gate, what more could you ask for?’

  ‘Well, the head one went through and the rest followed. They’re a bit like the Pied Piper. They follow the leader.’

  ‘That’s why all you’ve got to do is get that one to go in the right direction and you’re home and hosed.’ He looked up at the sky. ‘Ah, the first few stars are out,’ he said. ‘Better head home, otherwise it’ll be pitch black by the time we get there. I don’t like being out on the bike after dark. Too many roos or emus to hit.’

  Chelsea didn’t argue. She was keen to get close to Cal again. ‘Yeah, and I have to go and pick Aria up.’

  He mounted the bike and whistled to Scout. Settling himself halfway down the seat, there was room for the dog on the front. ‘Now you hop on where you were before.’

  Gingerly, she lifted one leg over and tried to wiggle on without getting too close to him. She giggled uncomfortably. ‘Sorry. I’m not very graceful.’

  ‘Look fine to me,’ he said gruffly, then turned the key before she could say anything more.

  Cal parked the bike in the shed and asked Chelsea if she wanted a beer.

  ‘Thanks, but I’d better go and get organised. Once I’ve picked up Aria, I’ve got to find some things for the doctor. Private health insurance papers and so on.’

  Nodding, Cal stretched out his back and said, ‘You know where I am if you need me. Will you feed and tie up Scout?’

  ‘I can do that, no worries.’

  ‘Guess it’s goodnight then,’ he said and sauntered off towards his house.

  Chelsea watched him go for a moment then called Scout to her side. She fed and watered the dog and made sure he was tied up securely. The last thing she wanted was to lose the work dog that everyone seemed to love.

  ‘Night, old boy,’ she said, giving him a final pat. ‘I’m off for a shower. Bark if you want me.’

  Scout wagged his tail, his head still in his food bowl.

  ‘Thanks again for looking after Aria so well,’ Chelsea said to Colleen and Hec.

  ‘No problem. She hasn’t been any trouble at all, have you, Aria?’ Colleen leaned in through the window and stroked Aria’s hair.

  ‘Can I pleeeassse take Sooty?’ Aria implored.

  ‘No, honey. She’s not yours,’ Chelsea answered. Mouthing ‘sorry’ to Colleen as Aria started to cry.

  ‘I want to take Sooty!’ she wailed.

  ‘You can come back and play with her anytime,’ Hec told Aria.

  Chelsea thanked them and got into the car, waving goodbye as she drove away, while Aria continued to sob.

  By the time they arrived home, Aria was asleep, so Chelsea carried her inside without waking her. Pulling the blankets up, she stared at her daughter before kissing her goodnight and tiptoeing out of the room.

  After showering, Chelsea poured herself a glass of wine and took all the contents of the box out into the sitting room so she could look at them more easily. Opening the first scrapbook, she saw newspaper clippings of her mum and dad dressed in their wedding outfits. The caption read: Congratulations to Mr and Mrs Thomas Taylor of Barker, who married last week in the Uniting Church. The reception was held at the Barker Football Club rooms.

  She examined her parents. Their smiles were large and carefree and they were looking at each other. Pip’s veil had caught around Tom’s neck and he was reaching up to pull it away. Running her fingers over their faces, she saw the love between them and her heart ached at how familiar her mum was even though she hadn’t seen her for years. She looked at them a moment longer before moving on to the next page.

  Birth notices for Dale, then birth and death notices for Andrew and Crystal. The scrapbook page looked wrinkled near the notices and some of the writing was illegible, as if her mother had sat there crying after gluing in the notices and her tears had dropped onto the page.

  There was her own birth notice and a picture of her in the hospital crib.

  It was clear her mum had been proud of her children. Every award Dale or Chelsea had ever won had been kept.

  In the second scrapbook, on the first page, was the letter from the Adelaide Conservatorium of Music offering Chelsea a place in their Talented You
ngsters Program. In Pip’s handwriting there was a big yes with a ring around it. After that, the newspaper clippings were of Chelsea’s first performances. There were concerts at the Adelaide Festival Theatre and even one at Government House, when she’d played as an eighteen-year-old for the visit of British royal, Prince Edward.

  For Chelsea it was bittersweet. She’d had the kind of success she’d dreamed of, but now it was all over.

  Her mum had also glued in her reports from the Conservatorium: Chelsea is a talented student but needs to learn to follow the score.

  Her talent far outweighs her ability to play exactly what is on the page.

  Then came the clincher: Headstrong. Strong-willed.

