Chapter 45
Meg sat on a swing waiting for Georgie at the park on Barton Drive, kicking the dirt beneath her feet as a light breeze rustled the gum leaves overhead.
It was one of those depressing suburban parks, wedged between brick houses on a vacant block.
A swing set. A slide. A cold metal seat for a weary mum to sit on.
Someone had dumped an old couch by the fence.
Yellow stuffing spewed out of a rip in its brown checked fabric and half-a-dozen empty beer bottles lay in the long grass beside a VB box.
Even around the play equipment the grass was knee high, dotted with dandelions and wild daisies.
She held the tracker in her hand, turning it over and over in her fingers.
There was a crunch of feet on gravel and she looked up to see Georgie exhaling a plume of white smoke.
‘Hey.’ Georgie sucked on her vape again, then sat on the swing beside her. ‘What’s going on?’
Meg looked towards the road, checking they weren’t being watched, then passed Georgie the tracker.
She looked at it closely, then up at Meg, frowning. ‘Is it a tracker? Like an AirTag?’
Meg nodded. ‘Found it in my bag.’
‘What the hell?’ Georgie whispered. ‘Why?’
‘Because I dared to ask some questions about the jail redevelopment. And I’m getting close to working out what’s going on around here.’ Meg gestured towards the strip of houses to her right.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Who do you think’s buying all these places?’ Meg waited for Georgie to connect the dots.
Georgie’s eyes widened. ‘The Ashworths?’ Her voice was low.
Meg nodded.
‘Why, though?’
Meg shared her theory that Ashworth Property owned the factory and was planning to bulldoze it, along with the houses, to make way for a development of some sort.
‘Dodgy pricks,’ Georgie said when Meg finished, hatred infused in the words.
Meg pulled up the photo she’d taken of the CCTV footage. ‘Do you know this guy?’
Georgie squinted at the blurry image. ‘Yeah, that’s Dean Morgan.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘Just a local dickhead. Why?’
‘He visited my mum in the nursing home, pretended to be my brother. And last night, someone threw a brick through the window of the place where I was staying in Sydney.’
‘What the hell?’
‘I think he’s working for them.’
‘The Ashworths?’
‘Yep. And there’s more. You know Dan James, the protester?’ Georgie nodded.
‘I spoke with him just now. He believes there was a systematic campaign against him, retribution for his public opposition to the Hartwell Gaol development. The other protester, a guy called Joel Hardy, was driven off the road while he was riding his motorbike and had very serious injuries. Dan reckons it was someone working for Ashworth Property who did it, and that was when he decided to leave town.’
Georgie shook her head, stunned.
‘Ashworth Property are clearly using these intimidation tactics to scare and silence anyone who publicly opposes their developments,’ Meg said. ‘And it’s got me thinking about your dad’s accident.’
Georgie’s head snapped up, a deep crease between her eyes.
‘Your mum started the Facebook group six months before your dad’s accident. Two months before the accident, there was a story in the Highland Herald about the group, naming Chrissy as the founder.’
Georgie swallowed. ‘So you think … you think they didn’t give Dad fair workers’ comp because of Mum?’
‘It’s possible.’
Georgie sucked the vape, her eyes distant, a frown playing on her face. A crow flew overhead, its mournful cry piercing the thick, still air.
‘I’m also wondering …’ Meg said, ‘how much do you know about the accident? About what actually happened?’
Georgie looked at her. ‘He fell off a ladder. That’s it.’ She held Meg’s gaze, glassy-eyed. When she spoke again, her voice was a whisper. ‘Do you think the accident was … not really an accident?’
‘I honestly don’t know, but it’s possible. If they drove a guy off the road for protesting, who knows what they’re capable of?’
Georgie closed her eyes, sending tears down her cheeks.
‘I need you to tell me who Hugh Thorburn is sleeping with,’ Meg said.
Georgie wiped her tears away and shook her head.
‘Please. I want to use it to force him to tell me what’s going on.’
Georgie glanced sideways. ‘I thought you didn’t approve of blackmail.’
‘I don’t. Under normal circumstances.’
Georgie looked away.
‘Georgie?’
