Forest Shadows (10 page)

‘Where exactly is this Chinaman's camp?'

‘On the other side of the river,' Jars told him. ‘There's a waterfall, where you can cross. I found it, or rather, Shadow did.'

‘Right on,' Snook whooped, ‘We can go then, can't we Reg?'

‘I'll think about it, although I must admit, it all sounds rather fascinating.' He walked over to the woodheater and resumed cooking the evening meal.

Jars joined him. ‘I think we really should go and see Mr Wu, Reg. Although he didn't actually say it, I got the impression that he had something to tell you.'

‘Me? Why would he want to do that? He doesn't even know me.'

‘Maybe he does; he seems to know just about everything else that's going on.'

Reg stopped what he was doing and looked Jars square in the eyes. ‘You really liked him, didn't you?'

‘Yes, I think he's a nice man, genuine too.'

‘Okay, we'll all go pay him a visit, first thing tomorrow.'

The first drops of rain began to splatter on the shack's tin roof as Jars hurried over to tell the others.

I
t had just started to rain when Madeline Quigley drove down Timber Creek's deserted main street to deliver her husband to wherever it was he wanted to go. It had taken over four hours, most of the time driving in silence, not thinking about anything really, just concentrating on the road. Her husband, thankfully, had remained silent, seemingly engrossed in the book she'd brought for him.

In actual fact, her husband was in a state of high excitement. During the trip as a passenger in the front seat, he hadn't wasted any time. Flipping through the pages of the book, he'd quickly come to the sheet of paper he'd hidden twelve months ago. He was studying it now for the umpteenth time, back and front.

That's when he made the discovery. He looked at it again, at the faint but discernible markings on the back, something he'd missed seeing before. Smiling to himself, he folded and then replaced the sheet between the leaves of the book. All in good time, he thought, all in good time.

Timber Creek, he mused as they drew to a halt in the small forestry town where it had all begun one year ago. When he and the Grimshaws had devised a plan, a plan that had ended in disaster. Because of those Kelly kids. Quigley shivered at the memory and climbed out of the car. He'd arrived.

He reached through the open door for the case that he'd placed on the back seat earlier; then holding it above his head with one hand to ward off the rain and clutching the book in the other, he left. ‘Have a good life, Madeline,' he said to the back of her head. ‘Say hello to Quenton.'

He started to walk off but then glanced back, wondering why she hadn't started the car. She was just sitting there as if in a daze, unmoving and staring into the night. He didn't notice that her hands were clenched tightly around the steering wheel turning her knuckles as white as ice. Nor did he did see the hint of a smile that had gradually spread across her lips.

‘What about Quenton?' she called out to his back, suddenly alert again. ‘Your son?'

He hesitated, then, without answering, continued across the road towards the old-looking brick house where a light was showing in the front window. Behind him he heard Madeline drop the Toyota's clutch and drive off, out of his life forever, leaving nothing but a fine, misty spray that hung in the air behind the car's spinning wheels. He didn't bother to watch her leave.

Quigley didn't hesitate. Transferring the book to his mouth, he rapped on the front door. He heard footsteps and the door swung open. ‘I've got it,' he said, holding the book in the air like a trophy. ‘I've brought it like I said I would.'

Evelyn Grimshaw looked over his shoulder, then up and down the street. ‘You'd better come in, Hector's inside.'

They walked through to the kitchen. Hector was sitting, slouched at the table, a glass of dark-looking liquid in his hand. He barely raised his eyes. Greyhound thin, he wore a black, tight-fitting tee-shirt and equally tight black jeans. He raised the glass to his lips. ‘They finally let you out,' he said out of the corner of his mouth after taking a sip.

‘You haven't lost your snarl, have you, Hector? I can see prison didn't improve your manners.' Quigley placed the case on the floor by a row of kitchen cupboards. ‘By the way, where's Arnie? You haven't lost him, have you?'

‘What's it to you?' Hector sneered, refilling his glass from a bottle on the shelf behind him. His brother was his business.

Evelyn glared, then snapped, ‘Stop sniping at each other. That's not why we're here.' Then, in a more subdued tone, she added, ‘Arnie's gone. We don't know where.'

