Legacy of Hunters Ridge Page 3

  The shrill ring of the phone quickly jolted her back to consciousness. She dragged her fingers across her eyes, fought back the images still floating in her mind. The clock told her she’d only been asleep half an hour. She fumbled for the handset.

  ‘Hello?’ When it came out as a croak she cleared her throat, tried again. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Alissa Morgan?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So you do exist. I was beginning to wonder.’

  She groggily tried to make sense of that. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘When are you coming to Montrose?’

  The headache still pounding away at her temples wasn’t helping with comprehension. Her nerves were already raw and she wasn’t surprised when her voice came out snappy. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘It’s a simple question, Ms Morgan. Haven’t you checked your emails? Your voicemail?’

  She shifted into a more upright position, blinked a few times, turned off the television chatter in the background. ‘What is mount– what?’

  ‘Montrose. It’s Mavis Littleton’s property. I assume your solicitor filled you in?’

  ‘Oh, that. I’m not sure yet.’

  ‘That’s not good enough.’

  She bristled. ‘Did you just – did you – what did you say?’

  ‘The place is your responsibility.’

  One calming breath, two. Didn’t work. ‘Perhaps you could explain how this is any of your business?’

  ‘I’m Mavis Littleton’s solicitor.’

  ‘My condolences. You’re not supposed to contact me directly.’

  ‘This is not official. I’m calling as her … friend.’

  ‘Then you don’t want to be talking to me.’ She kicked a foot loose from her blanket and knocked over a glass of water that had been sitting beside the recliner. Its contents soaked through the woollen material, seeping into her pyjamas. She swore under her breath. ‘Look, I’ll get there when I can.’ With another curse, she hung up and began mopping at the water with tissues.

  What kind of a solicitor contacts a person directly? She yawned, dropping the saturated tissues in the bin. Friend of Mavis, was he? Well, that made sense. Pompous, annoying, old suit. She should probably call Gordon, find out if he knew the man. She went in search of some dry clothes, almost stumbled into the door. Sedatives were not meant to be defied.

  Of course she was going to Mavis’s. She fully planned on heading out there, putting the property on the market. But there were things to take care of here first. The new owners of her house wanted a quick settlement. Mia had convinced Ally to pack up straight away and to move in with her until she found something suitable. The removalists were coming at the end of the week to put all her things in storage. When that was sorted, they’d be down – Mia was busily negotiating a few days off to come with her. That was the best she could do. How dare he tell her that wasn’t good enough?

  She pulled an oversized T-shirt over her head just as the phone rang again. Same number. Well shit, he was asking for it.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I need to speak to you about this.’

  ‘Listen, Mr whoever you are, I –’

  ‘My name is Cameron William Blakely … the third.’

  The ridiculous name pulled her up so fast she couldn’t help the half-laugh that broke from her throat. ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’

  ‘I assure you I’m not.’

  ‘Wow,’ she replied, the edge knocked off her temper. ‘I bet that necessitated some serious therapy. You can get that sort of thing changed these days, you know.’

  She heard his sigh – felt like sending him one right back. ‘There are animals here,’ was the impatient reply. ‘I suppose you’re just planning on leaving them to starve?’

  ‘I didn’t –’

  ‘I’ve been feeding them. It’s got to stop. I have enough to do.’

  ‘I’m sure you do,’ and though it nearly killed her to say it, she added,

  ‘thank you.’ She put the phone down. Nerves swam in her stomach. Animals? She couldn’t deal with animals. What was she going to do?

  The phone rang again. How was she supposed to think when the damn phone wouldn’t stop ringing? She snatched it up.

  ‘What do I need – a restraining order?’

  ‘Hang up on me again and we’ll see. What are you planning on doing about this?’

  Her fingers clutched at her hair as she asked herself that same question. She had no answer. ‘That’s going to require more than five seconds’ consideration, possibly five minutes at least, to completely figure out. I’m taking the phone off the hook this time, okay?’ She dropped the phone and did just that.

  Pompous arrogant old suit. But he didn’t entirely sound like one. What was his name? Stirred up enough to bother, she flopped into her desk chair and opened her laptop. A search for Cameron William Blakely in Google quickly made it clear to her why he’d put ‘the third’ on the end of that introduction.

  There were three of them – all lawyers. Cameron William Blakely the first was slightly funny looking, with a head of silver hair and shrewd little eyes in a deeply crinkled face. He was reclining in a crimson velvet armchair and dressed in some sort of tartan suit. There was an oddly shaped, old-fashioned pipe hanging from one corner of his mouth.

  ‘Hmm. I’d go so far as to say clichéd pompous.’ She clicked again and Cameron William Blakely Jnr came on screen. Not-so-funny looking – in fact, quite aristocratically handsome – and a good twenty-something years younger than number one. This man was standing in front of a library of old books, the caption calling him ‘the greatest lawyer of his time’.

  Curious to hunt down the third, she hit the back button and scrolled through the results again. There were a lot of them, and they involved some sort of scandal. The first read: Cameron William Blakely the third, reclusive black sheep of the famous law family, turns his back on his career following bitter falling out …

  ‘Reclusive? Awfully chatty for a recluse.’ In his photo he looked quite young, serious, and, she supposed, good looking, in a clean-shaven, perfectly groomed kind of way. ‘If you like that type,’ she muttered to herself. She didn’t.

