Down Among the Dead Men (Entangled Ignite) (7 page)

When they reached the truck, she said, “I think I’ll accept Brenda’s job offer. Evenings only, though. I need time during the day for other things.”

He gave her an irresistible grin. “When will you start?”

“Huh?” She forced herself to focus. “As soon as she wants me to, I suppose. The thing is, I’m concerned about Max being on her own every evening—especially if it wasn’t Wally I saw in the kitchen last night. What if whoever it was comes back?”

“Mmm.” He rubbed his jaw. “She could stay with Rose at my place. You could collect her when you finish each night.”

“That could work, if she’ll agree. Are you sure Rose wouldn’t mind?”

“Positive. Rose would be glad of her company. She doesn’t like to come to the pub with me, so she spends most evenings alone.”

“That’s great.”

“I’ll pass the word around and make sure you have plenty of customers.”

“Not too many. I’m used to having a full complement of kitchen staff. I don’t know how I’ll cope on my own.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“I hope so. I’m quite looking forward to going back to basics. I just need Max to fix the Valiant so I don’t have to walk home after work, and I’m all set.”

“You do realize that Michael will have to inspect the vehicle to lift the defect notice?”

She grimaced. “I hope he’s over his problem with me by then.”

…

In the workshop the next day Caitlyn asked, “Can you fix it, or isn’t it worth the trouble?”

Max slid out from under the Valiant and peered up at her. “I could do it, but…”

“But what?”

“Well, it might get written up for something else. It’s not perfect.”

Caitlyn frowned. “I’ll take that chance, if you don’t mind spending the time on it.”

“No, I don’t mind.” Max tossed a rag into a corner as she got to her feet.

“Thanks.” Caitlyn hovered near the door. “Max? I have some news.”

“About Dad?” Max turned and leaned back against the workbench. “What?”

“No, I’m sorry. There’s no news on that score, I’m afraid. Oh, except that we think the Kombi van that Chet drives is green and white, so watch out for one around here, okay?”

“Sure. What’s the news, then?”

“I’m going to be working at the pub. Cooking the meals in the evening.”

Max made a surprised sound. “Why would you do that?”

“Well, the cash might come in handy for a start, plus I can keep an eye open for people of interest and ask questions, so it might be useful for finding Wally, too.”

“You’ll be gone every night?”

Caitlyn nodded. “Dale said you could stay with Rose while I’m working instead of being here alone.”

“Nah, I’ll be all right here on my own.”

“No, really,” Caitlyn said, letting her anxiety show, hoping it would help get the point across to her sister, “I’d feel better if you were with Rose.”

Max scowled. “All right, then. I suppose I could do that.”

“Thank you.” Caitlyn heaved a grateful sigh. “I’m starting work tomorrow, but I’ll be here tonight so we can have a girls’ night in.”

Max pulled a disgusted face. “What? Chick flicks and stuff?”

Caitlyn grinned. “Maybe just pizza and whatever’s on TV.”

“Oh, okay. Cool.”

Returning to the office, Caitlyn settled at the desk. She’d checked the ancient computer and concluded that Wally had not believed in using it for anything other than orders for mechanical parts. There were a few documents, but nothing of interest. By contrast, there were piles of paperwork around. She’d made some headway sorting through, but it was a long slog. She pulled a stack of bank statements across the desk. Some were still in sealed envelopes and those she’d looked over so far showed Wally had borrowed heavily against the business. She made a mental note to tell Dale the next day on her way to the pub.

She opened one of the envelopes, flattened out the statement, and added it to the pile. Wally had some whopping debts, but what had he used the money for? She could see no evidence of reinvestment in the servo. She glanced around the office with its old furniture and total lack of modern equipment. Anyone could see he hadn’t spent a cent on this place for years.

Did the amount of money he owed have something to do with his disappearance? It probably had a lot to do with why he’d put her mum’s house up for sale. Would it even be possible for him to reconsider selling it if he was so deeply in debt?

She glanced at the piles of paper stacked knee-high along the wall. Maybe somewhere in all of that she’d find a clue to what was going on.

Chapter Seven

Dale opened his front door two days later, glanced over her shoulder at the Valiant, and smiled. “Michael approved the repairs, then?”

