Forbidden Fruit (2 page)

‘What’d they do before digital photography?’ asked Quinn, watching a policeman straddle the gravesite with an elaborate camera. ‘I mean, like, they’ve taken hundreds of shots already! That must have cost a fortune when they had to develop film.’

‘They were probably a little more circumspect in those days.’ I picked up my coffee mug and gazed into it hopefully, but it was still empty.

We were all sitting upstairs on Quinn’s veranda, mainly because of the view. After the police had finished with the preliminaries (‘You did
what
?’), they strung a rectangle of sky-blue tarpaulin partway across the backyard, just beyond the decking, neatly segregating the action from ground-level curiosity. An angled view was still possible from the sliding door but it necessitated plastering one’s body against the glass and swivelling one’s eyes like a gecko. This had several distinct disadvantages, not least being the ensuing headache. It seemed a lot more user-friendly, and civilised, to traipse upstairs and take advantage of a panoramic view.

I had half hoped that an initial investigation would have produced just dismissive laughter. ‘Oh, don’t you worry about them bones, Ms Forrest, they’re from them pygmy chimprangatans that used to frequent these parts way back when. Why, every yard’s got a few of those.’ Unfortunately, this was not the case. Instead, within an hour the backyard was literally crawling with police. They even removed a large section of the side fence, allowing easy access from the gravelled expanse beside my new home. Given our local police station had only limited staff, I had to assume that most of those in attendance had made the trip from Bendigo, about half an hour away. I glanced into my mug again and sighed.

‘Are you going to make more coffee?’ asked my sister Petra, who had joined us after being alerted by a Facebook update from one of her nieces. She was currently at a loose end, a property renovator who was between properties. From a purely selfish perspective, this had been invaluable during my own renovations, but was now beginning to wear a little thin.

‘Shortly.’

‘Hey, I skyped with Ruby yesterday,’ said Lucy. ‘Wait till she hears about this!’

I frowned and shook my head. ‘Don’t tell her. She’ll just get worried – plus, she’ll think she’s missing out on all the fun. Ah, bad choice of words. You know what I mean.’

‘Auntie Pet, are you doing anything tomorrow?’ asked Quinn, pushing Gusto off her lap. ‘Could you, like, give me a lift over to my friend Caitlin’s house around lunchtime?’

‘Sorry, honey, I’m heading down to Melbourne first thing to look at a house.’

There was a renewed flurry of activity around the gravesite, and then a stocky coverall-clad man bobbed down with what looked like a tape measure.
Forensics
was printed in large orange letters across his back. He hooked the tape measure onto something in the earth and stood as he dragged it across to where the skull rested. A few of his companions crowded around to discuss the results.

‘I think they’re impressed,’ said Petra. ‘Perhaps they’ll invite you for a round of golf.’

‘Hey, there’s Matt.’ Lucy rose to wave at a young, blond, uniformed policeman standing to one side. He blushed rosily but otherwise ignored her.

‘Senior Constable Carstairs to you,’ I commented. ‘He’s very proud of his new stripes.’

Petra grinned. ‘Maybe we should all call out together. That’ll test his mettle.’

‘Did I tell you that I’ve got his family coming for a meet-and-greet next weekend?’ I tried to inject enthusiasm into my voice. ‘Scarlet starts maternity leave on Friday so they’re helping her move her stuff up here. It’ll be the first time she and Matt have actually lived together, so that should be interesting.’

‘Especially when you throw a baby in the mix a few weeks later,’ said Lucy with a smile.

Behind my sunglasses, my eyes dropped to her stomach. I dragged them away quickly, transferring my gaze to the narrow backyard that adjoined mine. Hidden from current view was the home to which this yard belonged, the pair to my own. This was Lucy’s new abode, provided as a bargain-priced rental from yours truly. I could see a future that she seemed incapable of comprehending, where she was flooded with a regret sharpened by the existence of Scarlet’s child, always the same age as the one that had been given up. This knowledge had fed my decision to buy and then renovate the shops, rather than simply purchase a more upmarket unit from one of the new developments around. Secure accommodation provided choice. It was also a practical expression of the words churned within, forming a knot of pain against my chest.

‘Just what you need,’ said Petra. ‘More family.’

