taken any interest in his treasure.
Too bad. Raff was kissing her. She had treasure of her own to be finding.
But Kleppy was nothing if not insistent. He was hauling his loot up onto her knees. It was a dirt-covered box, a little damaged at one corner, but not much. It was pencil-box sized, or maybe a little bigger.
She took it and brushed the worst of the dirt off-and then she stilled.
This box.
Philip’s box.
No. Philip’s grandfather’s box. He made boxes like this for all his relations, for all his friends.
This one, though… The shape…
Slowly now, with a lot more care, she dusted the thing off. It was almost totally intact. Cedar did that. It lasted for generations. Something had nibbled at the corner but had given up in disgust.
Cedar was pretty much bug-proof. Obviously it tasted bad. Except to Kleppy.
It would have been the smell, she thought, the distinctive scent, showing him that something was buried here, something like the box he loved back at her place.
‘What is it?’ Raff was watching her face, figuring this was important.
‘I’m not sure,’ she said, hardly daring to breathe. A box. Made by Philip’s grandfather. Buried not fifty yards from where Ben had been killed.
A box she might just know.
Her fingers were suddenly trembling. Raff took the box from her. ‘A bomb?’ There was the beginning of a smile in his voice.
‘No,’ she whispered and then thought about it. ‘Maybe.’
‘You want me to open it?’
‘I think we must.’
There were four brass clips holding it sealed. Raff flicked open each clip in turn.
He opened the box, but she knew before she saw it what its contents would be. And she was right. She’d seen it before. It held cassette tapes, filed neatly, slotted against each other in the ridged sections of Huon pine that Philip’s grandpa had carved with such skill.
She didn’t need to take them out to know what they were. Music tapes, with a couple of blank ones at the back.
There was an odd one. Not slotted into place. The ribbon had been ripped from its base and the tape looked as if it had been tossed into the box in a hurry. It wasn’t labelled.
Her mind was in overdrive.
‘I’m guessing what this might be,’ she said bleakly, and she knew she had to take this further. She was feeling sick. ‘Do you think we could still play it?’
‘It looks like it’s just a matter of reattaching the ribbon. Is it important?’
‘I think it might be.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THEY took Kleppy to the vet and Fred declared he’d live. While he did, Raff made a quick call to Keith.
‘Dexter’s nicely locked up and he’s staying that way,’ Keith said. ‘I have a team organised to swarm through his files. You look after Abby.’
‘How did he know you and I…?’ Abby said and Raff grinned and shook his head.
‘Banksia Bay. Don’t ask.’
With his wound cleaned and dressed, they took Kleppy back to Raff’s. An hour later, a hearty meal demolished, Kleppy was watching television with Sarah. Lionel was with them. He’d just sort of turned up.
‘Heard Kleppy got kicked,’ he muttered, and Abby thought,
Abby and Raff were in the back room, standing over Gran’s ancient tape player. Waiting for a repaired cassette to start.
Abby felt sick.
Raff was curious. Worried. Watching her. She hadn’t told him what to expect. It might not be anything.
But why was it buried there if it wasn’t anything?
And as soon as it started she knew she was right, at least in thinking she knew what it was.
She’d watched Philip over the years as he’d recorded his client discussions-‘in case I miss something’. She’d attributed it to his meticulous preparation.
She’d believed him, all those years ago when she’d found the Christabelle tape. She’d used it as a reason to break up with him, but had hardly thought any more of it. But in the box buried by the roadside where Ben died… there was more evidence.
Maybe Philip taped all his girlfriends.
For this was Sarah, ten years younger but still unmistakably herself. Young and excited and a little bit nervous.
It had been set to record as soon as Philip picked her up, and they knew immediately it was the night of the crash. They listened to Sarah asking if they could go up the mountain and see if the boys had their car going.
‘Sure.’ Philip was amenable. ‘I wouldn’t count on it going, though. Let’s show ’em what a real car can do. You like my wheels?’
‘Your car’s great.’ But even from the distance of ten years they could hear Sarah’s increasing nervousness, from almost as soon as they started driving. ‘Philip, slow down. These curves are dangerous.’
‘I can handle them. It’s Raff and Ben who should worry. They can hardly drive.’
More talk. Sarah asked if he liked her dress. Even then, Philip wasn’t into bright dresses.
‘Not so much. Why’d it have to be red?’
A terse response. Sarah sounded peeved.
‘Movies afterwards?’ Philip asked.
‘I’m not sure. If you don’t like my dress sense…’
‘There’s no need to be touchy.’
Silence. An offended huff? Then Sarah again…
‘Phil, be careful. That was a wallaby.’
‘It’s fine. Wallabies are practically plague round here, anyway. Why are they using the fire track?’
‘They can’t go on the roads. Their car isn’t registered.’
‘That hunk of junk’ll never get registered. Not like this baby. Watch it go.’
‘Philip, no. Slow down. You’re scaring me. There’ll be more wallabies-it’s getting dark.’
‘There’s nothing to be scared of. You reckon they’re on this track?’
‘Philip… Philip, no. You nearly hit it…’ And then… ‘You’re on the wrong side of the…’
‘There’s ruts on the other side. No one uses this.’
‘But it’s a crest.’ Her voice rose. ‘Philip, it’s a crest. No…’ Then…awfulness.
Then nothing. Nothing, nothing and nothing.
The tape spun on into silence.
