The Summer of Secrets Page 7

  Sarah, with baby Bree in her pram, had joined other mothers at a nearby park, or in a café for a morning coffee. Their lives had been exceedingly pleasant, wonderfully safe and convenient.

  And before a year was out, both Finn and Sarah had been bored.

  Finn smiled now, as he remembered Sarah’s shamefaced admission that she missed the chaos and challenge of their life overseas. He understood. Those faraway places got under your skin.

  The responsibilities of fatherhood had made him cautious, however. He’d waited another six months before he had finally given in and accepted another overseas posting.

  To their families’ dismay, they’d taken off for Thailand when Bree was just eighteen months old.

  ‘Bangkok might be okay for a short visit, but how could you possibly want to live there?’ Sarah’s mother had protested. ‘It’s so noisy and busy and crowded and dirty.’

  ‘I know,’ Sarah told her with a cheeky grin. ‘I can’t wait.’

  Despite his heartbreak, Finn could still remember those years in Southeast Asia as the golden years. He’d been ridiculously relieved to leave Melbourne, to escape the tightly controlled ‘message of the day’ world of modern media and to once again get back to the basics of journalism. He’d loved getting out of the office, talking to people who were doing extraordinary things.

  In Southeast Asia, he’d witnessed the aftermath of a terrible super typhoon. In Myanmar, he’d interviewed Aung San Suu Kyi. In Laos, he’d spoken to the brave band of women risking life and limb to destroy the explosives that still littered their precious land forty years after the Vietnam war. He’d reported on the injustice of people evicted in Phnom Penh by ruthless developers.

  Now, in Burralea, a night owl hooted, interrupting Finn’s reverie. He let out a sigh as he heaved himself off the sofa. He could use another cuppa. Or maybe he’d scramble a couple of eggs. Actually, come to think of it, a proper post-hangover fry up was in order. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten.

  With bacon sizzling alongside eggs, mushroom and tomatoes, Finn felt his spirits lift. It might still be dark outside, but dawn was only an hour or so away and a new day beckoned.

  A new day that included finding a role for the Dolly reporter. As he dropped two slices of bread into the toaster, he wondered what had brought that girl with the mousy hair and remarkable eyes scuttling all the way up here from the bright lights of Sydney. What did she hope to find in the far north?

  Finn had a string of suspicions, including the possibility that she had run away from unhappiness. If that was the case, she was an escapee, just as he was.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Chloe arrived at work a bit before nine, expecting to spend an annoying amount of time hanging about on the footpath, twiddling her thumbs, or reading the Burralea Bugle, which had already hit the news stands, while she waited for her reprobate boss to show up.

  To her surprise, the Bugle’s door was already unlocked and Finn was inside, standing by his desk and talking on the phone. He was dressed in jeans and an open-necked white shirt, as he had been yesterday, but Chloe was relieved to see that these clothes looked fresh. The shirt might even have been ironed and Chloe wondered if he had a wife – a long-suffering one, no doubt – who had done this task for him. At any rate, he showed no signs of yesterday’s pallor, stubbled jaw or bleary eyes.

  Finn Latimer was, on the surface at least, a new man. With the benefit of thick, dark hair – much tidier today – and a rugged jawline, he could, no doubt, look quite attractive if he smiled.

  He didn’t smile at Chloe. Although he glanced her way, he didn’t even send her a welcoming nod. His attention was entirely committed to the person on the other end of the phone.

  Chloe helped herself to a seat at the same computer she’d used yesterday and turned it on. While it was loading, she took out her own phone. She hadn’t upgraded phones as regularly as most of her friends, but this one was still fine for recording interviews and filing notes.

  She’d already added the ‘rounds’ phone numbers to her contacts, but today, she hoped she could skip the rounds. Her task would be to start looking for her own news stories, unless Finn had other plans.

  With the computer ready, she typed in the password Finn had given her yesterday and clicked on a search engine, wondering where she should begin.

  ‘So, was the pub satisfactory?’

  It took Chloe a moment to realise that Finn’s phone call had ended and this question was directed to her. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘My room was very comfortable, thank you.’

