As the pleasing odours from the evening meal began to waft around the kitchen, she glanced again at the kitchen clock and then down the access road, but there were no telltale signs of rising dust from an approaching vehicle, only the sun getting lower in the sky. Unable to concentrate on her work any longer, Mishy reached for the VHF receiver and called, “Pearl Springs base to Butch, are you receiving, over?” Letting the transmit button go, she waited for a response. After a few more minutes she tried again. “Pearl Springs base to Butch, are you receiving, over?”
Still nothing.
With fear rising swiftly into panic, Mishy felt her stomach knot and wondered what to do. With a trembling hand, she repeated the call again and again, but the same silence answered her appeal.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 26
Mishy’s hands were shaking, trying to find Bob Maxwell’s phone number in the telephone cabinet drawer. The sun had set and it was dark outside, but Butch still hadn’t answered any of her constant VHF transmissions; and the access road remained ominously quiet and bereft of distant headlights indicating an approaching vehicle. Fumbling through a stack of business cards, she eventually recognised the insignia of the Queensland Police and Senior Sergeant Robert Maxwell’s name and phone number. Feeling the gravity of the situation pressing down on Mishy’s nerves, the tremor running through her fingers amplified trying to extract Bob’s information, but instead of singling out the required data, the unruly deck slipped through her grasp and dropped to the floor.
Near to tears, Mishy squatted to locate the itinerant phone number, unconcerned for the rest of the deck lying scattered and unkempt across the passageway floor. Fighting back a flood of tears and grasping Bob’s card with a trembling hand, she raised herself from her haunches and stood next to the phone cabinet then reached for the receiver, reading the number at the same time and attempting to punch the digits into the phone. The seconds ticked by as the electronic device tried to decipher the numerals she’d entered and direct her to the desired destination, but confused by her selection, it gave up and returned an infuriating message. ‘The number you have dialled is not connected; please check the number and try again.’
Mishy sighed in deep frustration, feeling the curling force of a rising emotional tsunami wave about to engulf her, but this time she carefully read and punched each digit deliberately, following precisely the card’s prompting and then finally, the number connected. Seconds went by, curling her bottom lip under her top teeth as she anxiously waited for Bob’s answer.
“Birdsville Police Station, Sergeant Bob Max…“
Hearing the familiar gruff voice, the tsunami crashed to land and her emotions burst, swallowing Mishy in a spiralling torrent of relief. All she could do was blubber uncontrollably in Bob’s ear. It took Bob a few moments to identify the caller and another couple of gentle attempts before he could understand what Mishy was trying to say. Remaining calm and deliberate, Bob reassured her while setting in motion behind the scenes a well rehearsed response. Certain Mishy had calmed enough, Bob began to instruct her on what she needed to do.
“Okay, Mishy, I’ve got it from here. I need you to stay by the phone and keep the communications open. That means switching off the internet. Keep calling Butch on the VHF every half hour or so and listen for any strange crackles or hisses indicating they are listening and trying to respond... who’s your closest neighbour to Bella Creek?”
Mishy sniffed, trying to comprehend Bob’s question. “Um... arr... that would be the Clarksons from Valerie Downs,” Mishy’s voice cracked, trying to hold her emotions together while her nose ran and mingled with tears.
“Okay, got it... Don... Clarkson.”
Mishy heard the sounds of Bob scribbling on a pad.
“Now, what I am about to say is purely circumspect; the chances are Butch has just broken down, but I need you and the girls to be prepared. Do you know where Butch’s firearms are and how to load and use the guns?”
Mishy panicked again, reading Bob’s thought and intent perfectly.
“Calm down, Mishy, I just need you to be prepared. Do you know where Butch’s firearms are and how to load and use them?” Bob tried again more firmly.
Mishy sniffed away frightened tears. “I think so, Bob.”
“Okay, I’m going to put down the phone now, Mishy, but I want you to call me back every half hour until this is resolved. Do you understand?”
