Blood Feud (5 page)

“Of course, Mrs Villiers,” I said immediately and moved to open the hatch in the counter for her. “Come through to the back. You can ring from here right now.”

My willingness to assist threw her for a moment.

“I am serious, Senior Constable. I’m going to ring the Superintendent to complain about your irresponsible behaviour and Sergeant Maguire’s complete inability to control you.”

I resolutely kept my eyes to the front, not wishing to see whether or not the Sarge was nodding in enthusiastic agreement at that observation.

“Come right through, Mrs Villiers,” I insisted. She moved towards the hatch. “However . . .”

She stopped. “What?”

I gave her my most innocent face. “I was just wondering if you wanted to settle the matter of your traffic infringements before or after you ring the Super?” And I reached under the counter to pull out an infringement notice pad.

Her face grew guarded. “What do you mean?”

I made a show of opening the pad to a fresh page and searching for a pen. “Failure to come to a complete stop at a stop sign. Talking on a mobile phone while driving. Failure to drive in a safe manner. Failure to give way to an emergency vehicle clearly showing its lights and siren.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” she blustered. “It was
your
fault I crashed, not mine.”

I shrugged regretfully and picked out a pen from under the counter. “Pulling out in front of me without looking made me swerve dangerously, risking our lives, your life and that of the driver of an oncoming utility vehicle.”

She stared at me in fury, her nostrils flaring.

“Brett Cusack,” I added helpfully.

Her livid glance flicked from me to the infringement pad to the Sarge and back to me. She knew she’d been outplayed. Council elections were coming up next month and for the first time she had a serious competitor for the well-remunerated and reasonably cushy councillor job she’d held for over twenty years. She couldn’t risk the bad publicity of being booked with multiple traffic offences so close to polling day.

Her challenger, Teddy Caravani, and his partner, Lee, had purchased a large block of land from Dad and me about three months ago and were currently building their dream retirement home on it. The recreational fishing available at Big Town and Lake Big enticed them here from the city as they were keen anglers.

When they arrived in town, we discovered two very interesting facts about Teddy and Lee. The first fact was that Lee was also a man, something the townsfolk discussed breathlessly non-stop for about a month. The second fact was that they were social activists and on the opposite side of the political divide to Mrs Villiers, a proud, diehard conservative. Spouting a strong belief in grassroots politics, Teddy decided to throw his hat in the ring and run against Mrs Villiers, hoping to bring a bit of fresh blood to the Council.

The excited stir that caused amongst the townsfolk was almost as huge as the one created by their half-built home. Everyone whispered behind their hands and took unnecessary detours to walk or drive down Silky Oak Street to marvel at the mansion-sized house as it rose from the ground. Its ultra-modern curves and interesting use of glass, tin and timber was the talk of the town.

There hadn’t been a new structure built in Little Town since the terrible bushfires of 1933, when half the town burnt to the ground. That was if you didn’t count my state-of-the-art chicken coop, an overly-generous gift from the Sarge. It replaced the coop destroyed by Jake’s older brother and jailbird, Red Bycraft. He’d smashed my old coop into a million pieces some months ago when I didn’t have two coins to rub together to replace it. Dad’s and my financial position had improved since we’d sold the land to Teddy and Lee, but that money was fast being drained by Dad’s medical bills and the endless cash pit of maintenance on our old timber home. Judging by my last reluctant online look at our bank account and the avalanche of bills waiting to be paid, it wouldn’t be long before our finances verged on perilous yet again.

Mrs Villiers and I faced off for a tense minute, but she was a woman who knew when she was beaten. She snatched her handbag off the counter, shot me a dirty look and left, head held high with self-righteous umbrage. Unfortunately, her haughty exit was blocked by the simultaneous arrival of Joanna with a mail delivery.

They pulled up short with sharp intakes of breath when they spotted each other, cherry-coloured spots instantly blazing on their cheeks, horrified expressions stamped on their faces. It was social embarrassment and a woman’s worst nightmare – they each wore the same outfit in the same colour.

The Sarge made a strategic retreat, his hand clamped over his mouth, but I watched on with amused fascination, leaning my elbows casually on the counter. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.