  He nodded. ‘The meals are usually quite good, if you don’t mind pub food.’

  ‘Yes, they’re fine.’ Last night’s roast lamb had been delicious, and breakfast this morning substantial, much more than Chloe could eat, but she was pretty sure Finn didn’t want details.

  ‘So.’ His dark gaze narrowed and he shot a curious glance to her computer screen. ‘What plans do you have for today?’

  ‘Well —’ Was she supposed to have plans? On her second day? Chloe was still coming to terms with the dramatic change in the man. He’d looked so wasted the night before, but now he showed no apparent signs of a hangover. Or remorse. And he obviously had no intention of apologising or offering a guilty explanation for yesterday’s less than commendable condition.

  She swallowed. She was surprisingly nervous and she wished Finn would sit down instead of continuing to stand, more or less towering over her. ‘I wasn’t sure. I thought you might already have jobs lined up for me.’

  A glimmer, the merest hint of a smile shone briefly in his eyes. ‘Seems neither of us knew what to expect then.’ He lowered his butt to the edge of his desk, a move that wasn’t as helpful as it should have been, as it managed to draw Chloe’s inappropriate attention to his low-slung jeans and lean hips.

  Folding his arms over his chest, he frowned at her as if she was a problem he had to solve.

  ‘As I understand it,’ he said. ‘Emily hired you to write colour stories. She wants you to attract more advertising.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what she told me.’

  ‘So I’m assuming you already have a few ideas?’

  ‘Well – I —’ The fresh challenge in Finn’s gaze sent Chloe’s thoughts scattering unhelpfully. She knew so little about this part of the world, she really had no useful ideas. Clearly, she should have prepared more conscientiously for this job, instead of wasting far too much time feeling sorry for herself over the whole Jason fiasco.

  Nevertheless, she had come here to the far north in the hope of a fresh start, and that would only happen if she stopped hankering after broken dreams.

  Time to suck it up, princess.

  Straightening her spine, she offered Finn Latimer a brave smile. ‘I thought I might start by taking a look at a few of the businesses around here. Keep an eye out for an interesting angle or two.’

  To her relief, his response was a nod of approval.

  ‘I was about to do a little research. I thought Moira at the Progress Association might be a good source.’

  ‘Oh, for sure, for sure,’ Finn said with a mock Irish accent. ‘Moira can tell you anything and everything you want to know, even the things you don’t want to know.’

  ‘Is she a gossiper?’ Chloe had heard about the dangers of small-town gossip.

  ‘I wouldn’t brand her as a gossiper exactly. She’ll only tell you harmless stuff, at any rate.’ Finn actually smiled as he said this and his face was transformed. And Chloe found herself responding with more speed and warmth than was strictly appropriate. ‘She’ll probably tell you that she doesn’t repeat gossip, so you need to listen closely the first time.’

  Chloe grinned. She liked the sound of Moira.

  ‘There’s an interesting mushroom farm at Upper Barron,’ Finn said next. ‘They grow a host of varieties, including the gourmet ones like oyster and shiitake. Could be worth checking out.’

  Perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised that her boss had of
fered her a lead. ‘Thanks. That sounds like a great possibility.’ Hoping she hadn’t sounded too excessively grateful, she typed Upper Barron mushroom farm into the search engine. ‘Okay, I can see that the farm is open for visitors today. Perhaps I should get straight onto that?’

  Then she remembered there was only one vehicle. ‘Unless you need to use the car, or there’s anything else you want me to do?’

  Finn shook his head. ‘Go for it. But stick to the colour story. I don’t want you hitting them up for advertising. Leave that for our sales reps to follow up for a future edition.’

  Phew. As a ‘working journalist’, Chloe was certainly relieved to hear that she wouldn’t have to chase ads. That was a professional line she preferred not to cross.

  ‘I’d better ring the farm first to see if it suits,’ she said. Scant moments later, she had her first appointment booked. She was welcome to head out to the mushroom farm straight away.

  ‘You can take the Bugle’s camera,’ Finn offered, crossing to a built-in cupboard and extracting a camera in a rather expensive-looking brown leather case.