Mishy nodded, forgetting Bob couldn’t see her affirmation, then verbalised her comprehension when he asked again.
“One last thing. Stay calm and let me know immediately anything changes. I’m by the phone directing things from here.” Bob’s voice suddenly went quiet as if he was talking to someone in the background and then his voice returned to normal intensity. “Mishy, Police Communications have been onto the Clarksons already, but unfortunately, Don’s here in Birdsville at the moment. His head stockman, Jackson Reynolds and a station hand are already on their way to Bella Creek. We won’t be able to contact them though; the vehicle they’re in doesn’t have a working VHF.”
Mishy placed the phone back in its cradle, feeling sick but grateful Bob Maxwell had everything in hand and at least now the burden had shifted slightly and the full weight had been taken from her shoulders.
“Mumma!”
A worried voice startled Mishy. Seeing Danica’s wide and terrified eyes boring into Mishy’s, she pulled her eldest daughter into an embrace. There was no reason to say anything. Danica had heard the whole conversation and had pieced together the situation.
*~*~*~*
For five hundred square kilometres, the bush telegraph was vibrating with gossip, but nobody dared contact Mishy under threat from Bob Maxwell. He knew how things worked in the bush and had already been in touch with neighbouring stations, declaring an emergency on all frequencies and warning station people not to jam the communication lines with good hearted intentions into Pearl Springs.
*~*~*~*
A lone vehicle vibrated and shook, rattling like some demented baby’s toy, speeding over deep rutted corrugations and bouncing the vehicle’s back end. Travelling excessively fast for a dirt track, the vehicle began to rear-end steer, forcing the driver to overcorrect and fishtail on the dark slippery gravel roadway.
“Steady on, Jacko, we don’t want to be the next ones Bob Maxwell’s looking for.”
“You just keep that shotgun ready to fire and leave the driving to me. I’ve known Butch and Mishy for years. They’re decent people and if any mongrel has harmed Butch, then he can expect to be lynched.”
Troy Anderson anxiously gripped the cold steel of a loaded pump-action shotgun leaning against his left leg and pointing to the roof, while Jackson Reynolds drove like a man possessed, tearing down the skinny dirt track leading from Valerie Downs to the northern access of Pearl Springs. The night was completely dark, with every shadow hiding behind every bush holding sinister intent and making Troy Anderson jumpy.
Reflected by the headlights, a ghostly flash bounded from the low scrub beside the track and sent panic rippling through the speeding vehicle. Jackson’s sudden jab at the brake pedal followed by skidding tyres and a loud bang sent a shudder down the vehicle, exploding the left headlight and cutting down their available light by half.
“What was that?!” Troy glared over his shoulder to the track behind, but all he could see was a curtain of dust reflecting red tail lights.
Feeling annoyed with himself for the damage to the vehicle and the loss of valuable light, Jackson replied flatly, “Old man roo.”
“You gonna check the damage?” Troy asked, but he knew Jacko had his mind somewhere else.
*~*~*~*
Mishy’s three girls cuddled up to their mother as she stared through the kitchen window and down into the darkness where the access track should be. She’d grabbed Butch’s shotgun and with assistance from her daughters, loaded two cartridges into its firing chamber and leaned the weapon against the kitchen table, b
ut unsure how to fire it. Feeling cold and numb, Mishy glanced up at the clock, noticing it was fast approaching midnight. Maybe it was the imposing chill of the night air or maybe it was the nagging certainty the man she loved and the father of her girls had met with foul play.
It had only been fifteen minutes since she’d last spoken to Bob, but like her, he had nothing to report and all they could do was wait and pray. She was due to make another VHF transmission to Butch, but somehow she knew he wouldn’t answer. Glancing up at the clock again, Mishy made a move to the VHF set, but Danica read her despair and asked if she could do the next transmission instead. Mishy nodded in exhaustion and let her eldest take a little of the load.
“Pearl Springs base to Dad, are you receiving, over?” Danica let the talk button go but as expected, the airwaves were dumb. “Pearl Springs base to Dad, please answer me, Daddy!” Danica’s voice trembled, but still no reply.
