Riddle Gully Runaway Read online

  ‘Sometimes I wonder what you got me into with this online dating,’ said Joe. ‘I don’t know if I’m up to it.’

  ‘Dad, don’t be dumb! As Sherri was saying, if you can tramp through paddocks rescuing animals all day, you can manage a simple date with a lady.’

  ‘Sherri? You’ve been talking to her about it?’

  ‘Of course! Sherri says you just need to build up your confidence. Apparently, you have an inner tiger that needs unleashing.’

  ‘An inner tiger?’ Joe picked a dog-hair off his jumper. ‘So she says. In fact, Sherri helped me pick out Wanda.’

  ‘Oh, no! You two were going through my dating site?’ gasped Joe.

  ‘Sure!’ said Pollo. ‘You don’t expect me to sign you up to a service and not monitor things, do you? That would be irresponsible. I don’t want you having your heart stomped on by some Jezebel. We had to delete quite a few responses. Sherri said Wanda was perfect because she wasn’t so gorgeous-looking that you’d go all gaga and lose the plot.’

  ‘But Sherri … she’s … I’ve wanted … it’s plain embarrassing, Pollo!’

  ‘There! That’s it precisely! If you’re ever to ask Sherri out on a proper date, Dad, you have to get in some practice. Asking her to help you deliver that foal last week doesn’t count.’

  Joe stared mournfully at his shoes.

  ‘You’d better get going,’ said Pollo. ‘Wanda will think you’ve chickened out.’

  ‘Chickened out … yes. Listen, sweetheart,’ said Joe, edging away from the car, ‘I’m really not keen on abandoning you like this. It’s a long time to leave you to your own devices.’

  Pollo opened the car door, picked up her father’s travel bag from the driveway and threw it in. ‘Don’t you dare make me an excuse for not getting on with your life!’ She pushed him firmly down into the driver’s seat and closed the door. ‘Wanda — Wedding — Fun. Remember?’

  Her father wore an expression Pollo usually saw when an animal needed to be put down. ‘Fun … hmm … yes. Okay then … well … goodbye, I suppose. Love you.’ With a sigh, he turned on the ignition.

  Pollo leaned in and kissed her father’s cheek. ‘I’ll have a quiet weekend reading and doing homework and watching movies and scoffing all the things you never let me. And I won’t answer the phone, so there’s no point calling to see how I am! Bye, Dad! See you Sunday.’

  Joe backed slowly down the driveway and onto the street. Pollo waved patiently as he idled there a bit longer before chugging up the road towards the setting sun. Only as he turned the corner did the smile drift from Pollo’s face and her thumbnail find its way to her teeth.

  A loud baa-aa-aah drifted over the roof. Poor old Shorn Connery! It was way past time for his daily walk to the cemetery. She hurried inside. It was just as well they were going out somewhere. Seeing her father drive away to spend the weekend with a lady made her feel a bit odd — even if she had put him up to it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Shorn Connery practically broke down the back gate getting onto the path leading to the cemetery. They half-walked, half-ran in the fading light, the back fences of houses on one side of them, lightly wooded bushland on the other. When Pollo saw Will’s running shoes poking from behind Mrs Turner’s gravestone she slipped the rope from Shorn Connery’s neck and watched him gallop across the lumpy field, sending clouds of midgies swirling. He headbutted Will, knocking his sketchpad off his lap, then began snuffling and chomping at a patch of nearby lupins.

  Will was brushing dirt off his sketchpad when Pollo caught up. ‘I thought you might have been and gone,’ he said. ‘How come you’re so late?’

  ‘Dad wasn’t in a hurry to get going on his big date. I practically had to push his car up the street. I hope she’s as nice as she seemed on the dating website.’

  ‘Who? This Wanda lady?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Nice, but not too nice, eh?’ said Will. ‘Not stepmum-forever type of nice.’

  ‘You’ve got it,’ said Pollo. ‘Oh, I don’t know what I want. Poor Dad.’

  ‘Don’t sweat about it now. It’s only a first date.’

  ‘Hmm …’ said Pollo. ‘What brings you here, anyway? I thought you’d be busy packing for your weekend with your dad. It’ll be the first time just by yourselves since your little brother came along, won’t it?’