“Yes, Max did a good job.”

He beckoned her inside. “I think I’ve got something. Come through.”

He led the way to a book-lined room, dropping his goggles and mask on the corner of a large black desk before dragging up a chair and gesturing for her to sit. He moved to the other side of the desk and pulled a notepad toward him as he sat down. “I figured there couldn’t be that many people with green and white Kombi vans staying at the caravan park in Coober Pedy on a regular basis, so I phoned the office there and had a chat with a staff member. She knew who I was talking about, and with a bit of persuasion, she gave me his name and address from the booking register.”

His words left her speechless for a moment. “How did you get her to share that information with you? What about privacy laws?”

“Well, I told her he’d left something behind on his last stay, and it was vital that I send it back to him without delay.” He lifted a shoulder. “I can be pretty convincing when I want to be.”

“You must be. Is that an essential skill for a lapidary?”

He chuckled. “No, but I haven’t always worked as a lapidary.”

She waited for him to explain, but he grabbed the computer mouse and brought up a satellite photo on the screen. He swiveled the monitor so she could see it more clearly.

“Port Augusta?”

“Yes,” he said, glancing at his notepad before typing in an address. “Here’s his house.”

She leaned forward and stared at the red arrowhead. She wasn’t familiar with the town, so the locations didn’t mean much to her.

“His name is John Chettlewood.”

“Chet.” A chill touched the back of her neck. “That’s it. We’ve found him. Now, how can we find out whether he killed Wally?”

“Hold on, hold on. We don’t even know for sure that this is the same man. It’s quite possible that there’s more than one guy called Chet with a green and white Kombi van. And if he is one and the same, all we know is that Wally left home with him. We don’t know that Wally’s dead. Don’t assume a person is guilty of a crime based on something as circumstantial as owning the right type of vehicle.”

His tone was sharp. Taken aback, she said, “I wasn’t assuming, I just want to find out what happened. How can we do that? Shall we go to Port Augusta and stake out his house?”

He gave her a blank look. “Why?”

“If Wally’s still alive and hiding out, he might be staying with him. We might see him.”

“It could take several days to establish whether he’s there. I couldn’t leave Ginny for so long. Also”—he gave her a pointed look—“aren’t you working at the pub now? You’d need to tell Brenda if you’re leaving.”

“Forget I suggested it. Stupid idea.” She paused. “Anyway, I wouldn’t know Wally from a bar of soap. Can you believe there are no photos in that house? Not even one of Max as a baby. Even if there are none of the adults, you’d expect to find some baby snaps, wouldn’t you?”

“People tend to store photos on phones and computers nowadays, don’t they?”

“Are you kidding me? It’s a technology-free zone out there. Max doesn’t even have a mobile. What would be the point when she doesn’t go anywhere with a signal? And the computer in the office is an antique.”

Dale shrugged. “You don’t remember what your father looked like?”

“Not really, no. Well, I have a vague recollection of a tall man, but anybody would have been tall to me at eight. I do remember that his hair was red, but that won’t get me far, will it?”

“No, especially as Wally was all but bald last time I saw him. Anyway, there are plenty of other reasons why you can’t go alone.” He frowned. “I suppose I could call in a favor and have someone watch the house for us.”

She sat forward. “It would be great if you could do that.”

He linked his hands behind his head and leaned back as if staring at the wall of books, but she doubted he was seeing them at all.

“So, this favor…is it from your previous job?”

“Hmm?” He looked at her with unfocused eyes before things clicked back into place and he nodded. “That’s right.”

“And what was that job?”

“I was a lawyer.”

“A lawyer,” she repeated in surprise. “There’s a big difference between a lawyer and a lapidary. I don’t understand. Why are you wasting your education here?”

He shrugged. “Education is overrated. It doesn’t make you a better person.”

“No, I agree. But still, it seems a waste.”

He reached for the mouse and closed the map, made a gesture between Caitlyn and the computer. “I’m going to make coffee. Want one?”

“I’d love one.” When he returned with two mugs and placed one on the desk near her, she asked, “Where’s Ginny today?”

“At play group. Rose will be sorry she missed you. She’s still talking about discussing her book idea with you.”

