Emerald Springs Page 4

  Dave pulled the unmarked police car up under a large pepper tree and shut off the engine. He looked around for signs of his cousin, but couldn’t see her. He did, however, notice a diesel tank near the shearing shed, and went over to take a look. It was just a normal tank with a tap attached and a pipe that would let the diesel siphon down. He looked over his shoulder: the road was just over the rise and the tip of the shearing shed would probably be visible. It might pique the interest of anyone planning on stealing from an isolated farm.

  Dave glanced at the sheds. Two tractors and a ute were parked inside. He strode over, climbed up the steps and looked through the tractor’s window. Keys were in the ignition and the doors weren’t locked. He shook his head.

  ‘Dave?’ He turned and saw Kate running from the house, her little Jack Russell, Zoom, at her heels. ‘Dave, you’re here!’

  He grinned and walked quickly towards her, his arms outstretched. ‘Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?’ He pulled her to him, while Zoom’s paws were busy on his jeans. The dog was checking him out, remembering his smell.

  ‘It’s so good to see you,’ Kate said, muffled against his chest. ‘Oh, Dave, you’ve lost so much weight. There’s nothing of you!’ He felt her pull away and knew she’d be looking at him with concern. Kate had to look everyone over.

  ‘Yeah, I have,’ he agreed, ‘but I feel great and it was needed. Sitting at a desk all the time, it got out of control. Too many iced coffees and hot chips.’

  Kate linked her arm through his and squeezed. ‘It’s lovely to see you, even though you’ve waited five months to get here. I should be severe with you, but I think you’ve had enough of that.’ Zoom danced around their feet as they walked towards the house.

  ‘That’s an understatement,’ Dave muttered.

  ‘Come on, I’ll make you a coffee. Sam is out feeding the sheep, but he’ll be back for lunch. Now I need to hear all of your news. Talk to me! Tell me everything.’

  Dave grinned. Kate never changed: talkative, bossy, caring and loving.

  ‘You know most of it! It’s not like we haven’t talked on the phone.’ But Kate tugged on his arm and he knew his throwaway answer wasn’t going to work. She wanted more details, and she wouldn’t be happy until she’d dragged them from him and examined the situation from every angle. He steeled himself for the interrogation.

  They went up the stairs and into the decades-old house. Its thick walls kept the temperature low during the searing summer. Today was warm, and Kate had drawn the curtains at one end of the kitchen to block out the heat. Even though it was April, the sun still had a sting.

  Dave watched as his cousin bustled around putting on the kettle and slicing freshly made chocolate cake. Zoom hung at her ankles, hoping for a crumb, but nothing came his way. Dave’s gaze fell on the photos hanging on one wall. There were his daughters: Bec and Alice, arms around each other, laughing, at Bec’s fifteenth birthday party. The girls were like Kate’s own children—she couldn’t have her own. She would have been a beautiful mum, and that just made it all the sadder.

  There was also a black-and-white of Kate’s parents, who were no longer with them. They stood in front of some newly erected sheep yards, looking proudly at their work. More images of family and friends crowded the space.

  Dave stooped a little and looked closely at one: a man, woman and young girl. He was pretty sure it was Matt and Anna Butler and their daughter, Ella. He was about to ask Kate when, out of the corner of his eye, he spied a photo that almost stopped his breath. His wedding photo. He let his gaze linger on Melinda for only a moment before turning away. He tried to work out what he was feeling, but it was all too mixed up. Kate’s voice distracted him.

  ‘Still white with two?’

  ‘Huh? Oh, yeah, thanks.’

  His cousin glanced over to where he’d been standing, and her face coloured. Dave was pretty sure she would have taken the photo down if she’d thought of it.

  ‘Sooo,’ she drew the word out as she placed the mug in front of him. ‘Talk to me.’

  Dave hoisted himself up onto a bar stool and took a sip. ‘What do you want to know?’ he asked. ‘You’ve heard most of it. The split was mutual. She wasn’t happy, I wasn’t happy. I think we’d forgotten who we were. The girls grew up, left home, and we suddenly didn’t have anything to talk about. You know I don’t like to discuss my work and Melinda never talked about nursing. I’m too busy for hobbies and we don’t have a lot of friends in common anymore.’ He shrugged, staring into the coffee mug.

