‘Took you long enough to figure that out.’He tapped the side of his forehead.‘I clocked the water tank the second I arrived.Full tank, no station hands, no cattle, and lots of straight fence lines.I may not be a stockman, but I can read the signs.Either the ghosts have gotten real thirsty, or someone’s been topping it up.’He smirked, stretching out his legs under the table.‘And the tracks?I’ve been tracking those since my first visit out there.’
‘How?Are you a tracker like Craig?’
‘I’m nowhere near as good as Cowboy Craig, but I do go hunting.’He took a sip of his coffee.
‘When did you first notice the tracks?’
‘Soon after I met Tilly, she asked me to take a look for her.About four months ago… Not that long before you lot stumbled out there on that Cold Stock Case.’
Amara’s jaw clenched.‘And you didn’t think to mention this earlier?’
‘Oh, I’d considered it.’He lazily lifted a shoulder.‘But you seemed to be having such a fun time coming to the conclusion all on your own.’
She huffed out a breath, shaking her head.‘You’re such an arse.’
‘You say that now.’He stood, grabbing his police hat and tipping out the rest of his coffee in the nearby sink.‘But I think we can be civil to each other, while you accompany me to talk to Tilly.’
Amara crossed her arms, glaring at him for a moment.‘That’s only because I want answers.’
Porter winked at her as he rinsed out his mug and left it to dry on the rack beside the others.‘Exactly.And because, deep down, you know I’m right.’
‘Where’s Tilly now?’
‘At The Lodge.The aged-care facility, right across the road.’He glanced at the clock, then closed the lid on his laptop.He scooped up the photos, returning them to the case file, and slid it back amongst his pile stacked on the spare chair.‘You can wait until morning or…’
She shook her head.‘I don’t want to wait.’
‘Didn’t think so.’She obviously needed a distraction.
He opened the security door for her.
‘Aren’t you meant to man the phones or something?’Amara glanced around the empty office space.
‘The phones get diverted to my mobile.Come on, we’d hate to miss her.Because I think you’re in for a busy day tomorrow, chasing down the information on that brand.’
She gave him an irritated look, as if hating that he was right.‘Fine.Let’s go talk to Tilly.’
Twelve
In need of a distraction from the unease over her horse’s brand and the frustration of waiting, Amara followed Porter into the Lodge, where the scent of old leather and saddle soap greeted them.An odd combination for an aged care facility, that was probably filled with a lifetime of stories.Somewhere beneath it all, the faintest trace of baking bread and custard wafted down the corridor.
Retired stockmen with faces carved by decades of sun were scattered around the large open room, which had a stunning view of the night sky towering over a slumbering outback.
Some residents were slumped in worn-out armchairs, boots propped on stools, while others huddled at tables shuffling cards or nursing enamel mugs of billy tea.A few polished their old saddles, running weathered hands over the leather as if feeling the memory of every mile they’d ridden.Others worked their stockwhips, oiling the braids, checking for cracks in the lash, or flicking them lightly against their boots to test the feel.
One old ringer sat with a bridle stretched across his lap, carefully threading new reins through the bit.Another ran a cloth over a pair of well-worn spurs, the rowels clicking softly with each careful turn.In the corner, a wiry man looped a length of rope between his hands, tying and untying knots with practised ease, the muscle memory keeping his fingers busy, even if he no longer had any cattle to muster.
They might have been past their days in the saddle, but their hands still knew the work, and their eyes still held the sharpness of those who’d spent their lives reading the land.
At the centre of it all stood a grand piano, the glossy polish of its shell highlighted by the lighting, where a group of women had gathered to sing old-time show tunes while sharing a laugh, like karaoke without the beer.
The piano stopped and an elderly woman, in a Cinderella-style ballgown, waved at Porter.Her tiara sparkled under the interior lights as she skipped towards them, her gown rustling as it slid across the floor.‘Porter.So nice to see you.’She crushed Porter into a hug like a grandmother.
‘Hello, Esther.You look well.’
‘I remember who I am today.So that’s a good thing— Oh, new girlfriend?’
‘Work colleague.Constable Amara Montrose of the Stock Squad.’