Sipping her coffee, she watched him take a book from a shelf and sit in an armchair in the corner of the room. “Oh, bugger it,” she said. “Sorry, but I told you I’m inquisitive. Why did you give up being a lawyer? It seems like too good a job to just up and leave, especially to move here.”

He looked up, frowned, and put his coffee mug on a side table. “You walked out on your job as a chef, and that seems like a pretty good job to me.”

“That’s different. It’s only a temporary hiatus, and anyway, I couldn’t say no to my mother.”

“I had no choice, either.”

“Really? What happened?”

“I believe I said I didn’t want to talk about that subject.”

“I know.” She held up her free hand in apology. “I’m sorry. I’m a nosy old cow.”

He grinned. “I wouldn’t go that far. Look, if I tell you—”

“You’ll have to kill me. I get it. I’ll mind my own business.”

“No, I was going to say that you’ll have to keep it to yourself.”

Her eyes widened. “Well, of course I will. But don’t tell me if you don’t want to.”

He placed the book on the side table alongside the coffee mug and leaned forward, staring at the floor. “I had a client, a young man accused of a serious crime.” He paused, took a breath, and continued. “Armed robbery. Guns were involved—a security guard died.”

“Did your client shoot him?”

He looked up. His eyes had lost their customary sparkle. “No. The main piece of evidence against him was the unusual type of car he drove. It matched the one described by an eyewitness.”

“Circumstantial evidence,” she said, nodding. “I see what you mean. What happened?”

“He’d just turned eighteen, old enough to be tried as an adult, but really just a child.” His voice faltered. “And I messed up,” he said quietly. “He went to jail.”

“For how long?”

“Twenty years.”

That made her gasp. “But I’m sure it wasn’t your fault. You can’t win every case, can you?”

“I could have done better with this one. The worst of it is, before we had a chance to lodge an appeal, he killed himself.”

“Oh my God.” She pressed a hand to the base of her throat. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry I made you talk about it.”

“You didn’t make me. I chose to tell you.”

“Who else knows?”

“Most people around here know I used to be a lawyer, but they won’t tell outsiders. Very few know the details. Only Rose and one other, a close friend.”

The blonde in the pub, she guessed. They’d seemed close. “I can understand why you’d be upset, but you’re not the first lawyer to lose a case. To throw away your career seems…extreme.”

He slouched back into the armchair. “No, that’s not the reason. There’s more to the story. The young man’s name was Shane. After he died, Shane’s father blamed me.” He shrugged. “And fair enough, too.”

“No, it’s not. It wasn’t your fault. You would have fought to get him out again if he’d given you the chance.”

He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “About a week later, as I crossed the road outside the Adelaide courts, a car veered toward me. Shane’s father was driving it.”

The horrifying image filled her mind. “You mean he tried to run you down?”

“Not tried. Succeeded.”

Slowly, she nodded. “Your leg?”

“Oh, you noticed?” He gave her a small smile and rubbed a hand along his thigh. “Yes, my limp is a result of the collision. It’s a good reminder.”

She shook her head. One person dead, one badly injured, and another grieving for his son. All because of a mistake, a coincidence. “I’m so sorry, Dale.”

“Don’t be sorry for me. Save your sorrow for Shane and his father.”

“I still don’t understand why you had to leave your job.”

“Because Shane’s father threatened, both publicly and privately, to finish what he started, and not to stop with me, but to take my family, too.”

His words cut right through her. She had to squash an almost overwhelming urge to hug him. What would he think if she did so? “But isn’t he in prison? Surely he was locked away for what he did to you. Can’t the police do anything?”

He laughed briefly. “No. They tried but couldn’t prove anything, so…”

After a moment, she said, “Maybe you should have gone further away. You could have gone to the Gold Coast, overseas, anywhere. Why here?”

“I already had an attachment to this place.” He shrugged. “When I was a kid my father used to bring me up here every winter, fossicking”—he smiled at her confusion—“prospecting.” He looked off into the distance. “We used to sleep in a tiny dugout—nothing more than a hole big enough for the two of us to crawl into and sleep. Not a bit like this house. We’d spend most daylight hours searching for opal. I used to have a great time. None of the usual restrictions of home. I had a good mate here, Paul. He lived here the whole year round with his father, the lapidary.”