  ‘Have you talked to her recently?’

  Dave shook his head and looked up, catching the sympathy in Kate’s eyes. ‘There’s nothing to say,’ he said sadly. ‘She’s got a new bloke. That’s why I left. Perth’s a bloody small town when you don’t want to run into somebody.’

  Kate leaned over and placed her hand on his shoulder, not saying anything for a moment. Then she asked, ‘Do you miss her?’

  Dave thought about it and found he really wasn’t sure. He certainly didn’t miss the coldness in the house, the lack of conversation, and the distance there had been between him and Mel. There was no doubt, though, that he was lonely.

  ‘I miss the idea of her,’ he said slowly, realising that was what it was. ‘I don’t think I miss Mel herself. Towards the end, the house was so uncomfortable. We didn’t talk. We were polite, of course, but it was like we were total strangers. I miss what we had in the beginning—we always had something to say. We’d laugh and muck around with each other.’ He looked up at Kate. ‘You know, it’s bloody cruel the way time takes good things away. We get so caught up in our own worlds, we end up taking people for granted. We forget to make magic and keep that magic alive. Forget the little things, like please and thanks for meals. You say “I love you” but you don’t mean it, it’s just habit. And then you grow apart.’

  He fell silent. The sadness made him feel hollow.

  Zoom, who’d been curled up in his basket, let out a growl and barked. Kate looked out the window, then up at the clock. She smiled. ‘Here’s Sam. Nearly lunchtime.’

  Sam leaned back in his chair, rubbing his stomach. ‘Thanks, Katy,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘That was really good.’

  Kate leaned over and took his plate. Dave noticed her hand brush her husband’s, and felt pretty sure they wouldn’t let their magic die.

  ‘So, Dave, what brings you up this way?’ Sam asked. ‘You said you were investigating a few things.’

  ‘Yeah. I’m also doing a community crime prevention lecture in Torrica. There’s been quite a few serious thefts lately. I did an interview with a reporter from the Country Hour a few days ago, but we’ve asked media outlets not to report too many details, because I’m hell bent on tracking these bastards down.’

  ‘Torrica,’ Kate said thoughtfully. ‘Haven’t you got an old friend somewhere in that neck of the woods, Dave?’

  He grinned. ‘Subtle as ever, Kate. You know I do. Kim Jenkins. Last time I saw her was when I was investigating stock stealing and Gemma Sinclair, all the way up at Billbinya. It will be good to catch up with her again—she’s a bit of a character.’

  A knowing smile spread across Kate’s face. ‘Hmm, did the flame ever really die? How long ago was it?’

  ‘Oh bugger off! We were kids. Summer holiday fling. There was never really anything in it.’ Dave shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to think too much about Kim. Maybe Kate had a point. Maybe she didn’t. ‘As if I need any complications right now.’

  Kate chuckled and walked over to the freezer. ‘Ice-cream?’ she asked, brandishing a tub and waggling her eyebrows.

  ‘Do you need to ask, love?’ Sam said with a grin.

  ‘Not for me,’ said Dave. ‘Watching my weight, you know.’ He gave a half-smile. ‘And, Sam, I wanted to talk to you about something. You gotta take the keys out of your machinery. You’re so close to the road that anyone could walk in and take off with anything that’s not bolted down. Insurance won’t cover you if your gear i
sn’t locked up. Not to mention your fuel tanks. Turn the power off to any pumps you’ve set up. Even better, have them turned off in a locked room, and you should lock the fuel tank cut-off valve rather than just the nozzle and handle. If you’ve got mobile tankers, keep them in sheds where people can’t see them. Sight breeds temptation. Keep records and dip your tanks regularly.’

  Sam grinned at him. ‘Mate, it’s just Kate and me here. We don’t need to keep as much of an eye on things as those big pastoral companies.’ Dave opened his mouth, but Sam continued. ‘Don’t worry, we haven’t forgotten what it’s like to be ripped off. It’s only three years since it happened to us. We’re pretty careful.’

  ‘Well, mate, you need to be, ’cause even though this is happening a lot further north, this type of criminal often moves into other areas so they don’t get caught. And these blokes could be dangerous.’