“I had this outfit custom-made for me! How
dare
you mock me by wearing that cheap replica?” Mrs Villiers accused, ship-brow bosom quivering in anger.

Joanna looked her up and down disparagingly. “You mock yourself wearing something so clingy with an arse that huge, honey.”

Mrs Villiers gasped in outrage. “Well, at least this colour flatters me. It makes
you
look like you’re seasick.”

It was Joanna’s turn to be indignant. “It does not! Mark told me it made my skin glow.”

Mark was Joanna’s husband and their marriage was strong and loving, but I had to agree with Mrs Villiers – he’d been too kind to his wife. Pale green really wasn’t Joanna’s colour.

“Oh, it makes your skin glow all right – like nuclear waste,” Mrs Villiers said nastily, only to have Joanna hit out at her with a handful of our mail. It bounced off her helmet hair harmlessly, but riled her up. She swung out at Joanna with her handbag, whacking her on her broad muscled shoulder with all the impact of an ant bouncing on a trampoline.

I spoke up in my cop voice. “Oi, you two! This is going to stop right now.” Not that it had even started. Identical expressions of shame settled on their faces. “Got it? No brawling in my station. If you want to catfight, you can go somewhere else to do it. I understand that outside the pub on a Friday night is quite popular, especially with the Bycraft women.”

They were decent citizens, both thinking of themselves as ladies and were highly affronted by any allegation that they’d ever resort to scragging in public. They drew themselves up, brushed off their respective twinsets as if they’d been rolling around in a dustbowl. They crossed paths, eyeballing each other with unconcealed loathing as they did. I knew one person who’d be voting for Teddy Caravani in this town.

Mrs Villiers left, but Joanna lingered for a while, complaining to me about her for five solid minutes, before making moves to leave as well to continue her rounds. She paused at the door.

“Tessie, I almost forgot to mention. You might just like to go and check on Miss Greville. The mail I delivered to her late last week is still sitting in her mailbox.”

“Oh, okay. She’s probably gone to Big Town for a while. I’ll take a spin over there this afternoon. Have to track down the owner of a stolen car first.”

Joanna shook her head in disgust. “Those bloody Bycrafts. Someone should do something about them.”

I laughed. “The Sarge and I try, believe me.”

Joanna’s cheeks reddened. “Oh sorry, Tess. Didn’t mean to imply . . .”

I waved away her concerns and she hastily left. I took advantage of the temporary lull to ring Brett Cusack. He answered straight away, in the middle of a break from his busy day as a farmer. His younger sister, Caroline, had been in my grade at school and he’d been a few years ahead of us. We’d all run around together when we were young and because they were friendly, loyal kids and hadn’t been Bycrafts, I was very fond of both of them. He was one of the nicest people I knew.

Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t angry at me for nearly side-swiping him this morning and not just because he was such a nice guy, but also because I’d been instrumental in bringing him back together with his true love, herb and flower farmer, Liz Lavering. They were now engaged, due to be married in a few weeks and I looked forward to Lizzie’s hen’s party this Sunday night. The Sarge was rostered on-call, Jake was on duty, Dad was at his girlfriend’s place, Kevin would have returned to the police academy and I was free to be free. I wasn’t presented often with opportunities to let my hair down.

I offered humble and sincere apologies to Brett, which he accepted good-naturedly, not bothered in the slightest by the near encounter. He laughed when I told him about the showdown with Mrs Villiers whom he’d chivalrously stopped to help after I flew through town. But taking advantage of my regret, he made me promise to look after Lizzie at the hen’s party because she wasn’t much of a drinker and he was concerned about her safety. I felt obliged to agree, but the evening I’d been looking forward to so much was ruined before it had even happened. It appeared that my hair would be staying up, after all.

“Sure I will, Brett,” I heard myself saying. What else could I say? Of course I’d ensure Lizzie arrived home safely. It was the least I could do after nearly killing her beloved in a Bycraft-chasing frenzy.

Depressed, I returned to the back room and threw myself into my chair.

The Sarge looked up from typing. “What’s up?”

“I have to be sensible,” I grumbled, reactivating my computer.

