Chapter 7
It is, rather, the best-looking man I’ve ever seen in real life.
He’s standing in the kitchen, awkwardly holding an open cardboard box in his arms. This guy looks like a contestant from Farmer Wants a Wife but one of the rare hot ones, not the bros who are just a nice pair of arms. He’s wearing jeans, a checked shirt, and dusty boots, looking like a Google image search for Aussie farmer.
He’s not wearing an Akubra Cattleman hat and that’s a relief, not just because it’d be dorky as hell, but because he’s got thick dark hair it’d be a shame to squash.
He must be a stickler for SPF, because he lacks the deep tan of most country people, but it works.
“G’morning, sorry to drop in like this out of the blue.”
Aunty Vinka and Aunty Bec are standing in front of him, both looking a little stunned.
Dad, drinking coffee at the table, meets my eyes and rolls his just a little bit as I sit down next to him, grateful I took the time to get out of my robe and pull on a T-shirt dress.
Up close I can see the box in Farmer Guy’s arms is full of what looks like a week’s supply of fruit and veg.
“I’m Vinka and this is my, uh, Bec.”
“You must be Mrs. McCulloch’s relatives.”
“Yes?” Aunty Vinka says, like she’s not sure.
“Sorry, my name’s Sasha.” He shifts the box to hold it against his body with one hand and extends the other to shake my aunts’ hands, one after the other.
“I heard about what happened to Gertie, and I thought you could do with some supplies, if you’re sticking around. ” He nods at the box in his arms.
“That’s so thoughtful. Thank you.”
“I’m sorry to hear about Gertie’s passing,” he says, so formally I want to blurt it was probably murder to shock him, or maybe just to get him to look at me.
He’s older than me, obviously (not a huge market for fourteen-year-old farmers, so far as I’m aware), but not as old as Dad or Shippy. In his twenties, maybe?
“How did you hear about what happened so fast?”
“Everyone sort of knows everything in the country. Also, I have a friend who’s a cop.”
Sasha shifts the box with a grunt and Aunty Vinka notices. “Sorry, you can put that on the table.”
“Thank you.”
Dad doesn’t get up from the table or put down his coffee, but he gives Sasha a slow nod of greeting.
“I’m Andrew.”
“Sasha.”
“Did you know Gertie well?” Dad asks.
“I live nearby, so I did some work for her sometimes when she needed a hand.”
“You’re the young guy she mentioned—you bought the farm next door?”
Sasha looks disconcerted by the idea that GG’s been talking about him, but after a beat he nods.
“Yeah.” The smell of him is filling the room, earthy and maybe just a tiny bit like manure, but the way manure smells when you go to a riding stable: wholesome and fresh.
Actually, it’s entirely possible the smell is coming from his boots and quite literally is manure.
“That’s so good of you,” Aunty Vinka says.
Dad, at least, remembers my existence. “This is my daughter, Ruth, and my nephew, Dylan.”
We both mumble something that probably starts with an h. Sasha doesn’t shake my hand, but he gives me a big grin that would definitely convince some wannabe reality star to move to an isolated farm in Western Australia for him.
“What do we owe you?”
“Nothing. I just wasn’t sure if you’d be able to get out to the shops with everything going on.”
Nobody mentions that GG’s cupboard and freezer are stocked like she was an apocalypse prepper.
Which…maybe she was? I haven’t seen any signs of a shotgun collection or a water purifier, but I haven’t done much in the way of snooping.
Maybe she was part of an apocalyptic prepping group and one of them lost their mind and crept up to her window one night and…
“How long are you sticking around here for?” Sasha asks, and the grown-ups all swap looks.
“We’re not sure,” Aunty Vinka says. “My partner had an, uh, accident and he’s in the local hospital here, so between that and the police investigation, we might be here for a few days.”
“Well, I’m nearby if you need anything. The farm’s tricky to get to—few too many gates—but I can give you my phone number.”
“Our phones don’t work here,” Dad says.
“What about the landline?”
“Broken.”
“Gertie’s cell, too?”
“Some issue with a bill, apparently.”
“I forgot about that. You know you can get reception further out in the paddocks even if you’re not with Telstra, right?”
“Yep, that’s what we’ve been doing. Can we—do you want a coffee or anything before you go?”
“I don’t want to trouble you.”
