Riddle Gully Runaway (5 page)

When she reached the turn-off to the lookout, she
saw something that sank her spirits even further. It was a familiar sight outside the roadhouse. In front of the bowsers, a sheep truck idled. The back of the truck was loaded with animals four tiers deep, the twitching ears and sniffing snouts of those on the top tier just visible. Down the side of the truck, legs protruded between the slats. The sheep were jammed together so tightly that, had the truck suddenly turned a somersault, it was doubtful the poor creatures would have budged. Lucky Shorn Connery wasn't there to see it.

Just then the roadhouse door opened and two figures emerged — one in shorts, navy singlet and work boots and, following him, another in a baseball cap, black T-shirt, hi-top sneakers and …

Hang on! Pollo squinted. That was no truckie! Benson Bragg ambled across the forecourt, bobbing his head to whatever was pumping through his earphones. He swung up into the cab alongside the driver and swivelled his cap's bill to the front to shield his eyes. The driver revved the truck's huge engine, eased onto the hardtop and rumbled away, the doomed sheep staring dolefully behind.

Good riddance, Benson Bragg, thought Pollo. Riddle Gully's better off without you.

Pollo and her dad, Joe, stood by the car at the end of their driveway in the pink glow of early evening. Pollo was twitchy with excitement. Friday night at last. She'd been waiting ages for this moment. Joe di Nozi shuffled and scratched. He'd been dreading it. He cleared his throat.

‘If you're asked to do something that makes you feel uncomfortable, just leave, okay? Walk away. You get what I'm saying?'

‘Uh-huh. Walk away.'

‘Because if a person doesn't respect your limits it means they don't respect you.'

‘Limits. Respect. Roger.'

‘Who's Roger?' Pollo frowned at her father.

‘Roger? It's two-way radio talk for “I understand”.' Joe di Nozi rubbed his nose. ‘Where do you get all this
stuff from anyway, Pollo?'

‘Sherri.'

‘Sherri. Of course, I should have guessed.' In the car's side mirror, Joe adjusted the collar poking from his jumper and checked his nostrils.

‘Well, she knows a lot more about dating than you do, Dad.'

‘No need to rub it in. I have my pride.' He put an arm around his daughter's shoulders. ‘Don't fret about me, love. I'll have a good time and I'll see you at lunchtime on Sunday. It's me who has to worry about you.'

‘Dad, I have my books, a stack of DVDs and a fridge full of junk food. Not to mention a science assignment. And Aunty Giulia and Uncle Pete or Sherri are only a phone call away if I need them. We've been through all this.'

Joe di Nozi sighed. ‘I hope I'm doing the right thing. Two nights away …'

‘You've been wanting to meet Wanda face-to-face for ages, Dad, and she lives too far away to do it any other way. You can't drive hundreds of kilometres to Wanda's place and then across to her cousin's wedding in one day. You'd be asleep by nine o'clock with your head in a plate of pavlova.'

‘Sometimes I wonder what you got me into with this online dating,' said Joe. ‘I don't know if I'm up to it.'

‘Dad, don't be dumb! As Sherri was saying, if you can tramp through paddocks rescuing animals all day, you can manage a simple date with a lady.'

‘Sherri? You've been talking to her about it?'

‘Of course! Sherri says you just need to build up your confidence. Apparently, you have an inner tiger that needs unleashing.'

‘An inner tiger?' Joe picked a dog-hair off his jumper. ‘So she says. In fact, Sherri helped me pick out Wanda.'

‘Oh, no! You two were going through my dating site?' gasped Joe.

‘Sure!' said Pollo. ‘You don't expect me to sign you up to a service and not monitor things, do you? That would be irresponsible. I don't want you having your heart stomped on by some Jezebel. We had to delete quite a few responses. Sherri said Wanda was perfect because she wasn't so gorgeous-looking that you'd go all gaga and lose the plot.'

‘But Sherri … she's … I've wanted … it's plain embarrassing, Pollo!'

‘There! That's it precisely! If you're ever to ask
Sherri out on a proper date, Dad, you have to get in some practice. Asking her to help you deliver that foal last week doesn't count.'

Joe stared mournfully at his shoes.

‘You'd better get going,' said Pollo. ‘Wanda will think you've chickened out.'

