The Secrets that Lie Within (Taylor's Bend, #1)

Chapter 1

Abbie didn’t recognise the dusty, silver car parked on the side of the road a hundred metres from the gate to her house. She slowed and peered at it as she passed by, but couldn’t see anyone among the thick stand of gum trees lining the verge, so she drove on, rattled over the wooden bridge and twenty minutes later, when she reached Taylor’s Bend, it had slipped from her mind, filled as that was by the glorious morning.

If only she could capture the brilliance with paint. She’d driven slowly, taking every chance to steal glances at the surroundings. The air glowed crisp and clear with a crystalline light illuminating the trees, allowing the late spring sunlight to sparkle through leaves silvery in the brightness. Streeton, McCubbin, Roberts and friends had managed it by camping in the bush and painting what they saw around them every day. That’s what she was doing, sort of. Living in her subject, immersing herself, but in a house rather than a tent.

She parked outside Laurie’s General Store-cum-post office-cum-newsagent and went in to collect her mail, replenish grocery stocks and catch up on the week’s worth of gossip. Laurie’s dog, Banjo, lay across the doorway in an untidy black sprawl of legs and tail.

‘G’day boy.’ She bent to tousle his ears and got a few thumps of the shaggy tail on the wooden verandah in acknowledgement.

Footsteps sounded behind her. ‘Morning, Abbie.’

That voice always sent little ripples of pleasure through her and every other woman within earshot. Did he realise just how sexy a deep masculine tone could be? How that, coupled with a slow smile, a full lower lip, a pair of steady brown eyes to go with thick black curly hair which had a mind of its own, all topped off by a uniform, bowled women over like skittles. The general consensus of the Taylor’s Bend female population was no, new cop in town, Senior Constable Rupert Perry, had no idea.

Abbie straightened. If Rupe even noticed the flush in her cheeks he’d attribute it to bending over patting the dog.

‘Hi Rupe. Lovely morning.’

‘Sure is. Everything okay out your way? No trouble with Rita?’

‘No, she’s been quiet lately, thank goodness.’ She hadn’t given her eccentric, rather paranoid neighbour a thought recently but the dusty silver car flashed in and out of her mind. Did he know something about Rita she didn’t? Parking a car there was a bit odd now she thought about it. ‘Why?’

‘No reason to be concerned but there’ve been a few reports of a prowler. Not out your way, though.’

‘What sort of prowler?’

‘Hard to say. No-one’s actually seen whoever it is. Just sets the dogs off at night and someone heard a car drive away. Like I said, nothing for you to worry about.’

There came that slow smile and there went her heart into its own little tango of delight. Idiot. Everyone knew Rupe was too reserved to make a move on any of the eligible ladies in town. Some of the younger blokes reckoned he was gay but unless Abbie’s gaydar was completely on the fritz, Rupe was not that way inclined.

He’d arrived in town six months before she did, which was eight months ago, and had already made a name for himself as a handy spin bowler and reasonable bat on the local cricket team, but he’d opted out of football citing an old knee injury. Abbie had watched him play half the summer season, along with most of Taylor’s Bend. Everyone voted the new cop a good bloke to have around but the women were disappointed they wouldn’t see him in footie shorts over winter.

‘Just doing your job, keeping us safe?’ she asked with a smile to show she wasn’t having a go at him. This prowler sounded a bit vague. Rural police hardly had their hands full with the hardened criminal element. His hours were part-time, community liaison being the major part of his job as far as she could gather. Anything major went through to the regional centre in Wagga, according to the locals.

‘Not much to do around here,’ he said. ‘Apart from the odd traffic infringement or lapsed licence.’

‘Do you find it too quiet?’ Like her, he’d come from Sydney.

‘I grew up in country towns. My dad was a rural policeman,’ he said. ‘The quiet life suits me.’

‘I love it here too, although I grew up in the city.’ This topic was running out of steam fast, but she’d never had such a long conversation with him and he seemed happy to linger. She cast about for something else to say. He beat her to it.

‘Nice and quiet to paint in, I guess,’ he said.

‘Yes, that’s right. And it’s away from … other things. Family, you know?’ He probably didn’t know. He would have grown up in a traditional family in a country town where the community supported and looked out for each other. Suburban city life was something else.

By the look on his face he was frightened she’d begin unloading her personal problems. She sent him a bright smile. ‘Sorry, I’d better let you get on with … whatever.’

He smiled. ‘Nothing, in other words.’

