Mystery Bay Blues Page 6

  ‘That was me in the restaurant that night, left the five hundred dollars on the table.’

  Olney’s face lit up. ‘I thought it was.’

  ‘It’s just that the bloke I was with that night …’

  Olney nodded. ‘I know. I saw him on TV.’

  ‘Yeah, well I’m not in the same caper. I help run a small security business in the eastern suburbs.’

  ‘Fair enough Les,’ said the chef.

  Les patted the chef on the shoulder. ‘Anyway Olney, since you caught me out telling porkies, how about letting me buy you a drink. What do you want? Anything.’

  Olney looked at his empty can then at Les. ‘One of these. With a bourbon chaser?’

  ‘A man after my own heart. And we’ll make the bourbon a double.’ Les looked seriously at the chef. ‘Are you driving?’

  Olney shook his head. ‘No. I only live up the road.’

  ‘Well, let’s make it a triple.’

  Les bought the drinks and he and Olney toasted food in general, then Les explained how he was down for the Blues Festival. Olney came from Narooma. But he went to Sydney when work got scarce. He didn’t mind working in the city and he managed to save some money. Now he was working at the hotel and hoping to open a place of his own one day. Les noticed Grace checking them out, laughing and having a good time. Les caught her eye, smiled and beckoned her over. She picked her drink up from the bar and came round.

  ‘Grace,’ said Les. ‘This is my friend Olney.’

  ‘We know each other,’ said Olney. ‘How’s it going Amazing?’

  ‘Amazing?’ said Les.

  ‘That’s what they call me, George,’ said Grace.

  Les smiled at her. ‘Grace. I have to be honest. When you came over before I was bullshitting you a bit. My name’s not George. It’s Les.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Grace.

  ‘And I don’t come from Canberra. I come from Sydney.’

  ‘I had an idea you weren’t quite telling the truth,’ said Grace.

  ‘Yeah,’ confessed Les. ‘It’s just that I used to take this girl out in Sydney. And you reminded me of one of her friends. We had a bit of a messy breakup. And I thought you’d come over to punish me about it. I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ said Grace. ‘I can be a little forward at times.’

  Les looked at the little birds getting pushed out by Grace’s ample breasts. But he decided against being smart. ‘Also, I’m not staying at the motel. I’m just down the road in Browning Street.’

  ‘Seaview flats?’ said Grace.

  ‘No, the big house on the corner.’

  Grace raised her eyebrows. ‘The Merrigan house?’

  ‘That’s the one,’ nodded Les.

  ‘Are you staying at the Merrigan house?’ said Olney. ‘That’s right,’ said Les. ‘The old white joint. It’s the grouse.’

  ‘Who are you staying there with?’ asked Grace.

  ‘I’m on my own at the moment,’ replied Les. ‘But my flatmate’s joining me tomorrow. His girlfriend’s parents own it.’

  ‘And you’re on your own there at the moment?’ said Grace.

  ‘Till tomorrow. He’s going back on Monday. And I’m there till Wednesday.’

  ‘Lucky you,’ said Olney.

  ‘Yeah.’ Les looked up at Grace. ‘Have you ever been inside the house.’

  Grace shook her head. ‘No. But I’d love to.’

  ‘Okay,’ smiled Les. ‘Maybe when the hotel closes you can walk me home. Have a cup of coffee or something,’ he suggested ‘You live far away?’

  ‘Central Tilba.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘About twenty minutes south of here,’ replied Grace. ‘But I’m staying just over the bridge tonight. Near Bar Beach.’

  ‘Ohh yeah,’ said Les. ‘I know where Bar Beach is. I walked round there this afternoon.’

  ‘I won’t come tonight,’ said Grace. ‘I’m going home with Julie.’ She nodded to the barmaid in the floral top. ‘But will you be home tomorrow?’

  ‘Sure,’ nodded Les.

  ‘How about I come round in the morning?’

  ‘Okay,’ said Les. ‘Why don’t you make it about nine or so? I’ll do my Denise Austin workout early. Then we might have breakfast somewhere.’

  ‘If you’re gonna have breakfast,’ said Olney, ‘go to Carey’s.’

  ‘Where’s that?’ asked Les.

  ‘Just over the road. The red and yellow place.’