‘Chickened out … yes. Listen, sweetheart,' said Joe, edging away from the car, ‘I'm really not keen on abandoning you like this. It's a long time to leave you to your own devices.'

Pollo opened the car door, picked up her father's travel bag from the driveway and threw it in. ‘Don't you dare make
me
an excuse for not getting on with your life!' She pushed him firmly down into the driver's seat and closed the door. ‘Wanda — Wedding — Fun. Remember?'

Her father wore an expression Pollo usually saw when an animal needed to be put down. ‘Fun … hmm … yes. Okay then … well … goodbye, I suppose. Love you.' With a sigh, he turned on the ignition.

Pollo leaned in and kissed her father's cheek. ‘I'll have a quiet weekend reading and doing homework and watching movies and scoffing all the things you never let me. And I won't answer the phone, so there's no point calling to see how I am! Bye, Dad! See you Sunday.'

Joe backed slowly down the driveway and onto the street. Pollo waved patiently as he idled there a bit longer before chugging up the road towards the setting sun. Only as he turned the corner did the smile drift from Pollo's face and her thumbnail find its way to her teeth.

A loud
baa-aa-aah
drifted over the roof. Poor old Shorn Connery! It was way past time for his daily walk to the cemetery. She hurried inside. It was just as well they were going out somewhere. Seeing her father drive away to spend the weekend with a lady made her feel a bit odd — even if she had put him up to it.

Shorn Connery practically broke down the back gate getting onto the path leading to the cemetery. They half-walked, half-ran in the fading light, the back fences of houses on one side of them, lightly wooded bushland on the other. When Pollo saw Will's running shoes poking from behind Mrs Turner's gravestone she slipped the rope from Shorn Connery's neck and watched him gallop across the lumpy field, sending clouds of midgies swirling. He headbutted Will, knocking his sketchpad off his lap, then began snuffling and chomping at a patch of nearby lupins.

Will was brushing dirt off his sketchpad when Pollo caught up. ‘I thought you might have been and gone,' he said. ‘How come you're so late?'

‘Dad wasn't in a hurry to get going on his big date. I
practically had to push his car up the street. I hope she's as nice as she seemed on the dating website.'

‘Who? This Wanda lady?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Nice, but not too nice, eh?' said Will. ‘Not stepmum-forever type of nice.'

‘You've got it,' said Pollo. ‘Oh, I don't know what I want. Poor Dad.'

‘Don't sweat about it now. It's only a first date.'

‘Hmm …' said Pollo. ‘What brings you here, anyway? I thought you'd be busy packing for your weekend with your dad. It'll be the first time just by yourselves since your little brother came along, won't it?'

‘My
half-
brother, the rug rat. Yeah. He's kind of hard to ignore. It'll be good.' Will twirled a pencil between his fingers. ‘I was hoping to make a start before I left on some wildlife sketches I have to do for art school. Trouble is, the only wildlife I can see is that ugly raven over there. Look, it's even got a dodgy feather.'

‘Hey!' said Pollo happily. ‘That bird's my hero! It's the one that stole Mayor Bullock's toupée!' She called over to it. ‘Thanks, cobber! I owe you!'

‘Well, it's got a dead rabbit now,' said Will. ‘It's grossing me out.' Shorn Connery, too, seemed unimpressed,
watching the bird from the corner of his eye.

Pollo moved a few steps closer to the raven. It had its feet planted on the corpse of something that, a few days before, had been romping in the graveyard. It was now tearing at the remains with its beak. It stopped foraging and cocked its head to assess Pollo with a flat white eye. She backed off.

‘When are the sketches due?' she asked, settling down beside Will.

‘They're meant to be in tomorrow. Luckily I'm skipping art school tomorrow though. If I go into Maloola first I don't get into Canberra till late, and Clive says it's a long drive to the camping spot.' Will grinned. ‘Works out doubly well, actually. I don't want to run into Benson Bragg in Maloola again! Not this weekend! After your column yesterday he won't be feeling very sociable.'

‘Don't worry,' said Pollo. ‘I saw him hitching a ride on a sheep truck yesterday. Looks like he's leaving town.'

‘Good thing you wrote what you did,' said Will. ‘You scared him off. Good job!'

‘Hang on a minute,' said Pollo. ‘You said “again”.'

‘Did I?' said Will. ‘When?'