  Chapter 4

  Amelia pushed open the door of the atco hut and stepped into her office. Everything was silent except for a lone fly that kept banging into the ceiling, looking for a way to freedom. She waved her armful of files towards it, trying to guide it out the open door. It kept avoiding her and she gave up, opting for the tin of fly spray.

  She had fifteen minutes before the phone interview with the newspaper. Somehow she’d not only inherited the treasurer’s position, but also managed to get the media job. For a bunch of people who’d been reluctant to give her a go, the committee had decided pretty quickly that they liked her young, pretty face as the ‘front’ of the rodeo.

  ‘Okay,’ Amelia muttered, turning on the computer, ‘mail first.’

  Cappa, as always, had thrown the stack of mail on her desk even when it was addressed to him personally. She opened the envelopes and sorted everything into piles: one for treasury, one to be dealt with at the next meeting, and one for follow-up business. The last two she put into Cappa’s manila file for him to discuss with Gus.

  Amelia scanned the bank statement, making sure that the last two cheques she’d written out had been cashed, and then looked over the bills. After scribbling herself a couple of notes, she pushed the small mountain of paper aside. She grabbed the mouse and gave it a wake-up wiggle, before going through all the emails and forwarding them on to the right people. Finally, she opened up the rodeo’s Facebook page. Uploading two photos of last year’s event, she wrote: ‘The countdown is on for the Torrica Rodeo. Only ONE week to go! Have you booked your tickets? Your camping space? If not, do it now or miss out!’

  A clatter of boots on the wooden steps made her jump, and she swung around in her chair.

  ‘G’day there, Milly,’ Cappa said as he walked through the door.

  ‘Morning. How’re you going?’

  ‘All good, mate, all good. What have you got up there?’ he asked, looking at the computer screen.

  Amelia turned back. ‘Oh, this is just part of the social media campaign I’ve been running on Facebook.’

  Cappa moved closer and pulled his glasses from his pocket. ‘Never understood this stuff. My daughter’s into it, tries to get me to Headtime—or something-or-other—with her. My old brain just doesn’t get it.’

  Amelia burst out laughing. ‘I think you mean Facetime, Cappa! Now you should get involved in that. It’s like a video in real time, so you could see your grandies when you chat to them. But take a look at what I’ve been doing here.’ She pointed to the screen and Cappa leaned down next to her. ‘I started a fan page. The main aim is to get as many fans as we can, so we can reach as many people as possible. And with a bit of advertising for a small cost, and sharing other rodeos’ posts, we’ve got nearly four thousand fans! That’s nearly four thousand people I can reach at the push of the enter button.’

  Cappa nodded, but he still looked wary. ‘How much does all of this cost?’

  ‘The only outlay has been fifty bucks’ worth of advertising, which netted us forty per cent more fans, so it was really worthwhile. Facebook itself is free.’

  ‘Uh-huh. Free, you say?’ He seemed startled and pleased.

  ‘Yes. And look here.’ Amelia clicked on a link and was taken through to a photo of a rider and bull. ‘We can upload photos, and photos are what get people’s attention. They can see what’s going on and what we do.’ She clicked again. ‘And here. This is the program for the whole night, so anyone who’s a fan of the page—they could be in Queensland or Tassie or anywhere in the world—can work out if they want to come.’ Amelia smiled happily.

  ‘So you’re tellin’ me that anyone in the world can see what this little rodeo is all about?’

  ‘Anyone who’s on Facebook and a fan of our page. When I first started it up, we had about a hundred fans, all local. That’s good—we want the locals to know what’s going on. But now, all these other people who like our page, they’re rodeo riders who’ll drive hours to be here on the night. Other committees have shared and liked the page too, so we’re all connected, like one great big rodeo spiderweb.’

  ‘Well, missy, to me it looks like you’re doing a mighty fine job. But I’m sure there are others on the committee who wouldn’t see this as a big contribution, ’cause they just don’t get it.’

  Amelia gave a rueful smile. ‘Like Jim Green,’ she said. ‘But thanks, Cappa. That means a lot to me.’

  ‘Credit where credit’s due,’ he said gruffly. ‘Especially if we get all those people here on the night.’ He took off his glasses and pocketed them.

