Page 42 of Stockman's Showdown

‘Don’t worry, Monet, your plane is in good hands,’ said Ryder. ‘I’m going to call Harper.’

‘What for?’ Dex dragged out the orbital sander.

‘I want her to bring something back from town. Monet, I’ll also be calling the police and emailing them my photos of this incident.’

‘Say hi to Marcus for me and tell him not to stress.’ Monet was so casual about the shooting. She was more interested in assisting Dex patching up her plane.

‘Do you want to talk to the police?’

‘No. You can. Then you can tell me what they want me to do. If I need to make a statement, I’ll email them, or Marcus can meet me at the town’s airstrip later in the week.’

At the farmhouse’s front steps, the large shepherd eagerly greeted him. ‘G’day Sarge.’ Ryder patted the staunch soldier who often kept him company long after the others had gone to bed.

As he opened the front screen door, the pitter-patter of another ex-police dog greeted him. It was the beagle traipsing down the corridor. ‘Hey, Scout.’ He patted the friendly beagle.

Nearby, the fat cream labrador thumped her tail from her fancy dog bed. ‘Ruby, I see you’re off the clock.’

Scout and Ruby had become pampered house pets, with Harper giving them fancy-smelling shampoos, leads, and collars, probably as a reward for enjoying Harper’s regular gastronomical failures.

But not the shepherd. Sarge never came inside, dutifully manning his post on the front corner of the verandah. He wasn’t a pet. He was a soldier.

The screen door shut behind him, the childproof latch clamping down in place. The lounge room was free from the boxes that used to crowd this space, now held a lounge suite, a large mat, along with a set of dog beds, Dex’s old TV, and a big box full of toys for the toddler.

The kitchen had a dining table Bree had found for Harper. The old kitchen table, which they’d pinched from day one, stillsat out the front of the house, even though they rarely used it now, preferring their new boardroom and bar space in the shed.

Unlike the caretaker’s cottage—where the walls were covered in various historical images, rodeo paraphernalia and branding irons—the farmhouse didn’t have a single painting or a picture hanging on the faded walls to show it housed a family. But they had a hallway lined with assorted wide-brimmed hats. All of them were Harper’s.

With the large kitchen on his left, the bedrooms ran along the right. At the end of the hall was Ryder’s room.

Inside, his large bed was made every day, a habit from the Army. A desk stood in the corner, but he rarely used it now that Bree had made him his office. He only came in here to sleep—if he slept—or to use the spare cordless phone. He didn’t know where the other handset was, and didn’t want to spend the next hour looking for the thing.

He dialled a number, as he uploaded his images of Monet’s plane.

‘Elsie Creek Police.’ The deep voice over the phone’s speaker was stern, as if prepared for bad news.

‘G’day, Marcus.’

‘Hey, Ryder, thanks for emailing me that letter last night. We found the paperwork inside the suitcase’s lining, just like it said.’

‘How is the investigation going?’

‘I pulled Porter off road duties to work on the case full-time. He’s got a lot of evidence to crawl through.’

‘Why? It’s not an urgent matter.’ It was a sixty-year-old cold case in some ways. And the only reason Porter had reopened the file in the first place was to gain experience for his detective’s qualifications.

‘I’m doing it for Charlie and Bree. They’re good people, who’ve helped me and my family plenty of times over the years. Porteris a family friend of theirs, and I know he’s keen to give Charlie some answers.’

‘I’m calling on another matter…’ And he explained to Marcus about Leo shooting at Monet’s plane. ‘Monet isn’t upset about it, but that prick clipped her wing.’ Outwardly he may not show any emotion, inside it ticked him off big time. ‘I’m emailing you the photos I took of the damage. Monet has her own, that I think she’s going to post to social media.’

‘Monet would. She’s become an online influencer, and she never really takes things seriously.’

‘I know. Which is why I’m calling you myself.’ Ryder doubted Monet would take it any further, but her partner, Tim, wouldn’t hesitate to load up his guns once he heard about this and confront Leo—which is probably why Monet was playing down the incident.

‘You’re a pilot. Is that plane safe for Monet to fly?’ Marcus asked.

‘Dex is fixing the wing now. It’s mostly cosmetic damage. It won’t interfere with any of the plane’s capabilities to get her home. Otherwise, I’d ground her myself. But our little cousin is in good spirits, keen to get home.’

‘Well, I learned a long time ago that Monet plays by her own rules, but she always means well.’ Marcus exhaled heavily, and Ryder could picture the no-nonsense senior sergeant rubbing the back of his neck with concern. ‘So, I’m guessing you have a request over this plane shooting?’

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