Forest Secrets (18 page)

We found Blowhard dangling by one arm from a low-hanging tree branch. We stood and stared. His feet were swirling and treading air like he was riding a bike and his other arm was waving and twirling in the air as though searching for something to hold on to. He was also screeching at the top of his voice. ‘Help! Help!' he was calling out. ‘It's Mamu! He's come to get me!'

And at the base of the tree, head in the air and pawing at Blowhard's windmilling feet and legs was Charlie, the big black possum. In the confusion, Blowhard and Charlie had changed places.

We all burst out laughing; even the sergeant was laughing. The two journalists were nearly crying, and the ABC television crew, who'd come over to see what the ruckus was all about, were in fits, and looking on with a bemused look on his face and head cocked to one side, was Shadow. His early training as a ranger's dog had taught him to leave the wild animals alone when he came across them in their natural habitat. But how long that would last in this situation, I didn't know. From where I was standing I could see a nervous alertness creeping into his eyes, and his tail was thumping the ground. Maybe he was thinking he'd been patient long enough. I waved a finger in his direction. He understood. Instead of reacting to the possum, he slunk over until he was beneath Blowhard's windmilling legs and then, still looking bemused, he looked up at the strange man swinging from the tree by one arm … and barked.

I thought it was time to call a halt to the madness. I must admit that I was feeling a little guilty laughing at Blowhard's dilemma, but the truth was we couldn't help it. Snook must have thought so, too. So, with Blowhard yelling at the top of his voice to get him down, and amongst flailing limbs, Snook walked over to help him out. While he was doing that, I shooed the possum away. ‘Go home, Charlie,' I said, ‘and stop scaring the poor man.'

Charlie scampered into the bush, his big black tail bouncing in the air behind him, and Blowhard, panting for breath, let go of the branch and fell to the ground.

Lying on the grass and looking up at all of our faces, Blowhard started to blather, ‘It caught me by surprise. It was Mamu … the evil spirit… he nearly got me.'

Snook and I exchanged glances and then shook our heads. We watched as Blowhard leaped to his feet, scrambled out of the scrub and raced back along the track at the side of the lagoon … still jabbering, still blathering. Afterwards we walked back to all the others, who were still standing among the trees inside Constable Sweetman's barrier tape.

‘Y
ou should have been there, Sam. It was unbelievable, wasn't it, Jars?'

Although closed for business due to the Monday public holiday, Sam had opened up for Snook and me. We had some photos that needed processing. ‘Okay,' Sam said. ‘Tell me, what was so unbelievable?'

‘Findin' the remains of Aaron Cooper and Lucy Kemp was pretty amazin',' Snook said. ‘Discoverin' the bones of a dinosaur was too; that was unbelievable, and that Blowhard fella was out of this world. Things kept happenin' to him; he wuz a real pest, he wuz. He kept interruptin' my photo takin'.'

Sam asked Jars, ‘How about you? Did you get any shots?

‘Oh, I got a few.' She handed him the camera. ‘Thanks for the loan. It worked really well.'

Snook jumped up and sat on the counter. ‘Everythin' worked out real good in the end, didn't it?'

‘Yes,' I said. ‘The professor rang us this afternoon to tell us that it has been confirmed; the dinosaur bones once belonged to a rhotosaurus. The professor also said he would be at the presentations tonight.'

‘Sounds like an interesting couple of days were had by all,' Sam said. ‘There's no doubt about you two, though. You always seem to end up where the actions at.' Chuckling to himself, he added, ‘But now I'd better go and process these photos. Will you come back for them or do you want me to give them to the judges?'

‘We'll leave them in your hands, Sam,' I said, after a quick nod of confirmation from Snook. ‘Not that they've got much chance of winning anything.'

‘You never know,' Sam said, as he disappeared into a back-room. ‘You never know.'

I
t was Monday evening, when the winners of the photo-graphic competition would be announced at the presentation evening in the Cray Bay Hall. Snook and I were already there, sitting in a couple of seats at the back of the hall. We'd left Shadow at home; the occasion wouldn't have suited him. All of the other chairs in the hall had been stacked away. Apparently it was a standing room only evening.

Snook's dad, for once not smelling of fish, and Snook's mum were among the crowd somewhere. His mum had really dressed up for the occasion. She'd put on her favourite grey tailored suit with a lime-green blouse and a matching purse and shoes; she'd looked a treat when I saw her earlier. I think she was kind of pleased with us and wanted to do us proud. Maybe Uncle Jim felt the same way; he'd dressed up, too, in his best shirt and tie.

Quenton wasn't there though and I can't say I blame him. Apparently his you-beaut camera with all it bells and whistles hadn't taken any photos in the end; he'd got the settings mixed up. I can't help feeling sorry for him sometimes, but I guess he brings it on himself.

The crowd was just starting to arrive when we got there; most were standing around in groups talking among themselves, waiting for the presentations to begin. As usual, the Country Women's Association ladies were doing the evening proud. They'd placed the long trellis supper table in the middle of the hall which they were now filling with all sorts of goodies – cakes, mini-sandwiches and homemade biscuits and several cream cakes. Little pies and sausages rolls were being heated up in the kitchen, and at each end of the table, were knitted baby clothes for sale. The CWA were renowned for their giving to charities.

A handful of locals, acting as officials for the night, were racing around pinning up photo displays on the front wall. On the stage, one of the local fishermen, Jed Turner, with his jacket off and sleeves rolled up, was busy setting up a microphone and lectern.

As soon as Snook and I sat down, Snook took off his jacket and plonked it on the seat next to him. ‘For Gloria,' he explained. ‘She said she was comin'. Her dad's gonna be here too. I hope he doesn't talk to me like he usually does and I hope he doesn't want me to still go for that doctor's visit like he said before.'