Surprise made her laugh. ‘I wasn’t thinking that, but if you want something to investigate there’s a car parked near the bridge. Between it and my gate. I’ve never seen it before and I didn’t see anyone around. Maybe it’s the prowler.’

‘Doubt it, these types prefer the dark.’ A little crease appeared in his forehead. ‘There’s nothing on that road except your place, Rita’s and Benson’s but they’re nowhere near that track of yours. I’ll take a run out there and have a look.’

‘Do you need to?’

‘Might as well.’

‘When you do, drop in and have a cuppa. I’ll be home in about an hour.’

‘Okay. Thanks. See you later.’ Again the slow smile which cut through her brain like a laser beam and left her speechless.

Abbie stepped over Banjo, who’d gone back to sleep, and went inside wondering if she’d have time to bake something before he turned up. She should have offered him lunch. Depending when he arrived, she still could. Nothing wrong with entertaining a handsome bloke and with this one there was no chance he’d misinterpret friendliness as something more. She wasn’t interested in more and apparently neither was he, but it did the hormones good to fizz once in a while. Hers were out of practice and unlikely to be exercised in the near future, or even the distant future, given the consequences last time.

‘G’day, Abbie. How’s it going?’ Laurie. A full head of silver hair atop an unlined ruddy-cheeked face wearing its usual smile. Nothing bothered him except, occasionally, his knee, also known as ‘my bloody knee’ after he’d been bending and lifting too much.

‘Great, thanks, Laurie. How are you?’

‘Can’t complain.’ He went to the post office section for her mail while Abbie picked up a basket and browsed for milk, bread, cheese and biscuits.

‘Saw you chatting to young Rupe,’ he said.

‘Yes. He mentioned a prowler.’ She took a packet of Gingernut biscuits off the shelf. Young Rupe? Word was he was over forty. Like she was.

‘Yeah, I heard about that. Grant over at Bindubi said the dogs went crazy one night last week. And Jess Harrop next door to him said the same thing a few days later.’

‘But no-one saw anyone.’

‘Nah. Don’t you worry about it. Good-looking fella.’

‘Who? I thought no-one saw the prowler.’ She grinned, teasing. He was back on Rupe. Matchmaking.

He shook his head. ‘Rupe.’

‘What do you know about good-looking fellas?’ She wandered over to the freezer. Was ice cream a good idea? Probably not, she’d never get through a tub.

‘Nothing. Dot reckons he is and she ought to know. She married me.’

Abbie laughed. ‘She’s right on all counts.’

Laurie was nudging eighty-three and Dot was close behind him. Neither showed any signs of giving up the store and if they did, the town wouldn’t be the same. Even though a supermarket operated at the other end of the main street, everyone supported Laurie’s. Hannah, who ran the cafe and was writing a history of the town said, or possibly quoted her manuscript, ‘Laurie and Dot are the glue that holds Taylor’s Bend together. They connect the present with the past and they’re as essential to this place as beer is to the pub.’

For their sixtieth wedding anniversary last month Abbie had given them a small watercolour she’d done of the store, and it hung over the counter in pride of place.

‘No harm in looking,’ she went on. ‘I’m not in the market for a man. I’ve done that.’ It was no secret she was unattached. Why was another matter.

‘Some bloke commented on your picture the other day.’ Laurie put a stack of letters held by a thick red rubber band on the counter. ‘He asked who did it and when I told him he said you were famous and it’d be worth a few bob.’ He squinted at her over his reading glasses. ‘You never told us you were a famous artist.’

‘I’m not.’ Moderately successful more like it.

‘He knew who you were. An Abigail Forrest, he said, and he was impressed, you could tell.’

‘He might have read an article about me. I was in the Sydney paper once. Years ago now.’ Three. Who would recognise her work from that? Her name? More recent reporting? A tiny worm of unease wriggled deep inside. ‘Did you tell him where I lived?’

‘No, love, but he didn’t ask.’ He leaned on the counter. ‘You living out there on your own, you don’t want odd bods turning up, do you?’

‘No, I don’t. Thanks, Laurie.’ Was it chance he came through Taylor’s Bend? Louise at the gallery in Sydney wouldn’t give out any personal information.

‘What did you do that you were in the paper?’

‘Won an art prize. You wouldn’t have heard of it.’ She unloaded the groceries as a not-so-subtle hint. This type of talk had always made her uncomfortable. She didn’t paint to be famous and she only entered that contest because of the generous prize money. Winning was the biggest surprise of her life.

He ignored the growing pile of groceries and looked up at the watercolour with renewed respect. ‘I always liked it but I like it even more now. What do you reckon it’s worth?’

