Alice-Miranda Shines Bright 8 (9 page)

 

F
irst thing Sunday morning, Constable Derby and a team of detectives from Downsfordvale scoured every inch of Myrtle Parker's home for clues. Myrtle had hovered over the police men and women, watching them like a hawk lest they break anything or make a mess. She really wasn't in any fit state to do housework and although Ambrosia was being particularly helpful, she felt that the woman would probably draw the line at vacuuming.

‘What are you looking for here, constable?' Myrtle asked. ‘You should be at the railway station where you found that rotten woman's car.'

‘I'm sure the detectives up north are there now,' Constable Derby replied.

At first he'd been perplexed about how Mr Parker would have been able to stand up after all that time in bed. But the man's doctor had explained that with all the daily exercise Nurse Raylene had been doing with Reginald, the massages and the special muscle stimulation machine that Mrs Parker had procured for his treatment, there was a good chance Reginald would be in quite sound condition – although he'd likely be a bit wobbly to begin with. The doctor said that the last time he'd been to check on Mr Parker, he'd been very impressed with the man's muscle tone; what he couldn't understand was how Reginald could suddenly regain consciousness and decide to leave with a woman he didn't know.

‘I knew she was a vixen from the moment I laid eyes on her. I should never have let her get so close to my Reginald. It's just that I hardly had the time to spend every moment with him, did I? What with running the show committee and helping the Fayle sisters and visiting the sick and infirmed, I just couldn't possibly do it all. And then there were all the jobs I had to do. I mean, look at all that cleaning and gardening!'

Ambrosia Headlington-Bear heard the last comment and pursed her lips. Myrtle Parker had not pulled one weed in that front yard of hers. She wondered why she let the woman get away with saying so, but thought better than to make a scene. After all, they'd both been through difficult times and on some strange level, Ambrosia had taken great comfort in her friendship with Myrtle.

‘Well, I think we're done,' Constable Derby said, after consulting with the detectives. They'd found nothing suspicious.

Myrtle Parker walked into the front sitting room, where Reginald's hospital bed sat empty. ‘That's it then.' She patted the mattress. ‘I'll call and have this returned to the hospital tomorrow morning, shall I?'

Constable Derby frowned. ‘Oh, uh . . .'

‘Are you sure you don't want to leave that a few days, Myrtle? I can arrange it for you,' Ambrosia offered.

‘Why would I leave it?' Myrtle snapped. ‘It's clear he's not going to need it any more.'

Constable Derby looked embarrassed. ‘I'll be off then, Mrs Parker.' He walked towards the front hallway. ‘I'll let you know if we hear anything more.'

But Myrtle Parker was already halfway through stripping the sheets off the bed. She didn't notice the envelope that had slipped down into the folds of the cotton blanket. She bundled the sheets and blanket together and added the pillow slip.

‘Ambrosia, would you pop these into the machine for me?' she instructed. ‘They can all go in together. I'll call the hospital.'

Ambrosia frowned. She'd get to it shortly, after she finished the washing up.

Constable Derby let himself out. He wondered if Myrtle Parker really would be all right.

 

 

S
ilas Wiley's mind was racing. Gold? Had he really heard the child correctly? He sped down the driveway with the directions in his hand. Mrs Sykes had seemed fairly certain she knew the way to Wood End, although she said she hadn't visited the place in years and had no idea if anyone still lived there.

Silas made his way back to the main road, turned right and continued for a couple of miles. He slowed down, looking for another lane off to the right. Thick undergrowth had all but consumed an ancient stone wall and an unkempt hedge shielded whatever lay behind it, making it very difficult to see anything. He was quite certain that he'd gone too far when he spotted the opening to a half-covered track. Silas nudged the car into the space and realised that beyond the overhanging willow branches there was indeed a narrow lane. He pushed a little further in, hoping that if he was wrong, he'd be able to back out again.

A flash of red caught his eye. He stopped the car, reached out the window and pushed some vines aside. This revealed a dilapidated red letterbox with a faint sign: ‘Wood End'.

‘Well, that's a start,' Silas muttered to himself. Whoever lived at the end of the road didn't want to be easily found. He proceeded down the track, slowing over the many pits and potholes.

Silas was pleased to see that a little further along, the road opened up. As the track became smoother, he pressed his foot harder on the accelerator. The countryside around him was still quite dense but he could see a narrow timber bridge up ahead. He decided to check it before taking the car across. It was just as well that he did; when he prodded the first timber slat with his foot, it disintegrated beneath him, sending particles of dust floating into the stream below.