  ‘My half-brother, the rug rat. Yeah. He’s kind of hard to ignore. It’ll be good.’ Will twirled a pencil between his fingers. ‘I was hoping to make a start before I left on some wildlife sketches I have to do for art school. Trouble is, the only wildlife I can see is that ugly raven over there. Look, it’s even got a dodgy feather.’

  ‘Hey!’ said Pollo happily. ‘That bird’s my hero! It’s the one that stole Mayor Bullock’s toupée!’ She called over to it. ‘Thanks, cobber! I owe you!’

  ‘Well, it’s got a dead rabbit now,’ said Will. ‘It’s grossing me out.’ Shorn Connery, too, seemed unimpressed, watching the bird from the corner of his eye.

  Pollo moved a few steps closer to the raven. It had its feet planted on the corpse of something that, a few days before, had been romping in the graveyard. It was now tearing at the remains with its beak. It stopped foraging and cocked its head to assess Pollo with a flat white eye. She backed off.

  ‘When are the sketches due?’ she asked, settling down beside Will.

  ‘They’re meant to be in tomorrow. Luckily I’m skipping art school tomorrow though. If I go into Maloola first I don’t get into Canberra till late, and Clive says it’s a long drive to the camping spot.’ Will grinned. ‘Works out doubly well, actually. I don’t want to run into Benson Bragg in Maloola again! Not this weekend! After your column yesterday he won’t be feeling very sociable.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Pollo. ‘I saw him hitching a ride on a sheep truck yesterday. Looks like he’s leaving town.’

  ‘Good thing you wrote what you did,’ said Will. ‘You scared him off. Good job!’

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ said Pollo. ‘You said “again”.’

  ‘Did I?’ said Will. ‘When?’

  ‘You said you didn’t want to run into Benson in Maloola again. When did you see him there before?’

  ‘Oh that,’ said Will. ‘It’d been bugging me ever since we saw him at the rollercoaster, and this morning it came to me. Two Saturdays ago, I went to Game Zone after art school. He was playing a wicked game of Monster Mash right next to me. You should see him play Monster Mash, Pollo. He’s like a magician!’

  ‘After art school?’ said Pollo. ‘You sure it wasn’t before art school, or during a break, maybe?’

  ‘Course not,’ said Will. ‘It’s just there’s often a bit of time to kill before the twelve-thirty train back to Riddle Gully.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Pollo. ‘That’s not good. Not good at all.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ said Will. ‘What’d I do this time?’

  ‘Nothing. But that’s when Aunty Giulia’s ring went missing — right on lunchtime.’

  Will doodled on his sketchpad. ‘So what you’re saying is, it couldn’t have been Benson who stole your grandmother’s ring … because Benson was standing next to me in Game Zone at the time.’

  Pollo nodded. She suddenly blurted, ‘You never said you’d seen Benson in Maloola!’

  ‘I didn’t work it out till today. Besides, you never said when the ring disappeared!’

  ‘Maybe,’ muttered Pollo. ‘I guess we still have the other thefts to pin on him.’

  ‘And his confession,’ said Will.

  ‘Mmm … that confession,’ said Pollo, rubbing her chin.

  They sat in silence, idly watching the raven jumping about the carcass, clamping it with its clawed feet, jabbing it with its beak. Arp-arp-aaah. The bird began hopping backwards, away from Pollo and Will. As it did, the slanting sun’s rays caught something shiny being dragged in the grass.

  ‘What’s it got?’ said Pollo.

  ‘Looks like a collar … but rabbits don’t we
ar collars.’

  Pollo got to her feet and stepped slowly toward the raven. It hopped away, the object in its beak tinkling, its white eyes fixed on Pollo.

  ‘That’s no rabbit,’ said Pollo, standing over the raven’s abandoned carrion. ‘That’s Terrence Schultz.’

  ‘Who?’ said Will, scrambling to his feet.

  ‘Terrence Schultz — Mrs Schultz’s cat. Mrs Schultz came into Dad’s surgery the other day asking if anyone had brought him in. He must have died out here in the cemetery.’

  ‘Well it’s the right place to cark it, I guess,’ said Will. ‘D’you think Mrs Schultz might like to have his collar?’

  ‘Good idea! She loved him like crazy,’ said Pollo. But as the two of them edged forward, the raven jumped back, as before, Terrence’s dangling bell glinting beneath its beak.

  ‘Don’t look at it,’ said Pollo. ‘They say wild animals don’t like eye contact.’