Mishy’s head slumped with her chin on her chest while grief went about its work and the walls of despair closed in around her.
“Mum!”
A sudden frightened voice called from Mishy’s side and she followed Jessica’s gaze into the darkness. A headlight halo bounced on the near horizon, the unmistakable signature of a moving vehicle lumbering down the access track. The women watched the approaching beam as hope and fear collided, not sure what to make of it. But as the vehicle came closer, the struggling engine tone was distinct and it carried on the cold silent air. One thing was for certain...
The tone wasn’t Butch.
Just as they were watching, a loud unidentified bang clattered through the night air and the light beam halo disappeared, plunging the near horizon back into complete darkness and total silence. Holding her breath listening for any sounds, Mishy became intensely worried. Maybe Bob’s masked warning was right. She ordered the girls into the safety of the bathroom, grabbing the shotgun on her way.
But this time, Butch wasn’t here to protect them and help was hours away.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 27
A superior expression forced its way across Niccolo’s features, staring down the aggressive Chihuahua guard dog blocking his path into the presidential suite and putting her back in her place by responding to Madame’s call in-spite of Chantal’s resistance. “C’est moi, Niccolo,” Niccolo shouted into the suite and forced his way past Chantal, leaving the rest of the band members trailing behind, but they heroically took a wider berth of the snarling young woman, watching her carefully lest she make an unpredictable move and attempt to sink her teeth into a passing limb.
It didn’t take long for the duelling couple to realise who each other was. Niccolo and Chantal hadn’t directly met before but their names, achievements and quirky personality attributes had been heard recited in company on occasion and now the tussle for control and admittance into Madame’s presence erupted with verbal clashing swords and sparking steel wit. With a victorious beaming grin, Niccolo hurriedly entered Madame’s bedroom and focused on the prone figure lavishly wrapped in fine linen and only just awake.
“How are you feeling after your ordeal, Madame?” Niccolo whispered compassionately, but before Madame could offer a reply, they were interrupted by the arrival of the rest of the band and Chantal.
“Make it quick, Monsieur,” Chantal barked from the doorway. “Madame needs her rest and you are preventing this from happening.”
Angelina glowered over at the bossy young woman with confused eyes, trying to recognise the face but coming up with nothing except more questions. “Who are you, Mademoiselle, and why do I need rest and why is everyone calling me Madame?”
Angelina’s confusion spiralled out of control when she saw the group glance at each other as if they were talking to a mad person, but as an incoming phone call abruptly deflected Chantal from the bewildering circus, she begrudgingly left Niccolo and the band with Madame.
“That reminds me... Niccolo!” Angelina’s face suddenly took on a stern expression, pushing herself into a sitting position against the ornate headboard, deciding to attack while she had the scrawny street kid in her grasp. “You’ve got some explaining to do, boy! What’s this new song and how come I’ve never heard it before? If you think for just one moment you can have me kidnapped just so you and whoever this flake is that’s pretending to be my husband can launch my group and cut me out of the game as your manager, then you’ve got another thing coming!”
Niccolo wilted under Angelina’s tirade and his face fell, glancing sideways at the other band members with concerned eyes. Dropping his head in a defeated pose, a wave of grief flooded his mind and he sighed as if he had walked this path before. “But you have heard it before, Madame,” Niccolo whispered dejectedly. “We were on our way to the launch when you took one of your turns. It was your idea for us to go on ahead so the band wouldn’t miss our opening spot at the Montreux Jazz Festival. I can still remember the very words you spoke. ’Leave me at the Hôtel d’Angleterre until I feel better and then Clayton will take me to Montreux.’ Chantal was already in Montreux and wanted to drive to Geneva to be by your side, but you wouldn’t let her."
Red-faced with confusion, Angelina blinked a couple of times, trying to connect the story thread with what she remembered of the past twenty-four hours. She studied the room and the concerned faces, gazing from person to person, hoping to gain some semblance of understanding.