  ‘I know it,’ said Les. ‘I drove past this arvo. That sound all right to you, Grace?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Grace. ‘That would be lovely. Thank you.’

  ‘Righto. That’s breakfast organised.’ Les had a mouthful of beer and picked up his camera. ‘Now. How about another a photo? Grace, hop in there next to Olney. Olney, give us your best smile.’

  Les took a couple of photos, then got the barmaid with the flower in her hair to take a photo of the three of them. After that the night went swimmingly. Grace was drinking vodka, lime and soda. Les pointed to the money on the bar and said the drinks were on him. The duo got up and slipped into ‘Big Girls Don’t Cry’ and soon had the small crowd dancing and singing. Grace even got a reluctant Les up for a dance. Grace was a bit of a hoofer with a few vodkas under her belt. She shook her boobs and shimmied and showed what the Good Lord gave her. Les with his back, however, shuffled around pretty much as Warren had described him. Like Marianne Faithfull with an axe handle stuck in her date. Olney was a surprise packet. The duo bopped into ‘Roll Over Beethoven’ and when he got up with the blonde barmaid Olney jived like a hep cat in an old Bill Haley movie. Before long the night was over. The duo finished with ‘CC Rider’. Les got another photo taken as they finished their drinks and it was time to go. Les was a shot bird anyway.

  ‘Okay Grace,’ he slurred. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow morning.’

  ‘All right Les. See you then,’ she smiled. ‘And don’t forget your camera.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ Les retrieved it from the bar. ‘Olney, I’ll see you next time I’m looking at you, mate,’ he said.

  ‘See you then, Les,’ answered Olney. ‘Thanks for the drinks.’

  ‘No worries. G’night.’ Les stepped out the door and swung into the street.

  After the warmth of the hotel it was quite cool outside and a light breeze coming off the sea hit Les in the face. There were no cars and nobody about. He pulled his cap down, jammed his hands in his pockets and headed down the hill. Les started moving along to keep warm and could feel a painful twinge in his back. Shit, he thought, I wish I hadn’t let Grace drag me up on the dancefloor. And why did they have to play ‘Let’s Twist Again’? Les was still contemplating this as he turned the old brass key in the front door a few minutes later.

  The first thing Les did was hit the bathroom, then the kitchen for a tall glass of mineral water. He poured another one and walked into the lounge room. I should watch TV for a while, he smiled. But they didn’t have TV at the turn of the century, did they. He decided against putting some music on and took his glass out onto the verandah.

  Les drank some more water and felt his head spinning. Bloody hell! Didn’t I get myself nice and pissed, he told himself. Thank Christ the pub closed at twelve. But why wouldn’t you? What a great result. Everything’s sweet. And breakfast with that girl tomorrow. Les stared happily up at the stars and noticed the difference after the air around Sydney. They were everywhere. He’d just started enjoying their brilliance, when one zipped across the night sky. As well as being clear, however, the night was cool; especially in a T-shirt and shorts. Les yawned and looked at his watch. Well, if I’m getting up for a walk and breakfast by nine, I suppose I’d better hit the sack. He finished his mineral water and went inside.

  After cleaning his teeth, Les changed into a clean T-shirt and climbed into bed. He turned off the dressing table lamp and scrunched his head into the pillows. The old double bed was roomy, he had plenty of blankets and through the window Les cou
ld hear the sea. The big Queenslander was literally as snug as a bug. He was almost asleep and vaguely thinking about Warren and Clover arriving when suddenly it was as if the room had turned into a freezer. A dense, clammy cold settled over the bed and Les felt an icy chill run up his back that made the hairs on his neck stand on end. Holy shit, he thought, pulling the blankets tighter around him. I expected the south coast to be a bit colder than Sydney. But not like fuckin Antarctica. Les rolled himself into a ball and pulled the blankets around him even tighter. But there was no way he could get warm. Ohh bugger this, Les grumbled to himself.

  With his teeth chattering like castanets, Les turned on the bed lamp then got up and banged the window closed. Shivering and puffing clouds of steam through the half-lit room, he put on his tracksuit and a pair of socks, then got another blanket out of the wardrobe and spread it over the bed. Trying to rub some warmth into his arms, Les got back under the covers and turned off the light. After a couple of minutes he settled down and started to warm up. Ahh yes, he sighed, contentedly. That’s a bit more like it.

