Heart of the Outback (23 page)

Still, she consoled herself with the thought that even if she and Aden weren’t meant for each other, and she was pretty sure now that they weren’t, he had freed her from the tyranny of her memories of Bryan Steinberg. She had come through stronger, more complete, confident. Aden had helped to make
her heart whole again and brought her out of her self-imposed shell. For that she would always be grateful to him.

The Dupre house, a sprawling ranch-style weatherboard set in a refreshingly leafy garden was ablaze with coloured lights and party noises as CJ parked the Rolls. Loud jukebox music could be heard coming from the backyard and already a throng of people were spilling out onto the front verandah, chatting, laughing and enjoying each other’s company.

CJ kept Francey’s arm tucked in his as they made their way through the house to the rear patio. After a while Francey’s head spun with all the names of people CJ insisted on introducing her to. The mayor, the superintendent at the hospital, several doctors and numerous executives connected with the mine.

Her blue-green gaze eventually lighted on Sergeant Parrish who stood on the fringe of the crowd. With his height and breadth he was hard to miss, and she noted that he looked smart, rather “un-copperish”, in his casual clothes. Black slacks and boots, a long sleeved collared shirt and a multipatterned vest. Kind of laid-back, dressy country and western, she guessed.

“CJ, let the girl go,” Lisa admonished her boss for his proprietorial air towards Francey. “I want her to meet some regular folk,” she added, raising her eyebrows at the types Francey had been introduced to: the upper eschalon of the Isa, people CJ knew and dealt with.

“Thanks,” Francey whispered gratefully as the two women made their getaway, giggling. Suddenly what she wanted to do was to talk to Steve Parrish,
despite her earlier apprehension towards him. But it wasn’t to be. She found herself drawn into a new group of people and after what seemed like hours later, looking up as someone touched her arm, she recognised the man she had met the first day in town standing at her elbow.

“Hello, architect lady. Sam Bianchini, remember me?”

She laughed and shook her head, her ebony tresses swaying to and fro. “I’d rather forget, not you in particular, but the way we met.”

“Bumped into any roos lately?” Sam teased and when queried by one of the women, with Francey’s tacit approval, told them the story of Francey’s encounter with the kangaroos.

“You wanna dance?” Sam asked.

“Gee Sam, if Michelle catches you you’ll be in trouble,” one of the women said in a half whisper.

Sam shrugged his shoulders but his gaze roved furtively over the crowd looking for the woman with whom he was supposedly having an affair. Deciding it was safe he led Francey onto the covered patio, where a temporary timber floor had been laid, and began to twirl her about.

Francey soon found out that country people were very hospitable, especially the men, many of whom couldn’t wait to dance with her. But when a rather large hand took her by the arm and twirled her off the floor, and she saw that it belonged to Steve Parrish, she smiled with gratitude. They moved to the edge of the noisy throng and Steve slipped away for a moment or two to get them fresh drinks, giving Francey time to catch her breath.

“Looks like you’re having a good time,’ he said as he handed her a glass of white wine.

“I think Sam, Tim and Dimitri intend to wear me out on the dance floor.”

“Yes. Around here it’s called ‘get the girl exhausted and wear down her resistance’ — much as they do when they’re roping a steer — so they can have their wicked way with her,” he replied, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Francey’s eyebrows rose sharply. “I don’t think I care for the analogy between women and cattle. Besides, how do you know about such ruses? Practiced them yourself, hey?”

“I’m a cop. It’s my job to know about everything.”

“And do you,” she queried, intrigued by his confidence, “know about everything?”

He thought for a while, his dark eyes sparkling in the play of lights above them. “Not everything, perhaps, but most of what’s important around here.” He elaborated, “Like your partner, Dimitri. I can tell you that he has a wife and two children at home and he’s always out for a good time. Sam’s all right but he’s having it off with Michelle Mason, the wife of one of the mine’s foremen. Tim’s a good bloke. He works on a station north of here, he’s footloose and fancy-free.”

“What about you?” she asked pertinently.

“Me?” His features assumed a thoughtful expression. “I’m like Tim. A good bloke.” He paused for a moment then added, “and available.”