“No! That’s not what happened at all. I don’t know what your game is, Niccolo, and this Mademoiselle, whoever she is. I distinctly remember the last gig at the club L’Arenile di Bagnoli in Naples and the fact Carlos couldn’t get us and our gear onto a commercial airliner. Some perceived terrorist threat or something. Then Carlos arranged for his cousin to transport us and our gear onboard a pile of junk Learjet and nearly killed us landing in Geneva.”
Niccolo flopped to a nearby bedroom chair and hung his head in dismay, listening to the tale Madame was telling.
“I... sent you ahead to the hotel to book in and rest, preparing for your first night on the festival scene and your Suisse debut, not this man you are trying to pass off as my husband! Once you and the band had left in the limousine... I hired, two thugs attacked me and took me to the Hôtel d’Angleterre and now you are trying to make me believe this was all in my head!”
Chantal reappeared from the distracting phone call in time to hear the last of Madame’s distraught comments and whispered as if she had been broadsided, “I think it is time you and the band left, Monsieur Niccolo.”
Niccolo again sighed, perplexed by the crashing let down and Madame’s apparent loss of memory. He was eager to share their new song’s success, something he was sure would bring her joy. “We will leave, Mademoiselle, but not until I explain to Madame what did actually happen. You have been like a madre to us, Madame Trudeau, and to see you like this is distressing. I have no idea who this Carlos is whom you speak of, nor the pile of junk Learjet we purportedly travelled from Naples and were almost killed in. We have never played a gig at the club L’Arenile di Bagnoli and it’s been years since any of us have even been to Naples. However, we did travel with our equipment in a Learjet to Geneva, but it would be offensive to call Monsieur Trudeau’s private jet a pile of junk. You have encouraged us to write songs with meaning and Sfidare il Male was to be our first, fully endorsed by yourself. You became unwell as we were flying across the Alps, and as for being kidnapped by thugs, I am sure Clayton sometimes fits that description but I’d think he would be hurt knowing his first lady thinks so little of him.”
With a heavy heart Niccolo stood to leave, forcing the other shocked band members to spill out of the bedroom door.
“Please get well, Madame Trudeau. We are not a band without you,” Niccolo leaned over Angelina and kissed her cheek, sending further shockwaves up and down her body and colliding with the overwhelming confusion she was now tussling with. As Niccolo and the band left the presidential suite, Angelina slipped back down under the covers and pulled t
he soft blankets up to her face, staring across at the wall in bewilderment.
A gentle hand rested on her shoulder. “Is there anything I can get you, Madame?” Chantal whispered.
Angelina rolled over to face the concerned voice and whispered tiredly, “I’m so confused. I have no idea who you are, or this Clayton, or my husband for that matter.” Perplexed, Angelina lifted her arms from under the covers and laid them along her body, pressing the blankets tightly against her torso in frustration and trying to fit the pieces of the mystifying jigsaw into some sort of recognisable shape.
Chantal tenderly interrupted Angelina’s confusion and pointed to Angelina’s wedding finger. “Any man who buys a woman a diamond that big has to be worth knowing, Madame.”
Angelina stared bewildered at her finger and the huge sparkling jewel twinkling back at her. The sight of the expensive band made her gasp as if she had only just seen it for the first time, fingering the massive extravagance with her thumb and wondering if she really had lost her mind.
“Doctor Bonnet will be here soon, Madame, and I’m sure he will be able to help you get back to your normal self.”
Angelina nodded, but it was doubtful she’d even heard Chantal’s latest information and continued staring, dazed at the massive diamond ring adorning her wedding finger. Chantal fussed around the sprawling luxurious bedroom, tidying up the chaos of the Sticky Lizards' visit and putting the room back into order. She straightened Angelina’s blankets and tucked the unruly ends back under the soft mattress then gently lifted Madame’s head and fluffed her pillows, lastly focusing on Angelina’s confused eyes.
“Is there anything you need, Madame?” Chantal ventured softly.