I focused. ‘Anyway, they’re coming over on Saturday night. Do you want to join us?’

Petra shook her head. ‘Not in the slightest.’

‘Not even if you’d be doing me a favour?’

‘Gee, let me think. No.’

‘Mum, we’re starting a pool on how old everyone thinks the bones are,’ said Quinn, looking up from her phone. ‘Winner gets a box of chocolates. Can you put that on the shopping list? Red says eighty years, Luce is going with one hundred and I’ve got one hundred and fourteen. What about you?’

‘Hmm. Do you really think that’s in good taste?’

‘Yes. Also, Red says why doesn’t anything interesting happen when she visits? It’s always boring as batshit. And I’m reading that, not saying it.’

‘Well, it’s not like I do it deliberately.’ I felt a little offended. Boring as batshit? And, for that matter, why was
bat
shit any more boring than other varieties? If there was a spectrum of tedium, what properties did faeces require to be ranked towards the more amusing end?

‘Gusto’s going to go with one hundred and twenty.’

‘Dogs can’t eat chocolate,’ said Lucy. ‘You’ll have to get something else. A marrow bone.’

‘Good idea. Mum, can you put that on the shopping list too?’

‘I’ll take seventy years,’ said Petra. ‘I’d like to make it even more recent but that’ll start raising questions over who was in residence when the owner of those bones was buried.’

‘I think we’re pretty safe.’ I knew what she meant because I had been thinking along the same lines. ‘Dad only had the butcher’s shop for about six years. If that. They were expecting me when they moved up here, and he left when I was five.’

‘Yes, but don’t forget he took the shop over from his uncle, who had it for years.’

‘I think the bones’ll be older anyway,’ said Lucy, leaning on the balustrade to take a photo of the proceedings. Gusto joined her, pushing his head partway between the railings for a better view. Lucy took a photo of him instead, then gazed into the distance. ‘Look, we’re not that far from Sheridan … I mean
Kata
House, so if somebody got killed while it was being built, then this’d be a logical sort of area to bury them.’

In fact, the hundred-and-fifty-year commemoration of our small country town had been celebrated only the previous year, along with the discovery that the story of our founding fathers had been a little more bloodthirsty than once thought. This resulted in a plethora of name changes, and the community centre, previously called Sheridan House, had been rechristened Kata House. This landmark, which I could see from the veranda, was situated alongside the football oval just behind the main street. It was bizarrely beautiful, with panels of red brick within creamy render and plump, forest-green domes crowning rounded rooms on the upper floors. It was also the reason that the town of Majic even existed, a flight of fancy from an eccentric goldfields millionaire named Petar Majic whose insistence on building such an elaborate structure had seen a settlement spring up around the construction itself.

Petra glanced across at Kata House and back to her niece. ‘But if we’re going to talk logical, then why not simply bury the body at the cemetery?’

‘Maybe it was even before the cemetery was built. Q, change mine to one hundred and fifty years exactly.’

The doorbell rang, echoing up the stairwell with cheerful urgency. Gusto leapt to his feet, barking. After a few moments, when it became obvious nobody else was going to move, I rose. ‘Shall I get it?’

‘Can you get some munchies while you’re down there?’ suggested Quinn. ‘Like, chips or something?’

‘And that coffee.’ My sister passed me her mug and then squinted at the horizon. ‘Unless … do you think it’s too early for wine?’

‘Yes.’

The doorbell rang again and from the backyard Matt glanced up at us, shading his eyes. I closed the veranda door before Gusto could follow me and ignored the state of Quinn’s bedroom as I passed through. For once I was in no position to criticise. Just to reach the front door I had to manoeuvre my way past several unsteady piles of books, a row of partially-unpacked boxes and one life-size cardboard replica of a
Dr Who
dalek that Red had received for her birthday last month and which had yet to make the trip to Melbourne. On the threshold, her finger poised to press the doorbell once more, was a dusky-haired woman of about my own age, though significantly better groomed. A silky bronze scarf was draped around her neck, granted primacy by a generous bosom. I ran my hand through my hair, pushing my sunglasses back to help keep it in place.

‘Hello! Are you …? You
must
be Nell Forrest!’