  ‘We might not get them all,’ Amelia acknowledged, ‘but going on the event that I’ve created, there’s about half coming.’ She shut down the page and started to pull up the bank website. ‘So, what are you up to today?’

  ‘Just got the tractor out to start preparing the surface. Everything closes in pretty quick when you’re this near.’

  ‘I know. Got a print media interview in a couple of minutes. The mail you need to look at is in your file.’

  ‘Cheers.’ He reached out for it.

  They were interrupted by the phone ringing. ‘Torrica Rodeo Office, Amelia speaking.’ It was the journalist. ‘Yeah, thanks for your interest.’ She mouthed ‘thanks’ to Cappa, who smiled and ducked out of the office, manila folder in hand. ‘So, the big day is in a week, and we couldn’t be more excited.’

  Keeping her voice bright, Amelia provided all the information she could until the journalist’s questions dried up. Then she wandered outside, listening to the hum of Cappa’s tractor. It pulled an implement that looked like a large rotary hoe; the ground had to be worked over until it was safe for both animals and riders.

  Amelia jogged up to the top stand and looked down on what they called the ‘ring’. The arena wasn’t actually ring-shaped: it was an oval surrounded by high fences. Tight cables were stretched across the railings, and standing tall along the edges were powerful spotlights and tiered seating stands. At one end of the arena were the chutes where the horses would wait for the gate to open. Above them sat the caller’s box, which wasn’t used anymore. These days the announcers liked to be in the arena so they could interview the riders as soon as the event finished, and it was easier to see what was going on that way, too.

  Amelia imagined the big night. The noise of the gathered crowd, the atmosphere, the booming voice over the PA, and the grunts of the horses and cattle. The yelling from the clowns as they lured the bulls away from fallen riders. The country dress-code would mean a landscape of plaid shirts, denim jeans and large belt buckles. Akubra hats and high-heeled riding boots would top and tail it. There’d be the smell of hot chips, cattle, fresh hay bales and horse mingling together.

  Amelia’s musings were interrupted when she noticed Gus’s ute pulling into the parking lot. She readied herself as she walked down from the stand. It was time for the hard work to begin. Behind the arena were the cattle yards where the bulls were housed while they waited to go into the ring. Each year, the committee was called in to make sure everything was in working order. The others would be arriving soon.

 
‘Hi, Gus!’ Amelia got over to the back of the yards just as the committee president and Jim Green appeared. Great, she thought, forcing a smile. ‘Oh hi, Jim.’

  Jim didn’t bother to reply, but Gus gave her a grin and said, ‘Milly, how goes it?’ He was carrying a toolbox and a checklist.

  ‘All good,’ she replied. ‘There’s some mail for you in the office. And I had the interview with the paper—went well.’

  ‘Good! Not that I expected any less of you. Ah, here’re Kev and Heidi . . . and they’ve brought the grandkids.’ He sighed, eyeing the three blond boys.

  ‘Little ferals,’ Amelia said with a smile.

  ‘Without a doubt.’ Gus waved them over and everyone said their hellos. ‘Right, Milly, you can check the troughs. Make sure they’re working, clean ’em out and let ’em refill. Jim, you’re on gates. Check they’re swinging properly and the chains and latches are functional.’ Gus looked down at his list. ‘I’m going to head over to the spotlights to give ’em a test run and see that they’re pointing in the right direction. Kev, I’ll get you to give me a hand. Two days before the rodeo we’ll do the PA systems and all the power systems. I’ve ordered in five generators, so we should be fine, but best to put them under load and see if we have any issues. Want everything perfect on the night.’

  Amelia grabbed a screwdriver from Gus’s toolbox and the trough broom from the small shed in the corner of the yards. At the first trough she undid the plug, and a gush of black and algae-filled water emptied onto the ground. The stale smell rose to meet her, but she ignored it and leaned under the trough cover to hold up the float.

  ‘Don’t waste too much water, Amelia. Don’t want the water bill through the roof now, do we?’

  Amelia looked up and saw Jim leaning on the rails.

  ‘I’ll do my best not to,’ she answered flatly.

  When she glanced up again a few minutes later, he was still there watching her, his arms folded over his chest.