Silas turned and looked at the car. ‘Looks like I'll be walking from here,' he murmured. He retrieved the car keys, hit the remote lock and set off on foot.

He looked up and down the waterway, hoping to find an easy way across, and was pleased to see a wide log, which looked as though it had been put there for just that purpose. Silas trod carefully, glancing into the crystal water, and was thrilled to see a large trout swimming against the current. He'd have to bring his fly rod next time. This looked to be a gem of a spot.

The distance to the house from here was anyone's guess. He thought he must have gone almost a mile when the woodland was replaced by an expanse of green. Ahead of him stood an unexpectedly pretty stone cottage. Two storeys tall, surrounded by a low stone wall and sitting among a particularly well-tended flower garden, it was most certainly someone's home.

‘Well, this is a surprise,' Silas said aloud. He was hoping that if the owner kept dogs, they were chained up or friendly. He wasn't much of a dog lover himself – they'd made him nervous ever since a particularly nasty bull terrier had removed a chunk of his left buttock when he was a boy. Silas glanced at the picturesque surroundings. There were several outbuildings to the rear of the cottage and a rusty red tractor sitting in a field beyond a fence. He could hear the honking of geese and clucking of chickens. Even these made him a little nervous – geese had a reputation for being better guard dogs than the real thing.

Wherever the animals were, they didn't come to greet him. The driveway led Silas around to the rear of the property, past a bountiful vegetable patch to the back door.

‘Hello,' he called and knocked at the same time. ‘Is anyone here?'

There was no reply. He tried again a few minutes later but there was still no response. Silas glanced around at the outbuildings and decided to try his luck there.

A series of sheds was attached to a barn and some animal enclosures. Silas walked towards the largest of the buildings, and noticed two goats standing on the roof of a lean-to, bleating noisily. He wondered how on earth they got up there.

More of the animals had noticed the stranger in their yard. Silas called out again above a rising cacophony of barnyard sounds. ‘Hello, is anyone about?' He peered through the open doorway. His eyes adjusted to the low light but he couldn't see anyone inside.

There was a rusty Cortina, its rear-vision mirror draped in cobwebs. The driver's window was down and it looked as if a bird had built a nest on the dashboard. Beyond the car, a vast workbench ran the length of the building. Unlike the vehicle, the bench was pristine. A pegboard hung above it, with each saw and pair of pliers it housed neatly outlined in thick black texta. ‘A place for everything and everything in its place' – he could hear his own father saying it as he scanned the array of tools. Silas looked more closely and noticed that several things were missing. Two picks, and a couple of oval shapes. He tried to think what they might have been. A shovel was missing from its mount as well.

This assignment was proving far more difficult than he'd hoped. If he couldn't find the owner, he couldn't very well talk them into a meeting with Finley Spencer now, could he?

There was a shuffling sound behind him. ‘Oh, there you are,' said Silas. He turned around and was stunned to find himself nose to nose with a donkey.

He was even more surprised when the creature started making a noise that sounded something like a crying baby with a terrible dose of the hiccups.

Silas began to laugh, which only seemed to make the animal more excited. It's strangled hee-haws grew higher and higher.

‘Come along, then.' Silas reached out to push the beast away. But the donkey stood its ground.

‘All right, very funny, now move to the left,' Silas commanded.

The donkey stopped its racket and leapt to the right.

Silas decided he'd head left then. But as he did, the donkey shuffled to the other side and blocked his path. He laughed.

‘You want to play a game, do you?'

Silas leaned to the right and the donkey did the same. He leaned to the left and sure enough the little brown beast mirrored his actions.

‘Well, you're very funny but that's quite enough. I have to find the owner of this splendid patch. I don't suppose you know where he is?' Silas was beginning to feel claustrophobic. He looked around to see if there was another way out of the shed. The donkey began to bray again, even more loudly than before.

‘Stop that racket, I can't think,' Silas barked. He reached out to pat the beast, hoping it would calm down.

Snap! The donkey almost took his fingers off.

‘Hey, that's not funny at all. Now let me get past, you hairy brute.'

The donkey shuffled to the other side of the pas­sage­way, like a football player trying to avoid a tackle.

Silas was growing tired of this game. ‘Come on, get out of my way.'

But the donkey stood its ground, shuffling left and right and keeping Silas bailed up in the shed.

The man edged backwards to the bench at the rear of the building. He noticed that the gap between the car and the other wall wasn't very wide. Maybe he could squeeze through and make a run for it when the donkey wasn't looking.