‘I don’t know. Do you want to sell it?’ The disappointment must have seeped through.

His shock was genuine. ‘Of course not, love. This is going to be a family heirloom and the daughters know that. I thought maybe we should insure it.’

‘Oh.’ She smiled. ‘Perhaps around seven hundred. But if you lost it I could paint you another one.’

‘Blimey Charlie! Seven hundred dollars for that little thing? I need to sit down.’

‘Maybe it’s not worth that much. I’m going by what my last exhibition prices were. But it fluctuates a lot depending on what’s popular at the time. Overseas buyers like the bush scenes and they’re a growing market.’

‘Maybe I should take up painting.’ Laurie cackled and began totting up her purchases. No doubt that information would be doing the rounds of the town by lunchtime. Everyone knew she was an artist but now she’d be a world famous, prize-winning artist and the little watercolour would be priceless.

‘I’m expecting a delivery of paints soon, Laurie. I thought it might have been here already. Would you mind giving me a call when it arrives and I’ll come in and collect it?’

‘No worries, love. Thirty-three dollars ninety-five.’

Next, Abbie stopped by the library and swapped her books. The choice was limited but her TV reception was basic and her neighbours, the Bensons, said internet was so slow and erratic as to be non-existent so she didn’t bother trying for a connection. She had a landline phone but had to walk up the hill behind the house or drive a couple of kilometres towards town to use her mobile. Her house sat in a communications shadow apparently, which suited her just fine. She’d always loved reading, and the library stocked titles and authors she’d never have thought to pick up otherwise. And she had a good supply of movies. A quick stop at the supermarket to stock up on the meat, fruit and vegetables Laurie didn’t provide and she was on her way.

The silver car had gone when Abbie drove by. Would Rupe bother coming in? He might think she’d invented it as an excuse to bring him out her way. Would he think that? No, he couldn’t possibly. She didn’t act like a desperate spinster, did she?

That was the trouble with a country town, everyone knew everything and everyone speculated. Abbie had decided the best plan was to be friendly, join communal activities but only release as much as information as was needed so as not to sound secretive or mysterious. Joining the female population in admiring the new policeman was part of belonging but was no hardship. Having tea with him would score her a few points in the ‘making headway with Rupe’ tally. Who knows? She might glean a little more information from him to add to the pool when the Taylor’s Bend Book Club convened on Thursday evening.

The silver car was parked in front of her house.

Frowning, Abbie drove into the shed she used as a garage. She wasn’t expecting visitors. Laden with groceries, handbag and book bag, she headed for the house. The worm of unease returned with a vengeance, morphing into full-blown apprehension. Had this person gone inside? She never locked the door. No-one did out here. Why would a stranger enter her house? Which of the few friends or relatives who knew her address would visit without calling first? None. Who else would turn up? Someone who knew Callum, knew what he’d done …

A reporter?

The prowler? Not in broad daylight according to Rupe. Not much comfort.

Abbie stopped short of the verandah steps. The quiet was unnerving now, emphasising how isolated she was, how alone. She should get a dog. Should have accepted when the Bensons offered her a pup when their dog had three. What if there was more than one person in there?

‘Hello?’ she called. ‘Who’s there?’ Her voice sound thin and quavery in the vast openness of the yard. A magpie chortled nearby, startling her with the sudden intrusion of sound.

She put the bags of groceries and books on the bottom step but hung onto her handbag. The car was a few metres away, filthy with dust and mud, doors closed, windows up. She strode across and opened the driver’s door. Nothing. No personal items, not even a discarded takeaway coffee cup. No key in the ignition. The back seat was equally empty. A rental?

She closed the door quietly and retreated towards the house, her angle of approach allowing her for the first time to see the front door inside the screen. Wide open. She’d left it unlocked but closed. She always did, and she had this time too. For sure.

Was someone in there, watching? Waiting for her to come in? The hair prickled on her neck. The bubble of apprehension burst into an overwhelming fear and she sprinted for her car, heart thudding, fumbling in her bag for the keys.

She backed out and spun the car in a swirl of dust before hurtling down the track. Just before she crested the rise that would block the house from sight, she looked in the rear-view mirror; but through the murky cloud of dust the silver car remained alone and abandoned, her home still and silent.

She slowed to make the turn onto the road, swallowing the panic as her heart rate subsided to something more normal. No-one was following. The silver car hadn’t moved, no-one had come out of the house and they must have heard her arrive and leave if they’d been inside.