  ‘Thanks.’ At Girl Talk, Chloe had always used a professional photographer, so she hoped she’d be able to manage. ‘Does it have special settings?’

  ‘It does. But it works just fine if you simply point and click.’

  This was another relief.

  Finn indicated a row of keys hanging on hooks on the far wall. ‘The car key’s on the left there and you’ll find the vehicle out the back. A blue Subaru Forester.’

  Oh. Foresters were all-wheel drive. Chloe supposed it was a sensible choice of vehicle for a country newspaper, but she’d only ever driven small city sedans. ‘Is – is it automatic?’

  ‘Sure.’ Again, a flicker that might have been amusement briefly showed in her boss’s eyes. ‘And it’s very easy to drive.’

  ‘Good. Right.’

  Finn might have given her extra instructions, but his phone rang, and he turned and picked it up. ‘Good morning. Burralea Bugle. Hi, Harry, what can I do for you?’

  Chloe rose, slipped her phone back into her bag, crossed the office and found the car keys. In the doorway, she turned back to her new boss, raised a hand to let Finn know she was leaving.

  He gestured for her to wait. ‘Hang on a sec, Harry.’ He held the phone against his chest. ‘Do you need directions?’ he asked Chloe.

  She shook her head, gave her shoulder bag a pat. ‘I can use Maps on my phone.’

  With a shrug, he waved her off and resumed his conversation. Chloe closed the door behind her and followed the cement tracks down the side of the Bugle till she found a mud-splattered, dark-blue Forester in a carport.

  Taking a deep breath, she pressed the central locking device and heard a satisfying clunk. She climbed in. The floor of the Forester was fitted with rubber mats that were caked with red mud and there were at least three ancient takeaway coffee mugs dumped on the passenger’s seat.

  She keyed the mushroom farm into Maps on her phone, grateful for the lovely purple line that appeared, marking her route. Buckling up, she turned the key in the ignition. The engine hummed to life and the petrol gauge showed that the tank was three-quarters full.

  It was silly to feel nervous, but Chloe couldn’t help it. The Forester felt big. Man-sized. Letting off the handbrake, she gingerly pressed the accelerator and the vehicle edged forward. The space for the tracks between the Bugle and the next shop seemed incredibly narrow and she drove super carefully, wondering fearfully if she was going to have reverse down this driveway when she got back.

  At least when she reached the street it was almost completely free of traffic. That was one very good thing about country towns. She put her foot down with a little more confidence and took off.

  Today the sky was wide and blue, with no hint of rain, and the Forester, to Chloe’s delight, was as easy to drive as Finn had promised. Her route had her heading for the hills, smooth green hills that had, no doubt, been cleared decades earlier to make way for dairying.

  In no time, the road was climbing higher and higher and slopes were falling away on either side. As Chloe skimmed a narrow ridge, the view was fantastic. Farmlands spread beneath her like a giant patchwork tablecloth, stretching all the way to the blue line of mountains that fringed the coast. A flock of cockatoos swooped down a hillside, stark white and fluttering against the green.

  She felt unexpectedly exhilarated. A road sign announced that this was the highest road in Queensland. She was, pretty much, on top of the world.

  Now the route on her map seemed to take her back down a hillside, which seemed a bit weird, but the previous times she’d used this app on her phone it had never let her down. Chloe pushed on, loving the spectacular vistas, the sense of adventure. The freedom.

  It was only when she got to the bottom of the hill and recognised the road junction that she realised she’d just driven in a complete circle. And totally missed the farm.

  Chloe cringed as her soaring spirits hit the ground with a thud. She’d spent the best part of an hour getting herself lost. How on earth had that happened?

  Pulling over into the dirt at the edge of the bitumen, she studied the map on her phone. It seemed she had no choice but to turn around and go back the way she’d come. She must have driven right past the farm gate. What did mushroom farms look like, anyway? And why hadn’t they put up nice big signs? Didn’t they want people to find them?

  Her mood was distinctly less euphoric as she drove back the way she’d come, eyes now peeled, searching for vital clues. About half a kilometre along, she saw a dirt road leading off from the bitumen, which she’d obviously missed the first time. It was certainly heading in the right direction.