  She did a check of her emails, and because, no, she didn’t check them regularly, the one hundred and thirty took considerable time to sort through. Cameron William Blakely the third had sent her three messages over the past week, outlining the information Gordon had relayed and asking her to come as soon as possible. In each email he’d referred to himself simply as a friend of Mavis.

  She shut her computer down without reading through many of the other messages – there was too much of her old life in there, and she wasn’t ready to face it. In the kitchen she poured herself a glass of water and leant against the counter, staring blindly out the window.

  What kind of animals? She should have asked. The whinny of a horse was enough to trigger a panic attack. Maybe she should call back and apologise – ask? All she knew of Montrose was that it was ‘out in the sticks’, as David had described it. She’d never gone with him on one of his visits. In the beginning, he’d offered to take her. Mavis was grateful, would be friendly, he’d assured her. As if. Mavis had made her feelings more than perfectly clear. When he’d stopped asking, Ally had been relieved. She’d had no interest in the place then, and had none now.

  Animals complicated everything. She’d have to sell them, or find homes for them. That could take time. She couldn’t ask Mia to be gone more than a couple of days – she’d lose her job. Besides, she’d just decided she owed it to Mia to start taking some responsibility. And she really, really wanted to. But the fear of heading out there on her own had her anxiety skyrocketing. She would be putting herself into a situation where she’d have to face everything she’d been deliberately avoiding since the accident – all sorts of situations that could trigger panic attacks and flashbacks. She was already struggling with the idea of leaving her house.

  She looked around, t
ook a deep breath. She’d made good headway on packing her things, but there was more to do. To relieve some nervous energy, she started throwing things into cardboard boxes. She always thought better while she was active.

  A nice drive to the country for a few days. A few details to sort. Not so hard, surely?

  She taped up a box of cushions, set the tape dispenser on top of it and shook her still-pounding head. The task might just cure her or kill her. She packed some more boxes, turning the situation over in her head as she worked. She should go. If she succeeded, it was a good first step towards putting her life back together, no question. And if it killed her, well … at least there wouldn’t be any more open houses to attend.

  CHAPTER

  3

  ‘Okay, I think I’ve made a mistake.’

  Ally slowed the car and did a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree scan of the landscape. For almost an hour she’d been driving along a winding, narrow road that just didn’t want to end. To the left were trees, to the right, more trees. Ahead of her as far as the eye could see were, hmm … trees. She hadn’t even passed another car for too long to be comfortable. She didn’t have a GPS because she’d known her phone had one. Except her phone had died three hours into the drive and this road didn’t look like it was leading anywhere. Her fuel was getting low – not dangerously so, not yet – and this road … What if she just drove and drove and drove until the car stopped and she was still nowhere?

  She considered pulling over and gave some thought to turning around, but somehow the idea of stopping out here lodged even more dread in the pit of her stomach. Shit. What if she broke down? It wasn’t as though those things didn’t happen, right? In horror movies. Wolf Creek came to mind. It served her right. When Mia had called to tell her she’d lined up more house viewings, Ally had battled a panic attack, and packed her bags. Mia had gone into heart failure when Ally had told her she was coming out here before she could organise time off. But Ally had convinced herself she could do it, and had put the idea into motion before the doubts could seep in, before she could be talked out of it.

  She’d been quite proud of herself for the first two hours. But the further she drove, the more nervous tension began creeping towards real fear. She glanced in her rear-vision mirror, now anxious enough to dread seeing another vehicle. Her eyes returned to the road and widened in panic.

  ‘Shit!’ She swung the car hard, swerving wildly in one direction then the other, before slamming on the brakes. Heart pounding, hands shaking, she twisted herself around to look behind her.

  Snake. Big, creepy, long, brown, sleeping-in-the-middle-of-the-road snake. As she stared in horror, it slowly roused itself and began to slither off into the undergrowth.

  ‘Oh. God.’ She got the shaking under control and took some deep, calming breaths. She’d almost crashed her car to avoid running over an animal that was big enough to easily ingest two of her. She felt the tightness in her chest, the effort it took to breathe through it.

  Twenty desperate minutes later she saw a fence line, then a paddock. The arrow of hope that shot through her was life-altering. On the other side of that paddock, there had to be civilisation … of some sort or other. And she wasn’t feeling particularly fussy.

  The sign came into view less than a minute later. Another ten minutes, and a bridge took her over a meandering creek bordered by poplar trees and into a pretty, well-populated country town. She spotted a service station and, with a prayer of pure gratitude, pulled in at the last moment, earning a short beep from a car behind.

  A knock on her car window startled her. An elderly man with a red baseball cap and a comfortable waistline nodded in a friendly fashion, so she rolled down her window.

  ‘What are you after, darl?’

  ‘After?’

  ‘You want some petrol?’

  ‘Ah, yes. Of course. Are you going to do it?’

  ‘Be happy to. I’ll put some air in that left front tyre too, if you like. It looks a bit low.’

