DANCING CLASSES:
TONIGHT @ THE LODGE
ALL WELCOME
Cecil raised his enormous head.The ribbons fluttered around his wide horns as he sniffed the air.But then his whole body shifted to face her, effectively blocking her path, showing off the impressive flower display he wore like a crown.He’d be perfect for weddings.
‘What are we doing, Cecil?’Eyeing him warily, she took a slow step sideways.‘I’m not a good dancer…’
Again, Taryn crab-walked away, trying not to spill her coffee and pastries, while maintaining some dignity.
But now her heels were coated in red dust, again, and the pastry bags had started to sag from the heat—but she was still on a mission to make it to the office.
Tanisha wasn’t in yet, but the receptionist’s desk held photos of some cats, assorted glitter in tiny plastic jars, and a cactus mug that saidDon’t Be a Prick.
Taryn set the pastry box down on the large table near Tanisha’s workstation and scribbled out a sticky note:
Thought the team might be hungry, Taryn.
She headed down the hallway, hearing David Attenborough narrate her approach in that hushed, reverent tone usually reserved for nesting sea turtles:And here, the lone female ventures into the heart of unfamiliar territory—a space referred to by locals as the Batcave.A curious habitat, eerily still at dawn.Biding its time to attack this unsuspecting female…
Taryn rolled her eyes.
Heaven help her, if anyone ever heard the inside of her head, she’d be sent on a permanent vacation.
At her temporary desk, she dropped her workbag and opened one of the pastry bags to prepare a small plate for the first interview.
She glanced at the clock.Right on time.
With a plate in one hand, her laptop and notebook in the other, Taryn made her way to the interrogation room—armed with caffeine, carbs, and the misguided hope that sugar-coated diplomacy might coax a few honest answers from her first contestant.
Inside the interrogation room, Constable Amara Montrose was already seated with a simple tablet on the table.
Not lounging.Not waiting.Butpositioned.With her back straight, arms just as straight on either side of her tablet, and as crisp as the ironed creases in her shirt.Her expression unreadable, but the clear message radiating from every inch of her regulation-perfect posture screamed:this is my turf.
Taryn offered a polite nod.‘Constable Montrose.Thanks for making the time to see me today.’
‘It was on the memo I wrote.’
‘Right.Of course.’Taryn set the plate of pastries down between them as a peace offering.
Amara glanced at the plate.But made no move to take anything.
‘Just thought I’d bring something, to keep things casual.’Taryn offered a smile.‘We’re just having a conversation.’
Amara said nothing.
Taryn sat across from her, flipping open her notebook.‘You’ve been with the Stock Squad since its creation, correct?’
‘Nearly.Finn worked alone for about six months, but I was the first to team up with him.It’ll be eighteen months now.’
‘And before that, you were with the Northern Territory Police?’
‘No.South Australian Police.I’m on secondment while working with Finn—at least until the Stock Squad is made permanent.’Thetat the end of permanent was very pronounced.
‘Transferred by choice?’
‘Yes.’
