He smiled and turned to face her. ‘Thank you. It’s been a long road.’ Meg pretended not to notice as his eyes travelled down her body then back up to her face. ‘Are you a resident of Lindsay?’
‘I wish I was, but I live in Sydney at the moment.’ She told him the PhD story. ‘The Ashworths are amazing, aren’t they? Their investment in this town is extraordinary.’
‘Outstanding people. I’ve known Malcolm my whole life. We started at Hartwell Public on the same day in 1950.’
‘Is that right?’
The mayor nodded and took a large sip of red wine. ‘A very community-minded man. With all that he’s gone on to achieve, he’s never forgotten where he came from.’
Meg nodded, noticing a woman sitting a few seats away who seemed to be listening to their conversation, a frown on her face. She was one of the two female councillors Meg had seen on the webpage. When Meg’s eye met hers, the woman got up abruptly and went into the bathroom.
‘Well, lovely to talk to you,’ Meg said to Tony, then followed her.
The bathroom was empty, except for one stall with a closed door. Meg took her lip gloss out of her bag and reapplied, waiting for the woman to come out. When she did, she looked at Meg in the mirror. Meg gave her a quick smile.
She seemed to hesitate, then spoke quietly. ‘You don’t actually believe that, do you? What you were saying about the Ashworths.’
‘I’m not quite sure what I think.’ Meg spoke slowly, trying to walk a fine line. ‘What doyouthink?’
‘I got elected to council last year and some of what I’m seeing is—’ she paused, choosing her words carefully, ‘—concerning, to say the least.’
‘Like what?’ Meg asked, as the door swung open and an elderly woman entered.
Once she was in the far cubicle, the councillor lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘I just couldn’t stand the sight of Tony Skelton singing the praises of Malcolm Ashworth. Community-minded, my arse. The reason he likes the Ashworths is because they paid for his twenty-five acres on the Old Lindsay Road.’
‘They did?’
The woman scoffed. ‘Look, I don’t know that for sure, but the maths doesn’t add up to me. You know how much a regional mayor makes a year?’ She reached for a piece of paper towel. ‘Personally, I think there’s a lot of truth in that Harry Truman quote, about getting rich in politics.’
Meg nodded, although she didn’t know what she was referring to. She would google it later.
The toilet flushed.
‘Can I talk to you more about this, tomorrow maybe?’ Meg asked. The woman clicked her tongue and shook her head. ‘I’ve probably said too much already,’ she replied, as the elderly woman came out of the stall. ‘Too much Champagne! Have a good night.’
She disappeared out the door.
Sue was calling last drinks when Meg got back to the Red Lion. Meg gave her a quick nod as she moved between the tables to the stairs, impatient to get to her room and transcribe the conversations she’d had with Tony Skelton and the councillor while they were still fresh in her mind.
But as she rounded the top of the staircase, she stopped dead in her tracks.
The door of her room was wide open. A shaft of white light fell across the hall from the streetlight outside her window. She stood motionless, holding her breath, trying to recall if she’d locked it. She would have, wouldn’t she? She must have.
Heart racing, she walked slowly towards the room. A floorboard creaked underfoot, making her heart pound harder. She stopped at the doorway and looked inside. Empty. A gust of warm wind blew in through the open window, rustling the curtain.
That was strange. The door unlockedanda window open. One or the other, and she could believe she’d made the error, but both? No way. She was careful. Her mother’s paranoia had seeped into her.
She flicked on the light and went to the window. A corrugated-iron roof ran along the wall below. Someone tall enough could get in or out that way. She pushed the window shut, locking it carefully, and turned back to the room.
Her suitcase, which she’d never bothered to unpack, was still on the floor, open. The denim shorts and T-shirt she’d worn that day were still draped over the chair. Her white trainers sat beneath them, side by side. Her laptop was on the desk, right where she left it, beside her tote bag. She exhaled a shaky breath.
Everything was exactly where she’d left it.
Chapter 30
It was almost one in the morning by the time Issy pulled into the car park at the jail. Two storeys above, she could see there was still a light on in the main bedroom of the apartment. Hugh must have waited up for her. An olive branch perhaps, or the closest she was likely to get to one. Things had gone from bad to worse that morning when she’d mentioned the fundraiser. She’d suggested he attend as her plus one but he’d declined, muttering something under his breath which she didn’t quite catch.
Heels in hand, she tiptoed up the dusty stairs. She could hear Hugh’s voice as she pushed open the front door. When she reached the bedroom, she stopped, listening. He sat on the edge of the bed, his back to the door.