  With the window closed the room was silent now. Les was almost asleep, when from far away he heard Ricky Martin singing ‘Livin’ La Vida Loca’. Les half-opened one eye. What the fuck? Ricky Martin kept singing in the distance. It’s that fuckin bear, cursed Les silently. I thought I switched the bloody thing off when I put it on the piano. Ricky Martin stopped. Then he started up again. Stupid prick of a thing. I knew there was something wrong with it when I bought it. Les pulled the blankets around him. I’m buggered if I’m getting out of bed though. It’s too fuckin cold. But tomorrow, the batteries are coming out. Ricky Martin stopped and Les dozed off.

  Les was only asleep for a short while when another noise woke him. This time someone was playing the piano. Not a tune. Just inane clunking like Les had done earlier, only softer. Les half woke up and listened for a moment. The piano stopped. Then it started up again. Les shook his head and shoved it into the pillows. It’s all the piss I drank. I’m hearing things. But I couldn’t really give a shit if Jerry Lee Lewis was out there playing ‘Great Balls of Fire’. There’s no way I’m getting up. The piano playing stopped. If it started again Les couldn’t tell. He fell straight into a deep, drunken, snoring sleep.

  Les woke up the next morning feeling seedy. A knot of pain in his back told him where he was and why he was hungover. He yawned and scratched, then got into a pair of shorts and opened the bedroom window. Outside, it didn’t look like too bad a day. He plodded into the bathroom, freshened up, then walked across to the kitchen.

  ‘What the fuck?’

  Something had been in there during the night. Lying under the table was a packet of wheatmeal biscuits, the loaf of bread, tea-bags, and a few other things out of the cupboard, along with some cutlery and a broken cup.

  Les put his hands on his hips. ‘Hello. Looks like the Merrigan house has got rats.’

  Les walked across to the pantry. Sitting on a shelf amongst the other odds and ends were two old wooden rat-traps. I thought so, nodded Les, picking one up. Well, I’ll be setting you tonight. Something suddenly jogged Norton’s memory. That’s what was running around on the bloody piano last night. Jerry Lee Rat. Okay Jerry Lee, smiled Les. See how you like tickling the ivories with a broken neck. And when you’re lying there all bruised and broken rat, don’t, I say don’t, expect uncle Les to give you any mouse to mouse resuscitation …

  Les replaced the rat-trap then switched on the jug and dropped two slices of bread in the toaster. While he was waiting Les cleaned up the mess. He noticed the rat hadn’t broken open the packet of biscuits. So you don’t like Shredded Wheatmeal, Jerry. See if you like sinking your teeth into a nice piece of tasty cheese — tied to the trap with cotton. Les made a mug of tea, buttered the toast and walked out to the loungeroom. The bear was sitting on the piano facing the wall. Les placed his mug on the piano and turned the bear round the way he’d left it.

  ‘Go on. Start singing now, you fat bastard,’ he said.

  Nothing happened. Les pushed the bear in the stomach then lifted up its leg.

  It was switched off. Les switched it on and immediately the bear went into action; head nodding, arms waving, singing Ricky Martin.

  Les shook his head. ‘You’ve got a mind of your own, haven’t you. You little shit.’

  Les switched the bear off and left it on the piano. He changed his mind about removing the batteries and took his tea and toast out onto the verandah.

  Despite a light southerly blowing, it looked like being a delightful spring day. A band of clouds stretched across the horizon and the sun was sparkling on the harbour. The tide was rapidly pushing in through the channel and a charter boat with a half-dozen people on board was backing out from the jetty. People were fishing and a couple of kids were paddling around on skis. That’s what I’d like to be doing right now, thought Les. Having a paddle on that big, blue lagoon. He gingerly bent down and tried to touch his toes. Yeah. Bad luck about that. Les finished his tea and toast and looked at his watch. Well, I suppose I’d better make a move if I’m going for breakfast. The breeze was flicking at the trees above the hill. Les decided to walk up to the golf links and follow the cliffs. He got into his training gear, pulled an old cap down over his sunglasses and set off, locking the front door behind him.

