The Killer of Oz Read online

  But if Mum had been planning to enlighten me, she would’ve done so already. Which meant I had no choice but to wait till we got home to find out what was wrong with my best friend.

  The drive home was two of the primary things I wanted my holiday to be: pleasant and uneventful.

  Within twenty minutes, we’d crossed from one side of the CBD of Adelaide to the other, despite the peak-hour traffic. Never mind that Adelaide is the fifth most populous city in Australia and home to over seventy-five percent of the entire state’s population.

  We were a long way from Los Angeles.

  Etta and Connor didn’t even believe us when we told them we’d left the outskirts of the city. Until we hit Gorge Road with a cliff face on one side and a river far below on the other. They looked out the windows, drinking in first the sights of the laid-back, park-filled city and suburbs, and then the gum-tree-covered hills Gorge Road was carved out of. I alternated between doing the same and stealing glances at my mother.

  Afternoon sunlight played over her achingly familiar features. The red hair that had given mine its copper tinge, streaked with silver now. The pale, freckled skin and blue eyes that matched my own. The slender frame that housed both iron strength and her gentle, sunny warmth. It made me realize just how little Skype had cut it.

  When the potholed driveway came into view, I’d never been gladder to bump along it. I’d grown up on a small one-acre property set among much larger farming properties in the green, undulating hills of Cudlee Creek. Not that they were all that green now with the long dry summer only a month past, but the evergreen gum trees helped brighten them. And Mum’s garden was a year-round haven of plant life in both the pretty and practical variety—herbs, vegetables, and citrus trees, climbing grape vines and honeysuckle, lavender bushes and bright daisies, and liberal quantities of drought-resistant native species that in turn attracted native birds.

  Tucked away behind the garden, my family home was a typical southern-Australia style: red-brick, corrugated roof, and a wraparound veranda. It was the occupants that made it special. Both the human and furry or feathery kind.

  The sun was setting over the hills, casting the scene in a rosy golden glow. I unclipped my seat belt and grinned at Connor and Etta in the backseat. “Get ready to smell the fresh country air of the Adelaide Hills.” Then I opened the door and took a big sniff.

  It was more pungent than I remembered. Connor and Etta wrinkled their noses.

  Mum bit her lip. “Sorry, I fertilized the garden beds with horse and chicken poo.”

  “Um, right. We might have to go for a walk to smell Australia then.”

  Etta sniggered. “Oliver will be sad he missed this.”

  She was talking about my British housemate back in LA who harbored a taste for the inane.

  I suspected Connor might be sad that Etta hadn’t also missed it.

  Meeting his eyes, I said, “Why don’t we go in and have a cup of tea?”

  He looked like he could use a nap. The night before our departure—when I’d thought he was sleeping beside me—he’d snuck out of bed and worked until dawn to set things in order for his absence. The shut-eye he’d snatched on the plane and our stopover in Fiji had yet to make up for it. I reached for his hand, so grateful not only to be here but to have him here with me.

  But he’d have to fend for himself for a bit because I needed to find out what was wrong with Lily.

  “I’ll be right behind you,” Mum said as we heaved our suitcases out of the car, “I’m just going to lock up the chooks.”

  “Chooks?” Etta asked. “Is that something dangerous?”

  I snickered. “Not unless you have a fear of chickens.”

  Etta frowned. “You call chickens chooks? Why?”

  “For the same reason we call mosquitos mozzies, kangaroos roos, afternoon arvo, and McDonald’s Maccas. We like to shorten things.”

  Despite Connor’s fatigue, he gave me a peck on the cheek with a promise of later and took my suitcase, leaving me free to lead the way inside. I stopped short at the door and yelled back over my shoulder. “Mum, is there supposed to be a goat in the house?”

  “Yes, darling. That’s Herbert.”

  Etta crowded forward. “Is that goat wearing a diaper?”

  “Yes.”

  I opted not to explain further. Maybe this way they’d assume it was to keep the house clean—rather than to prevent the dog following him around and eating the poop snacks he dropped.