Was she being a complete panic artist? A crazy little laugh burbled up at the unintentional pun. Where was she going, anyway? The Benson’s house was the other way, to the right out her gate. Rita’s track was this way but she’d never go there for help. She was heading towards the main road and town. The spot where the car had been parked earlier shot by. Another kilometre and she’d be in mobile range. Should she call Rupe? Yes, but this wasn’t a triple-O emergency and she had no idea what his number would be. He said he’d come out and she’d said give her an hour.

She looked at the dashboard clock. That hour had just ticked over. If she went all the way to town she might miss him if he’d gone somewhere else first. If she drove really slowly to the intersection with the main road they should meet. Then, if he hadn’t come along she’d wait at that corner until he turned up.

This brilliant plan would also give her an escape route if the silver car did appear. She’d see it coming before it got to the intersection and she could hightail it into town.

The central locking gave a reassuringly solid click when she pressed the button.

***

Rupe finished his walk down the main street before strolling back the to the station house via Hannah’s Tasty Bites Cafe for a cold drink and a chat. The exchange with Abbie lingered in his mind. There was something otherworldly—no, that wasn’t right, something serene and detached about her even when she was engaging in a friendly conversation. Probably thinking about her art all the time. Observing. That unusual copper-coloured hair was very striking. Natural?

He admired the mass of buds on the roses that lined the path to the door of the station house and made a mental note to pull a few weeds from the bed along the front next time he donned the gardening gloves. Caring for the small garden at the front of the old redbrick building was an enjoyable part of living on the premises.

The police station occupied the front two rooms and the officer’s quarters, suitable for a family, were at the rear. The back garden had space for vegetables and a couple of neglected fruit trees. The last incumbent wasn’t a gardener and in his off time headed as fast as he could for the big smoke of Wagga where he cultivated a girlfriend instead, according to local gossip.

Inside, seated at his desk, Rupe did a search for stolen vehicles. Not that there was any evidence that it was stolen. Abby hadn’t mentioned the make, the plates or whether it came from interstate, but he did Australia-wide and came up with quite a few possibilities. Silver was a common colour in sedans. When he’d had a look at the vehicle he’d narrow it down. Chances were high the car would have gone by now. Probably someone stopped for a piss. They could even have been asleep on the back seat. Still, he’d drive out and have a look.

Abbie was an intriguing woman, friendly, but he had the sense she was holding something back, not sharing all she could. People would be saying the same about him, he knew. When word got round she was an artist, he’d done some online research and found an article and photo of her with the painting she’d won a prize for in an Australian landscape competition. Bloody good it was too. Somehow she’d managed to capture the essence of the trees and the light. A bit like those Heidelberg School artists but she had her own style.

Benita had dragged him along to galleries when they first met but it hadn’t taken long for him to be as interested as she was. Benita … she’d like Abbie, like that there was someone in this town who knew about art on a deeper level than the norm.

No good thinking about her. Rupe shut the computer down and thrust the chair back. He’d worked hard to blot out the memories and the pain and he wasn’t going to let it all seep back in. Concentrate on now. He could head out to Abbie’s and stop off at Gustafson’s on the way to collect that old shotgun Nils wanted to surrender.

‘Don’t want any of the grandchildren blasting someone’s head off,’ he’d said when he stopped Rupe in the street to ask what to do with it. ‘Not worth selling.’ If only other people were as fastidious about turning in their unwanted firearms and cartridges.

Rupe didn’t hurry on the drive and Nils was always ready for a chat, so it was close to an hour and a half after he’d seen Abbie when the sign to Benson’s Vineyard appeared and he slowed for the turn off the main road. Wasn’t that Abbie’s car? What was she doing parked there? Broken down?

He pulled up beside her, but before he could open his door she burst out of the Toyota as if she’d been held in there by a springloaded catapult. She was smiling but it was forced and when she spoke her voice shook. Gone was that habitual air of calm detachment he associated with her.

‘Thank god. I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.’

This wasn’t the woman who’d gently teased him about his workload and casually invited him for a cuppa.

‘What is it?’ He stepped forward and placed a steadying hand on her arm. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, I’m fine. I’m just … it’s stupid. You’ll laugh and think I’m mad when I tell you …’

Her eyes were dark blue; he’d never noticed before. ‘Just tell me, Abbie.’ He smiled and it seemed to calm her because she took a deep breath.

‘That car I told you about?’ He nodded. ‘When I came home it wasn’t where it was parked earlier, it was in front of my house.’

‘Who was it? Someone you know?’