“That’s good to know.” Francey realised that they were verbally fencing with each other, and that both were very much aware of the undercurrent of
attraction between them. It was exciting, and exhilarating. Apart from Aden she hadn’t even remotely flirted with any male since Bryan. And then, as she looked up into his hard, hewn features her initial awkwardness, of feeling left-footed around him for no apparent reason fell away.

“Dance?”

Francey glanced at the crowd of jumping, gyrating party animals squashed into the dance area and shook her head. Had it been a slow dance she might have said yes. “It’s not worth it, the bruises, I mean.”

He grinned in understanding and marvelled as they began to talk naturally and easily, expanding on what they knew about each other. It was as if the slate of their previous meetings, where there had been tension and some awkwardness, had been wiped clean. Of course, he realised that he’d be just as happy to look at her, without too much talking, but Francey, he soon learned, was a woman who liked to talk. Not useless, frothy chitchat though, she had a keen brain and an interest in many things and when she became passionate about something, he sensed that she was the type who wouldn’t be easily dissuaded from her beliefs.

“CJ told us about your investigation into Richard Ambrose’s death. Everyone at Murrundi can’t believe you think he may have been murdered. They all spoke so fondly of him. I wish I’d had the opportunity to meet him.” From what she had heard about Richard from Shellie and Natalie, and from Les and Billy Wontow, she was sure she would have liked the man.

A muscle twitched in Steve’s jaw. CJ had done what he’d asked him not to do. He should have
known the old man wouldn’t keep the information to himself indefinitely. CJ was the sort who had his own agenda on everything that concerned him. Christ, imagine if a journalist picked up the story? Then Andronicus would go to ground and he’d have Buckley’s of finding him. He expelled his breath noisily, trying to hide his irritation. “Well, the investigation’s in its early days. Clues are few and far between. Frankly, I don’t know how far I’ll be able to go with it, without a clear motive or a definite suspect or suspects.”

Francey remembered how Shellie and Natalie had cried when CJ relayed the information to those assembled by the swimming pool. She’d seen that Les had been shocked by the news too. That a person could deliberately plot and execute a stampede to get rid of a rival, or for revenge, or even for financial gain, proved to her that violence knew no boundaries; it was as much alive and well in the bush as in the city.

“But you’ll do your best? I know CJ would appreciate it.”

“Rest assured, Francey, I’ll follow up every lead I can ferret out.” He looked down at her. “I liked Richard Ambrose, he was an okay guy.”

Francey smiled, reassured by the tone of his voice and the determination in his eyes. She believed Steve Parrish wasn’t the type of man to promise something he couldn’t deliver.

“So, how’s your latest project going?” he asked, wanting to get off the gloomy subject of Richard’s death.

“It’s the biggest thing I’ve tackled in my architectural career. Quite a challenge, I can tell
you. To get a comparison with what’s already been built, next week Les is flying me to Cairns. We’re going to inspect some resort complexes along the coastline, and we’re going down to Surfers as well.”

“Sounds tough,” his sarcasm had a soft edge to it. “You’re going to be spoilt with all this jetsetting around and living the lifestyle of a millionaire. The adjustment will be hard when you return to everyday life, like the rest of us.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve plenty of friends in Sydney, and my parents, who’ll bring me back to reality soon enough.” She looked up at him. “Do you ever get down to Sydney?”

“Not a lot, but who knows …” He shrugged enigmatically. Then his ears picked up the change in the music as it slowed to half its frenetic pace. “Come on, let’s dance.” He took her by the hand and half dragged her towards the dance floor.

Strong, yet gentle, Francey thought as Steve’s arms closed around her and pulled her close. And light on his feet, considering his size. She felt enveloped yet not smothered. Safe, she felt safe. She laughed to herself. Why wouldn’t she feel safe? He was a policeman, for God’s sake. But deep down she knew it was more than that. There was something genuine about Sergeant Parrish, he had a no-nonsense belief in himself, a no-frills kind of guy. What one saw was what one got. And so far, as her gaze subtlely explored the breadth of his shoulders, the expanse of his chest, the ruggedness of his features, she liked what she saw and felt. More than she knew it was wise to.

Elsewhere, above the noise and high spirits, three other pairs of eyes took note of Steve and Francey dancing together.

