She laughed at her paranoia as she emerged into the large concrete space that separated the residential area from two rows of towering steel tanks behind a tall wire fence. Heat radiated off the concrete beneath her feet. She wiped sweat from her forehead.
So, this was the factory. She turned back to face the way she’d come, looking at the row of mostly empty houses. What could the Ashworths possibly want with these properties? It was hardly an ideal site for a new housing development.
She followed the fence until she reached the Highland Dairy sign at the entrance, where imposing boom gates blocked the driveway. Red signs warned there was no unauthorised access. Just as she was about to turn away, she noticed a man sitting in a small booth.
‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘I think I’m lost.’
He looked at her quizzically.
‘Can you point me towards Barton Drive? I left my phone in the car and my sense of direction is terrible!’
‘You want to go that way,’ he said, pointing. ‘You’ll see an alley between two houses, follow the path and you’ll end up on the street.’
‘Great, thanks. What is this place? A factory of some sort?’
‘Yep, dairy. Not for much longer though.’
‘Is it closing?’
‘Decommissioned from December thirty-first. We just got the email this morning,’ he said. ‘Nice of them to let us know. Put me out of a job.’
Meg looked towards the towering tanks and warehouses beyond the boom gate. What were the Ashworths up to? Did they own the industrial estate? That would explain why they were buying up undesirable houses on the south side of Barton Drive. Were they planning to bulldoze them, along with the factory, to make way for a flashy new development?
Could they do that? The land would be zoned as industrial. The rezoning process was arduous: applications to local council, community consultation. Unless … She thought of Tony Skelton, Hartwell Mayor and Malcolm Ashworth’s mate. What had Tony done to fund his twenty-five acres?
When she reached her car, she called Pete. It rang once, twice, three times.
‘Come on, Pete,’ she muttered. Voicemail.
‘Pete, it’s Meg. I’ve just thought of something. Call me back ASAP.’ She hung up.
She was still standing by the car, trying to decide what to do, when her phone rang. She was expecting Pete, but it was Rosedale. Her stomach churned with guilt. She hadn’t seen her mum since Christmas Day.
‘Is that Meg Hunter?’
‘Yes.’
‘Meg, my name’s Michelle. I’m the new manager at Rosedale.
I’m calling about your mum, Jenny.’
‘Why? What’s happened?’
‘Look, she’s fine. She’s just been very agitated since your brother visited this morning. She’s trying to tell us something but we’re not sure what it is. She got quite upset—’
‘Sorry, did you say brother? I don’t have a brother.’
There was a pause. ‘Yes, I’m sure that’s—’
Meg felt a surge of irritation. ‘Well, I don’t have a brother.’
Michelle started back-pedalling. ‘Right, sorry, I must have my wires crossed. He was here earlier today, before I started my shift. I thought Brooke said he was Jenny’s son, but—’
‘So someone visited her today and pretended to be her son?’ Meg’s voice trembled. ‘Can you please find out who it was?’
‘Of course, I’ll call Brooke and check. Are you able to come, though? She’s very upset.’
Ninety minutes later, Meg stood at the door of Jenny’s room. Jenny had been sedated.
