Page 13 of The Side Road (Love Chronicles #3)

TREASURE HUNT

The problem with rural communities wasn’t just the lack of services, the poor infrastructure, the appalling slow internet speed, and the sporadic bus timetable; it was the isolation.

What did people do in this place? As Oliver finished his morning coffee on the front veranda, he looked left and then right down the street. Nothing moved.

Surrounded by suburban three-bedroom houses on large blocks, he was struck by how quiet it was.

Silence reigned: No dogs barked. No children were riding bikes along the footpath.

No sounds of music or TVs delivering sunrise programs directly into kitchens and living rooms. Not even a car.

Morning birds were singing somewhere else.

Perhaps they avoided the suburban valley area of town, instead choosing to inhabit the hills.

If he were a bird, that’s where he would live, up in the hills.

Peaceful, he thought, if he didn’t feel so alone.

While Oliver could sit and gaze into the distance for an indeterminate period, he normally did this at the end of the day, usually with a beer in his hand. Staring into space first thing in the morning while wondering what to do with himself was disheartening.

He had met a few of his neighbours. Familiar faces aligned with vague facts.

Gary (two doors down) taught guitar. Celia (from across the road) was an artist. Mike and Helen from next door were retired.

For Carol and Linda (five doors down), their Eagle Nest property was a weekender.

A place to escape corporate life in Sydney.

Both former teachers, they were involved in policymaking.

Generous conversationalists, Oliver thought the couple might be his best bet if he wanted a political discussion.

Like himself, they were optimists, and he couldn’t say that about all the residents of Eagle Nest.

An array of illnesses (little aches and pains), bad weather, garden maintenance, the cost of petrol, and everything else, plagued his neighbours.

When Mike from next door said, ‘What about kids these days?’ Oliver had pretended something was burning on the stove (it wasn’t an outright lie; something could have been burning on the stove).

As far as he could tell, youth culture hadn’t changed, and this generation faced some hefty obstacles.

Casting his eyes over the parsonage property, Oliver realised it could do with some attention.

Overgrown wattle trees lined the side fence.

He could cut those back. No time like the present, and seizing the moment, he got to his feet, then he hesitated.

It was Sunday morning; the neighbours might not appreciate the sound of power tools.

He returned to his seat. In four hours, his treasure-hunt team would arrive. What was he going to do until then?

Dinner crossed his mind. Steak last night, so sausages and salad tonight.

Chicken on Monday. Perhaps he could tackle a roast on Tuesday.

Or lamb kofta on the barbecue, that sounded easier.

He imagined some people thought about dinner first thing in the morning; usually he wasn’t one of them.

If he made some noise, Tash might wake up and, since it was the weekend, he could cook her a full breakfast. His daughter rising early was an unlikely scenario.

If he had a dog, he might take it for a walk.

But he wasn’t going to wander the streets alone.

In the distance, a kookaburra laughed. Not all the birds had abandoned the town. He decided to put on a load of washing. After that, he would unpack the dishwasher, make himself another coffee, and tackle the weekend papers.

Blanche and Leo arrived at ten. The neighbour, Mike, climbed through the gap in the side fence and was quick to explain that Helen couldn’t make it because she was getting her hair done and the appointment couldn’t be moved.

Unfortunately, Carol and Linda (five doors down) sent their apologies; they were in the city this weekend.

This was disappointing, as policymakers in education they would have to be skilled at finding concealed money.

Arthur arrived with Troublemaker Flora, who was turning out to be less trouble than her reputation suggested.

Oliver wasn’t aware that Arthur or Flora had been invited, but everyone was welcome.

Gathered with Tash on the front veranda, Oliver realised they had all brought gloves. Flora was tying a scarf around her hair. He admired their preparedness. Though the average age of the treasure-hunting group was seventy-five, a jovial and anticipatory mood prevailed.

‘What does two hundred thousand in cash look like?’ Mike asked.

No one knew the answer. Would it fit into a briefcase? A sports bag? A washing basket? The boot of a Mini Hatch ?

Oliver did a quick calculation. If the money were in one-hundred-dollar bills, there would be two thousand notes.

‘It would fill a shoebox,’ he told them.

‘A man’s shoebox or a woman’s shoebox?’ Blanche asked. ‘Boots or flats?’

Oliver hesitated. ‘Female.’

Underwhelmed, the hunters frowned. A few raised their eyebrows.

