Chapter Twenty-Six #2
Who knew the rev-head patrolman had some polish beneath that dusty exterior? Tonight, he’d been impeccable. Attentive. Flawless. His manners sharper than some of the elitist snobs she’d known from polo balls, cotillions, and galas.
She’d been silly to think he didn’t know the difference between cutlery and cattle tags.
‘Ooh, good idea. I’ll come with you.’ Izzy, Craig’s wife, went to stand.
‘Allow me, Izzy.’ Again, Porter was there to help.
‘Aren’t you the perfect gentleman tonight, Porter?’ teased Craig.
‘It’s the suit.’ Porter brushed down his shoulders. ‘Hard to be a bogan in Armani.’
‘Come on, if we don’t leave now, we’ll have no room to breathe from their bragging.’ Izzy hooked her arm through Amara’s like they were old friends. ‘I hope you don’t mind me hanging off you like a leech, but walking on grass in heels…’
‘I get it.’ Amara tapped Izzy’s hand, wrapping her arm tighter, they started making their way through the tables like sisters. It was nice.
‘Craig was telling me you and Porter were working on a cold case. Dixby Downs?’
‘I haven’t touched it much. But I did interview the station owner before…’ Everything went sideways.
‘I heard you met Tilly Dixby.’
‘Do you know Tilly?’
‘She’s a client.’
‘Okay…’ It made her pause, because Izzy was a criminal lawyer.
‘Not like that. I do civil work now, and mostly wills these days.’ Izzy gave Amara’s arm a friendly squeeze. ‘Tilly told me you spoke with her at the Lodge.’
‘I like that place.’
‘Me too. So does Tilly. Did you know that she’s rich enough and healthy enough to go live back at Dixby Downs if she wants?’
‘Why doesn’t she?’ Amara should also be asking herself about her own living arrangements. Should she stay at Porter’s? Move back to the pub? Or find somewhere else to live?
‘Because Tilly doesn’t think she’ll be safe out there.’ Izzy pulled them to a stop, keeping her voice low at the edge of the crowd. ‘I know Tilly told you she thinks her son—the overseer—is alive. That he killed her husband.’
Patricide.
The word landed heavily, even if no one said it aloud.
‘Do you think Sawyer did it?’
‘I’ve only had a brief look at the file. Porter has it.’ It was sitting among Porter’s pile of files that sat on the chair under the big table in the main station area.
Porter didn’t have a desk like Amara did, just his laptop set on the corner of the boardroom table, and he seemed fine with that.
It was close to the coffee and the fridge, and close enough to help Tanisha with the phones and the front counter.
Again, there was his skill of placing himself in a position to help, protect, and serve.
‘The coroner’s report said Rohan Dixby died from blunt-force trauma.’ Amara had seen the images.
‘Rocks in his head, according to Tilly.’ Izzy’s tone was humourless.
Amara raised a brow. ‘He was hit by rocks—’
‘She uses that phrase to make a point, especially when the system treats her like a fool for saying her husband’s death wasn’t an accident. And you’ve met Tilly, you’d know she’s the type to reclaim an insult and weaponize it.’
Amara stepped back at the realisation. It made sense. And it also revealed something else—that beneath her dry wit and fierce defiance, Tilly was quietly grieving.
‘When you and Porter have a moment, I’d love to talk to you both about Rohan Dixby’s death,’ Izzy added. ‘Maybe we can come up with some ideas.’
‘Are you bored already, Einstein, that you have to look for work?’ It was Bree, bustling through in a divine green dress, her long red tresses loose around her shoulders. Such a stark contrast from the women Amara had met at the office.
‘Hello, Bree.’ Izzy warmly hugged the redhead like an old friend.
‘What’s the goss?’ Bree was blunt, and for once Amara was grateful for it.
‘We were just discussing Dixby Downs. Do you know the story of the missing overseer?’
Bree tapped her chin. ‘Are we talking about Sawyer Dixby’s side? Tilly Dixby’s side? Or the stockmen’s side of the story?’
‘How many sides are there?’
‘Everyone has an opinion or a theory, especially out here.’ Bree patted her baby bump cleverly hidden by her gown. ‘Please tell me you’re going to the ladies.’
‘We are.’
‘Good. Don’t hate me if I push in first.’
‘Pregnant women get first priority.’ Izzy hooked her arm through Bree’s, putting herself in the middle of their sisterly stroll, as they navigated across the grass in heels.
‘So, the story of Dixby Downs?’ Amara had to know.
Bree leaned forward and grinned. ‘Look at you… Finn said you never switched off from the job.’
‘Technically, we are working tonight.’ Even if she was in a ballgown.
‘I want to hear it too,’ said Izzy.
‘Fine…’ began Bree, taking a deep breath. ‘Well, Tilly and Rohan Dixby worked, lived and loved each other for a long time at Dixby Downs. They were friends of my grandfather. I think Craig ran a muster out there to help Tilly after Rohan died.’