‘You said you didn't want to run into Benson in
Maloola
again
. When did you see him there before?'

‘Oh that,' said Will. ‘It'd been bugging me ever since we saw him at the rollercoaster, and this morning it came to me. Two Saturdays ago, I went to Game Zone after art school. He was playing a wicked game of Monster Mash right next to me. You should see him play Monster Mash, Pollo. He's like a magician!'

‘
After
art school?' said Pollo. ‘You sure it wasn't before art school, or during a break, maybe?'

‘Course not,' said Will. ‘It's just there's often a bit of time to kill before the twelve-thirty train back to Riddle Gully.'

‘Oh dear,' said Pollo. ‘That's not good. Not good at all.'

‘What's wrong?' said Will. ‘What'd I do this time?'

‘Nothing. But that's when Aunty Giulia's ring went missing — right on lunchtime.'

Will doodled on his sketchpad. ‘So what you're saying is, it couldn't have been Benson who stole your grandmother's ring … because Benson was standing next to me in Game Zone at the time.'

Pollo nodded. She suddenly blurted, ‘You never said you'd seen Benson in Maloola!'

‘I didn't work it out till today. Besides, you never
said when the ring disappeared!'

‘Maybe,' muttered Pollo. ‘I guess we still have the other thefts to pin on him.'

‘And his confession,' said Will.

‘Mmm … that confession,' said Pollo, rubbing her chin.

They sat in silence, idly watching the raven jumping about the carcass, clamping it with its clawed feet, jabbing it with its beak.
Arp-arp-aaah.
The bird began hopping backwards, away from Pollo and Will. As it did, the slanting sun's rays caught something shiny being dragged in the grass.

‘What's it got?' said Pollo.

‘Looks like a collar … but rabbits don't wear collars.'

Pollo got to her feet and stepped slowly toward the raven. It hopped away, the object in its beak tinkling, its white eyes fixed on Pollo.

‘That's no rabbit,' said Pollo, standing over the raven's abandoned carrion. ‘That's Terrence Schultz.'

‘Who?' said Will, scrambling to his feet.

‘Terrence Schultz — Mrs Schultz's cat. Mrs Schultz came into Dad's surgery the other day asking if anyone had brought him in. He must have died out here in the cemetery.'

‘Well it's the right place to cark it, I guess,' said Will. ‘D'you think Mrs Schultz might like to have his collar?'

‘Good idea! She loved him like crazy,' said Pollo. But as the two of them edged forward, the raven jumped back, as before, Terrence's dangling bell glinting beneath its beak.

‘Don't look at it,' said Pollo. ‘They say wild animals don't like eye contact.'

They edged forward, their faces averted, sneaking sidelong glimpses of the bird. But with each of their steps, the raven hopped further away, the collar clamped in its strong black beak.

From the forest fifty metres away came the mournful
arp-arp-aaah
of another raven.

‘That's probably its mate,' said Pollo.

‘Telling this one here to quit messing about and bring home dinner,' said Will.

Will and Pollo half-crouched, motionless, watching the raven. It hopped in a wide arc back to where Terrence rested in pieces. It laid the collar in the grass nearby and resumed pecking at the rotting flesh, a whisper of wind rustling the soft, oily-black hackle-feathers at its throat.

‘Now!' they both yelled.

They rushed headlong. The raven tilted its head,
regarding them with an icy eye. As they closed the gap, Will dived at Terrence's collar like a baseballer sliding for home. There was a flurry of flapping wings and the bird flew beyond reach. As Will spat and wiped dirt from his tongue, it circled above them, the bell in its beak, the sun flashing off it like a beacon.

They craned their necks, tracking the raven's flight from the cemetery to a large red gum near the entrance to the Diamond Jack hiking trail at the edge of the forest. The raven flapped onto a high branch and hopped sideways toward a thick clump, hard to make out in the failing light, but almost certainly a nest.

‘Wow! That bird was one cool customer!' said Will. ‘It wasn't going to lose that bell for quids. I wonder if they've ever trained ravens to nick stuff. I've seen 'em do it with monkeys in the movies. Ravens would be good at it — as long as whatever they were after was shiny.'

‘And no one would suspect them,' said Pollo quietly. She stepped around Terrence to Mrs Turner's tombstone. She slumped down on the mossy granite and began nibbling at her thumbnail.