“It’s no trouble.”
“Then, sure. I’ve got fifteen minutes before I need to be anywhere.”
Dad makes the coffee while Aunty Bec and Aunty Vinka settle in to interrogate our hot neighbor.
They wouldn’t put it that way—they’d say they’re just being polite and making chat—but it’s an interrogation.
I don’t mind. I’m grateful. I mean, this hottie just turns up out of the blue and he lives next door and none of us have ever met him before?
Hello, prime suspect, so nice to meet you.
All I’m missing is a motive, and how hard can that be?
Maybe he’s a secret prepper too and the two of them—
“How long have you lived next door?”
“Not long, but my family’s been in the area for a while.”
“Do they still live nearby?”
“No, I’m afraid they’ve all passed away.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s hard work, farming.” Sasha meets my eyes and smiles, and I can’t not smile back, even as I’m now a little fixated on the idea that his entire family could have died in some kind of horrific farming accident. I sense, rather than see, Dylan looking at me.
“It sure is,” Dad says, like he doesn’t spend his working days in an air-conditioned office arguing with people who are paid to stop politicians telling anyone what they really think. He hands Sasha a coffee without asking if he wants milk or sugar.
“We’re going to be making funeral arrangements soon,” Aunty Vinka says, which is a thing I haven’t thought about. “I don’t really know who Gertie was close with in town. Is there anyone you think we should reach out to?”
Sasha looks like he’s considering it.
“There are probably a few ladies in town she was friendly with,” he says eventually. “I can’t remember their names off the top of my head. I’ll have a think, though.”
“Thank you.”
“She used to go to the library,” Aunty Bec says. “She was friendly with one of the librarians. Laura, I think?”
Sasha nods slowly. “Laura, yeah, that sounds right.”
More silence, during which surely everyone is secretly doing the same thing I am: mentally tallying up the list of people who would come to my funeral.
My family, that’s a gimme. Ali and Libby, too.
Tanya from tennis. Sam, who I almost kissed at a party once, might come out of some weird sense of obligation or guilt for turning his head at the last second and mumbling “Maybe not, hey?” Mum and Dad’s friends, probably.
It’s a small list, but it sounds like I might be ahead of GG, numbers-wise.
When I tune back in, Sasha is finishing his coffee and saying his goodbyes.
Numbers are exchanged, some more thank-yous handed out, and he’s escorted to the front door without me even getting a chance to ask where he was the night of GG’s death and whether he was aware of any priceless artworks/jewels/uncut gems she might have owned.
I do get a good look at his profile, though.
Aunty Vinka walks him out to his car and comes back in pretending to fan her face.
“Wowza,” Aunty Bec says.
“I know,” Aunty Vinka says, and the two of them collapse into giddy, uncharacteristic laughter. “So hot.”
“Mum!” Dylan gives her a disgusted look and then gives me one too, which is unfair.
“Someone get that guy on Farmer Wants a Wife,” Dad says.
“That’s what I was thinking,” I say, and this time Dylan’s look is maybe a little more justified.
“Hey, Ruth,” Aunty Bec says, maybe sensing her son’s growing discomfort and keen to change the subject, “you haven’t seen Shippy this morning, have you?”
“No, why?”
“He was gone when I got up, that’s all.”
Apparently, this is news to Dad. “Where is he?”
“I have no idea, that’s what I’m saying.”
“Reading Tolstoy in a field somewhere, do we think?”
“Thanks,” Aunty Bec says, making it sound like a slap. “Your car is missing too,” she adds, and that makes Dad’s head jerk up.
“What?”
“You did tell us yesterday we could use it if we needed to go into town. I suppose Shippy took you at your word.”
“I was talking to you.”
“I can’t really imagine where he’d need to go so early. It’s not like he brought his surfboard.”
“Library?” Dad says, overly committed to his bit.
“I can’t decide whether you two genuinely don’t get along or if you’re going to run away together when my back is turned,” Aunty Bec says.
“The latter, definitely. Have you seen his guns?” Dad flexes his own biceps. It’s a bit tragic.
“He didn’t leave a note?” Aunty Vinka asks.
“No.”
“I’m sure he’ll turn up,” Dad says, as though Shippy is the missing half of a pair of socks.
Shippy does turn up, by the way, just not quite as anyone expects.