Amara pressed her lips together to stop her grin—which was so unusual for her to want to smile so freely like this.Especially when they were here about a cold case, and with everything else going on in the background.
It was the distraction she needed.
‘Just so you know, Tilly helped build Dixby Downs into one of the most respected cattle stations in the Territory.She’s tough, fair, and well-respected.’
Amara could see Tilly was a strong woman.Time hadn’t just caught up with her—it had also stolen her son, the overseer.Was that why she left Dixby Downs deserted?To avoid the heartbreak.
Tilly turned her sharp gaze on them.‘If you’re here to spoon-feed me sympathy, or that crappy custard they have in the kitchens, you can bloody well turn around and don’t let the door hit you on the way out.’
Amara squared her shoulders.‘We’re here about Dixby Downs, Mrs Dixby.About your son.’
‘Hmph…’ Tilly adjusted her grip on her long thick cane.‘Who are you?’
‘Constable Amara Montrose.I’m with the Stock Squad.’Again, Amara showed her badge.
For a long moment, Tilly said nothing, inspecting the shield.Then, with a sharp nod, she gestured to the space across from her.‘Well, pull up a stump then, so I don’t get a sore neck looking up at ya.’
Porter pulled over some chairs for Amara and himself.His long legs crossed at the ankles as he leaned back as if catching up with an old friend.‘How’s it been, Tilly?’
‘Can’t complain.I’m still here.Done much hunting lately?’
‘Did some pigs the other week.’
‘Hate them pigs, make a bloody mess they do.What did you do with the meat then?’
‘It went to croc bait.Ranger took some for the cages in the National Park to protect the tourists.Usual story.’He then leaned forward, hands on thighs, his eyes on Tilly, but his tone was soft, gentle and unassuming.‘Constable Montrose and I were at Dixby Downs the other day.’
‘Still standing, then?’
‘Someone’s filled up the outstation’s water tanks, and your fences are looking straight as a pin.’
Tilly’s frown seemed to darken her eyes, that narrowed at Amara.‘You saw it too, then?’
Amara nodded.‘That’s why I want to help Porter.Maybe find your son, or something, so you can put him to rest.’
‘My son’s not dead,’ scoffed Tilly.‘That mongrel killed my husband, and he’s gone into hiding.The gutless bludger he is.’
Amara sat back, not expecting this at all.
‘Tilly, the case file said your husband’s death was an accident.’
‘I thought you were supposed to be a good cop, Porter—had some brains about ya,’ she scolded him, ‘I told you to look deeper than that.My husband did not die from falling off the back of a bloody ute.I know that.And you know that.We’ve had this conversation before, Porter.I may live here, but that doesn’t mean my brain’s retired, too, you know.’
‘I know.I forgot who I was talking to.’He winked at the old woman, who slyly grinned at him, along with a sparkle in her eye that was playful.
‘You tell her the story?’Tilly gave Amara a side nod.
‘Nope.Thought you could, and then the constable can ask you the questions.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I believe you, Tilly.Something is going on, and it involves Dixby Downs.I’ve already agreed to work on this case.And now I have Montrose here to help, we may find more answers.’He gave Tilly a tender pat on the frail hand gripping her cane.
The sigh was soft, but the relief that someone else finally believed her showed not just in her frail shoulders, but also in the glassiness of her eyes.
Tilly sniffed, her spine straightening as she gave a firm nod.‘Well, the story goes my husband, Rohan Dixby—a truly good man—died almost four years ago.And since that day I’ve always suspected foul play, but there’s no proof.’
‘What do you mean?’Amara asked Tilly.