‘I’m already in over my head with the blackmail stuff. I’m not getting involved in a fight with the Ashworths.’ She stood up and handed Meg the tracker. ‘They always win.’
‘Please, Georgie,’ Meg pleaded.
She sighed. ‘I can’t.’
‘Don’t you want to find out what they did? To your father? To your family?’ Meg’s voice was sharper than intended. She took a breath and spoke softly. ‘Please, just tell me the name. I won’t say you told me.’
Georgie shook her head. ‘They always win, Meg.’ She looked at the time on her phone. ‘I gotta go. You got something to do tonight?’
Meg frowned, then remembered it was New Year’s Eve. ‘I’m just going to order room service and watch telly in my king size bed.’
‘By yourself?’
Meg nodded. ‘I’ll pick up a bottle of Champagne to make it feel a bit special.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yep. Honestly, I kind of love the idea of it.’
‘Alright, have a good night then.’
Georgie stood up and walked away, but then she stopped and looked back at Meg.
She seemed to be thinking. Then instead of walking to the path, she went to the slide and bent down.
When she stood again, she held something in her hand.
She walked back to Meg and gave it to her, a strange intensity in her eyes.
Meg looked down at the flower in her hands. It was a daisy.
It took her a moment to understand, then she looked up, heart racing.
‘Daisy?’ she whispered. ‘Daisy Ashworth?’
Georgie nodded, then turned and walked away.
Daisy Ashworth was on Meg’s mind as she studied the Champagne range at the little bottle shop next door to the Red Lion.
Meg had seen her across the room at the fundraiser, in a slinky white dress with cutouts in places only an eighteen-year-old could pull off.
The moaning Meg had heard through the wall of her hotel room replayed in her mind and she shuddered at the thought that it was Daisy Ashworth with her aunt’s fiancé, who was thirty years older than her.
No wonder Hugh had paid Georgie to keep his sordid secret.
It was so callous, so cruel. Poor Issy. She deserved to know, but Meg had to keep the secret.
For now, anyway. It was exactly the sort of leverage she needed.
What else would he do, Meg wondered, to keep his betrayal from Issy?
Would this information be enough to force a confession about the bribes?
She yawned, suddenly tired, and decided she wasn’t in the mood for Champagne after all. A few beers and an early night was what she needed. Ideally, she would be asleep before the nine o’clock fireworks illuminated the Sydney Harbour Bridge.
She moved down the row of fridges to where the beer was stocked and reached for a six-pack, then weaved between shelves and stacks of wine boxes to the front of the store, catching her breath when she saw Issy standing at the register.
There was a beep as the attendant scanned Issy’s bottle of expensive-looking Champagne.
‘Got something fun planned for tonight?’ the pimply guy behind the counter asked her.
‘No, not really,’ Issy said, flatly.
The attendant frowned at the unexpected admission. ‘Oh, that’s a shame.’
Meg turned away, pretending to peruse the vodka selection, listening.
‘I was supposed to be going to Sydney with my fiancé, but I decided to stay here at the last minute,’ Issy said, as though she wanted him to know she had options. ‘So it’ll just be me and my bottle of Bolly.’ She laughed, an attempt to lighten the moment, but it sounded false.
Meg felt a pang in her chest and wished she didn’t know about Daisy and Hugh. Before she had time to think things through, she turned around to catch Issy as she finished at the counter.
‘Meg!’ Issy smiled. ‘Happy New Year!’ She leaned in, kissing both cheeks.
‘Happy New Year!’ Meg said. ‘Thanks for sorting out a room for me.’
‘Happy to help,’ Issy said, waving a hand. She glanced at the six-pack. ‘Where are you off to tonight?’
‘Nowhere, actually.’ Meg hesitated. ‘I’d love company, but Georgie’s going to a party, and I don’t really know anyone else …’ She shrugged. ‘If you’re not busy, would you like to come around to the hotel? You probably have plans—’
‘I don’t actually,’ Issy said. ‘I’d love to join you.’ She held up the bottle of Bollinger Meg had seen in the fridge for one hundred and nine dollars. ‘I’ll bring bubbles!’
‘Great,’ Meg said, feeling her Netflix-in-bed plans slipping away. ‘Say six-ish?’
Issy’s blue eyes sparkled. ‘Perfect.’