‘Ah, yes. I am. And you?’

‘Amy Stenhouse! But of
course
you can call me Amy.’

‘Okay,’ I said doubtfully. I had the odd feeling that nerves bubbled just below her Girl Guide exuberance, and suddenly realised that she must be one of my readers. Although I did have a reasonable fan base, as my editor called it, they weren’t generally the type who tracked anyone down. They had too much going on in their own lives and that was just the way I liked it. However, by the same token, it
was
a little flattering.

‘How
lovely
to meet you!’ She peered at my face as if waiting for a sign of reciprocal pleasure and then beamed regardless. ‘I’ve read so many of your columns that I feel I already know you!’

‘Ah, yes. Thank you.’

‘Some of them can be a
little
irreverent, mind you …’ She paused, still smiling, and for a moment I thought she was going to wag her finger. ‘But it’s clear that we have
so
much in common. Even apart from the obvious, that is!’

I blinked, trying to work out what the obvious was. It wasn’t living up to its label.

‘So I thought … um, could I possibly come in? So much to talk about …’

I was saved from answering by my mother, who came into sight on the footpath and turned purposefully towards my front door. For a small woman, Yen took up a lot of space, both figuratively and literally, and even Amy Stenhouse must have felt the ether shift as she stepped back, just in time for Yen to sail over the threshold.

‘What’s going on in your backyard, Nell?’

‘Good afternoon, Yen. Thank you, I’m fine.’

‘Which might be of interest had I asked. So, what have you done?’

‘Nothing!’ I replied defensively. ‘How did you know?’

‘Everyone knows. I’ve already had several phone calls. Besides, you can see all the police cars from the back of the shop.’

Yen, who owed her odd moniker to an initial insistence that my sister and I not call her ‘Mum’, and a failure to consider the difficulties a baby would have with the three syllables of Lillian, owned and operated a bookshop around the corner in the main street of Majic. This proximity had been my one concern regarding my recent move. Barely one week in, and I was already being proved correct.

‘Oh, I
saw
all the police,’ said Amy Stenhouse with interest. Somehow she was just inside the front door. ‘I thought there must be a police station around here somewhere. But they’re here for you? Oh my.’

Yen frowned at her. ‘Who the hell
are you?’

‘Amy Stenhouse.’ She half extended her hand and then must have changed her mind, perhaps because of my mother’s expression, so that the aborted mission finished up as just an odd shoulder thrust. We both stared at her.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Yen. From most this would have been a query of concern, perhaps followed by the offer of water, a helping hand, a lift to emergency, but from my mother it simply sounded accusatory. She turned to face me without waiting for an answer. ‘So exactly why do you have police crawling over your backyard?’

‘They’re searching for bones.’

‘Really? Why would they be doing that?’

‘Because this afternoon we …’ I glanced at Amy. ‘Ah, excuse me for a moment.’ Taking my mother by the arm, I led her towards the kitchen. ‘See, I was trying to plant an apple tree and I disturbed some, well, remains. So they’re just taking a look. Removing them. I hope.’

Yen had closed her eyes halfway through my explanation, but now she opened them again to regard me pensively. ‘You do realise that other people are capable of performing household tasks without involving the police? Or launching investigations? What, do you have them on speed dial?’

‘Oh,
excellent
idea. I’ll look into that. After all, 000 is such a difficult sequence of numbers. So hard to remember.’

‘I suppose your pet detective is out there also?’

‘Number one, he is
not
my pet detective,’ I snapped. ‘And number two, no, he’s actually in Darwin at this present time.’ I glanced over her shoulder and registered that Amy Stenhouse was now by the sideboard, examining framed photos and no doubt listening to every word. ‘Anyway, we’re just friends,’ I finished lamely.

‘You have a visitor.’

‘I know.’ I lowered my voice. ‘She’s a fan. I have to get rid of her.’

‘Well, I’m sure you still have some space in your backyard. However,’ she turned to point towards the sliding door, ‘I meant
him
.’

A plainclothes detective stood on the decking, waiting patiently. I recognised him although I didn’t know him well. A tall man with a face like a hatchet, all angles, each one grim and humourless.
Local identity arrested for tampering with a corpse. Fan takes photos.