  The clubhouse looked bigger in the daytime, when Les reached the top of the hill and golfers were teeing off on the fairways or whizzing around the greens in golf buggies. Watching out for golf balls, Les strode off across the greens in the cool fresh air. The grass felt soft beneath his feet, and the morning dew seeped into his trainers. Les would have loved to have ripped into a good, hard run. But he strode steadily along telling himself how much good the walk was doing his back. He found a path behind the trees and followed it along the cliffs. Out to sea Les noticed a long, flat, rocky island with a lighthouse on it. That must be Montague he surmised. I may as well take a trip out while I’m down here and do a bit of snorkel sucking. I imagine the water’d be clear and there’s supposed to be a big seal colony out there. Les followed the cliffs as far as Narooma Beach and stopped.

  The view up and down the coast was spectacular. The morning sun sparkled on the water as tiny clouds drifted across the sky, and solitary seabirds hovered lazily above the ocean, taking advantage of the on-shore breeze ruffling the surface. Below the cliffs, fishermen were scattered along the water’s edge or around clusters of tall rocks thrusting out of the sand like huge stone fingers. Les saw a flash of silver as one fisherman pulled in what could have been a nice tailor, watched him carry his wriggling catch up to a bucket then headed home. When he got back to the house, an old, box-shaped, maroon Jackaroo, with a WILDERNESS NOT WOODCHIPS sticker on the rear window, was parked behind his Berlina. Grace was bent over in the yard examining an aloe vera plant, and in a pair of tight jeans and a short-sleeved purple shirt, the view from behind was even better than the one from the golf links. Les waited a moment or two before he called out.

  ‘You looking for something, mate?’

  Grace stood up carrying a camera in one hand and turned around. ‘Hullo Les,’ she smiled. ‘How are you this morning?’

  Les returned her smile. ‘A bit seedy from last night. But I’m getting there.’

  ‘Have you been for a jog?’

  Les shook his head. ‘A walk. I went around the golf links.’

  ‘Isn’t it a lovely view from up there?’

  ‘Yeah, fantastic.’ Les took his sunglasses off and wiped some sweat from his eyes. ‘You been here long?’

  ‘Not long,’ replied Grace. ‘I’ve been looking around the yard. All right if I take a few pieces of aloe vera?’

  ‘Help yourself.’ Les took the key from his pocket and motioned to the door. ‘Come inside and have a look at the house.’ He opened the door and ushered Grace through.

  Grace entered the old house, then stopped in the hallway and gazed around. ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘This is even better than I imagined.
’

  ‘It’s something else, isn’t it,’ agreed Les, shutting the door. ‘Anyway, why don’t you take a look around while I have a shower. There’s coffee and that in the kitchen.’

  ‘Okay.’ Grace held up her camera. ‘All right if I take a few photos?’

  ‘Go for your life,’ answered Les.

  Les left Grace with her camera and got under the shower. He rinsed his training gear and the beer-sodden T-shirt, towelled off then put on his shorts and a green polo shirt with a denim collar. He got a bottle of mineral water from the fridge, then took his washing out onto the verandah and hung it on the line. Grace was round the other side. She heard Les and came around.

  ‘This view,’ said Grace. ‘It is absolutely beautiful.’

  ‘It’s tops, isn’t it,’ said Les, taking a drink of water.

  ‘In fact this whole house is fantastic,’ said Grace. ‘I just love the old piano in the corner and the library. Did you know some of those books are a hundred years old?’

  ‘Yeah?’ said Les. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’

  ‘I got some great photos.’ Grace smiled at Les. ‘What about the bear? Where did that come from?’

  ‘I bought it at the second-hand shop in the arcade. Have a look at this.’

  Les took Grace into the loungeroom and switched the bear on. Grace started laughing as it went into action and took a photo.

  ‘That thing is so cute,’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Les. ‘He’s certainly got a style all of his own.’

  Les switched the bear off and they went back out on the verandah. Grace leant against the railing watching Les and gave him an angled, once up and down.

  ‘So how did you sleep last night, Les?’ she asked.

  ‘Sleep?’ replied Norton. ‘If you’ll excuse the expression Grace, I was that drunk last night, I would have slept under a horse pissing.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Grace.

  ‘But Christ, it sure gets cold night down here at night.’

  ‘Cold?’ said Grace. ‘How do you mean — cold?’

  ‘I mean, bloody cold,’ answered Les. ‘Like Siberia. I had to get up and put my tracksuit on, and throw another blanket on the bed. I was freezing.’