  The embarrassment and shame she’d felt back then, when the principal had first pulled her up and spoken to her, flooded her again.

  She wished there had been some good reports her mum could have glued into the scrapbook.

  From then on there was nothing more about Chelsea.

  ‘Why did she keep these?’ Chelsea said to the silence of the old house. ‘To remind herself she was disappointed in me?’

  A heaviness settled in her chest and once again she wished she could take back all those years. Redo them, not make the same mistakes.

  Hindsight was a wonderful thing.

  Hurriedly she reached for the last scrapbook and flipped through the pages. Cuttings of friends and family, Dale’s death notices and newspaper articles on the enquiry into his death.

  Stopping, she read those, seeing the word ‘accidental’ a few times. She was glad Jason had been cleared of any wrongdoing. He’d always been a nice boy in school, and it’d been clear straightaway that the boys had just been mucking around. Dale’s death hadn’t only ruined her parents’ lives and changed hers, it had also set Jason, Shane and Kelly on a completely different path. Everyone was only one phone call or police visit away from having their lives changed forever.

  Again, she was struck by the need for everything to be out in the open with her father. For so long she’d been frightened to say Dale’s name in front of her parents because she didn’t know what their reaction would be. Photos had been removed from the walls and only one remained on display. Why should they be afraid to say the name of a person who’d died—especially someone they had all loved so much?

  She was to blame too. Aria hadn’t been told about her uncle. That was Chelsea’s fault. She’d fallen into the same trap. Don’t mention Dale’s name. He’s dead. Let’s pretend he didn’t exist.

  ‘No more,’ she muttered quietly, a stern resolve in her heart to talk to her dad about it.

  Chapter 24

  Jack turned up at the station earlier than Dave had expected.

  ‘Good Christmas?’ Dave asked when his junior flopped down into the chair in front of him. It wouldn’t have been great, Dave knew, because Jack had worked over the two public holidays, which was why he hadn’t been expecting to see him until later in the afternoon.

  ‘Busy,’ he answered. ‘I’ve handed out ten infringement notices—three of them for drug driving.’

  ‘Drug driving?’ Dave’s voice rose in surprise. ‘That’s a first here in Barker. Were they locals?’

  ‘One was. Jason Putter.’

  ‘Oh.’ Dave felt his heart sink. When he’d arrived this morning, he’d done a couple of searches on Dale Taylor’s death. Then he’d investigated the men involved and found a long list of drink-driving and disorderly-conduct charges against Jason’s name.

  It was clear the man was still hurting greatly, consumed with guilt, and Dave surmised he was self-medicating. From the little he knew of Jason, he wasn’t married and didn’t seem to have a steady girlfriend. He was working for his father and helping out with sound systems on the occasional gig.

  ‘That bloke needs some help,’ Dave said and quickly told Jack about Jason’s involvement in Dale’s death.

  ‘That’s your speciality, community policing,’ Jack said, rubbing his eyes.

  ‘I might go and see him later on today. Anything else happen?’

  ‘The ambos called to let me know that Tom Taylor had been involved in an accident out on the farm. I went to the hospital and spoke to the ER doctor, who had taken bloods to see if there was any drinking involved, but there wasn’t, so I didn’t need to do anything. He’s still in hospital. Broken ankle and some serious gravel rash.’

  ‘What happened there? Stock work?’ Dave tapped his pen against the pad.

  ‘Yeah, only one motorbike involved. Must have been shifting sheep or something and taken a tumble.

  ‘Well, that was a busy enough couple of days. Was glad to be busy.’ He continued to sit but didn’t say anything more. ‘And tomorrow I’ve got off and nothing to do!’

  Dave cocked his head and stopped tapping. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing, why?’

  ‘Your face is longer than a grey cloud dropping rain from Perth to Adelaide. I’m listening.’

  Jack sighed and again ran his hand over his eyes ‘What’s the point in having time off?’ he asked. ‘I haven’t got a girlfriend to spend time with, and there’s nothing to do at home during the week. I might as well be here helping you.’

  Frowning, Dave thought about his answer. ‘Well, mate, I’m more than happy for you to come in and work for the next couple of days, but that’s not a long-term solution.’

  ‘I know! And I don’t know why I’m feeling like this. I love living here, I love my job. I’ve never been lonely before and don’t freaking understand why I’ve suddenly started feeling like this. It’s got knobs on it.’

  ‘Right, well, I tell you what, can you go across and help Kim this morning? She’s doing some research on the Taylor family, trying to find out whether or not our body could have anything to do with them. It’s an off-the-record investigation, because we’ve really got nothing to go on, but your help would be appreciated.’