He bit his tongue and tried mightily not to smile. “In what possible way is anyone expecting
you
to be sensible?”

I poked out my tongue at him and waited for the computer to respond. “With Liz’s hen’s party on Sunday. I promised to get the bride-to-be home safely.”

The log-on screen came up and I entered my username and password, staring intently at the screen as it went through its startup. I wanted to jump on the motor vehicle registration database to track down the owner of the red Commodore. They’d be frantic about getting their car back.

The Sarge threw a screwed-up piece of paper at my head to get my attention. Irritated, I looked over. “I’m on-call this weekend, remember? I’ll look after her. And you. All of you. I’ll make sure you all get home safely.”

I swung my chair in his direction. “Really? Do you mean that? I’d love the chance to just be one of the girls for once.”

His face was expressionless, but his eyes grew darker. “Of course. It’s the least I can do.”

“Thanks so much, Sarge!” I smiled at him. It didn’t take much to make me happy.

He turned back to his computer, his jaw set. “Like I said, it’s the least I can do. You’ve covered me a lot lately.”

That was true. I
had
covered him a lot in the last few months as he trotted back and forth to the city. I’d been on-call for four out of the last five weekends. They hadn’t been quiet weekends either, with minor car accidents, two lost bushwalkers, a barn fire, drunken brawling in the street between some Bycraft cousins, a couple of ugly domestics and a stolen sheep keeping me flat out. I needed a break.

“Any progress on that front?” I asked carefully. Melissa and he had been engaged for a couple of years now and he remained touchy about any questions on whether or not they’d managed to agree on a wedding date yet. Our friendship didn’t stop him from snapping my head off whenever he thought I was prying too much into his relationship.

“Possibly,” he replied, his tone cautious, keeping his eyes firmly on his computer screen.

I waited a few seconds to see if he’d elaborate any further on that tantalisingly enigmatic comment. When he stayed silent, I took the hint, instead inviting Kevin to sit next to me so I could show him the motor vehicle database. He didn’t have far to drag his chair as he’d been forced to sit on one of the visitor’s chairs at the end of my desk, the station’s space and furniture embarrassingly limited.

I showed Kevin the steps to tracing the owner of the red Commodore and let him listen in on my phone conversation with the relieved and grateful owner. Without stating it outright, I hinted it would be best if she arranged to collect her car as soon as possible. Whatever weakness in its security system allowing Chad to steal it in the first place would surely enable him to steal it a second time as well.

“What . . . Shouldn’t we . . . I mean . . . locals . . . Arrest . . .?” Kevin asked. I’d hoped that being in closer proximity to me would help him relax. But if anything, he seemed even more uncomfortable, tugging at his collar, swallowing noisily, his skin a mottled red. In fact, he appeared so tense and stiff, I was afraid he might snap in two with the slightest pressure.

“Are you asking why haven’t we visited those teens and arrested them?”

Kevin nodded, his eyes darting over to the Sarge as if desperately begging for help. I was beginning to become a little offended over his reaction to me. I didn’t think I was that terrifying, particularly as I was actually trying to be nice to him.

“There are two reasons why we’re not, Kevin. The first one is that we’ll never find them. The Bycrafts have a primitive, but effective, warning system. Those kids will disappear into thin air the second we pull up outside their houses and their mothers will lie blatantly to our faces that they haven’t seen them all day. And the second reason is this . . .” I slid out one of my desk drawers and took out a photo album, handing it to him. “Go on, Kevin. You identify the Bycraft teen driving that stolen car.”

Puzzled, he opened the album to be met with page after page of photos of the Bycrafts. Over the last few months, it had become almost an obsession of mine to collect a snap of every Bycraft family member for this very specialised album. The Bycrafts hadn’t exactly been cooperative, but using one of the Sarge’s expensive cameras with its zoom lens, I’d been able to capture all of them not currently in jail. I hadn’t hidden what I was doing, taking the photos openly, even if from a distance. And where I hadn’t been able to take a photo, I’d used mug shots to fill in the gaps. Needless to say, in a large percentage of the photos, the middle fingers of the subjects were firmly extended upwards in my direction. I’d deleted all the exposed buttock shots.