  A cloud of dust billowed around her as the tyres hit the gravel, but she set off now, once again confident. Until she reached a fork in the road and neither of the new possibilities seemed to match the purple line on her phone.

  Damn. How could it be so hard to find a well-publicised farm in all this open country? The only sensible thing to do now, of course, was to ring the mushroom farm and ask for directions – which would be fine if she knew exactly where she was.

  Looking in her rear-view mirror, she saw a rather dilapidated farmhouse with peeling paint, a rusted tank stand and a yard filled with weeds. What had happened to all the pretty, welcoming farmhouses she’d passed?

  After another about-turn, Chloe approached the farm and parked the Forester on the dirt track in front of a barred metal gate. She took a moment or two to work out how to undo the looped wire and chain that held the gate fast – the sudden loud barking of dogs from the house hadn’t helped her concentration – but eventually she got the hang of it.

  The dog barking became frenzied now as Chloe approached the house, and she might have bolted if she hadn’t seen two blue cattle dogs straining on leashes that were chained to a tank stand.

  ‘It’s okay, guys,’ she whispered. ‘I’m just here to ask for directions.’

  But already, she suspected there was no one at home. All the windows and doors appeared to be shut and surely the chaotic barking would have brought anyone in earshot?

  Feeling rather desperate when no one answered her knock, Chloe went back to the gate, managed to open and close it more efficiently this time, and climbed into the car. She had no choice but to reverse down the track, drive back the way she’d come and double-check the last road sign. Then, at least, she could tell the mushroom people where she was.

  She was halfway through cautiously reversing when her phone rang, identifying Finn as the caller.

  It wasn’t easy to sound confident, but she gave it her best shot. ‘Hello, boss?’

  ‘How are you going? Nearly finished there?’

  ‘Well, I – ah – haven’t quite found the place yet.’

  This news was met by silence.

  ‘I’m sure I’ve been following the right route,’ Chloe said. ‘I don’t know what’s gone wrong. I must have missed a turn.’ And the
n, in defence, ‘There don’t seem to be any signs.’

  ‘This isn’t Kings Cross, Dolly.’ He sounded impatient.

  ‘Well, yes, I do realise that.’ If he was trying to make her feel hopeless, he’d achieved it. ‘I was about to ring the farm.’

  ‘Don’t bother. Get back here. I need the car.’

  At least Chloe could park outside the Bugle’s office when she got back, so she was saved having to reverse down the narrow driveway. As she steered neatly into the parking space, she tried not to agonise too much over stuffing up her very first assignment and making herself look like a raw beginner. Instead she allowed herself to focus on the injustice of Finn Latimer’s high-handed manner.

  He sprang from his desk the minute she walked in.

  Chloe went straight into defence mode. ‘It would have been helpful if I’d known I had a time limit,’ she said as she handed over the car keys and camera.

  ‘Something’s come up,’ he said tightly. ‘A new lead on Ben Shaw. I’m heading over to Mareeba. A CIB officer is up from Brisbane and I need to pin him down.’

  She couldn’t deny this sounded both urgent and important. ‘Perhaps I should come, too.’ After all, she had next to no experience in working with police and she could learn a thing or two from observing how Finn handled them.

  He shook his head. ‘You stick to your colour stories.’ And with that he was gone, letting the door swing shut behind him.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘So, that’s sorted.’ Moira Briggs, with a beaming smile, handed Chloe a plate bearing an enormous slice of chocolate sponge filled with cream to accompany her mug of beautifully hot tea. ‘You’re expected at the CWA luncheon at midday tomorrow and everyone’s really looking forward to meeting you. It’s a long time since we’ve had a female reporter in Burralea.’

  Chloe, having first popped into the Lilly Pilly café to say hi to Jess, who was happily ferrying meals between the bubbling women in the kitchen and their customers, had also called into the Progress Association office. She had decided it would be a useful place to start her local research, but almost immediately she’d found herself comfortably ensconced in a brightly cushioned cane chair and being plied with tea and cake.