She lowered herself into a chair by the kitchen table and waved Quigley to another. Holding a cup of tea in one hand, she thrust out the other. ‘Let's have it, Quigley – the mysterious treasure map you told Hector about.' She didn't try to hide her skepticism.

Sticking out his chin and in his best upper-crust voice, Quigley said, ‘When you address my person, you will kindly refer to me as Mr Quigley. Let's get that straight right from the start of our, er, collaboration. I trust that is perfectly clear.'

Evelyn humphed. ‘That'll be the day,' she said, her lips flattening into a tight smile. She clicked her fingers. ‘Hand it over. Whatever it is you've got.'

It was Quigley's turn to smile. At her stupid, pressed lips, her cynical smile. He flicked through the pages of the book. Then, with an exaggerated slowness, he took out the folded sheet of paper. He gave it to her. ‘Don't treat what you see lightly, Evelyn.' He stood and pointed towards her cup of tea. ‘I could do with one of those. Do you mind? It's been a long journey.'

Hector pointed to a kettle on the shelf near the sink. ‘It's just boiled; instant's in the cupboard. Get it yourself.'

‘What's this?' Evelyn spluttered, waving the sheet in the air in the direction of Quigley's back. ‘A joke?' She read it aloud:

THE TREASURE MAY BE FOUND WHERE THE MAD HATTER DRINKS AND THE RAINBOW RISE.

Hector thumped his glass on the table. He leaped from his chair. ‘A kid's puzzle! What're you playing at, Quigley?'

‘Oh, it's more than that,' Quigley said, lifting the kettle and pouring the boiled water into a coffee mug. It was instant but it would have to do. ‘Much more.'

‘Then you'd better hurry up and explain yourself,' Evelyn said, standing and slapping the paper with one hand.

Quigley leisurely took a carton of milk from the fridge. He poured a drop into the hot drink. Stirring slowly, he strolled over to the table and sat. He took the piece of paper from Evelyn and then addressed Hector. ‘When I spoke to you in the prison and explained that I had the means of uncovering a treasure, I meant it.' He shifted his gaze to Evelyn. ‘This piece of paper once belonged to a gentleman of Chinese descent – a Mr Yao, who, unfortunately for him, fell extremely ill. In fact, he died.'

Evelyn sat down again. ‘And?'

‘He was in a delirious state when I found him. It was during the night on the Strahan wharf. I'd been conducting some business at the fish processors earlier and was about to return home when I literally stumbled over him in the dark. He was just lying there, clutching the sheet of paper as though he didn't want to let go.' He paused for effect. ‘When he saw me, he grabbed my arm and pulled me close. He whispered in my ear, trying to tell me something. It sounded like complete gibberish to me, so at first I dismissed his babblings as complete rubbish, the ravings of a dying man, but when I listened, really listened, his words began to make sense.'

Hector's rodent eyes bulged and darted from side to side. ‘It's you who's not making any sense,' he hissed. ‘Why don't you just spit it out and get to the punch line?'

‘For once I agree with my brother,' Evelyn said. ‘What did this Mr Yao tell you?'

Quigley stopped stirring and set the spoon on the table. He blew into his coffee, took a sip. ‘I learned that this man had been in a forest the other side of Teepookana Landing. I took the paper from him out of curiosity and there it was, the riddle, a brain-teaser that, if solved, would lead to a treasure. The riddle was originally meant for another person, a Chinese friend of his called Wu Han but now I have it.' He smiled, saying, ‘And I have something else.'

‘What?' Evelyn asked. ‘What else?'

‘It's a map showing the exact location of the treasure. And that, my friends, means that we don't have to solve the brainteaser! I discovered the map on the way here.'

‘Where did you get it, this map?' Evelyn asked.

‘Yeah, and where is it? Show us.'

Quigley shook his head. ‘To answer your questions I can only say that I acquired the map through my own persever-ance, and as for showing it to you, the answer is no. That would be extremely foolish of me.'

Hector, dark eyes flashing, mumbled something unintel-ligible. Quigley's self-important swaggering was definitely getting to him.

