Queen of the Road (29 page)

Coop leaned against his ute, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then glanced up the street again. The bus was late and he was worried. Mary had phoned him to confirm that Alice was definitely aboard. It was an earlier return than they’d thought, but there’d been no dissuading her. Mary had offered to drive her but Alice had predictably refused.

The late afternoon air was cool and Coop was the only person waiting at the bus stop. He’d rung Joan to thank her for cleaning and to let her know that Alice was on her way. She’d offered to bring over a meal but he’d declined. He’d already taken out a container of mutton stew from the freezer, ready to reheat. Alice would be tired after her long trip and mutton was her favourite. He hoped the meal would be a fitting welcome home.

The thought of mutton reminded him of his last meal with Angela. He was glad he’d organised that camping trip. He was worried Angela might find it a bit too rustic – she always looked
immaculate, even when she was driving the truck, and she certainly had a taste for the finer things in life. But both her and Claudia seemed to have enjoyed their night under the stars as much as he did.

He was pleased Angela hadn’t brought alcohol with her either. Not that he thought people couldn’t enjoy a drink without ending up like his mother, but he’d seen Angela with a few too many under her belt once and didn’t want to see it again.

He’d been so close to telling her about his mother, but had stopped himself at the last moment. He was embarrassed by his mother’s drinking and ashamed of his own actions because of it. It wasn’t something he chatted about lightly and not the best topic of conversation with the woman you were trying to impress.

Headlights beamed along the darkening road and Coop stood up straight as the bus rumbled to a stop across from him. He reached the door as it opened. The driver was busy with someone and blocked the aisle. As he moved back Coop could see it was Alice gripping the back of the seat for support.

‘She’ll need help getting off,’ the driver said as he stepped down. ‘I’ll get her bag.’

‘Alice?’ Coop took a tentative step forward. Now that he could see her properly, he was shocked. She looked gaunt and barely able to support herself.

‘Coop,’ she replied with relief in her voice. ‘Lend me your arm. That fool of a driver wants to carry me down the steps.’

Coop held out both hands for her. She passed him a walking stick, which he tossed behind him, then gripped both of his hands. They felt so thin and brittle he was worried he’d crush her. Slowly he eased her down the steps – the last one was so deep he understood why the driver wanted to lift her. Coop guided her patiently to the ground, then transferred her hand to the door while he reached for the stick.

‘I’ve left my handbag and a carry bag on the seat,’ she said as she shuffled away from the bus.

‘I’ll get it,’ the driver said, putting her case down.

‘Can you wait while I bring the ute closer?’ Coop asked.

Alice’s eyes were closed but she nodded her head.

The driver passed out her bags. ‘Good luck, mate,’ he murmured. Over Coop’s head he called, ‘Take care, Mrs Tansell.’ Then he sat back in his seat and closed the door.

Coop took the bags and suitcase, stowed them in the back of the ute and drove to the space the bus had just vacated. He eased Alice into the passenger seat and helped her with the belt. Close up he could see lines etched into her face. The trip had clearly been too much for her but she didn’t need him to tell her that.

She murmured her thanks and closed her eyes. Coop drove carefully, aware that every bump on the long dirt road home was causing her discomfort. As soon as he slowed to turn in at the gate, she opened her eyes and sighed.

‘Home at last.’

The night was dark now and the headlights illuminated their way towards the distant glow.

‘I kept the light on for you,’ he said.

She didn’t reply. Coop pulled up as close to the house as he could. Jilly rushed up to meet them, with Rusty not far behind.

‘Rusty will be pleased to see you,’ Coop said. It was the first time the old dog had bothered to meet the vehicle in a long time.

Coop helped Alice inside, then went back for her bags. When he returned she was sitting at the kitchen table.

‘Would you like something to eat? I got some mutton stew out,’ he said.

‘No thanks Coop. Sorry to be inhospitable but I’m calling it a day.’ She struggled to her feet and knocked over the walking stick she’d hung on the back of the chair.

He picked it up and passed it to her. He wanted to take her arm but he had a strong feeling she wouldn’t accept his help this time.

‘My bed not good enough for you?’ She nodded towards the spare bedroom where his swag was laid out on the floor. He’d meant to move it back to the quarters before picking her up, but after the day on the tractor he’d been in a rush to get to town as it was.

‘I’m not … At least, I didn’t want …’ He wasn’t sure what to say.

‘Doesn’t bother me if you prefer a swag,’ Alice said. ‘I, on the other hand, am pretty keen to get into my bed.’

‘I’ll pack up my stuff.’

‘Would you mind staying inside another night or two? Just in case … Just till I’m back on my feet properly.’

‘Okay,’ said Coop, ‘if that’s what you want.’