‘He did,’ replied Izzy. ‘But Craig won’t say much. Just rumours.’
‘Let me guess, it was about Sawyer’s mismanagement of the place, borrowing money from the wrong people, that the bad guys came to collect, and it was see ya, Sawyer.’
‘You’re saying organised crime? In the sticks?’ Amara scoffed to herself.
‘Doesn’t Finn suspect there’s a bigger smuggling racket going on?’
Amara paused, surprised that Finn had discussed this with his ex-wife.
‘I’d count that as organised crime,’ said Izzy. ‘Oh, don’t mind me. Craig talks to me all the time, and I have signed that confidentiality agreement as legal counsel for you guys.’
While Bree grinned, as if relishing the fact she got to break the rules with the boss. ‘Well, I manage the local brand register. I guess that’s enough.’
‘Maybe Finn could call you his advisor, or is that more of an informant? With your shady connections—’
‘Hey, you’re supposed to be my lawyer, Einstein. Enough of the shady connections with the cop present who can arrest me.’ Bree winked at her.
Amara didn’t know whether to smile or frown.
‘Lighten up, Amara.’ Bree even patted her shoulder.
‘You’re part of Finn and Craig’s team, and you live at Porter’s place, which makes you part of the family in my books.
Besides, us girls have got to stick together.
Did you know there are about six men to one female out here? Or is that eleven men to one?’
‘Back to Dixby Downs, please?’ She had to know more.
‘Do you think it’s true that Sawyer’s out there digging up the deed to the station, buried by his father? Tilly told me that,’ said Izzy. ‘It’s madness if you ask me, when I’m flat out digging holes for our orchard.’
‘Tilly mentioned that to me, too,’ nodded Amara.
‘That’s one of the stories,’ said Bree. ‘Others say Sawyer killed his father for the land to pay back the debt to his dodgy bankers, who weren’t interested in livestock, or land, just cash.
Is it true Sawyer stole from his parents?
’ Bree asked Izzy, who only shrugged. ‘Do you really think Sawyer killed his father?’
Again, Izzy shrugged. ‘Amara, what do you know?’
‘The coroner’s report stated that Rohan Dixby died from blunt-force trauma,’ replied Amara.
‘The head wound was considered consistent enough with the rocks surrounding him where he was found.’ Not that she’d spent much time on the file, and hadn’t discussed it with Porter, not since the night she’d met Tilly.
Glancing around to see if the lady with the long cane was here.
‘Was he wearing his hat?’
‘Why?’
‘Because Tilly swears her husband always wore his hat, and where his head hit the rocks, his hat would’ve protected him,’ said Izzy.
‘Really?’ Bree looked sceptical. ‘My grandfather never believed Rohan died from falling off the back of the ute. Broken bones, sure, but…’
‘That’s a valid point,’ Amara mumbled, mostly to herself.
‘A proper stockman’s hat is usually made of thick felt, with a wide brim and reinforced crown.
It’s not just for sun protection, it’s also impact resistance.
I’ve made enough to know that kind of hat should’ve absorbed some of the blow.
At the very least, it would’ve lessened it. ’
She glanced down at her gown as the skirt reflected the light and scattered it like a microscopic mirror ball across the floor, as a flash of memory surfaced when Tilly had said: He always wore his hat. All proper stockmen did… If he’d had it on that day, he’d still be here.
Maybe, once things settled down, Amara would take another look at Rohan Dixby’s file. But right now, she had to get through the night.
Weaving her way back to the tables, a cool hand gripped her wrist. ‘Amara? Please join me for a moment.’ Lydia motioned her to the side.
‘Um, sure.’
‘First, I have to say you look positively beautiful tonight, luv. Porter is a lucky man.’
‘Um…’ Technically, they weren’t on a date-date. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’ve been thinking a lot about that paperwork.’ Lydia fidgeted with her handbag’s strap, as she peered over her shoulder. ‘I tore my office apart. And now, I don’t think it was just your horse. I think I’ve let a lot of bad paperwork through, without even realizing it.’
‘How?’
‘Someone has been bypassing me. They’ve been using my stamp, faking my signature, I even think they’re using my computer sign-in. Call me paranoid, but I’ve changed all my passwords.’
‘Did you find any proof of this?’
‘I can’t talk about it here.’ Lydia leaned over and tenderly stroked the material of Amara’s gown as if talking about the dress material and not stock sheets. ‘But I want to help. It’s my pet hate for anyone stealing livestock. I know how much it means to the farmers.’
Amara knew that sting all too well. ‘Let’s talk to Finn. I’m sure we can come up with a solution. Can we come and see you in the office tomorrow?’
‘No, it’ll draw too much attention.’
‘Got it… Can you give me a hint?’
The glow of the fairy lights somehow highlighted the tension in Lydia’s worried face. ‘I found more paperwork, Amara. SW again. With Red’s signature on it.’