Silas was about to give it a go when something caught his attention. It was a trunk under the bench. He knew it was none of his business and yet for some reason he wanted to see inside. The donkey seemed to have lost interest in him for the moment and was nosing about through the car window. Silas leaned down and pulled the trunk out just far enough to lift the lid.

At first he thought it contained just a pile of old notebooks but Silas reached in further and pulled out a small glass jam jar. He held it up towards the daylight, wondering who would have collected the little container of rocks. A fond memory entered his mind, of gathering seashells at the beach and keeping them in a little glass jar under his own bed as a child.

Something glinted in the half-light. He studied the jar more closely. Silas turned and looked back at the workbench. He thought for a moment, looked at the jar again and all of a sudden the missing tools made perfect sense. The child at Caledonia Manor was telling the truth. ‘Oh my, Ms Spencer, have I got some news for you,' Silas muttered.

Silas slipped the jar into his jacket pocket. He pushed the chest back under the bench and looked at the donkey.

‘Let's see you get me now,' Silas taunted the animal. He edged between the car and the wall. It took a few moments for the beast to realise exactly what was going on. It trotted around the back of the car and pushed its way into the narrow gap. Silas was almost through. ‘Come on, my little friend,' he coaxed.

The donkey forced its way further along and just as Silas had hoped, found itself wedged between the car and the wall, its stomach stuck fast.

‘That will teach you to mess with Silas Wiley, you stupid ass.' Silas pushed through and ran out of the shed. He left the little donkey hee-hawing at the top of its lungs and shuffling to reverse out of the space.

Silas glanced around the farmyard and over to where the two goats had been standing atop the lean-to. The roof was now clear. He ran past the back of the cottage, down the track and towards the stream. It was faster than he'd run in a long time. As the stream came into view, Silas slowed to a jog. He smiled to himself, thinking just how pleased Finley Spencer would be to hear from him now.

He felt for the jar and pulled it out into the sunlight. ‘What on earth is this place really worth?'

Silas crossed the stream and looked up the bank towards his car.

‘Hey! Get away from there!' he yelled and ran towards the vehicle. ‘Stop that!'

But no amount of screaming and hand-waving was going to deter these two from their feast. Standing on the bonnet was one little goat, who was eating the windscreen wipers. The other goat had all but demolished the driver's side mirror.

Silas pressed the remote door lock and made a run for it, lunging through the passenger door and slamming it shut behind him. He wriggled across into the driver's seat and started the engine. Even that didn't frighten the horrid beasts. He slammed his hand on the dashboard.

‘Get off!' Silas screeched. He blasted the horn.

‘Crazy animals!' Silas spluttered as he turned the key in the ignition and shoved the car into gear, before reversing at top speed to the edge of the track. The goat on the bonnet lost its grip and slipped off the side. Fortunately it was a nimble creature and quickly found its feet. It avoided the spinning wheels as Silas planted his foot on the accelerator. Silas saw the other, mirror-eating beast tripping over the rickety remains of the bridge towards home, with a chunk of black plastic hanging out of its mouth. Silas's hatchback fishtailed along the track, the overhanging foliage slapping the car as he sped back towards the main road.

He wondered what state the vehicle would be in by the time he got home. Silas had always been a little precious about his car, but the jar in his pocket told him that a new one was on the agenda. Probably a new house and a rather nice holiday as well. But first he needed some time to think – this mission had become rather complicated. Surely Finley Spencer would be very grateful to know that Wood End was a far more valuable proposition than she'd first thought. Besides, even if the old fellow didn't want to sell, Finley could claim mining rights without his permission anyway. Silas would of course be richly rewarded for his discovery. He couldn't wait to get home and go for a run – it would help clear his head.

 

Stan and Reg had spent another full day in the cave. As always it had proved entirely fruitless. Despite Stan's concerns about where Reg had been all this time, their friendship had taken up much as it had left off. They didn't talk a lot but it was nice to have some human company.

Stan wondered if he should send Reg home but the man seemed perfectly happy to potter about. He kept talking about his dream, which was perplexing; the cave he described was certainly not the one they were in. Stan thought the silly old fellow's mind was playing tricks but Reg was sure that with a little more searching, they'd find it.

Stan didn't share his friend's confidence but he was enjoying being back there. His days alone gardening had stretched endlessly together and given him too much time to think about a life that could almost certainly have been different, if Beryl hadn't been so stubborn. He tried not to let his mind wander to the past too often. It was easier to block things out and pretend they never existed. When Beryl told him to leave the issue alone, he'd all but given up hope of ever finding her. But now Beryl was gone and he wasn't getting any younger, Stan found himself wishing more than ever that one day she'd find her way home.