She pulled her lips up into a tight smile. ‘You’re a good bloke, you know that?’

He looked down at the floor. It was hard to see her like this. She looked like she’d been to hell and back.

‘And Coop?’

He looked up and felt his spirits lift a little. There was the hint of a glimmer in her eyes, reminding him she was still strong of mind, if not of body.

‘Now that I’m home, you can turn the light off.’

Angela woke to the sound of a knock at the door. She looked at the time on her mobile. It was only seven-thirty.
Who’d call at this hour?
Quietly she slipped from her bed, grabbed a shirt to throw over her pyjamas and pulled Claudia’s bedroom door shut.

The drive to Adelaide yesterday had been uneventful; the pick-up in Port Augusta was quick and they’d made good turnaround time.

The knock came again as Angela reached the door. She hesitated a moment, remembering the open kitchen window and the break-in at the office. She peered through the window and saw a police car out front. Finally, a follow-up to the message she’d left. She relaxed and opened the door. Two policemen looked through the screen at her. At least she assumed they were both policemen – only one of them wore a uniform. Neither of them was Barry Norton, the local guy that had pulled her over.

‘Angela Ranger?’ the plain-clothes man asked.

‘Yes, and you are?’

‘I’m Detective Jones,’ he replied. He indicated his uniformed colleague. ‘And this is Constable Brown.’

Angela repressed the urge to giggle. Surely the names were fake, but as if reading her mind, they both held up identification. She pushed open the screen.

‘Come in,’ she said.

‘Are you alone?’ the detective asked.

Angela frowned at him. He was being very officious for someone checking on a break-in.

‘Why?’

‘We’re told you have a daughter.’ The constable glanced at his notepad. ‘Claudia.’

‘She’s asleep.’ Angela indicated behind her. ‘But what’s that got to with the robbery?’

‘Robbery?’ The detective looked surprised. ‘We’re here to ask you about the fire.’

‘What fire?’

‘At the stock and station agency.’

‘What?! When?’

‘Are you telling us you don’t know about the fire at the business belonging to Ken Harris in the early hours of Sunday morning?’

‘What?’ Angela’s mind raced. ‘Is it all gone? Poor Ken …’

‘The business was saved but Mr Harris is in hospital. He suffered a heart attack and has burns to his hands.’

‘Oh.’ Angela sunk onto the couch behind her.

‘Get Ms Ranger a glass of water, Constable.’ The detective perched on a chair beside her. His voice lowered a tone. ‘You really haven’t heard anything? This is a small town …’

Angela rested her head in one hand. ‘I’ve been trying to get in touch with Ken. I was out of town Saturday night.’

‘All night?’

Angela nodded and accepted the glass of water from Constable Brown.

‘I – that is, my daughter and I – stayed on a friend’s farm. We were camping.’

‘What’s your friend’s name?’

She sipped the water. ‘Coop,’ she said. ‘He works for Mrs Tansell. She has a property about fifty k’s north of here.’

‘Coop who?’

It suddenly struck her she didn’t know Coop’s surname. ‘I … I don’t know.’ She shrugged. She could feel her cheeks burning as the detective studied her.

‘And you came back into Munirilla when?’ he continued.

‘It was mid-morning I guess, then we spent the afternoon at the office. That’s when I discovered there’d been a break-in and my laptop had been stolen.’ Angela looked from the detective to the constable, who was madly writing in his notebook. ‘I thought that’s why you were here.’

The two men looked at each other, then the detective spoke again. ‘We’re here to investigate the fire at the stock and station agency.’

‘Well, I don’t know a thing about it.’ Now that Angela was recovering from the shock, her patience was being tested. ‘My daughter and I went to bed early Sunday night and we drove to Adelaide and back yesterday. We returned just before midnight.’ She paused and looked from one policeman to the other again. ‘The trailers are at the yard – I’ll need to start unloading them shortly. If you haven’t come about the robbery, I don’t know why you’re here. Why aren’t you looking for the person who set fire to Ken’s place?’

‘We’ll make a note to follow up on the theft. There could be some connection given that it happened around the same time, however, we don’t believe anyone else set fire to the agency.’

‘What do you mean anyone else? Was it an electrical fault?’

‘The fire appears to have started in a stack of empty pallets. Luckily some lads noticed the flames and called for help. They did their best to extinguish the fire.’

‘How does a fire start in pallets all by itself?’

‘We don’t believe it did. We found an accelerant.’

‘But why?’ Angela sank back into the couch. Ken had so much on his plate already, and now this. No wonder he’d had a heart attack. ‘I still don’t understand why you’ve come to me. I don’t know anything about it. Perhaps Ken … Did you say his hands were burnt? Was he there? Did he try to put the fire out?’

‘Or did he start it?’

