“Roger that.” He hung up and tapped his finger on his jeans. Amy’s question last night resonated in his head. If his parents hadn’t been the intended targets, what had been the point? He hated the idea of someone creeping around the station. They didn’t have enough eyes to cover the whole area.
It was time to call in reinforcements. He dialled Sam’s number.
“Wasn’t sure I’d hear from you,” Sam said as a greeting.
“Wasn’t sure I’d call,” he responded. “Funerals are on Thursday at Retribution Ridge.”
“What’s the sitch?”
“Police think the crash wasn’t an accident.”
His friend swore. “Why?”
“Cut brake lines and evidence they were side swiped.”
“I’ll be up tomorrow.”
The wave of relief surprised him. He hadn’t realised how much he needed to see a familiar face. And Sam was experienced dealing with bad guys. If Stonefish was behind his parents’ deaths, he wanted someone who could help him protect his family. “Message me your flight details.”
“Will do.”
Brandon hung up, some of the weight gone from his concerns, and looked around the machinery shed. It had been years since he’d been in here. Feeling almost like an intruder, he moved past the water tank and into the workshop. Tools hung on one wall and other equipment was neatly packed on the shelves. His father had been organised, but it came from a place of necessity. If a tool was lost, there was no easy way to replace it. It was a two-hour round trip to town, and at worst it could take weeks for parts to come up from Geraldton or Perth. Everything had to be properly cleaned and the doors closed to keep out the dust.
Brandon frowned. The workshop door had been open when he came in. He couldn’t imagine Darcy forgetting to shut it, but maybe Matt had been in. He’d have to ask him later.
A smaller room led off the workshop, a room which had always been locked when he’d been a kid. It was full of family heirlooms, some stuff going back to the Retribution. He’d been more interested in the station itself than going through mouldy trunks. Still, if Taylor had been stealing one of the hair combs, maybe there was something of value in there. The doorknob twisted in his hand and the door squeaked open.
The walls were lined with shelves full of boxes. Some were old wooden travel chests, the type featured in historical movies, but there were also more modern clear plastic tubs with labels on them. A thin layer of red dust coated everything, telling him someone must occasionally come in here to clean. He sneezed as the dust got up his nose and then strode over to read the labels.
Charlie’s name on the bottom two containers caused his chest to squeeze. What things of Charlie’s had his parents saved? No, lifting the lid would be far too painful. Ed’s and Georgie’s names were on the crates on top. He bent to get a better look and recognised one of Georgie’s old teddy bears in the top container. Things left behind when they each moved out.
He spotted a box with his name on it. Well, shit. He’d never expected anything of his to be here. Had figured his father would have got rid of everything.
His hands a little shaky, he lifted it down. He’d taken only clothes with him when he’d left. What would his mother have kept?
His brown Akubra hat sat on top, brushed clean but still with the tinges of red dirt that wouldn’t ever come out. He stared at it, turning it around in his hands to look at it from every side. He took his baseball cap off, and slowly replaced it with the Akubra. It settled snuggly, fitting perfectly as it always had. He closed his eyes and took a minute as a calm settled over him. Putting on the hat had always been like arming himself for the day’s work. He’d felt prepared, ready to face whatever was thrown at him. Similar to the feel of strapping on a Kevlar vest.
What other treasures did the box contain?
Stacked underneath the hat were the well-worn copies of a thriller series he loved and had read at least once a year. He placed them on the lid to keep them off the dusty floor. Then there was his golden high school graduation sash which he’d worn with pride. He rubbed the satin and smiled as he remembered the graduation party afterwards, when he’d convinced Dot they should give their virginity to each other. It had been awkward in the back of his ute with only a sleeping bag for cushioning but a memorable and defining moment in his life. Did she remember the night as fondly as he did? Maybe he’d ask her one day when all this was resolved.
He pulled out a shoe box next and frowned. He had no shoes worth keeping. Most of his had been worn to within an inch of their life. He cracked open the lid and the glint of gold made his heart stop. His gymkhana trophies.
He hadn’t thought about them in years, had pushed the memories as far back as possible. But he loved the gymkhanas. Retribution Bay held them a couple of times a year as another way of enticing visitors up to their remote location and he and Darcy spent the month leading up to it training together. He’d loved the speed and precision of the barrel race, and Darcy had been the king of the roping. At the last gymkhana he’d been asked whether he would take part in the rodeo circuit next year. And he’d been determined to, even though the adults were more experienced than him.
He sighed. Life had changed. He placed the lid back on the shoe box and returned all the items back to the container aside from his hat.
The urge to go riding hummed through his blood. Still an hour before Darcy was due back. He could take Amy out and Ed and Georgie could handle any people who arrived wishing to give their sympathies.
He longed to feel the wind rushing in his face as he galloped along the trail.
With a grin, he closed the door behind him, then hurried over to the house to see a woman about a ride.
***
Amy almost didn’t recognise Brandon when he came in through the kitchen door. He wore a brown stockman’s hat, and a loose chambray shirt with a white singlet underneath, looking every bit the cowboy. He brimmed with excited energy and his grin was as big as if he’d won the lottery. Something had happened in the past half an hour that had cheered him, and it was appealing as hell. “Good news?”
“Sort of,” he said. “I’ve got another three weeks’ leave, and I just found a bunch of my old stuff.” He ran two fingers along the brim of his hat. “I loved this hat.”