‘I don't think he will,' I tried to assure him. ‘Not after today. I think that finding all those bones might have put us in the clear. He'll know now that we're not completely loopy after all.' I pulled at his sleeve. ‘Here he comes now. He's got Gloria with him and look, Mr and Mrs Cooper are with him too.'

Snook snatched his jacket from the seat just before Gloria ran over to sit down. Good, I thought, the romance is still going strong. After saying ‘Hi', we all watched as her dad helped the Coopers over to the seats next to us.

‘Hello again, young man … young lady,' Mrs Cooper said, not bothering with the seats but hanging onto her husband's arm and walking stick instead. ‘Harry and I have something to say to you two.' She waved the stick in front of our noses. ‘We want to say thank you. You have made two old people very happy. You found Aaron while all the authorities could not.' Old Mrs Cooper's gaze focussed on me. ‘You're someone very special, young lady. I've known it from the start … you have the vision.' I immediately felt my face start to burn.

‘Yes, yes,' her husband said, trying to get her to sit down. ‘Knowing what happened to our son has been a tremendous relief. Doctor Huntingdale has made it all very clear to us what actually happened to Aaron, but there's one thing that puzzles me. You told him that our son fell off the cliff and ended up in the river and that he was washed downstream to the lagoon? How could you possibly know that?'

Still feeling flushed after Mrs Cooper's kind words, it was a few moments before I could focus on what her husband was saying. Finally gathering my thoughts and taking care not to tell him about my suspicions – that he was pushed – I tried to answer his question. But it wasn't
my
words that came from my tongue … they were my mother's:

La Doowi

Tjukuritjana nyangu.

Aaronkanu kurunpana nyangu, kalinya tjakultjunu.

Seeing the look of astonishment on Mr Cooper's face at my sudden flourish into Pitjantjatjara, I hurried to explain. ‘Snook and I had a vision of The Dreaming, Mr Cooper. We could see Aaron's spirit. He walked beside us and he told us what happened to him, how he'd gone missing.'

Harry Cooper looked at his wife who was dabbing her eyes with a tissue. He gave her a hug. ‘I guess that says it all, Marge. If the lass says that she and Snook saw Aaron, then that's good enough for me. Fair enough?'

Marge looked up at her husband, nodded slightly and then turned to us. ‘Thanks again, you two,' she said, her voice trembling, ‘for putting our minds at rest.'

I smiled when I heard that and I also smiled when I saw Gloria rub the back of Snook's hand. I kind of hoped Snook would respond in some appropriate way, but in typical fashion, he said, ‘They're puttin' the photos out for display. Wanna have a look?' Not waiting for a reply, he stood up and then pushed his way through the crowd to the front of the hall. Sighing at Snook's impatience, and after excusing ourselves to the Coopers and Gloria's father, we followed him.

‘Strewth,' Snook said when Gloria and I caught up with him. ‘Look at 'em all. There're mobs of 'em.'

There were definitely mobs – close to fifty or sixty displays, I'd say.

‘What do you reckon?' Snook asked. ‘Do you think we've got a chance against all of these?'

‘I don't know,' I said. ‘By the look of it, there are a lot of professional-looking prints. They'll take some beating.' Walking along, looking at the displays, I said, ‘There're landscapes, wild animals, birds, the different characters who live around here …' I turned and looked at Snook. ‘I wouldn't hold out too much hope of us winning.'

Gloria, who'd been standing back listening, asked, ‘Isn't that the judges over there at the other side of the hall? It looks like they're pinning ribbons onto some of the entries. Let's go look.'

We wended our way through the crowd until we came to the displays with the ribbons. Each of those, we saw, had won an award and below each was a sticker showing why they had been chosen. I read some of them aloud:

‘Birds in flight' - For meritorious effort.

‘Dolphins at play' – For an outstanding depiction of wildlife.

‘Sam in his shop' – The clutter prize.

‘Huh,' Snook mumbled. ‘None of ours are there, eh?'

‘I can't see any,' I agreed. ‘In fact, I don't think any of ours have even been put up. They probably weren't good enough.'

‘Probably not,' Snook said, sounding disappointed. His let down was soon forgotten, however. He nudged me in the ribs. ‘Look,' he said. ‘Over there, near the judges.'

Following Snook's line of sight, I saw what had caught his attention. It was none other than Mr Reginald Blowhard, looking at the various displays.

Seeing him cruising around, made me think he'd entered the competition after all, that he might even have won a prize, but then again, judging from his long face, I changed my mind. Deciding to let bygones be bygones, we wandered over.

‘Hi,' Snook said. ‘We didn't think you'd be comin' tonight.'

‘Humph, you lot again. So far you've brought me nothing but bad luck, and by the looks of it, you've done it again. Look at my beautiful photos over there.' He pointed to one of the displays. ‘Those idiots of judges haven't even me a meritorious ribbon.'

We strolled over to look at Blowhard's efforts. Snook was the first to react. A sound like a choking chicken burst from his lips and he doubled over. ‘Are you okay?' Gloria asked, frowning and patting him on the back.'

‘He's okay,' I whispered. ‘He's trying not to laugh out aloud, that's all.' We looked at Blowhard's efforts and then looked at each other. I couldn't blame Snook for going into what looked like a choking fit. You could only laugh at Blowhard's display. One photo showed a bird swimming in the lagoon, too far away to tell what species it was. Another exposure was of a wildflower, very nicely framed except that it was Ragwort, a despised toxic weed to stock. And in another, a half wallaby – the last half – seemed to be escaping from something or someone as it ran through the bush. And so it went on.

I thought I'd better say something about Blowhard's efforts before Snook did. ‘Oh well, Mr Blowhard,' I said in my most diplomatic voice, ‘at least your photos are on display. Ours are nowhere to be seen.'