  ‘Oh … thank you.’

  ‘How much fuel?’

  ‘Fill it, please.’

  ‘You want the one with ethanol or without?’

  ‘Without. Thanks.’ She hadn’t known there were places where people still put fuel in your car for you. While he filled her tank, she got out to stretch her legs. She showed him the piece of paper with Mavis’s address on it. ‘You wouldn’t happen to have any idea where this is, would you?’

  He took it with his free hand and nodded. ‘That’d be Mavis’s place. You the daughter-in-law?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘Funny old bat, that Mavis.’

  ‘That’s generous. But I’m nothing like her. Honestly.’

  He laughed, looking her over with curiosity. ‘I have to say you were looking like a bit of a myth for a while. All those visits from the son and no wife. Heard about you though.’

  ‘Should I be concerned?’

  His grin just got bigger. ‘You had horses down Sydney way – Dural right? Bit different to out here. You’re one of them dressage riders.’

  Ally shifted uncomfortably. ‘Country towns don’t really run stories on outsiders in the newspapers do they?’

  His smile was wide and easy. ‘Sometimes, but this stuff came from your husband. Sorry for your loss.’ He didn’t particularly sound it.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘About five kilometres on, turn right at the crossroads, then there’s an easy left pretty much straight away. That’s the road you want. Drive right round the mountain to the opposite side. The farm’s on the left.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She read the pump and dug some cash out of her wallet while he got to work on her tyre.

  ‘You staying long?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s nice country out that way. Only thing to watch is the old military grounds. The north side of Mavis’s backs on to it. It’s all fenced off and the army don’t use it anymore – but some sneak in and do some hunting. Dangerous place. Miles of trails in the other directions though, some good hikes or trail rides and some downright lovely spots. Get plenty of campers a bit further up in the national park sites. You ever done any fishing?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Got a few good spots around here, some guided walks and a hunting club, supposed to stay on private property, though occasionally they hit the state forest.’

  ‘Yes. That is – David said he went out a few times.’

  ‘Told you that, did he?’ He straightened, studied her for several uncomfortable seconds, then smiled again. ‘I’m Clint. You need anything, got any questions, you talk to me.’

  She wasn’t imagining it, while he was warm and friendly enough with her, he was very clearly not a fan of David. Alissa gave him a smile anyway. ‘I’ll do that, Clint. I’m Alissa.’

  His eyes twinkled. ‘I know. Not sure what condition that old house of Mavis’s is in. If you need help with repairs or the like, my son Lee is an all-round good handyman. He and a mate run their own property renovation business. Just holler.’

  ‘Okay, thanks.’

  When he waved and headed towards the shop she swung the car door open, about to climb in.

  ‘Alissa?’

  ‘Yes?’

  Clint turned. ‘Don’t go driving around alone at night. If you’re planning on staying out at Mavis’s on your own, lock your doors, all right? It’s isolated out there and …’

  ‘And?’

  Another car pulled in. Clint greeted the young driver before turning back to Alissa. ‘Better safe than sorry, that’s all. You drive carefully. Let me know if that tyre goes down again.’

  Ally was left with the feeling there was more to it. She wanted to ask, but he was already deep in conversation with his next customer. Instead, she drove out of the service station more anxious than when she’d driven in. What could there possibly be to worry about in this lovely little country town? Whatever it was, one thing the conversation had reaffirmed in her mind was that she was getting this
done and getting out of here as soon as possible.

  She drove slowly along the main street, taking in the sights. Jeans, collared shirts, big boots and wide-brimmed hats, kelpies on the back of every second ute. A game of bowls was underway at the local bowling club, small children crawled all over a playground next to a tiny school watched by mothers who, she guessed, were waiting for older children to come out. A little further into town and small shopfronts huddled together, their charming facades inviting the sprinkling of pedestrians to come through their doors. A few more buildings lined a wide side street, and she spotted a café that might be nice to visit. She was almost surprised to find a big-name shopping centre, albeit a small one. It seemed out of place here, whereas the large, old-fashioned pub across the road from it fit in perfectly. A library and a hardware store, a police station, a few more nondescript buildings bordered by a large park, then came residential blocks, turning into small acreages then larger ones, before the bushland returned.

  She found the crossroads, took a right, then a left. After the cosiness of the pretty little town, the countryside out here was unapologetically vast. The narrow road wove through large expanses of grazing land dotted with trees and bordered by mountains. Very few traces of civilisation marred the landscape. The mountain she presumed Clint had been referring to stretched as far as the eye could see, but at least this time she was fairly confident she was going in the proper direction.

  Her first impression of Montrose was long stretches of hills carpeted with tall native grasses. Slate-grey rocks sprinkled the tops of some of the taller slopes and the gullies were snaking pockets of heavily wooded bushland. The roadside was bordered by a rundown barbed-wire fence and a thin line of trees. Through them she saw glints of sunlight reflecting off a large dam. Just a few metres further along, on a dirt driveway towered over by twisting robinia trees, twin farm gates sat open. The hinge on one was broken, setting it down onto the ground. On it was a sign and she made out the word ‘Montrose’.