Angela stared at the detective who held her gaze with his sharp blue eyes. ‘Why would Ken start a fire at his own business and why are you asking me about it? You should be talking to Ken.’

‘We will, when he’s up to answering questions. In the meantime we’re talking to people who work with Mr Harris. We understand that his business is in trouble and that you might be able to shed more light on that.’

Angela began to feel nervous. This was beginning to sound bad. ‘I’m not his accountant,’ she said.

‘Indeed. We’ll be speaking to his accountant too. Do you know of any reason why Mr Harris might set fire to his premises?’

Angela thought over her recent dealings with Ken. He was a man under pressure, yes, but the last time they spoke he’d been hopeful. Who could say what someone might do under extreme duress, but there was no way she’d implicate him. Not any more than someone clearly had already.

‘Someone seems to have filled your head with gossip, detective.’ Angela hoped her voice sounded stronger than she felt. Her insides were churning like a cement mixer. ‘Ken Harris has worked tirelessly to get a freight carrier to work for this town. My father’s
company took on the contract and I’ve been the driver for the route. Ken doesn’t seem to me to be the kind of man who would do something stupid or illegal.’ She paused. As soon as she’d put the words ‘stupid’ and ‘illegal’ in the same sentence, an image of Clifford Berl popped into her head. ‘There’s another business in town that might be happy to see Ken Harris go under though. And me along with him – and that’s all I’m prepared to say. Unless you want to know more about the break-in at my office, I’ll have to ask you to leave. I’ve got to get to work.’

The detective studied her a moment before he spoke. ‘Thanks for speaking to us, Ms Ranger. Someone will call in at your office to follow up on the robbery.’ He wagged a finger at the constable. ‘Make a note, Constable.’

The constable was still scribbling as she shut the door on them. Suddenly her legs were like jelly and she slid down the wooden frame, resting on her heels, unable to stop the big tears that rolled down her cheeks.

***

‘This is not good, Jim.’ Angela shook her head at her friend sitting across the desk from her. ‘Poor Ken.’

‘His wife’s keeping me posted. They’ve put a stent in and the burns to his hands are only superficial, thank goodness. In some ways, they think the heart attack saved him. He must have been trying to put the fire out when it happened. Who knows how badly he’d have been burnt if he’d kept fighting it?’

‘And thank goodness those lads were going past. If they hadn’t found him he might have gone up in smoke along with the agency.’ Angela shuddered. ‘You know, the police are suggesting he started the fire.’

‘What?’ Jim lurched forward in his chair. ‘Where did you hear that?’

‘From them.’

Jim frowned and shook his head. ‘I’ve spoken to them a couple of times since the fire and there’s been no suggestion that Ken was involved. I still don’t understand what he was doing there that late. I guess it’s natural for the police to wonder the same.’

Angela thought about that and took a sip of her coffee. It was her third cup and still she’d achieved very little that morning. After the police left, Claudia had found her still sitting on the floor. Angela had pulled herself together and taken her daughter to Leanne’s. Jim was at the truck depot when she arrived. She told him about the break-in and quizzed him for more information about the fire. It hadn’t done much damage, apparently. The pallets were burnt but it hadn’t spread to the agency proper.

‘Ken’s been funny about those pallets, you know,’ said Jim. ‘In all the time I’ve worked for him, he’s always been meticulous about returning them, keeping a tidy yard. In the last few months though, the recycling’s got out of control. You were there that day he made a fuss.’ A strange look crossed Jim’s face. ‘You don’t think …’

‘Don’t go there, Jim,’ said Angela. ‘I know why those pallets are accumulating. You’ll just have to trust me, but it has nothing to do with arson.’

He looked relieved. ‘I’m glad. I’d be the last person to think ill of Ken, but he just hasn’t been himself lately. I guess the police will explore all avenues.’

‘Maybe they’ve been helped in certain directions already.’ Angela recalled seeing Clifford at the football and her discomfort at knowing he’d been watching her talking with Ken.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Just that it seems odd that they don’t ask you, Ken’s right-hand man, if you think he lit the fire, but they come knocking on my door two days later full of questions about Ken’s integrity. Someone’s been gossiping.’

‘Not me. I only thought about those pallets when I was talking with you …’

‘I know you wouldn’t, Jim, but there are others who would.’

‘Not in Munirilla. I know Ken’s been a bit off his stride lately, but he’s a good bloke. Anyone’ll tell you so.’

‘I know.’ Angela glanced at the clock and stood up. ‘Let’s get this truck unloaded. I’ve got a few people to see.’ She strode out the door ahead of Jim. There was no way she was going to give up without a fight. For Ken’s sake, as well as the reputation of Ranger Transport, she was damn well going to make this work.