  “But we call them nappies in Australia,” I added. Etta had requested I teach her the local lingo.

  Herbert looked to be about a month old, a cute but pitiful sight with his unruly flopping ears and the nappy reaching almost all the way to his front armpits. I bent down to greet him, along with our three-legged, long-retired, and long-lived sheepdog, Dash, who’d heaved himself out of bed to see what the commotion was about.

  I barely had a chance to receive a nibble and a wet nose of greeting before my dad came racing down the hallway. Herbert bounded out of the way. Dash didn’t move. Probably because he was so deaf nowadays that the only thing he could hear was a shrill whistle.

  Dad dodged the old dog, picked me up, and swung me around (I just managed to lift my feet high enough to skim over Dash’s head). Then I was returned to the ground, and Dad made a show of staggering and rubbing his back. “Far out. You can’t tell by looking at you, but I think you must’ve gained ten kilos in whatever country you’ve been hiding out in.”

  I patted him hard on his supposedly sore back. “Either that or you’re getting old.”

  He didn’t look it. He was blessed with a full head of hair and had enough roguish mischief in his glinting eyes, deeply imprinted laughter lines, and expressive mouth to give him the air of the forever boyish. I couldn’t imagine him looking truly old.

  He caught me in another hug and scruffed my hair. “It’s true. You’ll have to stick me in a nursing home soon. But first, you have to introduce me.”

  The introductions went better this time. I suppose Dad had displayed enough of his character for Connor to suss out in advance he was a hugger. And Dad managed to resist scruffing Connor’s hair. I was proud of both of them.

  Mum came in and touched my shoulder. “Dinner will be ready in half an hour, and I’ll put the kettle on, but I think Lily would appreciate a few minutes alone with you. She’s in the study.”

  Connor gave me a slight nod to let me know he’d be okay, so I left them there and headed for my friend.

  Feeling unaccountably nervous, I pushed open the study door. The ceiling light was off, leaving the floor lamp in the corner to illuminate the room. But it was bright enough to see that Lily had been crying.

  She was perched on the worn sofa with her legs resting on a precariously stacked footrest comprised of a washing basket, several thick books, and two cushions. She had a wheat bag slung around her neck, a fluffy blanket (one I was quite sure was the dog’s) on her lap, a pack of Tim Tams and tissues by her side, and an oscillating pedestal fan blowing over her.

  She gave me a watery smile and lifted the blanket.

  I rushed forward. “No, don’t get up.” I joined her on the couch and hugged her in a determined but awkward way thanks to the obstacle course of comfort items. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

  Lily was a tough cookie. We’d been best friends since grade three, and even back then I hadn’t seen her cry often. She hadn’t cried when the snotty popular girl had blown a wad of bubblegum in her hair on her first day at the new school. But her mum sure had when she saw the mess I’d left cutting it out with a pair of blunt plastic scissors.

  She hadn’t cried when she had to quit her job at the marketing agency of her dreams thanks to a lecherous boss. Or when she’d been diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis. Or when her first attempt at a children’s book was rejected by every publisher she sent it to.

  In fact, the one time I could remember her crying in recent memory was for me. When she’d helped me rip o
ut the last fixtures of my broken dream of a coffee shop while I’d sobbed in a useless, heartbroken heap on the floor.

  So what in the world could’ve happened?

  What kind of trouble needed warmth and a fan and junk food?

  I was still hugging her, so I couldn’t see her face, but her voice, when she spoke, was quiet and subdued. Not adjectives I normally associated with her.

  Over the past fifteen years, her hair cut and color had gone through more bold and daring adventures than a Bear Grylls special. And she’d pulled every one of them off. Yet today her short pink bob left her looking washed out.

  “Oh, Iz.” She paused longer than I thought was fair. “I’m pregnant.”

  She choked on the last word. If she hadn’t, I might not have believed her. Lily had always been adamant she didn’t want children. She wasn’t close with her own parents and valued freedom and independence like she needed them to breathe. The only babies I’d seen her coo over were the furry kind.