  They edged forward, their faces averted, sneaking sidelong glimpses of the bird. But with each of their steps, the raven hopped further away, the collar clamped in its strong black beak.

  From the forest fifty metres away came the mournful arp-arp-aaah of another raven.

  ‘That’s probably its mate,’ said Pollo.

  ‘Telling this one here to quit messing about and bring home dinner,’ said Will.

  Will and Pollo half-crouched, motionless, watching the raven. It hopped in a wide arc back to where Terrence rested in pieces. It laid the collar in the grass nearby and resumed pecking at the rotting flesh, a whisper of wind rustling the soft, oily-black hackle-feathers at its throat.

  ‘Now!’ they both yelled.

  They rushed headlong. The raven tilted its head, regarding them with an icy eye. As they closed the gap, Will dived at Terrence’s collar like a baseballer sliding for home. There was a flurry of flapping wings and the bird flew beyond reach. As Will spat and wiped dirt from his tongue, it circled above them, the bell in its beak, the sun flashing off it like a beacon.

  They craned their necks, tracking the raven’s flight from the cemetery to a large red gum near the entrance to the Diamond Jack hiking trail at the edge of the forest. The raven flapped onto a high branch and hopped sideways toward a thick clump, hard to make out in the failing light, but almost certainly a nest.

  ‘Wow! That bird was one cool customer!’ said Will. ‘It wasn’t going to lose that bell for quids. I wonder if they’ve ever trained ravens to nick stuff. I’ve seen ’em do it with monkeys in the movies. Ravens would be good at it — as long as whatever they were after was shiny.’

  ‘And no one would suspect them,’ said Pollo quietly. She stepped around Terrence to Mrs Turner’s tombstone. She slumped down on the mossy granite and began nibbling at her thumbnail.

  ‘It’s like they’re undercover!’ said Will, sliding down beside her. ‘No one thinks of a mean-looking old bird like a raven wanting pretty things.’

  ‘No,’ said Pollo. ‘Not you, not your stepdad, no one in Riddle Gully and, worst of all, not me.’

  ‘Why so glum?’ said Will. ‘It’s only a cat’s collar. It wasn’t going to bring old Terrence back to life or anything.’

  Pollo looked at him. ‘What’s the bet, Will Hopkins, that if we were to climb that tree over there we’d find everything that’s gone missing in the past few weeks, including my grandmother’s ring.’

  Will exhaled in a long whistle. ‘So you don’t think Benson …’

  Pollo shook her head.

  Off in the distance, the ravens cawed in the last light. Arp-arp-aaah.

  Will pointed to the distant red gum. ‘And that ravens’ nest …’

  Pollo nodded.

  ‘It would make sense,’ said Will. ‘The randomness of what’s been reported — single earrings and stuff. There’s probably a lot more junk that’s been taken but people only missed the valuables.’

  Pollo chewed her bottom lip. ‘I wrote that story so that everyone who knew Benson would think he was the culprit. I as good as told the world he’d been suspended from school and why. And now he’s run away from Riddle Gully in disgrace.’

  *

  They hurried back across the graveyard, through the long grass damp with evening dew, dragging an irritable Shorn Connery who’d had his eye on several more lush lupins. At Will’s place, his mum Angela and his stepfather Sergeant Harry Butt, a.k.a. HB, were sitting at the kitchen table, each with a small glass of beer in front of them. Angela was chopping vegetables while HB went through the mail.

  ‘Hey Angela, HB! Listen to this!’ panted Will. Pollo and Will babbled out the story of Benson hitching a ride out of town, and the raven at the cemetery, and Will standing next to Benson at Maloola, playing Monster Mash, when Pollo’s Aunty Giulia’s ring went missing.

  ‘Game Zone!’ said Angela. ‘So that’s where all your pocket money’s been going! Since when have you started going there, Will?’

  ‘Were you listening at all?’

  ‘Maybe to the wrong bits,’ said Angela, nibbling a slice of parsnip.

  Will rolled his eyes at his mother.

  ‘Hell’s bells,’ said HB. ‘Only the other day Pollo told me I should bring Benson in for questioning. Good thing I bided my time, eh?’ HB scratched his head. ‘You really believe the loot’s up a tree? It’s worth looking into, I suppose. First thing Monday, I’ll get hold of a fire truck with a long ladder.’