Les Westcott could barely suppress the scowl as he made polite conversation with Pierre Dupre, the birthday boy. Hell, what did she see in that lummox-headed cop? The same cop that CJ had recently begun to have time for. He controlled the urge to sneer as he replied to some inane remark. Parrish was a nothing, a non-achiever. He’d chickened out of the Sydney police scene when it had got too hot for him and had come, tail between his legs, to the Isa to drone the rest of his life away. Did Francey know about his past? Probably not. He’d make sure she found out, not through him, of course, but via someone else. Maybe Shellie. CJ’s sister enjoyed a gossip, but then she liked Steve and probably wouldn’t bad-mouth him. His gaze moved to Sam Bianchini who looked as if he was arguing with Michelle Mason. Maybe Sam. He owed him a favour or two. A hunch told him he could be encouraged to give Francey the dirt on Parrish. He began to weave his way through the crowd of people towards his target.

CJ Ambrose, deep in political manoeuvrings with the mayor, Darren Turk, fixed his gaze on Francey and Parrish for a moment or two before looking away. They made a nice couple. He frowned at the thought. Mismatched, he changed his view. Young Francey had too much ambition for Parrish, even though he’d been forced to rethink his opinion of him since Parrish had started to investigate Richard’s death. He didn’t often make mistakes in gauging a man’s character — it was too important in business dealings to underestimate a man — but in Parrish’s case he had. The man was a
quiet one, the low-key type who just went and got things done. Solid, and he reckoned he could be depended upon in a fight. A man to have on your side rather than against you.

“CJ, when are you gonna put your money where your mouth is and build that art museum you’ve been talking about for years?” Darren Turk challenged as he sipped his scotch and soda.

CJ’s gaze returned momentarily to Francey, noting that she was smiling up at her dancing partner as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “Sooner than you think, Darren. You know I’ve owned that parcel of land near the river for years. Now that I’ve found a top rate architect, if I can twist her arm a little, she might come up with an acceptable plan.”

Darren Turk followed CJ’s gaze. “You appear to have a lot of faith in that young woman.” He nudged CJ in the ribs. “Is it all business between you two?”

“We’re just good friends, as the saying goes,” CJ answered, being deliberately obtuse. Then he laughed heartily. Like most of the folks here Turk would believe what he wanted to believe.

Standing on the fringe of the conversation between CJ and Turk, Natalie stiffened as she heard her stepfather’s deliberate innuendo. CJ liked to play games and enjoyed baiting Darren, politically and personally. But, was “just good friends” an accurate description of his relationship with the architect? Since her return to Murrundi she had made a point of observing CJ and Francey together, and she honestly hadn’t seen anything to indicate that they were having an affair. However, that didn’t mean that they weren’t. They might be being extraordinarily discreet.

The irksome thing was that Francey was still at Murrundi when she shouldn’t be. She should be back where she belonged, in Sydney. She guessed that the architect could just as easily work on the plans for Cooktown in her office, as at Murrundi. So why wasn’t she? What was the big attraction to staying with CJ? Was she trying to slowly worm her way into his confidence? Did she want to make herself indispensable to him? God, that had been done before, countless times by women throughout the ages. Well, she didn’t intend to sit around and watch that situation eventuate. There was too much at stake.

“Would you like to dance, Natalie?”

Natalie blinked twice to clear her thoughts. Mike Hunter was standing right in front of her and she hadn’t even noticed him. “Dance? Oh, yes, Mike, that would be nice.” As they approached the dancing crowd she saw Sam Bianchini cut in on Steve and then whirl Francey away to the other side of the dance floor.

It shouldn’t be too hard to think of a way to get rid of Francey Spinetti. Maybe she could discredit her in CJ’s eyes. That would be best, but it might also be difficult to achieve, and she couldn’t risk getting her stepfather offside. Still, there were other methods, ideas and … she smiled broadly at Mike and he smiled back, thinking she was enjoying being with him. A plan began to form in her devious mind.

CJ heard Francey’s sigh as they sped towards Murrundi in the Rolls in the early hours of the morning. He grinned in the darkness. “You seemed to have a good time tonight. Plenty of male attention.”

“I did. I thought country men were laid back and shy. I didn’t find too many of those guys at Pierre’s party.”