‘I don’t know. I’d closed the front door when I left, not locked but definitely shut, and now it’s open. It made me scared. Too scared to go inside. I had the feeling someone was watching me. I ran for the car and here I am. Waiting for you.’

‘Okay. So as far as you know it’s still there.’ Why would she be so scared? Abbie didn’t strike him as a woman prone to panic. Physically she looked fragile, like one of those models who needed a good feed, but that was deceptive. She’d chosen to live alone on a fairly isolated piece of land and seemed happy with her choice; that took a certain amount of independence and strength. Even courage, although the area was far safer than the city when it came to crime.

‘Yes, it hasn’t come out this way. I don’t know where the road ends up.’

‘In the hills somewhere. I don’t think it joins another road and there’s certainly no-one living out there except the Bensons. You follow me in. Or would you rather come in the patrol car?’

‘I’ll follow you. I’m feeling stupid now. Is it the prowler?’

‘Doubt it. Don’t feel stupid.’ She turned to get into her car but he asked, ‘Abbie, is there someone you think it might be? Someone you don’t want to see?’

She shook her head.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

Abbie drove behind the patrol car, leaving enough of a gap so as not to be blinded by dust. She’d never seen Rupe in police mode before but as she told him what had happened, his manner altered subtly. He didn’t laugh or scoff, she hadn’t really expected him to, but he radiated calm authority in a way that made her trust him implicitly. The touch of his fingers on her arm had instantly steadied her and brought her back to a semblance of her normal self. Or at least the self she’d become since she settled in Taylor’s Bend. She didn’t know what her real self was anymore.

Rupe slowed for the turn into her driveway. Rough after winter. Tim Benson said she needed to get a grader out here and a load of gravel to fill the potholes. How much would that cost? The track was wide enough for one car with a ridge of grass between two tyre tracks. It wound between tall gums, went down a slight dip then up and over a rise to emerge from the trees twenty metres from the house.

The silver car had gone.

Rupe parked. Abbie pulled into the garage and went to join him, dreading what he would say or worse still, be thinking.

‘It’s gone,’ she said. How stupid was that comment?

‘Where was it parked?’ His expression hadn’t altered. Hands on hips he stared around, taking in the driveway, the wide cleared area, the house, overgrown garden with its leggy roses and shrubs bursting with spring growth, the sheds and the surrounding trees.

‘Just in front of where your car is.’

Rupe walked across and squatted down, studying the dusty ground and the scrubby grass. ‘Do you ever park here?’

‘No, and no-one’s visited for a while.’

He stood up. ‘I’ll have a look around. You go in and put the kettle on.’ He flashed her a smile which faded as quickly as it appeared.

‘Rupe, do you believe me?’

‘Yes.’ He held her gaze for a moment. ‘Of course, I do.’

Abbie nodded and, conscious of fast-reddening cheeks, turned towards the house, senses overloaded by a pair of cool, assessing, brown eyes.

Good god. She’d totally forgotten her shopping, dumped on the bottom step when she ran. She’d better get that milk into the fridge. But where … She had left it behind, hadn’t she? The bottom step was bare. No green grocery bags, no cream cotton library bag.

‘My shopping.’

Rupe, halfway across to her garage, stopped. ‘What?’

‘My shopping’s gone. I left it on the bottom step and now it’s not there.’

In an instant he was heading for the steps. ‘Stay by my car,’ he said tersely as he passed her.

By the time Abbie retreated the few paces to the cruiser, he’d disappeared inside. With her eyes fixed on the open front door, she didn’t realise she’d been holding her breath until he came around the side of the house brushing aside the lilac bushes, which were just beginning to flower in a scented profusion of purple and white. The exhalation left her leaning against the car, sucking in air, weak with relief.

‘There’s no sign of anyone,’ he said. ‘Come in and see if anything’s missing.’

Abbie licked dry lips. ‘I’m not sure …’

‘It looks fine to me,’ he said. ‘Come on.’ He took her arm and led her into the house.

He was right. Nothing had been touched in the living room that she could see. Not that there was much in there; just a couch and a couple of arm chairs, two bookshelves crammed with novels and art-related books, and a coffee table. She hardly ever used it.

Across the hall in her bedroom a quick look showed nothing had been disturbed, and the same went for the two spare bedrooms, the bathroom and the smaller room she used as an office. At the back of the house lay the kitchen and the adjoining large, light-filled room she painted in.

‘Rupe, I’m feeling like the world’s biggest idiot,’ she said as they went down the hallway to the kitchen. ‘Perhaps the person knocked and