  ‘Monday?’ said Pollo. ‘But it’s only Friday night! Meanwhile, Benson goes the whole weekend with everyone thinking he’s a criminal!’

  Pollo caught Angela and HB swapping glances. Angela bent her head to a vigorous bout of carrot chopping. They may as well have been shouting through megaphones — Thanks to you!

  ‘It’s not good, I agree,’ said HB. ‘But another day or two won’t make much difference. For all his problems at school, the lad seems to have his head screwed on right.’

  ‘But what about him hitching a ride on a sheep truck? He could be anywhere!’

  HB pinched his earlobe between thumb and forefinger and stroked it thoughtfully. ‘He’s sixteen, lass. He’s allowed to go places. He might have even gone back home.’

  Angela beheaded a celery stick. ‘What about that raven with the poky-out feather, HB? You should bring the bird in for questioning!’

  Will shook his head. ‘We’re serious, Mum!’

  ‘Sorry!’ said Angela. ‘The thought of HB taking mug shots of a raven just makes me giggle!’ She imitated HB’s deep voice. ‘Sir, Ma’am, whatever you are. Please stop squawking and turn side on to the camera.’

  HB took a sip of beer and put his glass down carefully. He spread his big hands on the table. ‘Look kids, these are the facts as I see them. This ravens’ nest will still be there on Monday. My deputy’s gone bush for a few days. And I can’t get the volunteer fire service out on a whim — not on the weekend. They’d have my guts for garters.’

  ‘A whim? This is an emergency!’ cried Pollo. ‘Benson was in trouble before. My dumb story might push him over the edge — even if he is back home with his mum. We need to prove to everyone he’s innocent!’

  ‘Now, now,’ said HB. ‘Remember we may not even find anything up in that nest.’

  ‘Just a dead cat’s collar,’ said Angela.

  ‘Yes … err … that’s right.’ HB rose to his feet and rested a hand gently on Pollo’s shoulder. ‘Ease up a bit, eh, lass? These things have a way of sorting themselves out.’

  Pollo stomped along the track to her back gate, lighting the way with her pocket torch. Ease up a bit? That was grown-up talk for sit on your hands and do zip. And, as far as she knew, no one ever changed anything doing that.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Pollo’s breath was still misting her bedroom window when Shorn Connery’s bleating roused her from a dream in which a tiny Benson Bragg — cap, hi-top sneakers and all — was being carried aloft in the gnarly claws of a raven.

  A single thought clanged in her head as she opened her eyes. Poor Benson!
She frowned at the ceiling, wishing Will wasn’t going away this weekend so she could talk over things with him more. Angela and HB might be right. There might be nothing in the ravens’ nest but Terrence Schultz’s grubby old cat collar … but she might be right too.

  She reached for the notepad in which she’d recorded Benson’s words at the cemetery. After ten seconds of reading she threw it on the floor. Will was spot on. Benson hadn’t confessed to their accusations at all. He simply hadn’t denied them. And he sure hadn’t known what he said would end up in a newspaper.

  Pollo threw on her clothes and beanie and went into the kitchen to make some toast. On the Vegemite jar was a sticky-note from her dad — Love you! Have a good day! She chewed slowly, staring blankly at her science assignment spread on the table from the night before. It just wasn’t right! Here she was tucked up in her nice safe home, knowing people loved her, while Benson was out there — who knew where? — copping the blame for things he hadn’t done.

  She shoved the rest of her toast in her mouth and gathered her things, her cheeks bulging. She headed for the back door where Shorn Connery greeted her, butting her knees.

  ‘We might have to wait till Monday to prove the real thief was a raven, old buddy,’ said Pollo, slipping his rope lead over his ears, ‘but we don’t have to wait till then to start clearing his name! Come on, we’re going to pay someone a visit!’

  She strode down the road towards town, Shorn Connery trotting eagerly ahead. Things might sort themselves out the way HB suspected — but they’d do it faster with a little boot from her.

  *

  ‘How dare you tie that farm animal to a lamppost, blocking a public byway, and then waltz up to my front door to quiz me about my personal matters!’ Mayor Bullock stood on his top step, his temporary toupée perched crookedly on his head, a lump of boiled egg-white shivering on the collar of his woollen dressing gown.

  From the hallway the reedy voice of Mrs Bullock drifted beneath his armpit, followed by her snowy-white head. ‘Now Orville, dear. Try to be civil. It’s not often we have young folk come to the door.’