‘Hundred-dollar notes are difficult to spend,’ Blanche said. ‘The look you get from shopkeepers when you hand over large notes – it’s like you passed them a dead cat.’

‘Especially early in the morning,’ Arthur agreed. ‘It’s no fault of mine if the automatic teller dispensed a hundred-dollar bill.’

‘I try to avoid them,’ Leo said. ‘Draws too much attention.’

‘Good point,’ Arthur said. ‘Elsie wouldn’t have withdrawn hundred-dollar notes. What if the money were in ten-dollar notes? Or even five-dollar notes? How much space would that take up?’

‘In ten-dollar bills, that would be twenty thousand notes,’ Oliver said. ‘That might fill a washing basket.’

This information lifted the mood.

Tash had sketched a rough floor plan of the house, which she referred to as a treasure map.

Her drawing included the yard, the potting shed, and the old garage at the back of the property.

The already searched areas were colour-coded.

Blanche, Flora, and Tash would start in Elsie’s room.

Tash could put aside anything she wanted to keep.

Oliver would search under the house. Mike and Leo would tackle the attic.

Arthur said he would take a walk through the garden and check the area around the rockery and potting shed.

As the group prepared to set out, Oliver heard the sweet sound of the BMW turning onto the street. Mia and Snood came into view, and she parked the bike at the front of the house.

After Mia dismounted, she opened the sidecar door, and Snood jumped out. When the dog saw Tash, he did a full-body wiggle. Oliver knew how he felt. He walked toward her, meeting her halfway down the path.

‘Hello,’ she said. ‘They told me ten, but it takes this lot at least half an hour to get started.’ In her hands, she held a baking dish. ‘I was told to bring lunch…for everyone. I made lasagne.’

This was the first Oliver knew about the food. He took the dish from her. ‘Thank you. Food is always welcome. I wasn’t expecting you.’

‘They told me it was an emergency. If you didn’t find the money, it would be…’ her voice trailed. A worried expression crossed her face.

Ignoring her concerns – he didn’t want to talk about money, or lack of it – he turned toward Snood, who was scurrying up the path toward them. ‘I like your dog,’ he said. ‘Did you train him to ride in the sidecar?’

Mia shook her head. ‘If a car door is open, he’ll probably get in. Cars are his safe space.’

Oliver kneeled. Snood came in for a cuddle and a pat. ‘Why would anyone surrender a dog like this?’

‘His adoption papers didn’t give a reason. But life can be tough. I try not to think the worst. Perhaps his owner died.’ She lowered her voice. ‘He used to be called Snoopy, but I changed it. He has no idea.’

Oliver smiled. ‘Does he bark much?’ The dog was close to her heart, and he wanted to keep her talking.

‘No, he’s not much of a barker. Sometimes he barks to get my attention, like if his water bowl needs filling. But if I’m late with his dinner, he never complains. He’ll just sit by his food bowl to remind me. He brings back anything you throw.’

Oliver picked up a stick and tossed it down the path.

The dog sat on Oliver’s foot.

‘He prefers balls,’ Mia said.

Her hair was styled in a ponytail. She wore shorts and a loose-knit jumper in a colour somewhere between yellow and orange. One side had slipped off her shoulder. As he watched her walk toward the house, he thought those blue eyes could distract a man. He could benefit from a distraction.

Mia’s arrival caused another vigorous discussion about the treasure hunt teams – should there be three or four? How many people should be in each team? Should the younger generation be mixed with the older?

Eventually, Tash said she would start in Elsie’s room. Blanche agreed, and they headed inside. Flora followed.

Mia took Oliver’s arm. ‘We’ll take the basement.’

As they headed to the back of the house, Mia said, ‘Sorry, I kidnapped you. I couldn’t go through another round of picking teams.’

‘Happy to be kidnapped.’ He handed her a torch. ‘Scared of spiders, rats, mice, snakes, or small spaces?’

‘All of the above. But the thought of going through an old woman’s closet is worse.’

Access to the basement was at the back of the house. A set of narrow steps led to a covered alcove. At the end was a wooden door secured by a bolt. Oliver pulled it back and, with a firm shoulder shove, he opened the door.

A musty waft of cold air escaped.

They switched on their flashlights. Oliver entered, angling his head. Mia followed. They were in a large, rectangular room with a dirt floor. Old building materials, including bricks, concrete blocks, and spare roof tiles, filled the space. Everything covered in a layer of dirt.