“You got into the job because of him?”

“I enjoyed watching him at work. And he enjoyed passing on his knowledge because Paul didn’t have any interest in learning the skills. It became my hobby, and I continued with it as I got older, even though I no longer came up here except on rare occasions.”

“Paul doesn’t live here now?”

“No. Ironically, he couldn’t wait to move to the city. He’s an accountant.” He rubbed his hands together. “Shall we review what we know about Wally? We know he went out with Chet on the night he disappeared. We think Chet might live in Port Augusta and drive a green and white Kombi van. What else do we know?”

“He’s in a lot of debt.” She told him what she’d found among Wally’s paperwork.

“I wonder where the money went.” He drummed his fingertips on his knee.

“What worries me is the mortgage. It’s not being paid, and if the bank repossesses the property, what happens to Max?”

“Whatever happens, it looks like Max will be the loser in all of this.”

“Yes, Max and my mother, and that makes me angry.” She stood up. “I have to go to work at the pub.”

Dale grinned. “Expect a busy night. I’ve passed the word.”

“Oh, great. I was hoping to ease into it gently.”

…

At nine o’clock that night, Caitlyn dropped into a chair and fanned her face with a paper napkin. The evening rush had been unbelievable. She guessed Dale had a lot to do with bringing people in. He was wasted as a lapidary and even as a lawyer. He should be in sales.

That morning she’d gone through the available ingredients with Brenda and prepared menus to take her through to the next delivery of fresh food. Main courses only. Desserts would have to wait until she could stock up.

Bruce had pulled a face when he’d heard her telling Brenda about her plans. “This is a mining town, love,” he’d drawled. “Your fancy cakes and tarts won’t go down well here.” Then he broke into a smile—the first she’d seen on his face. “On second thought,” he said. “The tarts might.”

Brenda slapped his backside and shoved him out of the kitchen. “Caitlyn, make whatever you like,” she said. “I’ll do the serving and the cleaning up as long as you do the cooking. Now, make a list of the stuff you want and I’ll be sure to order it.”

All evening, Brenda had puffed back and forth, bringing orders and delivering meals. “I don’t understand it,” she said, wiping her forehead with the ever-present cloth. “Where were all these people when I did the cooking? Not that I’m complaining, mind. I don’t know how you do it. I’d be flat out on the floor by now.”

Caitlyn laughed. “I’ve had a good time, actually. Tiring but good. I’d forgotten how much I enjoy cooking basic, honest food instead of trying to outdo all the other restaurants with something outrageously different.”

“By the way,” Brenda said, raising her voice as Bruce hovered in the doorway, “heaps of people asked about dessert, so your idea looks like a real goer.”

“Great.”

“You did good tonight, love,” Bruce said. “But you won’t put any of that poncy food on the menu, will ya?”

“Poncy food?” She glanced at Brenda, who rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, like pan-fried chicken.”

“You don’t like pan-fried chicken?”

“I like to eat it, all right, but just call it chicken. I mean, what the hell else are you going to fry it in—a bloody kettle?”

“Oh, I see. Right.”

“And call chips, chips. Not frigging fries.”

“Gotcha. No frigging fries.”

“And soup’s called soup. Not con-bloody-sommay—”

“For crying out loud,” Brenda cut in. “She gets it.”

“I’ll bear it all in mind, Bruce.” He shuffled out and Caitlyn looked around at the mess.

“Leave all this,” Brenda said. “I’ll clean it up. Off you go. Have a drink. Relax.”

“Thanks. I will.” She removed her messy apron and left it in the kitchen before joining the crowd on the other side of the bar. Steve appeared at her side, handed her a drink, and steered her toward a table. She took a gulp of chilled beer and closed her eyes for a moment to savor it. Then she snapped them open. “I’m surprised you’re still in town. I thought you were just passing through.”

“I decided to hang around for a while.”

“Why?” Not for her, she hoped.

“It’s quiet here. I can think.”

She nodded. “So when will you move on?”

“Soon. You’re a woman of many talents. You can write. You can run a servo. You can cook. What other skills do you have up your sleeve?”