  Jack brightened. ‘That’d be good.’

  ‘You’re just wanting to eat me out of house and home. Anyway, get going over there and I’ll ring Kim to let her know you’re coming.’

  Jack stood up and looked at his boss for a moment. ‘Cheers, Dave. Appreciate it.’

  Dave nodded and waited for him to go before picking up the phone. ‘I’m sending Jack over to you,’ he said when Kim answered. ‘Can you find him some research work to do? He’s really flat.’

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Lonely mostly, I think.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can cook up for him,’ Kim said, and Dave heard the smile in her voice. Suddenly he wondered what he’d orchestrated. Kim was the master of fix-its and set-ups.

  Putting Jack out of his mind, he called his mother for an update. She didn’t answer, but a few minutes later he received a text from her saying they were in physio with Dean and she’d call him back.

  Satisfied he’d done what was required of him, he opened his emails and scrolled through, hoping there would be something from Dr Fletcher. There wasn’t anything yet. Dave mucked around in the office for an hour or so, achieving nothing, then locked the door and put the notice on the window saying the station was closed and to contact his mobile if necessary.

  He got into his car and drove to the hospital to see Tom Taylor.

  ‘Mr Taylor has only just woken up,’ the nurse told him. ‘I was about to ring his daughter and ask her to come in.’

  ‘Could I have a couple of minutes with him?’ Dave asked.

  ‘I guess that’d be all right. You’re not going to question him too much, are you?’

  Dave flashed his most charming smile. ‘I really only want to see how he is.’

  ‘Oh, well then, go right on through. Room eight on the left.’

  Thanking her, he started to walk down the corridor. He stuck his head into the room and said, ‘G’day Tom. Up for a visitor?’

  The man in the bed looked confused, then frightened, and he twisted the bedsheets in his hands.

  ‘I’m Dave, the copper
from the Barker station.’

  ‘Oh, g’day. Sure, come on in.’ His facial expression didn’t change but his shoulders relaxed slightly.

  Dave pulled up a chair next to the bed and smiled at him. ‘You had a bit of an accident?’ he said, hoping Tom had genuinely remembered who he was.

  ‘Yeah. Bloody sheep. Went to shift them. Don’t really remember what happened. Must’ve hit a rock or something. Went for a short flight. Over the handle bars. I thought my days of doing that were over when I stopped riding horses!’

  With a quiet laugh, Dave said, ‘Never been too partial to horses for that very reason. Didn’t know motorbikes had similar tendencies.’

  ‘Just as bad,’ Tom said.

  ‘Doc reckons you’ll be up and about soon?’

  ‘Haven’t seen him yet, but my ankle’s broken.’ He stared at Dave with a puzzled expression on his face. ‘Did I do something wrong?’ he asked slowly.

  ‘What? No. I just wanted to ask you a few more questions about the remains we found on your land.’

  It took Tom a minute to process that and Dave sat there quietly while he did so. He’d seen people like this before and he knew he needed to give Tom time to catch up. Head injuries could be buggers of things.

  ‘Oh right, the bones. Up on the reserve.’ Tom nodded.

  ‘Yeah, they’re the ones. I’ve found out there was a family living on the reserve way back in the early 1900s. Apparently, they were squatting and, once the Taylors acquired a long-term lease for the reserve area, they were shifted on. Do you know anything about that?’

  Tom shook his head. ‘That’d go back to my grandparents’ day. Adelia and Baxter. But I don’t remember ever hearing them talk about anything like that. We got that lease back in 1932. I think the paperwork is in my office somewhere. But Granda Baxter lobbied the government to get the lease. I know he and Grandma had to work hard to convince them.’

  ‘What’s so special about that piece of land?’

  ‘Well, nothing really, other than it’s a large piece of land with a public road running through it. There’s enough area there to run sheep on and there’s fresh water. I guess that was the main thing he wanted—underground water is precious out here because we don’t get a lot of rain, so run-off into dams doesn’t work well for us. Places where there is constant underground water, no matter how much you pump out, are like gold. Granda Baxter said he wanted to be able to have the use of it for as long as he was alive, if not longer, so he set about getting it.’ Tom paused. ‘That was Granda Baxter all over. If he wanted something, he went and got it. One of the reasons Shandona is as big as it is. He kept acquiring land. Every time a piece came on the market, he bought it. Sometimes it wasn’t even on the market and he bought it.’