‘What's that, Hector? Were you saying something?' Quigley taunted, tilting his head to one side and smirking. ‘Look daggers at me if you like, Hector. It won't do you any good. In fact, you'd be the last person I'd show the map to. That would be stupid of me, don't you think?' He laughed and tucked the map into his pocket.

H
ector Grimshaw turned in his seat and refilled his glass from the bottle behind him. ‘We need some answers, Quigley,' he said turning back to face him. He took a drink after which he placed the glass on the table. ‘If you don't trust us with your precious map then what do you trust us with?'

Quigley told them. ‘It's what I require of you that matters – if you want to share in the treasure that is. For one thing we'd need to use your boat – to travel from Macquarie Harbour at Strahan to Long Bay, and then to a forest area, which lies adja-cent to the coast. In the forest is a track that is clearly marked on my map, a track that will lead us to the treasure.' He patted his pocket and at the same time gave Hector a sideways glance. ‘And as I have said, the map shall stay with me until I have decided otherwise.'

‘Mmmm. We'll see about that.' Evelyn said and then changing the subject, pointed out, ‘The boat hasn't been in the water for over nine months. It'll need checking over.'

‘There's no time like the present,' Quigley was quick to say.

‘We'll get around to it, in our own good time,' Evelyn replied. ‘But never mind that, look at you. You're not exactly dressed for the bush, are you?'

‘Dressed for a funeral, more likely,' Hector said, adding, ‘It'll be his own if he doesn't deliver.'

‘And where would I get these clothes?' Quigley asked, ignoring Hector. ‘As far as I know, there isn't a clothing shop in Timber Creek and besides, it's Saturday today. All the shops would be closed tomorrow.'

‘There's an Opportunity Shop I know along the way that opens on weekends.' Seeing the look of confusion on Quigley's face, she added, ‘It's a charity shop that opens on Sundays. They stock second-hand clothes.'

Trying not to splutter at the humiliation of patronising such a place, he managed to say, 'Do I take it that we've all agreed to participate in the venture?'

‘It still sounds a bit fanciful to me, Quigley, but I suppose it wouldn't hurt,' Evelyn said, purposely omitting the
Mr
in his name.

Hector, emitting a sort of arghhh sound, stood and walked from the room. Quigley smiled. ‘Good. We all agree. That being the case, in addition to using your boat, I'll need your help in other ways.'

Evelyn raised her eyebrows. ‘What are you talking about? Other ways?'

‘For a start, get out your credit card and book us all into a Strahan motel for tomorrow night. Then later, make sure the car and the boat are fuelled.'

‘Anything else?' she said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in her voice.

‘Yes. From my considerable experience, it's likely that some unforeseen incidents may arise. It will be both your and Hector's job to deal with them.'

‘Unforeseen incidents? Whatcha mean?' Hector snarled, walking back into the kitchen. ‘Why can't you talk proper?'

‘You never know what may lie over the horizon, Hector. After all, life can be a mystery. Don't you agree?'

SUNDAY

D
espite the steady, hypnotic drumming of the rain through the night, Jars' sleep hadn't been restful. There had been dreams, or were they something else? A warning perhaps? The visions had been so real: a flashing object in the sky, hovering above a forest; an old Chinese man holding an orange and red crystal in one hand and a sleek white cat in the other; humans lurking in the bush stalking some innocent thing. And there was something else – darting shadows that seemed to be watching her; watching everyone.

She woke with a start. She felt cold, then realised. She'd perspired during the night and now, with sweat dotting her face and body and her mind racing trying to make sense of her dreams, she felt something else. It was a foreboding, an uneasiness that sent prickles of apprehension through her body.

A noise shattered the silence.

It was Quenton. He was blubbering and calling out. She wiped a film of sweat from her brow and sat up, sleeping bag wrapped around her. She rubbed her eyes. ‘What is it? What's the matter?'

Quenton, who was sitting bolt upright in his bed, couldn't stop the tremor in his voice. ‘There's something out there. Something horrible. I heard it. It was right outside the window. There were squeals and shrieks and grunts – like fighting sounds.'

Jars hadn't heard a thing except the rain, which was still drumming on the roof. She listened for any strange sounds. Nothing. She tried to placate Quenton. ‘Well, whatever it was has gone now, so go back to sleep. It's too early to get up.'