Chapter 13
‘Beer, please,’ Meg said to the surly blonde barmaid.
‘What sort?’ the barmaid asked, chewing gum.
Meg checked the taps for a craft beer she recognised. ‘Stone and Wood, thanks.’ She glanced up at the screen above the bar that showed Deal or No Deal.
‘Six ninety,’ the barmaid said, plonking down the glass. Froth ran down one side as it hit the bar.
Meg sat at the nearest table and took a sip of her beer, enjoying the cold sensation.
What a waste of a day. She’d achieved absolutely nothing.
Her only hope of rectifying that at this stage was to strike up a chat with a local over a drink.
Unfortunately, the place was almost empty except for an old couple with a bushwalking map spread out on their table and a few old blokes at the far end of the bar who were busy flirting with the teenage barmaid.
Meg opened the to-do list on her phone. It hadn’t been a particularly ambitious plan for day one, but she’d made no tangible progress at all. She’d been just about to ask the café owner about the protests when Isobel Ashworth walked in. Poor woman. Such a public humiliation!
Meg had waited for half an hour after the confrontation for the chance to speak with the café owner again, but she was rushed off her feet. Eventually, Meg gave up. Follow up with owner of Apple Tree Café, she wrote on her list for tomorrow.
After she left the café she’d gone back past Hartwell Gaol, but they were having a meeting—every worker on site appeared to be standing in a huddle in the open space inside the compound walls.
She’d taken a few steps inside the gate, straining to hear, but she couldn’t get close enough.
When the group eventually disbanded, she’d tried to catch someone’s eye.
The only person who’d noticed her was a formidable-looking woman with a sharp haircut and red glasses that matched the eye-catching print on her dress.
The woman had walked over and met Meg’s eyes, frowning. ‘Can I help you?’
‘No, sorry. I was just looking.’
The woman held her gaze until Meg turned to go.
The council chambers were even more unwelcoming. How anyone managed to work in a place like that, Meg would never know. She stood at the counter for a few minutes while a balding man with pallid skin pretended not to notice her.
‘Excuse me?’ she’d asked eventually.
He’d glanced at her with raised eyebrows in lieu of a greeting.
‘I’m wondering if I can see the records about the Hartwell Gaol development. I submitted a request online but I haven’t had a reply.’
He clicked his tongue and sighed. ‘You’ll have to speak to Adrian.’
‘Adrian who?’
‘Gorecki. He’s in the Strategic Planning Team, they approved the development.’
‘Okay great, thanks.’
He turned back to his screen.
She cleared her throat. ‘Is he here? Can I speak with him now?’
‘He’s not in on a Monday.’
‘Right, when is he in, then?’
‘Hard to say.’
At that point, Meg took a deep breath to avoid losing her temper. ‘How about tomorrow?’
In the end, the man wrote Adrian Gorecki’s email address on a piece of paper. Meg suspected it was only so he could get rid of her. She’d emailed Adrian while still sitting in the car park.
That was a few hours ago. She took a sip of her beer and checked her email. Nothing. She opened Messenger to check she hadn’t missed a reply from the admin of Save Hartwell. Also nothing. She sighed.
‘G’day, love.’ Meg looked up to see Sue, a stack of glasses in one hand and a cloth in the other. ‘How’d you go with your meetings?’
‘Not great, actually.’
‘Ah, that’s no good, love.’ Sue leaned back, resting her bottom on a stool. ‘Why was that?’
‘One of those days where nothing quite went to plan.’
‘What did you say you were doing here again?’
‘Oh, I’m just having a look at the old jail. Fascinating history.’
‘You’re an academic or the like, are you?’
‘Yeah, something like that. Is there some controversy around the development? I saw the graffiti on the wall and I noticed there’s a Facebook group opposing it.’
‘Some controversy?’ Sue threw her head back and let out a throaty laugh.
Meg laughed along. ‘I’ll take that as a yes, then.’
‘I don’t know why they’re still at it.’
‘So you’re not a member of the Facebook group?’
Sue shook her head. ‘I don’t like to take sides. It’s bad for business. Besides, I’ve only been down here eight years. It’s the real locals who are most fired up.’
Meg paused, wondering if she could trust Sue. Her easy conversation put Meg at ease, but that didn’t mean she was trustworthy. She would go slowly. ‘I saw something a bit strange today, actually.’
‘Yeah?’
Meg nodded. ‘I was having lunch at the Apple Tree Café and Isobel Ashworth walked in—’
‘Well, that is strange!’ Sue said.
Meg frowned. ‘Why’s that?’
‘Reckon I could count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen anyone from that family in town.’
‘The owner of the café refused to serve her. She told her to leave. It made quite a scene.’
Sue laughed again. ‘Ah, good on her. She hates those Ashworths. Can’t say I blame her, given what they’ve been through.’
‘Really? What have they been through?’ Meg asked, hoping her tone was curious and casual, rather than nosy.
‘Long story, love.’ Sue stood up, wiped the table over and glanced around. ‘Better get back to it.’
Meg tried to conceal her frustration at Sue’s discretion.
‘Can I get you another one?’ Sue gestured to Meg’s almost empty glass.
The door swung open and a couple of young guys walked in. They had the toughened, sunbaked look of labourers. They must be working at Hartwell Gaol.
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ Meg said. A well-timed trip to the bar would be the best way to strike up a conversation, see what they might tell her.
She looked back at the to-do list. Her number one priority tomorrow was following up with the owner of the café. There was obviously a story there. If she hated the Ashworths, maybe she’d be willing to talk. She clearly didn’t care about losing their business.
The phone vibrated in her hand with a Facebook Message.
It was from Chris Baxter: Meet me at the Red Lion tomorrow at three.