  “Wow.” I didn’t know what to say—Congratulations? Condolences? Who’s the father? How did this happen?—so I hugged her tighter instead.

  “I found out today. I mean, I didn’t think it was possible, but the gyno said my IUD had shifted so it wouldn’t have been as effective as usual—” She cut off with a half raspberry, half snort. “Ugh, can you turn that fan off? It’s blowing your hair into my mouth.”

  I extricated myself from the couch. “I didn’t realize you can’t eat hair while pregnant.”

  Lily smiled weakly.

  I skirted the unstable footrest and found the switch. “Why’s the fan on anyway? Couldn’t you take the blanket off if you’re hot?”

  She snorted. “Ice cream and Gremlins, remember? Dad was trying so hard to help that I didn’t have the heart to refuse.”

  Throughout our school years, Lily’s parents had worked long hours and gone on frequent business trips, which meant we’d had a lot of sleepovers. It hadn’t taken long for my parents to unofficially adopt her, and to this day, she was still closer to my family than her own.

  I flopped down next to her again. “Did he manage to do anything actually helpful?”

  “Well, he did get me tissues and chocolate. And he told me Mum would no doubt take the baby in like any other creature in need if I wanted her to. He also tried to convince me I’d be a good mother based on my experience changing goat nappies. So long as I didn’t cut the tail hole, that is.”

  “Oh boy.” Gosh, I’d missed this. Every member of my crazy, wonderful family.

  “He also packed me that basket full of items I might need for my impending doom. A pregnancy survival kit, he said.”

  I spied the overloaded basket in the corner and shot her a wicked grin. “Shall we go through it together?”

  A smile tugged at her lips. “Why not?”

  This was going to be good.

  I picked out a packet of nappies. Goat-sized of course. “This is a pregnancy kit, right? Did he think these were for you or the baby?”

  Lily grimaced. “Unclear.”

  The next thing I found was an empty yogurt container. “This you’ll need to explain to me.”

  “For throwing up in the car.”

  “Oh. And, um, prunes?”

  “He said you get constipated toward the end. No pun intended.”

  “Oh boy, I can definitely see how this would’ve cheered you up.”

  “Yep.” Despite the topic of conversation, Lily was growing more cheerful. She removed her legs from the footrest and crossed them beneath her. “He packed cocoa and butter for stretch marks too. I think he got confused because I’m pretty sure it’s the moisturizer coco butter you’re supposed to use. But until then I hadn’t even thought about stretch marks.”

  I found the offending items. Sure enough, it was a pack of cocoa powder for cooking and the butter you spread on toast. “At least you can repurpose these, I suppose.”

  “Or even better, you can repurpose them into brownies for me.”

  “Deal.”

  I held up a pack of candles. The kind you’d stick in a cake.

  “He said hot baths are great for relaxing, but he couldn’t find where Mum keeps proper candles. He figured those would at least remind me to get proper candles.”

  “Maybe I’ll put these ones on your brownies then,” I said as I rummaged some more. “Wait. He gave you wine?”

  Light sparked in Lily’s eyes. “I’m not sure he has as much of a handle on this pregnancy thing as he thinks he does. There’s an ice pack in there as well, which he said Mum found helpful for the hot flashes.”

  “What? Hot flashes?”

  “I think he might have pregnancy muddled up with menopause.”

  That set us both snickering.

  The next treasures I found were several tins of spam. “What the heck are these for? Where did he even get them? We’ve never eaten spam.”

  Lily grinned. “Apparently, Mum craved it when she was pregnant with you. He used to keep a secret stash of them in the shed because he said she’d get mean if he ran out. Turns out there were some left.”

  “Oh my gosh, when did these expire?” I checked the date and giggled. “Twenty-six years ago!”

  Lily joined in, and encouraged, I dug around and fished out a bottle. A familiar bottle. “Don’t use this! I’m pretty sure that rubber teat has fed multiple livestock.”

  Lily sniggered. “Damn. I thought I’d use it to drink the wine out of while I’m in the bath.”

  We dissolved into helpless laughter. Lily clutched her stomach, but only from the pain of laughing too much. “My goodness, doofus. It’s so good to see you. Sorry to make this reunion all about me. Ugh. The darn thing is only bug-sized, and it’s already making me a lousy friend.”

  “Shut up. I’m just glad I can be here for you through something as massive as this. But I’m terribly sorry Mum left you in Dad’s care.” I waggled the goat-teat bottle again.

  Lily sobered. “No, it was good, actually. He was good. He told me everything would work out in the end, no matter what I decided. And you know how good he is at selling things…” She picked at the armrest. “I just hope he’s right.”

  Oh, Lily.

  “Did you want to talk—”

  “No. I’m done thinking about it tonight. I have my best friend back for a couple of weeks, and I’m bloody well going to enjoy it.” She wiggled out from Dash’s blanket and pushed off the couch. “Now let me meet the infamous Connor.”

  3

  The infamous Connor and the woman who I felt better suited that reputation were getting a tour of the house and its residents.

  Mum was petting Dash as she explained his history. “We adopted him from a farmer down the road after he needed his leg amputated and couldn’t be a working dog anymore.”

  Dash was in his basket where he spent most of his time nowadays. He was almost unrecognizable from the energetic pup who’d refused to let three legs slow him down one iota.

  The cat jumped down and swatted at his thumping tail. Jealous of the attention.

  “And we adopted Prince from a shelter because no one else would take him with his ear torn half off and one eye missing from a fight. But we could see the beauty within.”

  Etta knelt to pet Prince. He hissed at her.

  “Actually,” I said, “he doesn’t have much beauty within either. He’s a mean old cat.”

  Mum lifted a shoulder. “Well sure. But you have to admire his fighting spirit. I hope someone will love me if I get mean with age.”

  Lily snorted. “You couldn’t be mean if you tried.”

  Dad put an arm around Mum. “I’ll love you no matter how much you hiss at me, babe.”

  Etta had moved onto the large bird cage by the window. “What about the bird? What’s wrong with it?”

  The galah flared its crest at her. “Screw you, bitch!”

  Etta’s mouth gaped open. “Did it just call me a—”

  “Kiss my feathery butt!”


  Dad, Lily, and I were all too busy laughing to respond—and even Connor’s lips had tugged upward—so Mum stepped in again. “That’s Gertie. She used to live at the Gorge Wildlife Park until someone taught her to swear. They couldn’t let her curse at the kids, so we took her in. Then Mark taught her more bad language.”

  Dad threw up a hand in protest. “Hey, I didn’t teach her any bad language because you gave me a list of words you wouldn’t tolerate. I got creative instead.” He scratched Gertie on the neck affectionately. “The kiss my feathery butt phrase is one of mine.”

  Pleased with the attention, Gertie repeated the feathery butt line and made kissy noises.

  Mum shook her head, but her eyes twinkled. “How about we see if dinner’s ready? You three must be done in, and we can finish the tour tomorrow.”

  No one protested, so a few minutes later, we were crowded around the dining table with helpings of barbecued lamb, roasted vegetables, and steamed greens.

  Connor sat beside me, and while the signs were subtle enough that nobody else would notice, I could feel the tension radiating off him.

  He had recently accepted a hairy, hungry, mixed-breed dog into his life, but I wasn’t sure he was ready for a goat. Especially when that goat was head-butting his knee at the dinner table. Oh dear. Now said goat was chewing on his pant leg. His expensive tailored pant leg. Connor looked lost, so I gently steered Herbert away with my foot to encourage him to pester someone else, then refocused on the conversation.

  “So, Connor,” Dad was saying, “what do you do with yourself?” He already knew the answer to this.

  “I run a security and investigation company.”

  Dad nodded wisely. “Ah, yes. I know something about security myself. I sold house alarm systems a few years ago.” The last was true, but he was leaving out the part where those alarms had turned out to have faulty wiring and kept going off at odd hours for no reason. In the end, they’d all been recalled. “Of course, we have no need of anything like that ourselves, what with our menagerie to tell us when anyone’s coming to the door, you know what I’m saying?”